Adversity Introduced Me to Me: A Memoir
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About this ebook
The Power of Words to win the Game of Life, Inward Outward & Upward.
Sometimes we fight with the inward man
Sometimes we fight with the outward man
Sometime and the best way to fight is not to fight at all But to reach to the upward man which is our heavenly father.
The best way to find out how a product will work to its fullest potential is to go back to the instruction manual. Looking at the pictures doesnt do it all the time. Have you ever tried to put something together by looking at the picture in the manual and when you are done there is a part left over and it wasnt an extra part. Often we dont know what it was for until the product stops working or never works properly. That part is usually a part that is needed for inside the product, without it, it just wont last or run to its fullest potential.
So it is with life. We cant look at the picture we have to read the manual and put it together. There is so much more inside if we would just read the manual and apply it. GOD has given us all the parts and he also supplies the upgrades as needed.
In this book you will see the inward struggle. Then the outward struggle. Then you will see when I turn towards the manual which is GOD. That when the struggle is over. Thats when I reach upward for Victory.
This is book one of two.
Dominique Brown
Dominique Anthony Brown - Son, Brother, Track & Field Sprinter, Coach, Husband, Ex-Correction Officer, Father, Friend, Security Officer, Photographer & Graphic Designer. I Love interacting with people. Something I was embarrassed to do when I was younger. I had very low Self esteem and spent most of my life battling it.
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Adversity Introduced Me to Me - Dominique Brown
Counting On You
The things that count most cannot be counted.
~ Unknown
D uring my early years, I used to live in New York City. When I was in kindergarten, I used to like playing on the rocks beside the apartment building which my family lived in. This is when I first realized that I had an ailment called sickle cell trait.
One day, I was outside playing on the rocks, well actually in front of the rocks. I had just finished playing and I was getting ready to get up to go inside the apartment building. As I was about to get up, I realized that one of my legs was locked into position. I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea what was going on. I just knew that I wasn’t strong enough to get up and walk on one leg, hop up the steps into the building, and then hop up another two flights of stairs to get to the first floor where my family lived.
I sat there for about an hour, but it felt like forever to me. I had to go to the bathroom….I had to do the number two. I held it for as long as I could but eventually ended up soiling myself. The heat from the summer sun quickly turned that little accident into a big runny and smelly mess.
Finally when my Mother came to look for me she found me sitting by the rocks in the dirt. She asked me what was going on and why I had not come inside, I then told her that I could not move my leg. She then helped me up and got me into our apartment. Once inside, she cleaned me up and then took me to the hospital.
I’m not sure what hospital this was, but this is the first time I can recall ever being in the hospital. I didn’t understand what was going on with me I didn’t understand why they would tell me I had to stay. All I remember was that it seemed like I was in the hospital forever.
One of my most vivid memories of my hospital stay, was a long row of crib like beds with crying children and babies. The kids kept crying that they wanted to go home. That’s exactly how I felt, especially since there was nothing to do there….no televisions, no one to talk to, and no toys to play with. This felt more like a punishment than someone trying to help me.
To pass the time away, I found myself staring at the ceiling, windows, and lights, counting anything that could be counted. All the while, trying to figure out why I was there, how long I would have to stay, and why my leg wouldn’t move. By this time, my leg seemed to be like a rock.
I could still feel it but the muscle wouldn’t move. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t bend, straighten or move it at all.
I don’t know how long I was in that hospital but I just knew that I was happy to get out of there. I think it took about three days for me to gain activity of my leg after I left the hospital. When I got home I went on about my daily life again.
The doctors told my parents that I had the sickle cell trait (not the sickle cell disease). They explained that there are no symptoms or treatment for those with sickle cell trait. The real danger of having the sickle cell trait is that I have a significantly higher risk of sudden death if I exercise too hard and get overheated. I also have a higher risk for getting painful muscle cramps and spasms like the episode that occurred when I was five.
I do remember after that incident that I found myself counting a lot. I would count cars, the bricks on the buildings, people, and just about anything else that could be counted.
As I got older, I learned that the things that mattered most in my life, like love, joy, peace and contentment, could not be counted.
The Big Fight
May the pain you have known and the conflict you have experienced give you the strength to walk through life facing each new situation with courage and optimism.
O ne morning when I was about five, Lawrence and I were jarred awake from our deep sleep by our Mom’s screams. We ran into the living room and saw our Dad hitting our Mother. We couldn’t believe our eyes.
We both cried and we begged our Dad to stop. Don’t hit Mommy, please don’t hit Mommy anymore
, we cried over and over. We wished that we were taller and stronger so that we could have pushed our Dad off our Mom.
Our Dad was very angry. Our Mom was crying and her face was swollen around her eyes. I think if my brother and I had not come into the room my Dad would have continued to beat her.
We couldn’t understand why our Dad was hitting our Mom. We’d heard them argue before, but we’d never seen our Dad hit our Mom.
It broke our hearts to see our Mom cry that night. Although her physical scars healed within a few weeks, I’m sure that the emotional scars took a lot longer to heal.
Sadly, these beatings happened a few more times before our Mother sent us to Delaware to live with her folks. I think that was the only way that she could think of to protect us from getting beaten the same way that she was. There were no women’s shelters that we knew of back in those days that my Mom could have turned to for help. She must have felt so sad as she realized that her dreams for her marriage and a happy family life with my Dad were shattered.
I really don’t remember much about my early days with my Dad, other than his mistreatment of my Mother and my brother and I play wrestling with him in his bed on weekend mornings. All I knew was that the man who we were counting on to keep us safe, loved and protected wasn’t doing his job.
There was not enough counting in the world to make the memory of him beating my Mom go away. I never knew how much witnessing domestic violence in my early childhood had an impact on my life until I got older.
image01.JPGMe (on right) and my brother in front of our apartment in Bronx, NY
image02.jpgEarly happy years in Bronx, NY.
Me (on left) and my brother Lawrence approx. 1973-74
The Move To Delaware
"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
W hen I was six years old, my Mother sent Lawrence and I to spend the summer with our grandparents in Delaware. We spent the time playing with our cousins and getting to know our Mother’s side of family. Little did I know that I would not be returning to New York City again until seven years