Splat. A True Story of People Making Life a Misery

splat

True story; At the age of fifteen on my way to class, confidence already shattered I felt something hit the back of my head. I ignored it. After all, that is what I did best, ignored the things that shattered me.
Then I felt something else hit me and I heard my ‘pals’ laughing as they walked behind me. And then the pelts started. One splat, two splat, more splats.
I suddenly realised what said splats were. I was being spat at, spat upon, my shattered confidence finally broken in a hail of phlegm.
When they saw I realised what was happening I was given a warning. Tell others and I’d be battered. My pals were great.

As I washed the spit of my blazer in the lonely toilet I realised something had to be done. I’d taken too many beatings, endured too much abuse, been frightened more times than I had a right to be. Imagine if you will. Guys you thought of as friends using you as a spit board. Getting their kicks out of hurling phlegm at you, covering you with their foul spit. And for what? Because I was a quiet, polite, eager to please kid? A decent fucking child. Splat. Something had to be done.

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Confidence can come from anywhere. There is water in the desert. If you are thirsty enough you’ll find it. I was thirsty. I found it.
Karate saved me. It took me weeks to find my courage. The courage needed to enter the dojo. The courage needed to don a white suit and ‘join in’.

37 years later and I’m still here. Roads travelled, fights fought, wrestlers wrestled. I’m still here.
If you think your child is being bullied, if you see he or she is nervous for no apparent reason then look for the truth. My parents, they pretty much lived in denial. Didn’t happen to their kid, why would it? They were people about town, no one would mess with their kid. But they did. Splat.
Seek out the truth for your child if you see the signs. Seek out the answer. You may find it lies in your local Martial Art gym. You may find it lies elsewhere, maybe music, art, dance, singing. Anything your child wants to do but is frightened of doing then encourage them to do it. It will bring them confidence.
It will bring them the confidence to turn around the the spitters and say “What the hell do you think you are doing, who the hell do you think you are doing it to?”
Give your child confidence, give them hope.
Many years later my tormentors turned out to be false prophets. I see them from time to time, now and again. I see them around. They now look at me in a different way. They look at me as the kid who came good, a fighter of repute. A fighter but still a gentleman.
They don’t spit at me anymore. Not anymore. Splat. It doesn’t happen nowadays.

You can visit Simon here and his Amazon author page here

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Drains

Before I was three years old I had been lost in the woods and in a separate incident fallen down a drain where I remained for quite some time before being found and rescued by neighbouring housewives searching for me. When I was five I was spat at, name called and beaten by a fellow, vicious classmate. By the time I was six I became very drunk on a family holiday abroad, spending the next day badly hungover. The mayhem, drinking and attracting violence stayed with me for most of my years before I fell to a condition known as agoraphobia. I binned all four afflictions when I found Martial Arts and beautiful love in the form of my wife and three children.

Then as I entered my thirties, those afflictions (minus the agoraphobia) returned. Violent men led to me to heavy drink which bought back the mayhem. Martial Arts and my healthy passion for the fighting world disappeared and my family almost followed until I found myself lying in a hospital bed on the brink of a disastrous adventure from which I may not have recovered. ‘Not again’ I thought to myself ‘Not again.” No more would I let mayhem take from me what was mine. It was time to climb out of the drain….and so I did. I have been called a failure…I am seen as a Father, I have been called a spaz…I have been successful, I have lost and I have won, I have been hated and I have been hugged but perhaps most importantly I have been called a waster and yet I have been named Warrior. I’ll leave you to judge as you read the book An Everyday Warrior, but hold on…it gets bumpy.

An Everyday Warrior is available hereImage