Max: A Story of Hope

By Edward Rodriguez

When all hope is gone and life has become so dark that you can't go any further and there's nothing left but to give into the temptation to end your life, Proverbs 18:24 says, "There is one that sticks closer than a brother." His name is Jesus, and he came that they may have life and that they may have it more abundantly (John 10:10). Read how a little boy struggles to overcome rejection, sexual abuse, fear, and torment in his mind with the fear of death, and see how God's mighty hand and saving grace take him out of the clutches of death and give him his life back, one with peace and joy and full of hope, so don't ever give up because God will never give up on you. In Jesus's name, amen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644166697

Book preview

1

My Childhood

This year will be twenty-four years already since that day in December of 1994 when my miracle occurred.

I will never forget it; it feels like yesterday that my life changed, and I haven’t been the same thanks to Jesus Christ my Lord and savior.

What a day it was, but before I begin, I have to write about what led up to that cold day in December.

Growing up when I was little, I loved life; life was great.

You know not everybody is privileged to have both parents at home, but I did, and the feeling of having them both there gave me so much comfort and happiness. I knew I was loved, and I loved them very much.

I grew up in Queens, New York, where I lived with my mom and dad and two brothers. My mom and dad both came from Puerto Rico when they were in their teens. They met in the Bronx back in 1967, fell in love, got married, and had three children. I myself am a twin, and my older brother is only eleven months older than me.

My dad was a handicapped man, but that never stopped him from working and providing for his family.

He had a heart of gold; he really loved his family a lot, and all he wanted was to be loved and accepted, but that’s another story. My dad was only four feet, eleven inches in height, so he wasn’t a big man, but he sure was loved by many, and he would do anything to help you out.

I miss him.

Growing up in my house was great. Mom and Dad were together. I would see my aunts and uncles with my cousins on the weekend.

Somehow just their presence or just hearing their voices would bring me so much joy. I really loved them all.

Man, I wouldn’t think writing about my childhood would bring up so many memories and feelings I had when I was young.

So my dad had two jobs; he was a watch repair man, and he worked for a watch company called Bulova and a social club in the Bronx, which is where I would spend my weekends while Dad and Mom ran the bar.

Above the bar, there were two more floors; my aunt lived on the third floor with her family.

Every weekend, there would be so many people hanging out outside, doing errands, drinking on the corner, that was allowed.

Backed then, nobody said anything; it was normal. I remembered at night looking out the window from my aunt’s apartment and seeing how the streets would have a glitter to it; it would shine and sparkle; then, I realized that was all the bottle caps from soda and beer thrown in the streets, and the cars would pass over them until they became part of the street. Haha. Gotta laugh. That’s how it was and stayed for many years.

I spent a lot of time with my twin brother; we were very close, not that I didn’t like my older brother. It’s that we had so much in common since we are twins, and since birth, he always had breathing problems that caused him to miss a lot of school. Mom was always worried about him and so I would spend more time with him when he would feel better. I guess my older brother thought we didn’t love him; not at all. He was very independent, and I always looked to my twin for everything. Funny were forty-seven years old and still are very close, and through the years, we became closer to our older brother. We love him very much; we watched him go through many struggles. May God give him peace and joy and comfort him in his time of need.

Both of my parents came from Puerto Rico when they were in their teens. I remember my mom being a very hard worker. See my mom had a big family, and they didn’t have a lot of money, so from a young age, she worked to help the family. God bless her.

When she came from Puerto Rico, she found work in a factory by Queen’s plaza in Queens, and there she would do what they call piece work.

So for every woman’s garment she completed, she was paid two dollars, so she really worked hard to pay the bills. Mom always did her best to provide for the family; she taught me a lot about working hard and being responsible in life.

Funny, her first name is Virgin like Virgin Mary, but in Spanish, it sounds different but still spelled the same.

And my dad whom I miss and love with all my heart was a watch repair man by trade; he was a handicapped man from birth and had trouble walking, so he told me he needed a job where he could sit down and work, so he chose to work with watches. He passed away last August 15, 2010, and I never told him what happened to me. I’m so overwhelmed with emotions right now it’s hard to keep writing; I find myself crying and thinking about what if I told him the truth. It’s just that I didn’t want him to think that he did a bad job raising me or blaming himself for the abuse I encountered. My eyes fill with tears. I loved him so much. He was a very kind and loving person. I’m sure in heaven, Jesus explained to him what happened.

You see, Mom and Dad divorced when I was eleven years old in 1981. Looking back, I guess I was the most happiest living with them.

As a child, you never think one day things are gonna change. Mom and Dad made me feel secure. I knew they loved me, and I loved them with all my heart.

I remember going to the store, and it seemed like everybody sold comics, and you could buy one for a twenty-five cents.

Every time we could go, we were buying comics. Man, those were the days. I used to always buy The Incredible Hulk, my favorite comic book. He would start of normal until he got mad, and then he would start whipping everybody’s a . . . you know. I would try to collect all of them, but I’m sure I was missing a couple of issues.

I think I was around seven or eight when my mom bought me the Incredible Hulk doll by a company called Mego. It was the biggest one they made, around twelve inches, but remember when