A Twisted Tail of Infamy

By Juan Jesus Valdez

About the Book
At an early age, Juan Jesus Valdez has to learn how to fight to survive. With two older brothers at home constantly punching and taunting him, he eventually learned to fend off their attacks by educating himself in both mind and body in self-defense mechanisms. These years of fighting and learning led Juan down a brutal path, from attacks at a naval base by other sailors to his home biker gang tossing threats his way when refusing to commit. Juan has led a life few have traveled down, and he persevered through his most challenging moments to find success in education, career, and love. His story is proof that different and varied life experiences can turn a boy into a man, and a successful one at that.
About the Author
Juan Jesus Valdez enjoys writing short stories and posting them on social media. He also enjoys woodworking, horses, and saving homeless dogs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Dec 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888128718

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The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 by Juan Jesus Valdez

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Visit our website at www.dorrancebookstore.com

ISBN: 979-8-8881-2371-3

eISBN: 979-8-8881-2871-8

PREFACE

The following story you are about to read is R rated due to strong language in conjunction with an insidious quantity of demoralizing violence. This story is authentic. I lived it. All events depicted occurred as noted. Some names have been changed because I don’t like these people any longer. This story, of the folly of youth along with the maturity of adulthood, is cast in the esoteric environment in which it occurred.

For some, this story does not depict the life of the goodness of Man but rather, for me, it depicts the goodness of life itself. Enjoy life, because once you have lived it, you won’t need a bucket list. Thank you for selecting my book for your library or as your doorstop.

The following is a true story of the life of a one-man

who did the best he could,

whenever he could.

AND

I dedicate this impartial compendium to

Janice Valdez b.7-13-50; d.11-21-21

A beautiful lady that I had

the distinct pleasure of knowing,

loving, and marrying along

with the unrivaled privilege of

growing old together.

A Twisted Tail of Infamy

Chapter 1: A Prologue

A Remembrance: If it looks like a duck, talks like a duck, and lays duck eggs, it’s probably a damn duck. – Dad; a great sage 

I remember the day well as if it was yesterday. I’ll never forget it, and so my story begins. I was walking out of the house, and when the wood screen door hit the door jamb, it reverberated a bit as if it had been slammed. I saw my dad walking around the pecan tree, picking up pecans. He was in a deeply pensive mood. He looks over at me and says, Come over here. I want to talk to you. We were never a family-family. We didn’t hug or really talk to each other much, we rarely ate meals together, and our house was seemingly devoid of family love, so I knew this was going to be important. My dad starts with, Aren’t you graduating from high school soon?

Yes, I said. In a couple of weeks.

He took note of my reply and queried, What are your plans?

Don’t really have any yet, Dad. Why?

Well, it’s time you left the nest, son. It is time for you to stand on your own two feet.

Initially, I was stunned into a catatonic silence. I shyly replied, So you want me to leave home?

Dad replied, You will always be welcome in our home, son, but it is time for you to experience the world.

Okay, was all I could think of for a response; I was still stunned and didn’t really know how to grapple with Dad’s statement.

You see, I was the youngest of six boys, and boy was it tough being the youngest, the smallest, and the weakest. To make matters even worse, my brothers and I had many disagreements that led to wrestling matches and fist fights; both sometimes. It was a very rough-and-tumble childhood. So, in order for us all to survive, we were split up when I was about five years old. Three of us lived with my mom and dad, and the oldest three lived with my grandparents. My two older brothers, also known as evil brother #1 and evil brother #2 were constantly getting into fights with me, and not just of the wrestling variety but real fist brawls. It just seemed that something was a bit ajar in my young life, and I didn’t know what it was or why I even had it. It seemed as if I had a target front and back simply because I was the youngest and smallest sibling. We would fight several times each day. It frustrated my mom to no end, and my brothers always seemed to convince my mom and dad that I was the troublemaker. If I wasn’t being beaten on by my brothers, I was being disciplined, old style, by my dad. As the youngest and smallest, it seemed that they showed a level of callousness and hatred towards me that was most assuredly unfounded; eh, it was brotherly love of the family variety. At least that was my perception. As a result, I was the brunt of countless sucker punches. You do know what a sucker punch is, right? Well, it is being punched without any foreknowledge of the coming event, for the sole purpose of causing the most debilitating pain and physical damage. As such, the sucker punch relieves the victim of any possible defense. Yep, at worst, they did not value me as a real brother. Oftentimes, I thought my parents didn’t value me as their son. During my entire adolescence, I was just a punching bag in the flesh. I recall one day while walking down the driveway, going who knows where, I heard someone coming up behind me at a very fast pace. Evil brother #2 had a large rock in his hand and used it to crack my head wide open. I was just five years old. I still bear that scar to this day. I grunted and fell to the ground moaning in shock. My mom came running out and helped me up onto my feet, asking what happened. I told her evil brother #2 slammed a rock into the back of my head and split my scalp wide open. Oh, I was spewing blood everywhere. Evil brother #2 told my mom that I tripped and somehow hit the back of my head on a rock. Yep, she believed him; we didn’t even have a rock driveway; it was two concrete wheel lanes separated by an island of grass. Nonetheless, being physically attacked, at home, was a daily occurrence perpetrated by evil brothers #1 and #2 and promulgated for most of my home life.

As a result, I never liked being home much. Who would? I often grabbed a newspaper or magazine and found a spot to read, or I would get on my bike and bike several miles to the public library. I am forever grateful that my mother taught me how to read during the latter segment of my fourth year. I was reading the daily newspaper by the time I entered elementary school. I read the daily newspaper from front to back; remember those? I read all of it including the advertising, obituaries, the news stories, and even the classified ad section. Although, if the newspaper was not reassembled exactly as it was when delivered, it would set my dad off. We all have our uncontrollable quirks. He was imbued with, shall we say, a level of quirkiness that could easily turn into pure anger. I quickly learned that in order to alleviate or mitigate Dad’s temper tantrums, I would need to disguise the newspaper as being completely untouched. Hell, I was just a kid for Christ’s sake. I forgot more often than not. I quickly learned to read it after Dad had his read. Anyway, reading took me to another world far, far away; and boy did I long for another world. I incessantly begged my mom to buy me books when we could afford it. She told me to keep going to the library, they have plenty of books. Then one day my world opened up. My mom and dad bought me, and my brothers, the entire set of the World Book Encyclopedia. As a second grader, this really opened my eyes to a brand-new world that never before existed, at least not for me. The encyclopedias were really for me, since my brothers didn’t read. Hell, they could barely spell their names. They were one step away from signing everything with an X. It took me a while but in between scuffles and fistfights, I read each volume. Then it hit me, pun intended. Why not get a book on self-defense? So, I did. Actually, I got four books, and I read them several times: two books on judo and two books on boxing, but I am getting ahead of myself. You see, everyone considered me to be a smart kid, and they were right. I was a natural speed reader, so to increase my comprehension, I would read the books or articles multiple times. That may have been the basis for their jealousy that led to their unbridled hatred towards me. I could read well, so I read everything: billboards, flyers, supermarket advertising taped to the supermarket windows, comics, and even food labels. I could not bypass anything without reading it, regardless of the content. I was even discussing national politics with myself and determining the likelihood of certain Congressional Acts being passed by both houses as well as, their impact upon society. Well, I did make it a point to watch the national news for their take on a variety of topics. I also had deduced that John F. Kennedy was going to be assassinated, and then later I determined that the same fate would befall his brother, Robert. Funny, looking back and remembering that I was debating with myself. It was a give-and-take intellectual discourse of daily national events. I learned the only way I knew how—discuss the issues with myself and develop a probable conclusion. I kept to myself mostly, not knowing the problems that this would create later in life.

Throughout my early adolescence, life continued on the same course—defend myself as best as I could against two larger brothers hellbent on beating my ass. Early on, I would always turn and run, if I could, and while I was running, I would hurriedly come up with a good verbal retort that would anger them even more. I would eventually get beat up, so why not? A specialty of evil brother #2 was a very hard punch between the lower shoulder blades. Do you know what that does to a person? It removes the air from your lungs in a nanosecond. Do you know how it feels to not have any air in your lungs while evil laughs at you? You can’t speak, and you want to fill your lungs with one breath, but you can’t do it. So, it makes your eyes get really, really big and you think you are going to die. It takes a few moments to regain your breath. Each breath only brings in a slight amount of oxygen at a time. Sometimes, when my breath came back to almost normal, I would get another punch in the back, once again losing all my air and forcing my body response to gag for more air. Evil brother #2 loved to do this—super hard punches to the middle of my back. I actually blamed him for my scoliosis. As an adolescent, I just sustained too many hard punches to my back, multiple times daily. However, it was a punch worth locking into my grey matter. I remembered this effective instantaneous debilitating punch, and it became quite useful when needed. Evil brother #2 also engaged in putting me in a headlock and twisting my head back and forth.  As an adult, I had to have a vertebra fusion since one of my discs had broken.  I don’t believe evil brother #2 broke my disc but he surely had a hand in it.  Now back as a twelve-year-old, one day just chilling out during the summer, lying on my side on the couch, taking in some much-needed rest in front of the TV while my mom sat in her chair doing the same—shutting down the brain and watching mindless TV. Suddenly, evil brother #2 sprints towards me from the kitchen and as he closes in to about six feet away, he jumps high in the air, spins around, and with his backside, he lands on the side of my neck and head. I heard and felt bones in my neck cracking, as did my mother. The impact sent evil brother #2 bouncing over the couch, and he hit the wall and fell back onto the couch. I had bounced off the couch and landed on the floor, clutching my neck with both hands and screaming in pain. The vertebrae apparently fell back into place when I impacted the floor. After a moment or two, I was able to get up and stumble away from evil brother #2. More importantly, my mom now understood my disadvantage in regard to my larger brothers. My mom finally witnessed that I was not the instigator but the receiver. She immediately screamed at evil brother #2 while running to the kitchen to retrieve a broom. She beat him senseless with the wood handle, all the while evil brother #2 was blaming me for his attack. These attacks were daily occurrences. Also, to make