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Reginald Johnson

Professor Robert Lunday

English 1301

June 16, 2019

Rising from Submersion of Provocation

[Preface]

Life is anything but simple and this is often a lesson learned during adulthood. As a child many times one cannot evaluate the complexity of the world we live in due to numerous factors. Innocence serves as a child's blessing but can also serve as a burden when faced with an unusual situation and having to decipher fact from fiction. I was faced with many situations early in life that unfortunately stripped me of my innocence leaving me to swim in a pool of provocation and subjectivity. Unprepared, unequipped, and unaware I was unable to prevent the commencement of drowning but through trial, error, and perseverance I was able to retrieve myself from a place and build a great man in the process.

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Boom! My heart starts to race as fear overcomes me. The hairs on my arms are standing at attention as if my Spidey senses are tingling. “Please stop, Mouse!” “Duke, help me!” “AHHHHH! Please stop, please, stop, please!” The alarming scream of desperation sent chills down my spine; she was being brutally beaten. Unable save herself she reluctantly prompted my help in her emancipation. Little did she know, I an 8-year-old boy, held more fear in my heart of her abuser than she probably did, I was frozen. Stuck in between the innate response to help a person in distress and the fear of the ramifications that followed if I proceeded, I stood there, stiff. The hallway was like a tunnel cold, hard, and imperfect recently stripped of carpet, leaving behind little patches of padding and spike strips for reimplantation, I was uncertain. “Where you think you goin-! Get back in this room!” Her abuser filled with adrenalin rolled and leaped out of his chair to tackle the girl before she could escape the hallway. Tussling in efforts to regain her freedom the young girl was in fight or flight mode. Her tussle wasn’t the type of tussle you’d expect granted her dire situation, it was preserved in a way as if she didn’t want to escape, as if she was scared to defend herself.

The moment the girl and I locked eyes we could see the dread on each other’s face we were being abused and held captive with no means of escape. “Duke! Help me boy”, this time I acted without hesitation, with haste, with a sense of urgency. I wasn’t prompted by desperation; I was commanded by authority! As I engaged in the tussle I yelled to my uncle, “Grab her legs, Unk I have her arms”, as I assisted in the assault of this young woman. My natural being was tapped out and the boy my uncle was breeding was fully engaged. We tussled and fought as the energy that I previously witnessed from the woman amplified. Upon my engagement, in opposition to her initial request for my help, she exhibited a feeling of betrayal and wanted to hurt me for this inconceivable act. All parties involved were now fully engaged as if we all had a shot of caffeine-laced epinephrine and I don’t think anyone could truly conceive the true damage that we were all adversely causing ourselves. We fought without care because this had become personal to all. My uncle and I dragged the woman back into the room after the hard-fought tussle in the hallway. This woman was strong, her levels seemed to constantly rise like a super Saiyan from a Dragon Ball Z cartoon. I saw her forehead swell; her veins were pressurized she moved like she was condemned, and we were performing an exorcism. She tossed from wall to wall, her eyes were bloodshot as I tried to distinguish her sweat from tears. Her abuser was a different type of demon and no matter what she did his strength engulfed every ounce of her energy.

“Get out of here and close the door!” As I ran down the hallway to my shared dungeon, I felt horrible. I started to calm down and regain my composure as a rush of empathy and then shame overcame me, but I was unable to exhibit my true emotions. Knowing that if I shed a tear, cried aloud, or showed any form of negative emotion that I’d be the next victim and wearing the title of a “Punk” wasn’t acceptable. In my house, that title carried heavy negative weight and disallowed you any form of respect and acceptance which causes a lifetime of pain and anguish. Sitting upon my futon I listened as the screams worsened becoming louder and viler than before and, at this moment, I wasn’t scared. My heart was at ease and I knew that I was mentally damaged, caged, and there was no changing it.

This was the account of an innocent young boy who was unknowingly being prepared to engage in an act that would strip him of his innocence changing his life forever. I was unknowingly programmed to act immediately when this figure spoke and during that moment, I was in a state of being completely controlled. You see, as a child, my conception of life was very distorted. I thought I saw things through my own lens but in actuality, I viewed everything from the perspective of my uncle who I thought of as a man. In life the Alpha male often rules as everyone else sits aside away from his raft, my uncle was an Alpha. I have come to realize that there are different forms of Alpha, men that hold themselves in high regard below no other but refuse to exhibit their strength unless necessary. There are those who thrive on this energy and cannot conceal it for a moment which causes everyone around them to either challenge it or submit and this is where the problem lies. For a long time, I walked around causing trouble and pain thinking that I was becoming a man through my actions though it didn’t feel natural. It wasn’t until I was able to step from under my uncle, gain my independence, and learn life when I realized that I am a natural Alpha but my form of expression is different. I’m not the problem, I’m the solution and this is what it truly is to be a man.

Mouse; my best friend, my mentor, my inspiration, my uncle, the abuser, a Jack of All Trades and Master of None, was my teacher and my lessons weren’t structured. I had to learn on the fly and there were no notes. See, Mouse had a rough childhood. He became the oldest of 3 that once was 4 before the accidental death of his brother. Wearing his brothers’ blood on his hands, imprisonment since a juvenile, abuse, pressure, misguidance, and anger is what led him to become a cold-blooded man. His plight was unfortunate, nonetheless, his early adaptation proved successful within his chaotic community. He utilized his negatives to create his positive. Becoming the man in your section was a prideful feat where he was from, having the ability to translate that positioning across many different sections served as his evolution into true manhood. Money, power, respect the tokens of kings which Mouse held near and dear, he was as the top of the game and seemed invincible, until tragedy struck.  A traumatic car accident stripped him of his newfound identity by taking his ability to walk. Mouse had become partially physically paralyzed and completely mentally paralyzed.

September 23, 1993, I was born into the world. Thinking back on the stories my mother told me she vividly broke down the details of my birth. My mother carefully holding me as I cried, she was asked “what’s his name” and she was uncertain. Sitting aside her bed throughout the entire birth consoling her was her now oldest brother who was once her second brother, Mouse. Mouse had a name picked out when he received the news of conception and he couldn’t wait for this moment to disclose his wishes, wishes that would help him with closure, wishes that would heal. “Sis, name him after our big brother.” Hearing these words from mouse made it very clear what the name of her first child would be. These words evoked strong emotions causing laughter and tears as if it was destiny. Knock, Knock. May I come in, its Mrs. Patterson again here to see if you needed more time picking a name for the baby. “No ma’am, I’m ready. His name will be Reginald Stephon Johnson!” Regal and full of the essence I had been blessed with an angel and destined for a bountiful life of greatness.

My mother often tells me stories of my early days, the good time that I can’t recollect myself. My grandmother hadn’t laid eyes on me until this moment, “OMG! He looks so much like his uncle Reggie it's crazy.” It was as if she was looking at her late son in the flesh by the way she gazed in awe upon my family features. Everyone adored me as if I were some kind of doll that brought about the feeling of joy when you held me. For my mom it was scary; for my uncle it was perfect. Uncle Reggie was known as the sweetheart and protector all in one. Everyone had nothing but positive memories of his existence making it seem as though he was heaven-sent. Little did I know that I also served as a purpose, I was the remedy to the tragedy my family faced. After the loss of Uncle Reggie, my families were a broken people and my existence was like the glue that would hold them together as they fixed one another and became whole--once again a true family.

See being awarded such a title was more than just the casual blessing of distinction from others, this name held weight and cam with great responsibility. I carried an invisible burden that everyone but myself could utilize but me but this wasn’t an unfortunate situation for me, it was a blessing. The ability of enjoying the fruit of one who served as a remedy without the struggle that typically followed only brought about more joy a fulfillment an I felt whole within my family. This energy assisted in my development mentally and emotionally as I grew more and more happy, intelligent, proud, and compassionate through all the positive love I received. As an adult, my name continues to carry weight for those in my family and still serves them fulfillment as they recount the memories of my late uncle when in my presence. I now have come to understand the strength within my title, and it serves me well during times of insecurity or doubt. My name is less common and when introduced to peers I receive positive remarks in the regards such as, “Your name is very proper, regal if I might say.” My name provides me with a sense of honor and respect and as a man, I think that it can serve no better purpose.

My early childhood was (from what I can remember and the stories that I’ve been told) an absolute fairytale. I was the only child, the baby in the family, meaning that all of the attention and energy was on me. I hold nothing but happy memories of my early childhood: The holidays were awesome, family gatherings still existed, and I lived in a two-parent household while also remaining the prince of my grandparent’s kingdom. Life was great without complaint until my mom and stepfather decided to have more kids. This is when things started to slowly take a turn for the worse. I soon would experience the extreme effects of the mental, physical, and emotional trauma of which I had no idea even existed or let alone knew how to prepare and defend myself.

We were a perfect family in my eyes. One baby and then the addition of twins one year later. My siblings were angels, however, the death of one of my twin siblings crushed us all and to me seemed like it tore my parents apart more than it brought them together. They were absolute blessings just as I was but for us as a unit couldn’t prevent our parents from making very selfish decisions. Boom! “Get out of my house!” these are the arguments and fights between our parents that would wake my siblings and me during the night. Next, both our mother and father would storm into our room disputing if we would be leaving with one or staying which ultimately was nothing more than a final ploy to tip the scales of the argument in ones favor rather than true concern about our well-being. My fairy tale was dwindling in front of my eyes and my brothers, having yet to truly encompass such a feeling we're being taken through the trauma that they viewed as normal.

The trauma was anything but temporary and it was forced upon us without true warning and explanation, maybe our parents were ignorant of the depth of destruction they were causing. It’s possible that they stood in the middle of a tunneled mind state where they could only process their personal interests due to the emotions involved coupled with their adolescence. My mother was 15 years old at the time of my conception and she had recently endured the trauma of my grandparents getting a divorce after being together with her entire life and this affected her tremendously. She was ill-prepared for the life of adulthood in which she was hastily granted so she chose to respond with anger and maleficence by leading a life of deviance in revolt to everything her parents upheld. In her process of teaching them a lesson about pain and deceit she mistakenly conceived her first child and this to her was her punishment for the spiteful actions she engaged in and a lesson in the reality of such moves. At war with my grandparents, my mother was poorly cared for during that pregnancy as she lacked the knowledge and resources to ensure positive care for her and the baby, she was subjected to the will of my grandparents to facilitate her care and they had a point to prove. My mother was completely deflated at the news of her losing her first child and contrary to a popular opinion so were my grandparents and they understood that things had been taken too far and needed immediate reparations.

Reparations had taken full effect in my family from both parties and there was love in the household, my father arrived at the pinnacle of this movement and helped change my family’s life forever. My birth was explained to me as the cherry on top of the cake as I became the centerpiece of the family and a reason for continued love and unity. My parents, though very young at the time, set out to never allow me a life of turmoil and pain by committing to one another and focusing on building an unbreakable bond with time and effort. Promises are sometimes broken, and bonds torn in ways that can’t be mended was the typical summary of a relationship split where I’m from and my mother and father were critically torn but this tear was far from typical. My father was sentenced to 35 years to life in prison for murder shortly after my conception ending the covenant and subjecting my mother to a potential life of single parenthood and me his unborn child to the unfortunate of a bastardized child. Humans are forgiving beings, it is within our nature to forgive as it brings a feeling of peace upon our souls when we are free of burden and full of joy, my family finally understood that.

Similar to a glass sculpture my mother had climbed from the fire a bundle of indistinguishable greatness until she chose to mold herself with the experiences and hardships into a very hard sculpture of beauty that was hard to break. My mother made good on a bad situation and transformed our lives for the better on her own without me noticing any flaw or fault in her progression. All good things come to an end and those too good to be true come sooner and more aggressively, for the first time in life I was traumatized. My mother’s relationship with my step father came with many blessings but also brought along the largest burden when my brothers and I lost our father to prison and our mother to a broken spirit and a search for a second chance at life. My little family had been torn apart and dispersed with me being the odd man out, my mother moved herself and my brothers away and left me under the care of my grandparents and this is where the I learned some of the most valuable lessons. This is the place where I unknowingly developed my heaviest depression, a deep traumatic scar, and a lesson on what the world really holds and how demons can lurk within.

I today stand as a man of immense morality with a true sense of respect and honesty, I work hard for the things I want and own and I cherish every moment without the fear of deprivation or deceit. These trials have become my triumph in life as I am presented with new plights, I am able to adapt well and overcome. Experiencing things like abuse, neglect, and depravity unnoticeably allowed me to develop a very thick skin and the ability to recreate myself in a positive image. My uncle Mouse was the best and worst thing to happen in my life. The lessons I learned from him will forever fuel my ambition while also keeping me tamed and conscious of the way I treat others. I refuse to allow my past to stifle my present or my future and I owe this determination to surviving the pool of provocation.