The Summer of 1970, and the boy was just 10 years old. He sat on the couch, with a fully loaded .38 Smith&Wesson …the hammer was pulled back, and the six rounds were waiting for their intended target. The head would take all six rounds. The child did not know if his father wore his body armor that day, and I wanted to make sure that he ended up dead, no mistakes! There was no turning back, once the deadly deed was done and over with! You see, my brothers and sisters, I (as well as my mother, and younger brother) was a victim of seemingly unbelievable child abuse, from my father (who was a California Highway Patrol officer). I suppose that I need to back up a bit. The physical abuse started around the time that I was five years old…endless fucking beatings. To say that I had wished that he had killed me, and to end the suffering, would have been a blessing…yet, death did not come. I have always wondered why God failed to hear my screams for help…I guess he was busy doing other things, and did not have time for me. I have always hated him for that! So sad, that I would hate God. If you subscribe to the various empirical data that is out there, the evidence seems to suggest that those who have been bruised and battered are at risk of evolving into a monster…the numbers were not in my favor! My dad was abused as a child, and the cycle continued on until he almost lost his job as a result…the beating ceased, yet the verbal abuse raged on! So, moving on…I waited for him to come home, and perhaps this is where divine intervention came into being, my mother came home first! I heard her pull up into the drive. I placed the loaded pistol into a large shopping bag (the hammer was still locked). I quickly left through the back door, and made way for the foothills. I went to a friend’s house, and Mark helped me. …

It’s a Friday evening…a light Spring rain is falling here in Southwest Michigan (Benton Harbor, to be exact). Summer 2018 is almost upon us…my mind wanders back to the Summer of 1968, to Pasadena, California…my home for eighteen years. Jesus, where does the time go…at 58, finding myself pondering my eventual demise. Yeah, all will die eventually! We can get busy living, or get busy dying! Fuck death, living in this moment is awesome, yet some regrets continue to haunt my soul! Dana, my eight year old soul-mate…my beautiful Ebony girlfriend. Me, very White, and very cursed (or so I thought at the time)…pimples, glasses, and braces. …


Dan Penkoff

Goofy old man, father, US Army combat veteran, university student, and aspiring writer. Love my Black and Brown brothers and sisters, soul food, and Detroit!