Humiliation it comes in many ways. Comical, thoughtless, cunning, hurtful, revengeful and unknowing. When you are one being humiliated I think it is easier to deal with. At least to me. I have been humiliated probably for most of my whole life. It was always there lurking behind everything I did, or had done to me. Every disgusting, degrading thing that was ever done to me was humiliating in one way or another.
I remember going to play baseball. Early on I was just like everyone else. I played rec baseball on the White Sox, graduated to the Tigers and then on to the Babe Ruth team. I was a good baseball player. Not a superstar, but a good hard working player that loved the game. It was MY game not his. This was MINE. I could escape there, I was good. Good enough to be one of the “good kids”, good enough to make All-Stars. Here he could not touch me. No beatings, no abuse no humiliation. At least that is what I thought.
He started coming to games. He tried to take My game from me. I was our shortstop and to this day I still remember the first time humiliation snuck into MY game. We used to play on a field called IFF Field. It was near the perfume factory and in the summer at night the smell of perfume would linger over that field. People hated it, but I didn’t that smell meant a sort of safe place for me. He couldn’t touch me there. I was good there. I wasn’t an asshole on that field. It was My game. I was good. I was on the Tigers and playing shortstop. I remember for some reason I looked into the outfield and saw a figure coming towards the field. It was a man, a big man, wearing boat shoes, jeans a Harley shirt (that read Ass, Gas or Grass Nobody Rides for Free), a motorcycle chain for a belt, cop like wire frame sunglasses and a cowboy hat. I knew in my heart, who it was, I just didn’t want to believe it. Humiliation was on it way to MY game.
He sat on the top of the bleachers behind first base. I didn’t make eye contact and kept thinking if I don’t really see him he isn’t there. It was my turn to bat. Now I was a great fielder, but just an ok hitter and to this day I still get nervous getting up to bat. I wanted so bad to get a hit. I don’t remember much about the at bat except the outcome after I hit the ball. I hit it on the infield and there was going to be a play at first base. I ran, I ran my hardest to beat the throw. I don’t know why, because I’ve never done it before and I haven’t done it since, but I slid into first base headfirst. It was close play, but the umpire called me out. I laid there for what seemed like an eternity; maybe I was subconsciously throwing my self on the mercy of the universe. It was quiet, maybe too quite, but not for long. I heard someone screaming, it was him. He stood up and started yelling at the umpire that I was safe. Lots of parents scream at the ump, but at this very moment I wished to God that he were one of those parents. He continued to berate the ump with words I didn’t know existed. He threatened to kill the ump and come down and punch him in the face. I don’t know how I got from laying on my stomach on first base to the darkest corner of the dugout, but at least I was there. The whole thing went on forever (or at least I thought it did). They wouldn’t start the game again until he left, the umpire was threatening to call the police and now every kid was looking at me. Humiliation had struck MY game. He eventually left and we went on with the game. Sometimes I think to myself, even to this day, that is probably the reason that I am still nervous to bat.
Eventually it became too much for the rec. baseball to take a chance on me. I had to leave the town I lived in, grew up in, and where my friends played and had to play in another town. I use to sneak out of my house with my uniform underneath a sweat suit, make a up a lie to where I was going, so he wouldn’t show up and go and play MY game. I hated to do it like this and I had to make new friends, but the good thing was that humiliation was out of MY game and I was safe again.
Humiliation comes in all forms and I guess I was good at or had to good at accepting humiliation at an early age. That was humiliating what happened to me and MY game. It wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me, but for some reason it was the most humiliating.
I hate how humiliation makes you feel. It makes you feel insecure; it makes you feel, well stupid, angry, helpless and ashamed. I never understood the ashamed part, because I didn’t do anything wrong. Why was I ashamed, I still can’t answer that, but I was.
I remember going to play baseball. Early on I was just like everyone else. I played rec baseball on the White Sox, graduated to the Tigers and then on to the Babe Ruth team. I was a good baseball player. Not a superstar, but a good hard working player that loved the game. It was MY game not his. This was MINE. I could escape there, I was good. Good enough to be one of the “good kids”, good enough to make All-Stars. Here he could not touch me. No beatings, no abuse no humiliation. At least that is what I thought.
He started coming to games. He tried to take My game from me. I was our shortstop and to this day I still remember the first time humiliation snuck into MY game. We used to play on a field called IFF Field. It was near the perfume factory and in the summer at night the smell of perfume would linger over that field. People hated it, but I didn’t that smell meant a sort of safe place for me. He couldn’t touch me there. I was good there. I wasn’t an asshole on that field. It was My game. I was good. I was on the Tigers and playing shortstop. I remember for some reason I looked into the outfield and saw a figure coming towards the field. It was a man, a big man, wearing boat shoes, jeans a Harley shirt (that read Ass, Gas or Grass Nobody Rides for Free), a motorcycle chain for a belt, cop like wire frame sunglasses and a cowboy hat. I knew in my heart, who it was, I just didn’t want to believe it. Humiliation was on it way to MY game.
He sat on the top of the bleachers behind first base. I didn’t make eye contact and kept thinking if I don’t really see him he isn’t there. It was my turn to bat. Now I was a great fielder, but just an ok hitter and to this day I still get nervous getting up to bat. I wanted so bad to get a hit. I don’t remember much about the at bat except the outcome after I hit the ball. I hit it on the infield and there was going to be a play at first base. I ran, I ran my hardest to beat the throw. I don’t know why, because I’ve never done it before and I haven’t done it since, but I slid into first base headfirst. It was close play, but the umpire called me out. I laid there for what seemed like an eternity; maybe I was subconsciously throwing my self on the mercy of the universe. It was quiet, maybe too quite, but not for long. I heard someone screaming, it was him. He stood up and started yelling at the umpire that I was safe. Lots of parents scream at the ump, but at this very moment I wished to God that he were one of those parents. He continued to berate the ump with words I didn’t know existed. He threatened to kill the ump and come down and punch him in the face. I don’t know how I got from laying on my stomach on first base to the darkest corner of the dugout, but at least I was there. The whole thing went on forever (or at least I thought it did). They wouldn’t start the game again until he left, the umpire was threatening to call the police and now every kid was looking at me. Humiliation had struck MY game. He eventually left and we went on with the game. Sometimes I think to myself, even to this day, that is probably the reason that I am still nervous to bat.
Eventually it became too much for the rec. baseball to take a chance on me. I had to leave the town I lived in, grew up in, and where my friends played and had to play in another town. I use to sneak out of my house with my uniform underneath a sweat suit, make a up a lie to where I was going, so he wouldn’t show up and go and play MY game. I hated to do it like this and I had to make new friends, but the good thing was that humiliation was out of MY game and I was safe again.
Humiliation comes in all forms and I guess I was good at or had to good at accepting humiliation at an early age. That was humiliating what happened to me and MY game. It wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me, but for some reason it was the most humiliating.
I hate how humiliation makes you feel. It makes you feel insecure; it makes you feel, well stupid, angry, helpless and ashamed. I never understood the ashamed part, because I didn’t do anything wrong. Why was I ashamed, I still can’t answer that, but I was.
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