Post by Tyler Hendrix on Dec 4, 2013 6:28:13 GMT
Brown and yellow leaves fell from the tops of the trees as I walked down the paved sidewalk. I caught them each in my hand, crunching them up and watching the pieces float to the ground.
You used to love to play in the leaves. Your neighbors would sweep them into nice, neat piles, and then you’d jump right into them.
My childhood years spent here were happy not so happy ones. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I could have bought a house on this same block, raised my family in one of those perfect little houses, with their perfect little white picket fences, and had a perfect little life.
Some dreams aren’t meant to be, I guess.
My life took a left turn somewhere between normal and insane, and I’ve been riding the center lane for the better part of five years. I still remembered the conversation I had with my parents as I told them that my future was in professional wrestling after my brothers death.
Did we have a stimulating, intelligent discussion about it? Maybe some understanding and support?
Of course not. That would be too nice of them.
Kicking pebbles along the road amused me for the moment, but only brought me back to the inevitable truth – I wasn’t going home because I wanted to, but because I had to. It sounded selfish. Hell, maybe a tad asshole-ish, if that’s even a word, but it was true. Some people want to see their family every chance they got. God knows I love my parents, but I can’t stand the negativity anymore.
It was a colder than average afternoon in Miami, especially for the winter. Even on the warmest day, the cool ridge of air coming in from the bay made it no warmer than sixty degrees, and suddenly you had to put on that warm pair of slacks instead of those khaki shorts. I put my hands in my jean pockets, slumping my shoulders as I walked.
Walk up straight, Tyler. People know a man from a boy when they see him striding with pride.
Pride. You want me to have pride when you don’t even care that I risk my life in that ring every night I step into the squared circle?
My childhood home was coming up in a few steps. On the ground was the same crack in the sidewalk that me and my sister made when we were only fourth graders. We took old forks and scratched out a trail while we ventured out from the house.
We need the trail to find our way back home, My sister explained. Or else we’ll be lost forever!
I followed the trail to the front fence. It was painted a pale white, just like in the old television shows. I reached around the back, unhooking the latch, and swinging the gated fence to the side. Weeds grew alongside the lawn, which was obviously not being up kept. As I made my way up the stairs, a heavy feeling began to overwhelm me. I loved this house. I loved this neighborhood.
I loved my parents.
But they didn’t love me. That was my perception, because they did. I was their son, and their love would be eternal. But I couldn’t help but remember that forgiveness is divine, and true love lied in the heart. My heart was cold, I haven’t been in this house since my brothers death.
The door mat said “Welcome Home” in large, colorful words.
Sure. Whatever.
The cup of coffee was burning hot, sizzling all the way down my throat as I tried to drink. It was bitter sweet, with a touch of sugar blended into the black poison. I hated coffee, but I choked it down for the sake of my mother. She thought you needed it to survive.
“It’s your favorite blend,” My mother said, smiling as she sat down next to me on the couch. She patted me on the leg and I nodded with a forced smile.
“I don’t really have a favorite blend,” I replied. “Coffee’s not really my thing, but thanks for the cup.”
She frowned disapprovingly. Like I’ve never seen that before. “Every working man’s got to have his cup of coffee. How would he get through the day?”
“Tyler isn’t like every working man.”
The insult ridden comment came from my father, Stephen Hendrix, who sat down on the couch opposite of me, sipping a cup of tea. His hair was tinted gray, slicked back to maintain a sense of youth, and he wore a dark green sweater with brown slacks. He looked like a gentleman – a man who would be widely respected.
“That’s right,” I said with a sour look on my face, “I don’t really work. I just get inside of a silly square and flail my arms around, right dad? What I need to do is get a real job…”
“I wouldn’t argue with that…”
“Stephen…” My mother said sternly, glaring a look back at my father.
“No, it’s okay, mom. He’s always been like this. It’s not like I’m not used to it.”
“I didn’t choose your career, Tyler.”
I put my cup down, watching the steam rise from it like the rage that was rising from me. My face was flush, my hands trembling. I had only spoken back to my father a few times in my life, but every time I did, it felt like a chasm grew between us. It used to make me feel guilty, but the chasm was so large now, I didn’t know if anything could close it.
“Of course you didn’t dad. I chose it myself. I dug my own grave, right?”
My mother put a hand on mine, trying to calm me down. “Please honey, don’t do this. We only get to see you a few times a month. Let’s not argue…”
“Maybe if he took some time out of his busy schedule to spend some time with his family, we could discuss this like a family.” He shot me that look like I was at fault. Of course I was at fault. As far as he was concerned, I was guilty as charged before I even walked through the door.
“It comes with the job.”
“Like everything else right?” He asked, absolutely aghast with me. “Like having me and your mother worrying to death about you every night? Wondering if some maniac is going to put you out for good one night in those god awful matches?”
“I can take care of myself.” I stood up from the couch and turned around to leave. My mother grabbed me and begged me to stay.
“Please don’t, Tyler.”
My dad rose from his seat, eyes blowing a hole right through mine. “Let him go. He’s just going to run from this discussion like he always does, avoiding his responsibility.”
“Discussion?” I replied in disgust. “It’s more like a denigration of my life. You call that a discussion? I don’t have a responsibility to you, or what you want me to be. If you can’t accept that, then I guess I don’t have any reason to come back here.”
“Tyler, please!” My mom was almost in tears, watching her only son leave for maybe the last time.
I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, feeling the warmth of her tears rolling down her face. She had always tried to support me, but she lived in a household divided right down the middle. She was an innocent casualty.
As I walked to the door, I turned around and looked about the house. “So many memories here. Good and bad.” I shook my head, choking up a bit. “I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be, dad. But I can’t change reality, and you can’t live in your dreams. I guess that’s why I can’t be here anymore.”
I walked out the door, the sound of my mother sobbing in the background. My dad’s heartbeat could be heard from a few miles away, and his words were sharp and direct.
If you leave, don’t ever try to come back.
No problem, dad. I didn’t intend to. IWF, here I come.
You used to love to play in the leaves. Your neighbors would sweep them into nice, neat piles, and then you’d jump right into them.
My childhood years spent here were happy not so happy ones. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I could have bought a house on this same block, raised my family in one of those perfect little houses, with their perfect little white picket fences, and had a perfect little life.
Some dreams aren’t meant to be, I guess.
My life took a left turn somewhere between normal and insane, and I’ve been riding the center lane for the better part of five years. I still remembered the conversation I had with my parents as I told them that my future was in professional wrestling after my brothers death.
Did we have a stimulating, intelligent discussion about it? Maybe some understanding and support?
Of course not. That would be too nice of them.
Kicking pebbles along the road amused me for the moment, but only brought me back to the inevitable truth – I wasn’t going home because I wanted to, but because I had to. It sounded selfish. Hell, maybe a tad asshole-ish, if that’s even a word, but it was true. Some people want to see their family every chance they got. God knows I love my parents, but I can’t stand the negativity anymore.
It was a colder than average afternoon in Miami, especially for the winter. Even on the warmest day, the cool ridge of air coming in from the bay made it no warmer than sixty degrees, and suddenly you had to put on that warm pair of slacks instead of those khaki shorts. I put my hands in my jean pockets, slumping my shoulders as I walked.
Walk up straight, Tyler. People know a man from a boy when they see him striding with pride.
Pride. You want me to have pride when you don’t even care that I risk my life in that ring every night I step into the squared circle?
My childhood home was coming up in a few steps. On the ground was the same crack in the sidewalk that me and my sister made when we were only fourth graders. We took old forks and scratched out a trail while we ventured out from the house.
We need the trail to find our way back home, My sister explained. Or else we’ll be lost forever!
I followed the trail to the front fence. It was painted a pale white, just like in the old television shows. I reached around the back, unhooking the latch, and swinging the gated fence to the side. Weeds grew alongside the lawn, which was obviously not being up kept. As I made my way up the stairs, a heavy feeling began to overwhelm me. I loved this house. I loved this neighborhood.
I loved my parents.
But they didn’t love me. That was my perception, because they did. I was their son, and their love would be eternal. But I couldn’t help but remember that forgiveness is divine, and true love lied in the heart. My heart was cold, I haven’t been in this house since my brothers death.
The door mat said “Welcome Home” in large, colorful words.
Sure. Whatever.
The cup of coffee was burning hot, sizzling all the way down my throat as I tried to drink. It was bitter sweet, with a touch of sugar blended into the black poison. I hated coffee, but I choked it down for the sake of my mother. She thought you needed it to survive.
“It’s your favorite blend,” My mother said, smiling as she sat down next to me on the couch. She patted me on the leg and I nodded with a forced smile.
“I don’t really have a favorite blend,” I replied. “Coffee’s not really my thing, but thanks for the cup.”
She frowned disapprovingly. Like I’ve never seen that before. “Every working man’s got to have his cup of coffee. How would he get through the day?”
“Tyler isn’t like every working man.”
The insult ridden comment came from my father, Stephen Hendrix, who sat down on the couch opposite of me, sipping a cup of tea. His hair was tinted gray, slicked back to maintain a sense of youth, and he wore a dark green sweater with brown slacks. He looked like a gentleman – a man who would be widely respected.
“That’s right,” I said with a sour look on my face, “I don’t really work. I just get inside of a silly square and flail my arms around, right dad? What I need to do is get a real job…”
“I wouldn’t argue with that…”
“Stephen…” My mother said sternly, glaring a look back at my father.
“No, it’s okay, mom. He’s always been like this. It’s not like I’m not used to it.”
“I didn’t choose your career, Tyler.”
I put my cup down, watching the steam rise from it like the rage that was rising from me. My face was flush, my hands trembling. I had only spoken back to my father a few times in my life, but every time I did, it felt like a chasm grew between us. It used to make me feel guilty, but the chasm was so large now, I didn’t know if anything could close it.
“Of course you didn’t dad. I chose it myself. I dug my own grave, right?”
My mother put a hand on mine, trying to calm me down. “Please honey, don’t do this. We only get to see you a few times a month. Let’s not argue…”
“Maybe if he took some time out of his busy schedule to spend some time with his family, we could discuss this like a family.” He shot me that look like I was at fault. Of course I was at fault. As far as he was concerned, I was guilty as charged before I even walked through the door.
“It comes with the job.”
“Like everything else right?” He asked, absolutely aghast with me. “Like having me and your mother worrying to death about you every night? Wondering if some maniac is going to put you out for good one night in those god awful matches?”
“I can take care of myself.” I stood up from the couch and turned around to leave. My mother grabbed me and begged me to stay.
“Please don’t, Tyler.”
My dad rose from his seat, eyes blowing a hole right through mine. “Let him go. He’s just going to run from this discussion like he always does, avoiding his responsibility.”
“Discussion?” I replied in disgust. “It’s more like a denigration of my life. You call that a discussion? I don’t have a responsibility to you, or what you want me to be. If you can’t accept that, then I guess I don’t have any reason to come back here.”
“Tyler, please!” My mom was almost in tears, watching her only son leave for maybe the last time.
I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, feeling the warmth of her tears rolling down her face. She had always tried to support me, but she lived in a household divided right down the middle. She was an innocent casualty.
As I walked to the door, I turned around and looked about the house. “So many memories here. Good and bad.” I shook my head, choking up a bit. “I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be, dad. But I can’t change reality, and you can’t live in your dreams. I guess that’s why I can’t be here anymore.”
I walked out the door, the sound of my mother sobbing in the background. My dad’s heartbeat could be heard from a few miles away, and his words were sharp and direct.
If you leave, don’t ever try to come back.
No problem, dad. I didn’t intend to. IWF, here I come.