An Angry Man: A Memoir of My Journey to True Peace
An Angry Man: A Memoir of My Journey to True Peace
I can distinctly remember the first time I got angry.
In fact, it's one of my earliest memories. The years were 1978-79. I was five years old. We were staying with some friends of the family for about two weeks after having to prematurely move out of a house my parents just sold. I just remember riding in the back seat of the car, hearing Dad and Mom talk about going to a party that some friends from our church were having. Of course, I wanted to go, and I said so.
When Dad said no, even at that young age, something triggered in me. Perhaps it was the finality of it. Perhaps it wasn't getting my way. I don't know what it was that triggered me. But I can vividly remember becoming furious. So furious in fact that I determined that as soon as we got home, I was going to run away because it wasn't fair. As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, that's what I did. I took off as fast as I could run. I had befriended a kid up the street from where we were staying, and I ran headlong to his front door. I beat on the front door until he and his mom came to the door, and I asked his mom if I could live with them. I don't recall their reaction, but I'm sure my friend's mother was shocked. Then Dad came around the corner, calling my name.
I was bound and determined that I was not going to go home with him, so I started climbing on a metal latticework support near the front door. I was going to climb onto the roof and refuse to come down! I was not going home with Dad. It seems funny now, a five-year-old child thinking he could just climb on the roof of a house and live there just to get away from his anger. But I knew that's what I was going to do. Dad caught me before I made it very far up the lattice, and he carried me writhing and squirming back to the house. Mom told me she'd never seen me act like that, both legs kicking and arms flailing in fury. She said my response scared her, and Dad as well. Naturally, as a non-denominational Christian family, the Bible says spare the rod and spoil the child, so I got a good whuppin'. What I remember most is this: we were probably in there for half an hour, but for what seemed like hours to me, I refused to cry. Dad would spank with the belt a few times, then he would ask me if I was going to be obedient. He seemed to be quite afraid of the way I was reacting, because I was determined not to break. I was too angry! I don't know what inside of me released me to give in. It wasn't pain, or tiredness, or lack o
In fact, it's one of my earliest memories. The years were 1978-79. I was five years old. We were staying with some friends of the family for about two weeks after having to prematurely move out of a house my parents just sold. I just remember riding in the back seat of the car, hearing Dad and Mom talk about going to a party that some friends from our church were having. Of course, I wanted to go, and I said so.
When Dad said no, even at that young age, something triggered in me. Perhaps it was the finality of it. Perhaps it wasn't getting my way. I don't know what it was that triggered me. But I can vividly remember becoming furious. So furious in fact that I determined that as soon as we got home, I was going to run away because it wasn't fair. As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, that's what I did. I took off as fast as I could run. I had befriended a kid up the street from where we were staying, and I ran headlong to his front door. I beat on the front door until he and his mom came to the door, and I asked his mom if I could live with them. I don't recall their reaction, but I'm sure my friend's mother was shocked. Then Dad came around the corner, calling my name.
I was bound and determined that I was not going to go home with him, so I started climbing on a metal latticework support near the front door. I was going to climb onto the roof and refuse to come down! I was not going home with Dad. It seems funny now, a five-year-old child thinking he could just climb on the roof of a house and live there just to get away from his anger. But I knew that's what I was going to do. Dad caught me before I made it very far up the lattice, and he carried me writhing and squirming back to the house. Mom told me she'd never seen me act like that, both legs kicking and arms flailing in fury. She said my response scared her, and Dad as well. Naturally, as a non-denominational Christian family, the Bible says spare the rod and spoil the child, so I got a good whuppin'. What I remember most is this: we were probably in there for half an hour, but for what seemed like hours to me, I refused to cry. Dad would spank with the belt a few times, then he would ask me if I was going to be obedient. He seemed to be quite afraid of the way I was reacting, because I was determined not to break. I was too angry! I don't know what inside of me released me to give in. It wasn't pain, or tiredness, or lack o
PRP: 92.69 Lei
Acesta este Pretul Recomandat de Producator. Pretul de vanzare al produsului este afisat mai jos.
83.42Lei
83.42Lei
92.69 LeiPrimesti 83 puncte
Livrare in 2-4 saptamani
Descrierea produsului
I can distinctly remember the first time I got angry.
In fact, it's one of my earliest memories. The years were 1978-79. I was five years old. We were staying with some friends of the family for about two weeks after having to prematurely move out of a house my parents just sold. I just remember riding in the back seat of the car, hearing Dad and Mom talk about going to a party that some friends from our church were having. Of course, I wanted to go, and I said so.
When Dad said no, even at that young age, something triggered in me. Perhaps it was the finality of it. Perhaps it wasn't getting my way. I don't know what it was that triggered me. But I can vividly remember becoming furious. So furious in fact that I determined that as soon as we got home, I was going to run away because it wasn't fair. As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, that's what I did. I took off as fast as I could run. I had befriended a kid up the street from where we were staying, and I ran headlong to his front door. I beat on the front door until he and his mom came to the door, and I asked his mom if I could live with them. I don't recall their reaction, but I'm sure my friend's mother was shocked. Then Dad came around the corner, calling my name.
I was bound and determined that I was not going to go home with him, so I started climbing on a metal latticework support near the front door. I was going to climb onto the roof and refuse to come down! I was not going home with Dad. It seems funny now, a five-year-old child thinking he could just climb on the roof of a house and live there just to get away from his anger. But I knew that's what I was going to do. Dad caught me before I made it very far up the lattice, and he carried me writhing and squirming back to the house. Mom told me she'd never seen me act like that, both legs kicking and arms flailing in fury. She said my response scared her, and Dad as well. Naturally, as a non-denominational Christian family, the Bible says spare the rod and spoil the child, so I got a good whuppin'. What I remember most is this: we were probably in there for half an hour, but for what seemed like hours to me, I refused to cry. Dad would spank with the belt a few times, then he would ask me if I was going to be obedient. He seemed to be quite afraid of the way I was reacting, because I was determined not to break. I was too angry! I don't know what inside of me released me to give in. It wasn't pain, or tiredness, or lack o
In fact, it's one of my earliest memories. The years were 1978-79. I was five years old. We were staying with some friends of the family for about two weeks after having to prematurely move out of a house my parents just sold. I just remember riding in the back seat of the car, hearing Dad and Mom talk about going to a party that some friends from our church were having. Of course, I wanted to go, and I said so.
When Dad said no, even at that young age, something triggered in me. Perhaps it was the finality of it. Perhaps it wasn't getting my way. I don't know what it was that triggered me. But I can vividly remember becoming furious. So furious in fact that I determined that as soon as we got home, I was going to run away because it wasn't fair. As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, that's what I did. I took off as fast as I could run. I had befriended a kid up the street from where we were staying, and I ran headlong to his front door. I beat on the front door until he and his mom came to the door, and I asked his mom if I could live with them. I don't recall their reaction, but I'm sure my friend's mother was shocked. Then Dad came around the corner, calling my name.
I was bound and determined that I was not going to go home with him, so I started climbing on a metal latticework support near the front door. I was going to climb onto the roof and refuse to come down! I was not going home with Dad. It seems funny now, a five-year-old child thinking he could just climb on the roof of a house and live there just to get away from his anger. But I knew that's what I was going to do. Dad caught me before I made it very far up the lattice, and he carried me writhing and squirming back to the house. Mom told me she'd never seen me act like that, both legs kicking and arms flailing in fury. She said my response scared her, and Dad as well. Naturally, as a non-denominational Christian family, the Bible says spare the rod and spoil the child, so I got a good whuppin'. What I remember most is this: we were probably in there for half an hour, but for what seemed like hours to me, I refused to cry. Dad would spank with the belt a few times, then he would ask me if I was going to be obedient. He seemed to be quite afraid of the way I was reacting, because I was determined not to break. I was too angry! I don't know what inside of me released me to give in. It wasn't pain, or tiredness, or lack o
Detaliile produsului
