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Thursday, April 19, 2012

The Lost Child Revisited

Been thinking lately about where I found my addictive roots... In my early childhood
I found myself hooked on as simple things as caffeine. This is a flash-back to my early days.

The country can be a magical place. Countless worlds to explore that often go overlooked by an older, more cynical mind. For a child, however, a lake, a forest, or even an old dirt road can present endless possibilities.

There was once a boy who spent his earlier years in just such a place. He had a huge family, and there were always cousins, aunts, and uncles around who doted on him. He was the baby of the baby. He liked drawing, catching bugs with his grandma, fishing, and even preaching the gospel from the front porch. There was never a lack of things to do that would capture his innocent, creative little mind.

He had a loving father, his grandparents were always there for him, he had friends that he would sometimes play with. He had a mother who didn't want him. She could be loving and protective, but she could also be ignorant and harmful. There was many a time when she would choose her wild lifestyle over the well-being of her only son. Doing drugs and being intimate with people he didn't even really know right in front of him despite the crying and the fear. She would eventually leave him and it was perhaps the best thing she ever did in her life. And his.

Things got better from there. The boy and his father moved in with his grandparents. Things became much better. Dad would work, he would spend the day outside being free and running wild, grandma would sit on the porch shelling peas. Everything seemed to have it's place. Church every Sunday, using his tiny hands to help grandpa carry firewood, walking the backwoods with his uncle to catch crawfish. It was a wonderfully simple life he spent with people he truly loved.

His mother never turned back up. He would see her from time to time at the lake with some of her more upstanding friends, and sometimes she would even act happy to see him. He couldn't understand why she would say "Hi" and then go back to her party. His grandmother was his mother now. His grandparents helped raise him and taught him many valuable things that he would forget over the years.

I feel really blessed to have this to read over again. Still feel like I've only scratched the surface.

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