Enigma: The Only Child Syndrome

By Talva

More often than not, when we find out that someone is an only child we quickly surmise that the person has been spoiled-rotten by his or her parent (s); thereby, having a reputation of being selfish and bratty. G. Stanley Hall was one of the first experts to give an only child a bad reputation when he referred to their situation as "a disease in itself." Being spoiled can be interpreted in varying ways. One might say that it simply means that they are well taken care of. Yet others may argue that its meaning is derived from a parent (s) over-showering their child with monetary riches; all the while, failing to instill other core values that will enrich their child’s personality and character.
Being a parent is undoubtedly one of the toughest tasks on earth. Nevertheless, a parent’s flagrant-foul on the parenting field can be extremely damaging and detrimental to their child’s emotional well-being. Good children can make bad parents, just as bad parents can make good children.
For Crystal, things just got real!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491808184

Talva

Talva is an Independent Author and avid writer of many years. She began publishing her work seven years ago with her first novel being, Enigma The Only Child Syndrome. She is working on more adult fiction novels and a children's book. You can keep up-to-date with her work through her website, and follow her on Facebook and Instagram. Her books are available on all booksellers’ platforms, and available in the following formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook, and Audio book

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Copyright © 2013 by Talva. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, circumstances, establishments, or locations are intended to only give the fictitious writings a sense of realism. Any names, characters, or incidents arising in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously; as are those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons. Any character that happens to share the same or similar name of a character in this novel that is an acquaintance of the author, past or present, is purely coincidental and is in no way meant to be an actual account involving that person.

Published by AuthorHouse   04/14/2020

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0816-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0817-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0818-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013915724

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1:    RBI’S

Chapter 2:   Burn Witch Burn

Chapter 3:   The Way of the Troublemaker Is Thorny

Chapter 4:   In The Silence of My Dreams

Chapter 5:   Buckle Up

Chapter 6:   A Teenage Love

Chapter 7:   Test Run

Chapter 8:   Machinations

Chapter 9:   Don’t Smash The Bread

Chapter 10:   First Things First

Chapter 11:   Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust

Chapter 12:   Choices and Balance

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Preface

The thought of writing this book came into fruition in 2002. In my down time, I would write songs, poems, and any remembrance that I had of my dreams; in a notebook. I had an epiphany one day as I began to review all of my notes, and realized that these writings could be turned into a book. Not just a book about bad things happening to good people, but also a book that can help promote healing from a person’s past transgressions. Writing was also releasing me from being emotionally stagnant, and was the derivative in my own butterfly-effect.

At some point in life, we all learn the lesson that things do not always happen the way that we have them planned out in our minds, nor do they always happen at the time that we want to see them happen, but they do seem to happen right on time. Eleven years later, here I am; in the right place mentally, in the right place emotionally, in the right place geographically, and at the right time scripting this story for you. And although this story is in and of itself unique, I am for certain that the maltreatment and egregious acts toward children in this country is shared with many abroad. This story is not about a lone-ranger. It serves as a testament of survival and redemption for anyone that may have suffered from any type of abuse. I want you to know that there are many others like you out there, and with hard-work, fortitude and tenacity; you can make all of the difference in your life.

Take back your power, and relinquish yourself of emotionally bonding baggage. Become the Predator of success instead of its prey, and be proud that despite having to look a deep, dark, evil entity in the face; after it gut-punched the hell out of you with all of its might, you saying to it: you didn’t break me, you’ve won some aspects of the battle, but DAMMIT, I won the WAR!

Psalm 129:2

They have greatly oppressed me from my youth, but

they have not gained the victory over me.

Dedicated To

My only child

"A person can only reach the next level by openly facings their

fears, assembling the proper circle of influence and getting rid of

dysfunction."—Unknown

Introduction

There is a paradox that shapes and resides in every human being. When we enter the world we are said to be born into sin, yet we are gifts from God! In life, all living creatures have a meaning and a purpose. At death, one would hope that their purpose had been self-discovered, shared, and then realized by those that were closest to them. Tombstones are imprinted with two dates; a birth date and a death date, also termed sunrise and sunset. Between the dates sits a single dash that separates the two. This dash represents all that a person has done in their lifetime from the beginning to the end of their lifelong journey. How long my dash of life will be is anyone’s guess. Nevertheless; when I die, as everyone eventually will, my tombstone dash will have left an impact on everyone that has met or knew me. Do what you can to make your dash meaningful, or as a poet once said: It matters not how much we own: the cars, the house, the cash; what matters most is how we live and how we spend our dash.-Linda Ellis Make your dash count!

Crystal thought that she had found the answer to her purpose in life on several occasions in her naivety twenties. Soon she realized that her varying epiphanies were nothing more than those mere evolving growth spurts that we all tend to experience between the ages of eighteen to twenty-eight. It wasn’t before long that she had discovered that she was the damn sacrificial lamb in her family; and she was not at all amused with this presumptive position. Children are said to be blessings to a parent (s), but what happens when a child is born to a neglectful set of parents or the evolution of the gift never materializes?

We’re living in a society where children have little to no respect for adult figures, and have absolutely missed, The Fear of God lessons. Who’s at fault for such disdain and disrespect from our children? Is it an innate characteristic or a learned behavior? There have long been debates on nature vs. nurture and learned vs. innate behaviors. Both sides would have strong arguments; nevertheless, the first person that society looks towards when placing blame for an unruly child are the parents. Being a parent is undoubtedly one of the toughest tasks on earth. Good children can make bad parents, just as bad parents can make good children. I was always taught that when God blesses you with a gift, that you are supposed to embrace, honor, and utilize that gift for good, or it’s looked upon as a sin. Is this true, or is this merely a biblical policing power quote?

Throughout the whispers of the world; I have managed to hear the crisp, loud, sounds of a parents cry for a, How To, manual that should come out of the womb of all mothers during child birth. Needless to say, this requested document is one that we can only continue to cry and wish for. Yes, many have written books on child rearing practices; consequently, that shit seems to only be plausible to some families. Let’s face it, in some homes; they give their children count-downs to calm down when their behavior is out of control. They may use the term, overly excited when describing their children’s disrespectful behavior. They give time-outs when their children are misbehaving beyond their repeated requests to have their children obey the following requests: stop, no, don’t do that, and the infamous use your inner voice please. In black families you are quelled first with the infamous momma’ glare, which serves as your queue to cease and desist whatever the hell you are doing. Anything after that glare is considered a: Time-up, and now you’re getting knocked smooth the hell out! I’m not saying that either way is right or wrong, but as the newly popular platitude goes, it is what it is! Let’s face it; most black families are not the on screen television Huxtables. Many black homes today are nestled with one parent carrying the weight of their world on his or her shoulders which has a propensity to create emotional emptiness and a lack of patience needed to offer mental, emotional, or social stability for their growing children. In turn, a request to behave is intolerable and a demand; moreover, a request is most often what is given to their children.

"What medicine else can cure the fits of lovers when

they lose their wits? Love is a boy by poets styled,

then spares the rod and spoils the child."

—Samuel Butler’s Hudibras.

Chapter 1

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RBI’S

In 1975, Crystal was a four year old girl living with her mother Sharon, and her father Stoney, in an apartment complex located on 24th street in south Sacramento, California. Crystal spent her time riding her red tricycle up and down their apartment complex sidewalk. Her tricycle was fire-engine red with one tire in the front and two in the back; and it squeaked with each pedal stroke. The front sidewalk was as far as she was allowed to play while her mother performed her daily housekeeping duties in their second floor apartment. Crystal had a toy poodle named Taffy that her father had bought for her, even though he hated having a dog in his lush and plush apartment. Nevertheless, she was his favorite baby girl and anything that she wanted or needed, he was sure to provide. Of the twelve daughters that he constantly bragged about having, she was the only one that he actually put forth an effort in raising, and her mother was the only woman that he professed to truly loving and married, according to him.

Stoney was a flashy man from Chicago Illinois that had to have and possess the best of anything that he owned. He was a sawed-off cat that stood a mere 5ft 6in. with a stocky muscular build. He adorned his feet with Stacey Adams, and his wardrobe consisted of: brim hats, leather trench coats, sunglasses, and tailored suits whenever he was not in his work uniform. He was a blue collar worker who provided for her and her mother by way of being a garbage man for the state of California. Back then the garbage trucks were not equipped with the Multiplication of Force by a Hydraulic System phenomenon. Garbage trucks were not equipped to pull up next to a garbage can, push a button, and let the truck lift and dump the can into the back of the truck. No! Back then, the garbage men had to physically lift the cans themselves and dump them into the back of the garbage truck. You can imagine how this helped him keep his lean muscular physique. Her daddy had swag, that Charlie Wilson type of swag that turned the heads of countless women. He only drove fast and flashy sports cars such as: Corvettes, Trans-Ams, or Firebirds. The man could dance just as well, if not better, than James Brown. And you talking about sing! This man could sing the panties off of any woman. Oh yeah, her daddy was the man back in his day.

Her mother, a sweet and naive southern bell; all of 18yrs old, was the daughter of a military migrating single-father that frequently traveled back and forth between Louisville, Kentucky and Sacramento California. She was the second to the last of six children; two boys and four girls. Her mother died from female related problems when she was just two years old; resulting in her never having the opportunity to build that mother-daughter bond with her biological mother. Her mother’s oldest sister, took on that motherly role, and as such became the matriarch of their family at a very young age herself. Sharon was a gorgeous, slender, caramel-colored 5ft. 6in., woman with a heart of gold. Stoney was eighteen years older than Sharon mother, but that did not stop him from making her his wife, which resulted in their blessing from God, Crystal! Sharon did not work. At the time, she was a stay-at-home housewife that cooked and cleaned daily. Their apartment was adorned with the finest furniture that her dad’s money could buy. They had a white crushed velvet couch and love seat, and a thirty gallon fish tank that housed multiple exotic fish.

One evening while Crystal rode her tricycle up and down the sidewalk, her father came home as usual, stopped to greet her on the sidewalk, and gave her a kiss on the forehead, before proceeding up the stairs into their apartment. Within twenty-minute’s time, Crystal could hear screaming and yelling coming from her apartment. She immediately threw her bike down and ran up the stairs to her apartment. Upon entering the apartment she could hear her mother crying out for help and her father yelling something about the fish. Crystal looked towards the fish tank and there she saw all of the fish belly up, and floating in the water. She could hear the sounds of slaps, hits, and crying all tied into one coming from her parent’s room. She ran to their room and busted through the bedroom door. There, she saw her mother standing on the bed between a wall and the bed trying to shield herself from the hitting and screaming. She yelled, Daddy, stop! Stop it, stop it! Her mom responded by saying, Crystal, go back in the living room, I’m all right! Her dad had stopped the hitting and yelling by then, and verbally reinforced what her mom had told her to do citing that they were all right and would be out in a minute. Numbness momentarily took over her entire body as she stood bewildered and shocked with tears running down her face. She was unable to move her feet. She simply gazed at her parents in a zombie-like fashion with utter disbelief and confusion. She wondered if she was supposed to leave the room as they had instructed her to do. It certainly did not feel like the right thing to do. Should wondered if she was supposed to call 911? Was she supposed to stay and help her mommy; and lastly, was she supposed to still love her daddy? Is he going to beat up my mommy some more if I leave the room? And what the hell happened to the fish?

Turns out during her Sharon’s routine house cleaning, she had to unplug the fish tank lamp in order to maneuver the tank out of her way so that she could clean a particular area behind the tank, and had forgotten to plug it back into the electrical socket. Well, the fish that were housed in the tank required that the light continuously run on them for their survival. No one but her father knew this very important fact. You’d think he would’ve let her mother know this to avoid the fish dying since her mother was the one home tending to the house all of the time, but nooooooo. Her father, being the controlling man he was, kept this information all to himself and became upset at the outcome of not communicating vital information.

Once