Читать книгу The Roar of an Uncaged Lion - Frederick Howard Jr. - Страница 4

While my mother was giving birth to my older sister Kim, ten hours into labor the doctors realized there were two babies in the womb. Doctors fought to save the life of the second child, but after eighteen hours in the operating room they emerged with only Kim. My mom sank deep into an abyss of regret, remorse, and then depression. The family was in turmoil, but my dad being the loving husband he was tried to hold things together. However, the weight of caring for three rambunctious kids and a depressed wife in addition to his responsibilities at work was too overwhelming and in the end, he succumbed to the pressures.

In a desperate plea for help, my dad drove to the hospital seeking the advice of a doctor. By sheer luck he ran into the same doctor who delivered Kim in the hallway. The doctor’s advice to my dad was: “Get her pregnant, and do it fast.” The doctor’s reasoning was the only thing that could help my mom get over the loss of her child was the birth of another child. The story told throughout the family is that for the next four months no one outside the house saw hide or hair of my mom or dad until the announcement came—“I’m pregnant.”

I was born on August 11, 1974, in San Francisco, California, and was given the name Frederick Robert Howard Jr by my mother, Marsha Howard. Unlike the stories today of single mothers and deadbeat dads, I lived with both my parents every day of my life until I ran away. I was the fourth child of the Howard family, and due to the circumstances surrounding my conception, I became my mom’s favorite. The oldest of the kids was Shawn; at 5’6” and 138 lbs., she was the shield and sword that protected us from the dangers and kids outside the house. Due to this, my dad gave her the nickname Bruiser. Shawn was a beautiful caramel-complexioned young lady and because she had long hair and a pretty face, the boys of the neighborhood was always at our house. Shawn’s beauty was only second to her bad attitude, which always kept her ready to fight.

Next in line was Richard; standing a towering 6’1” and at about 150 lbs., he was my guardian when I left the house. Where he went so did I, my mom often commanded. Richie was real smart but feared everyone, except me. I often wondered why he didn’t like to fight but never questioned him about his fear. Richie’s defining feature was his head, which was a source of torment for him in school. His head sloped in the front and was straight up in the back, which gave the appearance of a cone. His dark-skinned muscular frame was never interesting to the girls, but he didn’t mind too much: he was only interested in making money.

Then there was Kim, the third child; she was quiet and shy, and hardly ever spoke or went outside because she was afraid of the other kids. Like Richie, Kim was teased throughout school because she had an overwhelming overbite. On her skinny frame, the overbite was the first thing one would notice. Kim stood about 5’4” but weighed only 100 lbs. She was dark-skinned and had hair like wool. Although at her core she was filled with love and compassion for others, no one knew because she was so shy and withdrawn. Kim was always our lookout when we were up to mischief.

Then there was me, the baby who was the miracle child. My mom gave me the nickname Tootie at birth. It just so happened that it was also the name of a girl on the hit TV show Facts of Life. Therefore, growing up I always felt as if I had something to prove. No matter how dangerous or absurd the dare, I always took it and it always ended in a butt whipping. Like Shawn I had a caramel complexion, and unlike the rest of the family I was born with two deep dimples on either side of my face. I stood 5’ and weighed 93 lbs. but my heart and courage made me feel as if I was 10’ tall. Even at an early age, I learned quickly to watch, listen, and learn in all my surroundings and situations. Due to the fact that training started early in the Howard family and in order to avoid a butt whipping, we needed to be attentive and absorb the lessons from our surroundings, parents, and each other quickly.

My mom at 5’2” 119 lbs. was the dominate presence in the house and my dad was her backup. My mom looked a lot like Cicely Tyson, with a brown sugar complexion, slim figure, and perfectly proportioned face, which made her beautiful. When it came to my mom, the older kids had to watch every word and facial expression, because she was always looking for the slightest sign of disrespect. Shawn was the only child who challenged my mom openly. As I think back on the characters of my siblings and myself as children and the way in which my parents chose to train us, I see a direct correlation with Shawn’s anger, Richie’s lack of courage, and Kim’s fearfulness.

Shawn’s anger came from the responsibilities that my mom laid on her at an early age. Shawn had to cook, get us up and dressed for school, and make sure we cleaned the house including our rooms. She was more of a parent to us than my mom and dad in my eyes. However, Shawn was a fifteen-year-old girl who was interested in boys and her friends, and these responsibilities limited the time she could devote to her own interests, which brought about resentments. These resentments built up and spilled out in mumblings and backtalking, but my mom always brought about order with pain.

I remember one evening Shawn was in the window talking to a boy and my mom overheard her, she asked Shawn, “Did you help Kim and Tootie with their homework?”

Shawn turned to face my mom and said, “They not my kids!”

With the speed of a greyhound and the ferocity of a charging rhino, my mom attacked her and when the dust had cleared, Shawn lay on the floor with a busted lip and a bruised left eye. Shawn picked herself up and hobbled into our room to do what my mom should have been doing.

Instances like this were common in the Howard household, but we were bound to a code that kept us in the same situation. From the time we were able to speak, my mom pounded into us that what happened in the house stayed in the house. For our parents this code was a shield that protected them, but for us it meant we had to suffer in silence. Richie tried once to reveal what was going on in the home, but my mom talked her way out of it and the butt whipping he got for it put the fear of God in all of us.

Richie’s lack of courage was instilled in him through butt whippings and intimidation carried out by my mom and dad. Anytime Richie got up the nerve to challenge a rule or a command, he was swiftly and mercilessly dealt with. My mom’s authority was maintained through fear and Richie’s 6’1” frame was a silent threat to the status quo. My mom believed that if a child disrespected or was disobedient to her, the way to get them to mind was to apply pain, and if they continued a wrong course then apply more pain. My mom’s punishments were so severe that Richie came to fear the very thought of pain in all its forms. I recall one situation while we were living in Oakland. There were always kids who challenged each other to fights to prove who was the toughest. No one messed with me because I was always up for a fight, but Richie was a different story.

One day my mom yelled into our room, “Richie and Shawn, get down here!” As Shawn and Richie ran down the stairs, they both in unison yelled back, “Yes!” My mom pointed to the money lying on the coffee table and said, “I need yawl to go to the store to get a loaf of bread, and please don’t bring me back no white bread.”

As they walked back home, they encountered three boys about Richie’s age who wanted Richie to fight. One boy said, “What’s up, Rich-nard?” Richie immediately said, “I didn’t say it.”

Shawn unaware of what was happening said, “Say what?” Before Richie could answer, one of the boys swung and missed, but his intent was enough for Shawn and she dropped the bread and attacked the boy. The other two boys jumped in, but Richie had seen all he needed to and he turned and ran, while Shawn fought all three boys.

When I later asked Richie why he ran, he said, “I didn’t want to be hit,” a phobia he overcame in his later years. However, this began a cat and mouse game between Richie and the boys of the neighborhood where we lived. Anytime they would see Richie they would chase him. Richie’s only sanctuary was in the confines of the front yard. We all had our quirks and limitations placed on us by the environment and our upbringing, but Kim had it the worst by my standards.

Shawn, Richie, and I never had any trouble making friends, but Kim’s shyness was a great hindrance to her social development. The fear of upsetting my mom was a great motivator to keep silent around the house. My mom ascribed to the notion that children should be seen and not heard, and Kim bought into it wholeheartedly. Kim’s willingness to be silent around the house made it easy to carry the same behavior outside the house as well. One summer day while most of the parents of the neighborhood were at work, my siblings got into an argument with another family’s kids. The Johnson family had a girl we called big Kim and her sister Teresa; my family had Shawn and Kim.

The four girls matched off as big Kim yelled, “Shawn, I’m gon beat yo ass!” Shawn’s response: “You might know karate, but it ain’t gon help you. Your ass is mine, bitch!” The fight between Shawn and big Kim lasted only a couple of minutes. They went around in a circle for two minutes then with a facial expression that could have killed a cat, big Kim did a sweeping roundhouse kick; Shawn the street brawler that she was, grabbed Big Kim’s leg, picked her up, and slammed her to the ground.

Big Kim yelled, “Get off me and let’s start fresh!” Shawn said, “No, you wanted to fight, bitch, so let’s fight!” Big Kim called out to her sister, “Teresa, get this bitch off of me!” As Teresa started to grab Shawn’s foot to drag her off her sister, Shawn said, “Kim, you better beat her ass!”

The problem was Kim was nowhere to be found, so after the fight we searched all over the neighborhood for Kim but could not find her. Once it started to get dark and there was still no Kim, we began to worry. Shawn called my mom and told her we could not find Kim.

My mom asked, “What happened? Did yawl check all through the house?” Shawn said, “Yeah, she not here.” My mom said, “Check again, and call me back.” After we searched again, Shawn called my mom back and said, “We still can’t find her.” My mom, knowing her daughter, asked, “Did yawl check under the beds?” Shawn said, “No, why?” My mom said, “Check and call me back.”

We found Kim under her bed sound asleep. Shawn yelled at Kim, “Why you under the bed?” We all knew it was because she was afraid to fight, and she knew if Shawn had found her she would have made her fight. Kim’s lack of heart caused her many problems as a child, but my oversized heart may have caused me just as many, if not more, problems.

I remember at age six wondering about the strange light emanating from the box my mother used to prepare our food, which I later learned was the stove. I was big enough to reach the top of it, and on more than one occasion I tried to touch the fire but was always prevented by someone older.

One day when my mom wasn’t home and Shawn was cooking, I just happened to walk by the kitchen. Shawn asked, “Tootie, you hungry?” I said, “Yeah.” As she turned to make my plate, the dazzling fire drew me in like a moth to the light. Slowly I reached up and tried again to touch the fire. Shawn yelled out, “Stop! Daddy, Tootie’s trying to touch the fire again.”

My dad, a stocky, brown-skinned man of about thirty-five, with his sternest face said, “Let him touch it.”

Trembling because of my dad’s face and because everyone came to watch, but at the same time filled with excitement, adrenaline, and relief, in one of my most climactic experiences of that time I slowly reached for the fire. As my hand entered the flame, at first I just felt warmth which intrigued me, but the longer my hand stayed in the fire an intense burning replaced fascination, and all at once I both screamed and cried. Richie yelled, “Dummy!” Then Kim said, “That’s what you get!”

Everyone laughed, and for the next three weeks Richie and Kim took turns asking me if I wanted to touch the fire again. As I look back, here is where two of my most corrupt morals were formed. In that moment I learned it is funny when other people get hurt and trials, difficulties, and pain were the victim’s fault. These two morals were the first two stones laid in the foundation of my corruption. Before this time, I felt sad if others were crying and went to defend them. However, there would be more morals and values to come that would turn an otherwise thoughtful, generous, honest, truthful kid into a selfish, stingy, deceitful liar.

After the experience with the fire, I became distrustful of my family and to some extent even myself. Even though I didn’t understand the meaning of love, I often wondered why my friends and their siblings did things that mine didn’t. Most of my friends who had big brothers were protected and helped by them. Richie and I were close, but every chance he got he would beat on me. If he wasn’t throwing me across the room, he would smother me with pillows or blankets, which for a seven-year-old was terrifying.

One day as I entered the room Richie and I shared, he was lying on his bed. When he looked up and saw me, I instantly knew but it was too late. Richie, who stood at a towering 6’1” said, “Tootie, you want to wrestle?” At that time I was about 5’ so I tried to back up, but like a hungry lion he pounced. Before I knew it, I was the helpless victim of the DDT (a violent chokehold where you slam your opponent’s head into the floor). If that wasn’t bad enough, when I got up the nerve to go and tell my parents, I was told to stop being a tattletale. Through this experience, the third and fourth morals were added to my character. The third and fourth principles were: Prey on those weaker than you, and never tell on anyone. These principles were contrary to my earlier character. Up until that time I was a defender of those weaker than me, and felt telling was the only way to get help. At the time I made no conscious decision to change, but unconsciously I adapted to my environment.