The Troubled Child: Social Issues, #1

By Sherry Hutchison and Sherich Reison

As children we are born innocent. We are not born feeling ugly, mentally crippled, or physically inadequate. We are taught these things, these feelings as we grow. By the time we have reached our early teens we have experienced many emotions.  We have felt blessed, protected, or perhaps tainted by hidden ugly truths.                Put all these emotions into a tiny glass jar to set on a shelf for a while. Eventually the jar has to be opened and all the contents spill out onto the floor. The mess now has to be cleaned up. Sometimes you are left with a troubled child.

You may call me a liar. You may think I'm quirky or weird. Perhaps I'm a bit strange. However, you can never call me a 'victim.' You may call me a 'survivor.'

This Book Has mild trigger warnings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherry Hutchison
• Release date: Aug 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223572909

Sherry Hutchison

I am a multi-genre author. I was that book geek hanging out at the local library every Saturday. I stepped through those doors into a magical world in which anything was possible.  I spend my time between Missouri & Texas with my hubby Chris and two fur-babies, Max & Maisie.

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Forethought

All stories, prose and poetry in this book are representations of my views and opinions only. I represent or speak for no one but myself. Life is not perfect. Not everyone has an ideal childhood.

Siblings, family, and friends don’t always share the same experiences with the same people. I share my insights with others hoping someone out there realizes they are not alone.

Dedication

This book is for all who lend an ear. Have you often begged for someone to listen, only to have your cries for help fall on deft ears? There are lost ones who can’t find their way. Some people don’t know how to find the right words to speak.

For those who reach out to help. To the healers, lending a small light in someone else’s dark. You are all needed. You all matter. There are truly Angels that walk among us, lighting our way. To all my Angels. I appreciate you all. I would not have made it this far without you.

Thoughts!!!!

You can only fix what you perceive to be broken.

It’s Friday, the last day of a working week, last day of school for the week depending on whom you are. Now for many who work odd jobs with various shifts, it’s the first day of their working week.

I remember at 5pm every day dad would be coming home and we better be on our best behavior. Then he switched to night shift for a while and the whole evening world changed with this amazing bit of evening freedom while dad was at work. It didn't last long as he quickly realized he could not control what he could not see. Back to 7am-5pm and we went back to the 'rules.'

I never gave much thought to what our poor mom was going through trying to keep control of four active kids, maintain mealtime, have the house in order, all quiet and calm when he walked in the door. We had to come inside much earlier than the other neighborhood kids, only to be forced to be quiet when we could have remained outside another hour to play.

We were so happy when dad left after supper to go over to the local VFW. We knew he'd stay there for several hours before coming home. This gave us freedom to laugh, play, make noise, go outside in the yard. He always managed to make it home without wrecking the car. It got later and later every night that he'd come stumbling in the door. As I got older, I learned he was a professional drunk hiding in plain sight. He was an unhappy man, a personal problem as children we could not fix for him.

There were a few fleeting moments  after my sister and I  got old enough to begin to understand ,we felt bad for our mom. She had to deal with him as a wife, as an adult, as a sober person dealing with a drunk every night for years. The fact she was almost totally deaf worked against her in so many ways. She could not fix those things gone broken because she never heard them break.

Should I lay down and die tonight,

Part of me would live on forever.

For in my dreams are visions of my soul,

And all who dream never really die.

A child sitting on a swing in a forest Description automatically generated

The Troubled Child

She sits on the sunny hillside after school.

She wishes she could float away up into the clouds to visit the God that everyone says lives there.

Her long auburn ponytail gently slaps her face as she swings her head from side to side.

She knows that the other kids think she’s a little strange, but she ignores them just like mommy told her to.

She doesn’t have time to mess with them now.

This is her private time.

To be alone.

To think.

Soon the afternoon will turn to dusk, and she’ll have to go home.

She doesn’t want to.

She’s the troubled child.

Kids tease her for talking to herself, although she looks at it as thinking aloud.

Mommy says it’s ok, so it must be ok.

She wonders why Daddy stays out late every night now.

He comes home smelling like the inside of the V. F. W. Lounge after a Friday night bingo game.

Why does he yell so much at her and mommy and say such hateful things?

He looks at her so strangely as if he doesn’t even know her. Daddy says he hates her, that she’s not his daughter.

She’s afraid to go home now.

She’d rather pretend everything’s ok like it used to be before Daddy got sick.

He’s always been mean.

Now he’s scary and mean.

Mommy says he has a sickness only the lord can heal.

So, she’ll sit on the hillside just a little longer.

If she closes her eyes and wishes hard enough, she’ll float away up into those clouds to visit the God that everyone says lives there.

She’s the troubled child.

And So, It Begins

Birth to Six Years

A Complex Child

FROM THE MOMENT OF my life as a young child, that I can consciously remember, which was age three or four; I was always scared.  Even though most memories at that age are fuzzy or non-existent. I can remember crying a lot, but I don’t know why. That is sad to say, but true. I was just a crybaby. I was too sensitive.

My life started in the Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia. Dad had built a small house up on the mountain and that is where I spent my first five years. Mom was deaf. She could hear a little with her hearing aid.

I was born at mountain, St. Mary’s Catholic Hospital in Athens, Georgia. Mom said the nuns carried me around and spoiled me so that when we went home, I cried for weeks because I wanted to be held all the time. Dad’s family were strict Southern Baptist. It is a mystery as to why I ended up at St. Mary’s. Mom explained it to me once, they were on a road trip driving through Athens, Georgia when she went into labor. She always said I was touched by the angels of God.

Dad stayed out on the road a lot working. It could be as simple as he never tried to bond with me. I always remember fearing him. He was a stranger to me. I’m sure when he came in, we surrounded him. At least the other kids may have. I avoided him. He was tired and just wanted to spend time with mom. Us kids were in the way. My view is that he should have come home more often if he wanted to see mom. Even when he wasn’t working, he was down at the local V. F. W. drinking.

I remember always getting yelled at for something. I had a long scar going down my stomach from falling off a ladder.