My God I'm Nervous, Give That Kid Another Pill!: A Chain of Synergistic Events

By Ricky Charles Dodson

I sat at my computer to read a few chapters of this book and did not get up until I had finished it. What an insightful adventure! He certainly comes by his storytelling talents naturally. I thoroughly enjoyed the "highs" and even the lows, if I'm to be honest. I recommend this book to everyone, but especially to anyone who thinks they cannot overcome (much less THRIVE), broken parts of their past. Thank you Rick for sharing. Mona Mellon

Rick makes you feel like you are sitting around a campfire telling tales. He has a knack of pulling you into his story and making you want more. I laughed and cried, sometimes in the same paragraph!! Thank you for sharing your book Rick. I truly enjoyed it and look forward to reading more in the future. Marsha Whitley

Rick Dodson's book is at once intimately personal and universally accessible. A powerful story of the triumph of self over the crushing forces of ignorance and the state. Bravo! Sean Poole

"I was so honored, and more than a bit curious, when Rick asked me to be his "first reader". He said "These stories'll kinda make you see what made me, me." Well, if you know Rick, and what a wonderfully unique and creative person he is, then you'll understand why I couldn't wait to dive in! Some people are handed the world on a silver platter, and still manage to waste their lives. Others, like Ricky Charles Dodson, get handed a pile of poop -- and use it to create an amazing garden. Read this book, and find out what made this guy one-of-a-kind!" Becky Thomas Lane

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493102150

Ricky Charles Dodson

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Book preview

My God I’m

Nervous, Give That

Kid Another Pill!

A CHAIN OF SYNERGISTIC EVENTS

Ricky Charles Dodson

Copyright © 2013 by Ricky Charles Dodson.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4931-0214-3

                Ebook            978-1-4931-0215-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 09/24/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

126747

Contents

Chapter One   The Kid In The Book Store

Chapter Two   Reflection

Chapter Three   My Spells

Chapter Four   Special School

Chapter Five   The Church

Chapter Six   Our Escapades

Chapter Seven   Getting To Know Granny

Chapter Eight   Gramps

Chapter Nine   Why I Don’t Like To Hunt

Chapter Ten   My First Naked Lady

Chapter Eleven   Finding My Career

Chapter Twelve   The Preacher And My Mom

Chapter Thirteen   My First Store

Chapter Fourteen   School Vs. Work

Chapter Fifteen   Making A Statement

Chapter Sixteen   My Little Brothers

Chapter Seventeen   Hunting Bigfoot

Chapter Eighteen   Losing Mom

Chapter Nineteen   The Girl Of My Dreams

Chapter Twenty   My God Cheryl—I Can’t Read

Chapter Twenty-One   The Wedding

Chapter Twenty-Two   Passing It On

Chapter Twenty-Three   My World Record

Chapter Twenty-Four   Becoming The Bluebonnet Man

Chapter Twenty-Five   From Craftsman To Sculptor

Chapter Twenty-Six   Becoming A Father

Chapter Twenty-Seven   The Story Telling Glass Blower

Chapter Twenty-Eight   Sometimes Things Change Fast

Dedicated to the little boy in the bookstore

Everything in this book is true to the best of my memory.

CHAPTER ONE

The Kid In The Book Store

It was one of those wow, ah ha, moments that we all have, but not often, that we never forget and remember on an emotional level rather, than a rational one. I was in town waiting for my new glasses to get made, I look damn sexy in them by the way, anyway, with a few hours to kill I found myself in a small used book store. A few folks were leaving and the place was empty except for the store keep, I thought.

She was a sweet, yet stern looking woman a little older than myself. I glanced around the store for about three seconds and saw all the books and it hit me, a sense of being overwhelmed. See, I’d been wanting to read my next book for some time, sort of a big deal for me. So I acted on my sudden burst of insight and spoke to the book lady. I told her I had only read four books in my 55 years and wanted to change that, but was overwhelmed by all the books and asked her if she could suggest a good book for me. Just as she began to search for words, another lady and a child about 12 came from behind an aisle. The book lady smiled with relief and referred me to her, a teacher. They had heard what I’d said. The teacher said, before I pick a book for you, may I ask why you have only read four books?

I told her about my childhood experience being misdiagnosed as learning impaired and put in special school and put on mind-altering drugs for seven years. When they declared me cured and mainstreamed me back into public school no one tried to teach me to read, instead they just pushed me through with barely passing grades, so I didn’t really learn to read until I was in my twenties. I could read a little, but it was extremely hard for me. So hard that the task itself was frustrating, slow, exhausting and my retention was almost non-existent.

My Grand-pa had a saying: I said all that to say this It applies now.

The little boy was totally silent, head down looking at the floor, a tiny bit fidgety, but hardly noticeable, he looked totally normal in all respects to me. Teacher said the kid’s name, I can’t remember, Did you hear the man? He sort of nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He had his head down since I first saw him.

She said, Do you have anything you want to say to the man? She put a spiral book in front of him and put a pen in his hand. She placed her hand on the back of the boys forearm and put it on the paper. The boy began to write, extremely shaky, big letters, all she did was apply pressure on his forearm to slow the shaking.

He wrote, I do not speak, I read, I understand.

Then she pulled out one of the ten or so books she had bought for him, opened it and said, can you show the man how you read? His little arm shook as he put his hand on the page. Instantly he began to flow down the page with his finger, jittery with uneven movements, but very quickly and on to the next page and next in seconds. Teacher said, He never forgets anything he reads. I was blown away. I knew it was real because it felt real. I kneeled and said to the boy, Thank you so much for showing me.

He looked up for the first time and with his eyes fixed in the top of his sockets, looked right into my eyes and said clear as a bell, thank you. The teacher and book lady were both visibly, well, surprised and the teacher silently mouthed to me, He never speaks. I said, no, thank you, and he said, you’re welcome. No expression on his little face at all. A feeling moved through me that’s hard, if not impossible to put into words and I know I’m not capturing the full flavor in this re-tell, but it was big, it was real and it was moving.

The teacher said, You look like the kind of guy who would like this, as she handed me a huge book with about a million pages… Sahara. They left and the book lady said this kid was a genius who has a photographic memory and never forgets anything he reads and has read thousands of books and the lady was his personal teacher.

CHAPTER TWO

Reflection

Sitting in the parking lot I closely examined my new task. Big, thick, tiny letters with what had to be a trillion words. I sighed out loud, Oh yea I can read this, I will read this, but the words running through my mind was more like, Oh my God, now I have to read this monster.

I remembered when I was younger I would say that hell would be being forced to read every word of War and Peace because it was the biggest book I knew of and I thought it would take forever to complete. I began to slowly read the first page of my new project and my mind quickly wandered and took me back to when I was seven years old, probably my first memory from school.

Standing in my first grade class looking up at my parents, my teacher Ms. Ladd, standing behind me with her hands affectionately resting on my shoulders. It was the end of the school year, I was so proud, she was going to tell my parents what a good child I was, how hard I worked and that they should be proud of me. I thought she was going to give me an award. Something like, Your child was the smartest in the whole class, maybe the whole school.

Then the sky fell on my little head and reality kicked me in the teeth. I’m afraid I’m going to have to hold Ricky back, it’s for the best. My parent’s faces went from happy and proud to confusion. I had no idea what she meant by her statement, or why my parents faces were becoming more and more concerned as she spoke. I could see the blood draining from my mother’s face. She continued to explain that I had a problem and needed special help, medical help. I didn’t understand what she was saying, but I understood it was not good for me. I didn’t know what hold back meant. No one was proud; they were worried like when you hear a family member has cancer. I mean, who fails first grade?

Ms. Ladd said, It’s your son’s brain, it’s not working correctly. My parent’s faces went from concerned to horrified. I was young, but I knew something was really wrong, my mother began to cry and even my father, who was not an empathetic man and never showed emotions looked totally devastated. She told my parents she was sending me to a doctor in Dallas who was an expert in this area and would know exactly how to help me.

I remember the ride home like it was this morning. My father looking a blend of mad and embarrassed, after all he just learned his only child was not normal, failed first grade and his brain was broke. The only other time I ever saw my dad look like that was when he let my uncle Ossy drive his cherished Indian Chief motorcycle and he totaled it out a block from the house.

Mom looked a cross between numb and frightened. She resorted to the only thing she knew to do, pray. Mom was the classic church lady of a small Pentecostal church and her solution for everything bad in life was prayer. It was absolutely surreal, up until this happened I was the little man, the cute, bright future of my family. Mom believed I was going to become the biggest TV evangelist in the world and go to Israel and save all the Jews by convincing them Christ was their Lord and savior, no pressure there. Grandma thought I’d be president for sure.

When we got home Mom called the family and gathered them together to tell them the news. My family was a little vaster than most kids I knew. I was the youngest of five living generations. I lived with my mom and dad, next door to mom’s parents. Great Grand Mom and her mom lived