I was never much
of a spiritual kind of guy. I always left that up to my wife, Vada. She came
from Catholic folk and had more statues in the house than I cared to admit.
After forty-five years of marriage, I finally made her take the statue of the
Blessed Virgin on the half-shell out of the front yard, because the neighbor
boys liked using it for sling shot practice after dark. Little did I know that
gluing that dang Virgin’s head on to my neighbor’s front porch finial would be
the start of a Shocking-Old-Man-of-Dixon-Tennessee legacy my entire family
wished had never begun.
Despite my lack of religion, when a little voice
woke me up in the middle of the night, “Jimmy. Jimmy, get up.” And it wasn’t
Vada, and it wasn’t my dog. Let me tell you, I listened—and I listened but
good.
It took me a few minutes to stir,, though. See, we
call the dog, Jimmy, and almost everybody else calls me Jimmy Joe, except for
those two darn statue-bustin’ neighbor boys, who call me Mista WillyMays,
instead of Willimay. I tossed and turned, thinking I was dreaming. Fifteen
minutes passed before I actually got up and went to the back porch, where I
usually have my midnight smoke. Well, that night, I didn’t have any appetite
for cigarettes. I kept hearing that darn voice in my head calling my name.
I sat down on my rocking chair, still kind of in a
daze. I closed my eyes and listened to the crickets. They’re awfully quiet in
these parts come spring; then they get louder as the summer comes along. Just
as I was about to fall asleep, I heard the voice again. “You think you’re some
kind of hero for saving Buddy from his daddy? Well, you’re not.”
I didn’t answer back.
The voice continued, “I haven’t put you on this
earth to save Buddy’s soul. Only he can do that. I put you here to save
yourself—from yourself.”
Heaviness came over me. My body felt glued to the
chair. I had the same kind of feeling when Buddy told me he liked kissing his
high school buddy Thatcher more than girls.
See, my best friend, Carter Edgefield, tried to kill
his only son, Buddy, on Good Friday. Somebody down at Melrose Lanes called
Carter just short of midnight and told him Buddy was doing something he
shouldn’t be doing in a parked car behind the lanes. Old Carter put on his
overalls, grabbed a baseball bat, and the rest was Tennessee history. But, the
only ones who actually knew what happened that night were Buddy and me.
In that second of life, fate pried open my heart and
made me take a good hard look at the path of indifference I’d been walking—well,
more like standing on. See, Dixon was the kind of town that didn’t much like
detours from the middle of the road, even with a name like Dixon, which any born Dixonite can tell you is heartburn to the
polite and a Tums to the wicked.
You see, I was the one in the parked car with Buddy
when Carter single-handedly cracked open the lie I’d been living with one
deliberate blow to the windshield of my mint-condition ’89 Impala. But, it
ain’t what you’re thinking. It ain’t what anyone who knew me should have been
thinking.
That’s my point. Carter never stopped to ask why I
was consoling his only child. If he had, though, I could never have told him.
What Buddy told me was a secret, and I’ve never been one to blab, not even to
my best friend.
I think folks with secrets stick together. I know
that for sure, because I’ve heard things I can’t repeat from twenty or so Dixonites
in the long stretch of my sixty-three years. Only thing is, when Buddy
confessed his sin—I saw for the first time—that I had been living somebody
else’s idea of a life, not mine.
I’d thought to myself, don’t say it, Buddy! Don’t
even speak it, Buddy! But, there it was—right out in the open for God to know
and hear.
He spoke in gushes. “I think I’m gay. Gay and
scared. Scared I’m going to die from AIDS, and even more scared God’s going to
kill me, first.”
From that moment, I was changed. My sudden quiet
defiance of the unspoken law of intolerance practically got me killed that
night, and later, nearly landed me in to the arms of another woman. Both times,
a power greater than I plucked me out of harm’s way and kept me alive to tell
about it.
What I did in front of Buddy that night, I don’t
remember ever doing before in front of anyone. I cried. Sixty-some years of
held-back tears made a fussing mess all down my face. Then, I reached out to
hold him. The young man looked so helpless there nesting his scared, little
head right on my chest.
“God doesn’t hate you, son. He couldn’t.” I patted
him on the back. “You’re kind and caring. Why, you’ve got to be the most polite
young man I know. If I could see that, surely God Almighty can. If He can’t, I
don’t want no part of Him—or religion.”
Just as the words came out of my mouth, Old Carter’s
two-by-four came crashing down, like maybe God had heard me, and he wasn’t
happy about what I’d said.
I grabbed my hunting rifle out of the back seat and
pointed it at that crazy son of a bitch. We haven’t spoken since. Haven’t spoken
to Buddy neither.
You see, men with secrets can hardly face
themselves, let alone face each other. That’s why I’m telling you this. ‘Cause
every one of us has got to wake up and see the truth.
I know that now…
This is the beginning of my southern, literary
novel, “The Leaving Cellar.” If it sparks some interest, you can find the
entire novel on Amazon at this link. The Kindle version is only $1.99.
To this information, I freely add that in July, I am moving to Southern
Florida to begin a new small imprint publishing company called: Finding
Authentic You Publishing: findingauthenticyoupublishing.com. I am accepting
submissions now for my January 2015 bookshelf. If you or any friends are
interested, please go to the website and read the submission guidelines.
Thanks.
Finding
Authentic You is my brand and is also a self-help guide, which I
wrote, with 365 Discoveries, meant to aid you in facilitating some of life’s
most difficult challenges, like sleep. But, the discoveries also lead you to
what you believe spiritually, understanding your goals, learning to believe in
your self, discovering the most distinct you, unlocking all of your negative
thinking, and helping you replace it with positive, creative thought using many
different modalities, including hypnosis, prayer, and psychology.
Once you know yourself, then relationship with Spirit and people is a fairly
easy task.
For much more
information about finding out about the psychology of the human mind and being
your authentic self, self-love, and self-esteem, check out my new book below.
“Finding Authentic You” will answer many of the questions I propose above. The
book also has many discoveries about health, both mental and physical, as well
as spiritual discoveries to lead you to your highest and best! Thanks for being
a part of my tribe and helping me make this book be a Bestseller.
Finding Authentic You: With 365 Daily Discoveries & 7 Steps to Effective Change
* Bo Sebastian is a
Hypnotherapist and Life & Health Coach, available for private sessions to
QUIT SMOKING, Lose Weight, New Lap-Band Hypnosis for Weight Loss, CHANGE YOUR
MIND, CHANGE YOUR LIFE! at 615-400-2334 or http://bosebastian.com/Home_Page.php Please feel
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