The Demon Seed
Today was cousin Eric's and Rose's baby shower.
I refer to the baby as the "demon seed" because Eric is the devil.
Well, obviously not, but we grew up together and he used to beat me up as little kids and made me do unthinkable things (that by today's standards would most defintely be considered child abuse)or else he'd beat me up. Of course, being so much smaller and younger than he was, I had to do it. My parents had to work (my mom worked two jobs, one on the weekdays, one on the weekend)so they had my cousin Eric (four years my elder) and his brother Nick (six years my elder) watch me instead of hiring a babysitter.
Eric is crazy. Bottom line. Period.
From the age of 9 (not sure, could have been earlier) I remember being sent to the same school as them, we would get dropped off by my uncle Medy, (their dad, who by the way was an angel- a man who always thought of his family first before himself and sacrificed so much not only for his own family, but mine also)I'd go to my classes, and them to theirs and so on...
Then our report cards would arrive, and of course, I being the straight A student, would always want to make sure that I showed my parents my marks. Nick was fine, he was also a good student, but Eric was just straight stupid. I don't know for sure, but I do know that whenever report cards came out, I always got beat up extra hard around that time.
Summer time would come, and that, for most kids is the best time of the year. You get to do whatever you want for three months-- not have to wake up early, ride around town on your bike to the arcade, go to the waterslides and watch all the girls tops come off...
Unfortunately, mom and dad had to work, and couldn't afford a babysitter, so every weekday morning at 7:30 on the dot, I would be dropped off over at my cousins' house, clutching my dad's pant leg, not wanting him to leave me there and go to work.
I wasn't vocal about what was being done to me, so I don't blame my parents for not knowing, but I still remember one time, a bright and shiny, perfect day. I still hear the birds chirping as my dad sat me on the countertop so he could talk to me face to face. I think he knew that something was wrong, even before I said anything. God I remember that on this day I just started balling and crying and begging and pleading with him not to go, but I also remember that I couldn't come out with WHY I didn't want him to leave. He said, "I'll be home soon..." and looked into my eyes like he was trying to tell me subliminally to just come out and say what I needed to say.
I didn't. I couldn't. I didn't want Eric to get in trouble, because all it would do would just bring me a bigger beating/torturing when our parents weren't around.
I mean, what kind of 13-14 year old kid learns about having someone standing along a wall, with their arms stretched out to their sides like they're on a cross, and then having them hold five books on each arm, and if the books fall, you get hit? (remember, I was only 9-10 years old.)
Looking back, I can't really tell if it has had a negative effect on my life. He's obviously not beating me up anymore-- I've grown much much bigger than him, and I'm much much stronger than him, and now his lunacy is marked by periodic trips by the police to his house. Actually the cops haven't been there in a long time, more than two years really. He went back to the Philippines for a year and came back a married man.
A married man... go figure. And now he's having a kid. And I, yours truly, have been asked to be a Godfather.
I jumped at the chance. I want to be a major part of this child's life-- I do not want him being taught any of the stuff that Eric learned growing up, and I damn sure don't want any kid to go what I went through growing up with this guy.
My parents don't like me referring to their future nephew as "the demon seed". My dad told me a couple of days ago, "Don't take out on the child what the father did to you..." When he said that, it made me think. Now I REALLY do have a chance of making a difference in someone's life, and what better way than with a newborn child.
They already have a name for him- Matthew Dylan.
At least his name isn't "Damien", right?
I better stop writing. This entry has taken longer that I thought, and I have to clean up all these tissues. So I started crying, so what? It helps get it all out. I need a mocha.