theshithousepoetstrikesagain

[theshithousepoetstrikesagain]

I couldn't have been nine. I was lighter then. Fat didn't hang on me like kudzu. My hair hadn't darkened yet. My mother was going through her third divorce. Times were hard. Even in the summer, the world felt cold. I was bouncing back and forth between my grandparents' houses. One week with my dad's mother, a few weeks with my mom's parents. It realistically couldn't have been that long. But it felt like an eternity. Waves of uncertainty hanging over the halls of my kin like thunderstorms before a hurricane. Questions I didn't have the answers to and dared not ask filled my young mind. 

Over the years, my family and I had our issues. But occasionally, there were moments of calm that made everything seem normal. At least, that's how it felt. My grandfather would wake me early before school each morning, and would let me watch cartoons before it was time to leave. I don't remember how often this happened, but it was peaceful. Those weekday mornings browsing Spectrum's On Demand programming for everything I'd missed on Cartoon Network. Clarence and Regular Show were favorites of mine at the time. I remember Over The Garden Wall's premier too. Did he know what he was doing? Maybe. Did he just not want to be alone in a dark house? That could be it to. I have more questions than answers when it comes to him. 

Moving on, I used to catch BTAS reruns at my grandmothers house too, when my dad was around. He put me on to Batman young. I idolized Robin too, especially his character in Teen Titans. As for the food, there was always classic American cuisine on a plate before me. Sausage or chicken biscuit with sawmill gravy, pancakes, eggs, syrup, peanut butter toast with bananas, et cetera. Depends on the morning. 

These moments were periods of respite for my mind. I could just turn my brain off and be a kid, even if just for a little while. You see, I had grown accustomed to being put into adult situations and acting accordingly. A position one too many children in this world are put in. It made a man of me, yes. Taught me responsibility and valuable lessons. But at the same time, it was suffocating. My elders assumed I was just abnormally resilient. Truth is I was fragile. Unbearably fragile. Being around people my own age made me feel weak. I saw what I was missing. The room to grow. Oh, how I craved it. But I knew it was never coming. Not in any way that mattered. No cavalry was coming over the hill. If I was to survive, I had to be my own hero. Something more than a man. I had to be Superman. Not just for me, but for my family. In fact, I had several Superman shirts growing up. But never one with a Bat symbol. It's only now I'm putting the pieces together. Connecting dots. At the time, it made sense to help others before myself. Put out the fires, then shovel the ashes. But now, a part of me wishes I'd been more selfish. I wouldn't sleep well at night, but I might be a few pounds lighter. Might have kissed a girl before high school. Might have been and done a lot of things, if only I had let the fires burn a bit longer. Even now I'm the defacto father figure among most of my friends. People far more experienced and qualified than I lean on me like a god among men. I am grateful for their trust and companionship, but the weight begins to sting and gnaw with time. I learned as a boy how to put the red cape on. As a man, I just can't seem to get it off…