Time of His Life

Alex Bittle did not have a good childhood. At age two his father left home. This was probably the best thing that had happened to Alex up to that point in his life. His father was abusive to him, his mother, the dog who ran away, and to the world in general. At age 3 his father returned. At age 5 his father left once more. This was a pattern that repeated itself every couple of years until Alex was 12. When his father was around he would constantly mock Alex for his stutter, or his weight or the way he threw a ball. Those were the good times. When his father was really angry, which was often, well, those were the times Alex wished he could disappear.

His mother wasn't winning any awards for parenting either but, at least, she never hit Alex and, in fact, on a few occasions took the blows in his place. He loved her in those brief moments, but they never lasted. More often than not his mom was gone and not gone in the work sense but just gone. He would often play a little game with himself on when she would return. He even had a notebook marking off the days that she disappeared. She would always return and act as if she had just gone out on the porch for a smoke, but Alex could always see the regret and sadness in her eyes. He often wondered if the sadness had always been there or if it had only appeared after he was born.

School wasn't even an escape for Alex as it so often is for kids in his situation. He became very good at coming up with excuses for why he had a black eye, or his arm was in a sling.

Even in the poor section of town where the Bittles lived Alex was among the poorest and it showed. He struggled to get enough food, and often had to wear clothes either two sizes too big or two sizes too small. Quite often he was forced to wear whatever clothing his father had left lying around because Alex couldn't find clean clothes. Have you ever seen a child wear adult clothing? It's funny at home when they play dress up. Not as funny when they go to school and try to get through the day while constantly rolling up their sleeves or pulling up their pants. Kids are ruthless, and the mocking was incessant. And that's the point. Alex was a naturally gifted student who, if given even the slightest opening, would have excelled in class. Unfortunately, life was seemed to be working against him.

This was his life and he had accepted it. He hated it, but he felt trapped and when you are trapped you either fight or surrender. Alex had fought until he couldn't anymore, so he surrendered. He continued to go to school, he accepted the abuse both there and at home, he continued to hide from his father when he could, and he continued to take care of his mom when she was there. He continued to live though there was no more life in him.

One night, when Alex was 12, things came to a boiling point. His mom was the drunkest he had ever seen, and his father was livid. Alex hid in his closet. That was his oasis. It was his go to spot when the world was crashing down around him. From there he could hear all the screams, all of the breaking of what little possessions they owned. It was bad and for the first time in a long time Alex was truly terrified that this was going to be it. It was all going to end. Tonight.

He heard his dad screaming for him and that just made him retreat further. Further into his own mind. Further away from his life. As he heard the heaviness of his father's footsteps enter his bedroom he said a prayer. This was unusual for Alex because he was not raised religious, had no idea what religion he would be if he had been, and frankly, had no idea how to pray. He just simply said, "Please, help me." He repeated his prayer over and over until his father opened his closet door. Then he stopped, struck dumb with fear. His father's rough hands yanked him from his safe zone and tossed him across the room. Alex landed with a thud against the wall. In pain but conscious. His father approached with a rage in his eyes that told Alex this was it. He said his prayer once more in his head and at that moment Alex heard the sirens, but he knew they wouldn't get here in time. It was too late. His prayer was not enough. He looked his father in the eyes as the large man cocked his arm back to deliver what would be the killing blow. It was as if time slowed and Alex watched as this man, the man who should have been his hero, the man that should have been his protector, brought forth the anvil of his fist.