 13 Jul 2004 @ 20:03, by celestial
Ages 7 - 11
When I was eight , nine and ten years old, my dad had me helping out at the blacksmith shop during the summer while school was out. It was formerly my grandfathers shop. Eventually, latter on in life, I ended up inheriting the shop minus all of the equipment which my grandmother had sold after grandpa died. I earned fifty cents ($0.50) a day. I had some responsibilities too; once in awhile, I would take the days cash receivables to the bank and deposit them. Dad took me to the wholesaler down the street and helped set me up a candy business; I sold candy, on the honor system, to the customers. I also was in charge of the chickens at home and was allowed to pocket the money from the sale of the eggs to the I.G.A. food store; these were extra eggs that we didn't eat. I received nineteen cents ($0.19) for each dozen of double yoked eggs (1957-1959); all of the chickens seemed to lay double yoked eggs. I also collected pop bottles, returned them to the store, and collected the deposit (which somebody else had paid, but threw the bottle away). I had a couple of dogs and it was my responsibility to feed and groom them. I also had a couple of guns, a twenty two (22) caliber rifle and a shot gun; I don't remember what gauge it was but when I fired it, it knocked me on the ground. I fired it once and that was enough for me; my shoulder was black and blue from the shooting of it.
I had a couple of good friends, I had money in my pocket and things were looking up; I was very happy. I never saved the first dollar I ever earned but I might have if I had been paid with a silver dollar. I honed my skills with different grinding machines at the shop, plus I learned to operate a lot of the machinery. Some of the farmers requested the same grind on their plow shares as they had received before. That made my dad proud of me. But one customer specifically asked that the "boy" not sharpen his plows. As soon as he left, dad told me to sharpen them. When the customer returned several days later, he looked at his plow shares and commented on how well they had been done. My dad then told him, "My boy did them." Later, he admonished me to always keep my nose to the grind stone (I suspect that farmer may have complained to the authorities that my father was violating some sort of child labor laws). The winds of change were fixing to blow.
I'll outline a few more stories of this stage in my life before I move on to the next stage; I tell these because they are just some of the highlights of when or where or why I made decisions about my future. I decided my future in that very shop! It is also where I first encountered the voice of G.O.D, The Almighty One.
I used to filch cigarettes and cigars from the customers who would stop by with nothing better to do that sit around and shoot the breeze; they would leave and forget a pack of cigarettes or a cigar. I would sneak these back to my tree-house at home, a place way out at the other edge of the field adjacent to our house. There, I would "smoke" them; actually, I couldn't stand to inhale them, so I just puffed on them. One time I did inhale a cigar and got so dizzy that I fell out of my tree house; fortunately for me it was only about eight feet above the ground. Unfortunately for me, that was enough to get the smell on my breath. I went home and my mother smelled the evidence immediately. She informed me that she would be informing my dad as soon as he returned home. Upon his return, she told him and he left the house immediately. I was delighted and very surprised! When he returned, I was severely punished; my punishment was I had to eat a pack of cigarettes which made me turn green; he had gone out to buy a pack of cigarettes.
Another time at the shop one of the customers began relating a story to the others who were present. "Hey," he said, "did you hear about George" (name changed because I've actually forgotten the real name). "He's a dope fiend, a drug addict; he lost everything, his wife, his house, and his car." My ears picked up spontaneously; I thought...dope...drugs... must be pretty good stuff to give up all of that; so I decided when I grew up I was going to try some. Shortly after making this momentous decision, the thalidomide scare came out. I didn't want to have deformed children so I decided that I would only try drugs after I had my children.
On occasion, at the shop, I would go into the bathroom and masturbate. This happened many times and provided me with an orgasm of pleasure and release from the tensions of life. At the age of nine, I had my first ejaculation. I was shocked! What's this stuff? I had a "mess" in my hands which caused me to realize, on the spot, where children came from. From that day forward I began assessing every female, from my own age bracket to grown-up adult women, to choose the woman that would bear my children.
My second rebellion took place at the shop but it was one within my mind. I had become aware of the welding process and the welding of plates of steel. I wanted a place to go where I could be alone, so I built a steel room in my mind; it had steel plates for the walls, floor, and ceiling. It had a door of steel. Inside, it had a chair and that was all of the furnishings that it contained. Once it was finished, I promptly entered, closed the door and sat down. The very first statement I made, within my mind, inside the vault, the inner sanctum, was this, "Now, nobody can get me, not even G.O.D." It was then that I heard a calm, soft, but strong voice with a faint echo. It whispered, "I was here when you built this; I AM even in the steel." Immediately, I admitted defeat, opened the door, and came out. I knew then that there was absolutely no way anyone would be able to get away with anything in this life; if they think they can they're just fooling themselves.
I still go there, to that room, but I have remodeled it. The walls, floor and ceiling are now made of polished stainless-alloy steel plates; the door is like that of a bank vault but which can be opened from the inside as well. There is a very comfortable chair, a bed, plus several more amenities in it. Usually, when I sleep there, I leave the door open; I truly wish I could do the same in real life but it doesn't seem to be the prudent thing to do, under present social conditions.
In the summer of 1959, the winds of change blew. My father announced that the Lord had called him to Canada to be a missionary there. This was highly unusual; G.O.D. didn't say a word to me about it; did I somehow miss a communique? Perhaps I wasn't listening. This was very disturbing to me. Abject poverty was about to come upon me and there wasn't anything I could do about it.
Every year, we moved, it seemed, and I never went to the same school for more than one year, sometimes going to as many as three different schools in the same school year. I've since learned that "army brats" suffer likewise. Everywhere we went dad was starting up another church; I don't know how many he started in his lifetime but you wouldn't be able to count them with both hands. All the while he worked a regular job and supported the family too.
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