I was six years old when I wet my pants for the first time at school. Because
the orphanage had always forbidden us to use the bathroom, except for when
"they" thought it was necessary, I had become afraid to ask my first grade
teacher to allow me to go and use the little boy's room. So I would just sit at
my desk shaking my little legs, back and forth,
hoping that I could hold it until the bell rang. But this time I was not so
lucky because the pain was so severe, and my stomach hurt so badly. I tried to
release just a little bit at a time so that I would not start crying or become
embarrassed in front of the entire class. But once it started coming out I could
not stop it and the pain just got worse and worse.
Several of the boys who were sitting behind me started laughing rather loudly
and then the entire classroom, realizing what had happened, also started
laughing at me. The teacher motioned for me to come up in front of the classroom
and handed me some newspaper and told me to get down on my hands and knees and
wipe up the water, which had ran under several of the desks. I tried to laugh
along with the other children but I was so ashamed that I did not know what to
do, say or how to act. So I just got onto my knees and wiped real slow hoping
that the bell would ring so that I would not have to look any of the other kids
in the face.
Finally the bell rang and the kids ran out for recess and called me names as
they went by my desk. The teacher stood over me and told me that I should be
very ashamed of myself and that when the class resumed that I was to stand with
my face in the corner for the remainder of the day. After I had cleaned up after
myself I walked out into the hallway and just stood there, to embarrassed to go
out onto the school yard with the other children. When the school bell rang
again, all the children started to file back into the classroom. I quickly
ducked into the bathroom and hid in one of the stalls, with my feet up on the
toilet seat, until everything became quiet.
Then I ran out of the bathroom and down the long hallway and left the school
building. I knew the teacher would call the orphanage and that I would be beaten
or switched when I returned to the orphanage that afternoon. So I decided I was
going to run away and never come back. As I walked around in different
neighborhoods I happened upon this one house which had left their garage door
open. Laying against the wall was a large rifle. I walked very slowly up to the
building, looked around, then grabbed the rifle and ran as fast as I could back
down Spring Park Road back towards the school building.
As I stood crouched behind a large bush I could see the children moving around
in my classroom. I opened the rifle to make sure there was ammunition and found
it to be completely loaded. At that point I did not know what to do or where to
go. I only knew that I could never return to school or to the orphanage and that
I wanted to get even with everyone for laughing at me.
I stood there for five minutes or so just listening to the sounds of the cars
passing and the birds singing in the large bush. Slowly I raised the rifle and
looked down the barrel and I pointed the gun towards the school window where I
scoped from child to child and then directed my aim at several of the passing
cars.
Then I made my decision, pointed the rifle and I slowly placed my finger on the
trigger, holding my breath. Then I closed my eyes tightly, and slowly without
moving I pulled the trigger until the rifle jerked and fired with a bang. I just
stood there for a moment, then let the rifle fall to the ground.
I felt something wet so I took off my undershirt and wiped my face and eyes. I
felt rather sick to my stomach as I picked myself up off the ground. After a
minute or so I pulled myself together and walked, very slowly, back towards the
large bush where I had been standing when I fired the weapon. I just stood there
motionless looking at what I had done. I looked at all the blood and I could not
believe that this had really happened or that I had done something this
terrible.
I reached out and touched the blood with my finger. I dropped to my knees then
fell onto my face and stomach into the dirt and I just laid there crying. I
looked upward at the beautiful blue sky and all the puffy white clouds and then
I slowly lowered my head back down into the dirt. I was there for the longest
time, just looking at the most beautiful orange and black colors laying next to
my head. It was still very warm when I finally managed to get up enough nerve to
touch the injured area. I shall never forget that limp, lifeless broken neck and
the warm motionless body of the only thing (a red-winged black bird) that I ever
killed in my whole life.
I returned the BB gun to the house where I had taken it and, yes, I did receive
a terrible beating when I returned to the orphanage later that day. But it was a
beating that this six year old killer did not mind taking. I just stood in the
sewing-room the entire time of the beating with my head hung in shame. As a
child in the orphanage I had always thought that there was nothing worse than
being a orphan without anyone to love you. Second to that would be having other
children laugh at you because you had big ears, and third, having all the
children laugh at you when you wet your pants, because you were to afraid to ask
to go to the bathroom.
When I returned to school the next day, where the children were still laughing
at me, I had already learned a very important lesson about life itself. I now
knew in my heart that there was a terrible, even more horrible, feeling far
worse than not being loved as a little boy -- and that was to hold something
warm, dead and lifeless in the palm of my hand that I had killed with a gun.
Something that had only come by to sing to me because I was sad and all alone.
Now as a man I look back and wonder if that red-winged black bird gave it's own
life to save the lives of others.
I shall not write, say or think anymore about this subject.
Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.
Trampolineone@webtv.net
Thanks to HeartWarming
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