Clarence Willard Part 2 By: Parker Woody
         Clarence Willard Part 2










                By: Parker Woody life stories
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parkerwoody Love to write, love to read
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The life of Clarence Willard

Clarence Willard Part 2 By: Parker Woody

I just learned to walk, I feel a sore on the bottom of my leg that is a rash. There is no point in crying because the person I call mom never comes.

She only changes my diaper once the smell has become too much to tolerate.

The 2 older brothers nick named me "stinky" on account of the smell that lingers around me from always haveing a dirty diaper.

I grow up angry, and confused as to why this woman, treats my 2 brothers with such love and tenderness, and only shows me contempt, and impatience.

Snapping at any mistake I make, beating me with wooden spoons, switches, or anything within reach for the smallest things I would do

My father was always working, and in those days, you were to be seen not heard. So as far as me and him, our relationship was nonexistent. For an entire year in 1940, at the age of 5.

I went out of my way to be on my best behavior, thinking that if I didnt upset my "mother" I would get everything I wanted for Christmas.

Knowing my intentions, my mother, out of spite, gave me nothing but a lump of coal, and once I was done crying, wondering what i had done wrong.

She comes to my "room" (which was nothing more than a hole in the wall really) and tells me, "Santa isnt real Stinky, I put that coal in there.

And I did it because no matter how hard you try, your nothing but worthless trash." And walked away leaving me there stunned.

After an hour of feeling bad for myslef, I decided I hated that woman, and I was done trying to please anyone in that house.

I became bitter, closed off, and once I got big enough, would leave and never return. The years role by, everytime my "mother" beat me, I never gave her the satisfaction of making a sound.

Eventually she stopped paying me attention all together, which was fine with me. I worked in different jobs making my own money, never asking my parents for anything.

Graduation day comes, I'm sitting with my father waiting for "mom" to get ready, when I hear a knock at the door. My father had gotten up for a smoke so he answered the door.

I dont hear anyone say anything, but then my father comes back into the the living room, sits down, takes a drag off his cigarette, and says, "Your moms at the door"...

To be continued...

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