Cussedness

(mirrored from lj)

When I get very tired memories start to pour out and I think about things I don't normally think about, talk about things I don't normally talk about, and say things I would not normally say, especially in a late night chat.

Last night the subject of my disability came up and I found myself talking in a brief fashion about some of episodes that stood out in my mind from my childhood.

One of those was Papa's hands. After the polio, which affected only the left side, my leg stayed ice cold for the first few years, even in the warm California weather. I had terrible cramps in that leg and they would wake me in the night screaming. I was eight years old.

If Papa were still alive, he'd turn a hundred years old this year.

He was a man of few words, but actions speak far louder. When I would let out a yell, he sprang from bed and came to my room. He wouldn't even stop to turn on the light, there was enough from the hall light that they left on at night, and start to work on my leg. I will always remember those great big hands working to get the cramp out, patient and determined, while Mama drew a hot bath to emmerse me in. Once Mama got the bath drawn, he'd pick me up and carry me to her, then leave, no words spoken.

The hot water always did a lot to relieve the pain. Once I was all right again, Mama would wrap me up and Papa would return me to bed. He worked long hours as a welder, but he was always there, patient and tireless, when I needed him.

Papa's hands and comforting presence are things I will never forget.

I'm in the process of putting all of this together into a book about what it was like to grow up as a disabled child in the 60s

Vote for my journal

Other spots to find me:
http://janraefrank.blogspot.com/
http://www.livejournal.com/users/cussedness

Some brief creds, a partial list

articles published in:
Movieline *** Cinefantastique *** Washington Post Book World *** Los Angeles Times *** Los Angeles Drive Guide *** Black Belt *** Martial Arts Weapons *** Monsterland *** Thrust: Science Fiction in Review *** Science Fiction Review

Former MPAA Accredited Journalist.
Currently Active member, SFWA, HWA

Cussedness Godwar Central Station LEVEL 20 ARCH-CURMUDGEON ALL HATE MAIL WILL BE POSTED I am an out of the closet, bi-sexual gender queer and have long believed that the personal is political. Perhaps that is simply a bit of 1960s idealism that most people have outgrown; but it remains near and dear to me. I am the best-selling dark fantasy ebook author of the Dark Brothers of the Light series. I made my first short story sale at 23. it appeared in Amazons! which took the World Fantasy Award for best anthology in 1980 February 2004: In The Darkness Hunting: Tales of Chimquar the Lionhawk (wildside press) Dark Brothers of the Light Series. Renaissance Ebooks.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Mood: Contemplative Read/Post Comments (3) Share on Facebook		2005-02-20 8:37 AM Hands in the Dark (mirrored from lj) When I get very tired memories start to pour out and I think about things I don't normally think about, talk about things I don't normally talk about, and say things I would not normally say, especially in a late night chat. Last night the subject of my disability came up and I found myself talking in a brief fashion about some of episodes that stood out in my mind from my childhood. One of those was Papa's hands. After the polio, which affected only the left side, my leg stayed ice cold for the first few years, even in the warm California weather. I had terrible cramps in that leg and they would wake me in the night screaming. I was eight years old. If Papa were still alive, he'd turn a hundred years old this year. He was a man of few words, but actions speak far louder. When I would let out a yell, he sprang from bed and came to my room. He wouldn't even stop to turn on the light, there was enough from the hall light that they left on at night, and start to work on my leg. I will always remember those great big hands working to get the cramp out, patient and determined, while Mama drew a hot bath to emmerse me in. Once Mama got the bath drawn, he'd pick me up and carry me to her, then leave, no words spoken. The hot water always did a lot to relieve the pain. Once I was all right again, Mama would wrap me up and Papa would return me to bed. He worked long hours as a welder, but he was always there, patient and tireless, when I needed him. Papa's hands and comforting presence are things I will never forget. I'm in the process of putting all of this together into a book about what it was like to grow up as a disabled child in the 60s Vote for my journal Other spots to find me: http://janraefrank.blogspot.com/ http://www.livejournal.com/users/cussedness Some brief creds, a partial list articles published in: Movieline * Cinefantastique * Washington Post Book World * Los Angeles Times * Los Angeles Drive Guide * Black Belt * Martial Arts Weapons * Monsterland * Thrust: Science Fiction in Review *** Science Fiction Review Former MPAA Accredited Journalist. Currently Active member, SFWA, HWA Read/Post Comments (3) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top