Man Who Found He Could Hit
The Curve Ball
have all had a terrible time growing up and living in a
dysfunctional civilisation. But it is how we rise above what we
have endured, and use what we have learned (how about: 'society
shouldn't be the way it is'?), which makes us mature, human
beings. Here is the interesting story of one human being: Jack
Speer-Williams. ~ Michael Irving, editor of WGFT
Must We Love a Wrathful God?
By Jack Speer-Williams
was late at night, and they were in the kitchen, at each other
I hated my mother for taunting my father, and hated him more
whenever he'd slap her to the floor.
In my mind, I could see him again slapping her in the kitchen,
while I tried to sleep. Did he feel he was being gentlemanly by
not hitting her with a closed fist? Was my mother playing the
role of a martyr? Did she choose to suffer physical abuse,
rather than to placate a drunk, who predictably behaved like a
lunatic whenever he drank?
My younger sister would always disappear or pretend to be asleep
whenever our parents fought. She actually had little to fear, as
I cannot remember my father ever laying a hand on her; it was
always me and my mother he bruised. She slept in a bed opposite
mine, in our small and unadorned room, without a single picture
It was a small room totally without any embellishment; but
rather than being simple, genuine, or pure, it was ugly, hot,
and depressing, and was never an oasis from the constant upsets
that characterized our entire household.
And as the kitchen beating moved closer to my hot and
claustrophobic room, I wished I had a different father, a
different mother; and, I wished I was different myself. I was
small, weak, and cowardly, and hated my mother for proving my
cowardice to myself. By not keeping her mouth shut, she was
causing me to feel too ignobly frightened to defend her against
my sociopathic father, the man I longed for her to divorce. But
as I rolled onto my side, and pulled my sweat-soaked sheet to my
chin, I hated myself more than my parents.
Then it happened. Someone came into my room. It was my mother.
She got into my bed and under my sheet. She was hugging me. Why?
Was I to protect her? Did she really believe I could protect
Then, the lights came on, carrying my father to my bed. He tore
off the sheet covering me and my mother; and then proceeded in
ripping my mother's night clothes off her body until she was
naked. My mother hugged me tightly, with my boxer shorts the
only thing between us.
I closed my eyes, praying my father would leave us, which he
must have done, as the next thing I can recall was my mother
whispering to me. Oddly, she told me that she was proud of me as
I was a born leader, who currently led my little friends, but
would one day be a leader of men. I became confused as I had
never considered myself as a leader. A coward yes, but not a
As my mother whispered to me, I remembered the afternoon when my
next door friend "Junior," had gotten riled with me and chased
me down the street in front of my house; but, I was faster than
Junior and escaped into what I thought would be the safety of my
home, only to be confronted by my father.
My father took off his belt and began beating me with it,
telling me I had to fight Junior. Finally, he stopped swinging
his belt, telling me to go batter Junior or he'd beat me again.
Knowing he could hurt me far worse than Junior could, I flew out
of my back door, running across a vacant lot that separated our
Junior was on his knees, in his back yard, playing with
something on the ground; but, suddenly he looked up to see me
running straight for him. I hit Junior flush in the face as I
ran past him, then circled back to deliver more of his
"deserved" blows. Soon, I was on top of Junior punching him with
both fists, as he screamed in fright, and my father yelled
commands to "hit him again."
Junior's mother rushed out of her back door, crying in horror.
Then my father began yelling, "Stop it, stop it Jack," as he
yanked me off of Junior and pulled me back home.
Maybe I could be a leader, I thought as my mother talked us both
Unknown to me at that time, was my hate for myself, mother, and
father was fueled by the fear I had for my father. My father was
a volatile parent and husband. Otherwise, he maintained a
pleasant enough disposition with all others. But how my mother
and I could throw my father into such rages - even when he was
sober - is still a mystery to me.
Trembling with anger from what exactly I was never sure, my
father would rush me into the bathroom, where he would take off
his belt and beat my legs with it.
Unfortunately, I sometimes wore short pants during these
beatings, which I was then forbidden to wear to school due to
the bruises my father would leave on my legs.
But much as my father's belt-beatings scared me, it was his
fists that I most feared. On some occasions, when drunk, my
father preferred to intimidate me rather than beat me. He'd
tremble with anger and shake his fist under my nose, yelling,
"You see it? You smell it? You wanna feel it?"
"No sir," was my usual snap answer, even though I was always
appalled by his lack of creativity with words or his intolerance
for words from others.
"And don't you f---ing ever do it again, he'd say."
"No sir, I won't," I would respond, never fully aware of what I
had done to so provoke him.
After each beating my father gave me, he would force me to hug
him and say, "I love you."
If I faltered on the hug or my "I love you" words, he'd threaten
me with another beating.
And of course, being the pragmatic little coward that I thought
myself to be, I quickly gave in. And in time, this sort of
enforced affinity, coupled with pain and the threat of more
pain, produced a kind of cognitive dissonance within me that
channeled hate, borne from fear, into unsuspected areas.
It is said that there are only two basic human emotions: Love
and fear, and that all other emotions are direct or indirect
branches of our two basic emotions. If this is true, then
certainly hate is born from fear. But to mix real fear with an
artificial kind of love, as my father attempted with me, can
produce, I believe, a sort of direction in life that will be
fraught with failure.
My father believed my only hope of success in life, or because
of his own ego, was for me to become a professional baseball
player. So I began to play baseball with some energy and
enthusiasm to please him; but, I also played with an
indifference to get even with him. And that indifference cost me
my two front teeth, when a ground ball hit me in my mouth.
Moreover, I lacked the will to learn how to hit a curve ball.
Then I opted for football, and being a football star for the
Florida Gators would certainly please my father.
I still remember the mandatory phone calls I had to make every
Sunday evening to my father, to report on my football progress.
And, I also remember the pleasure it gave me to always report
that I had not yet made it any further than the "scout team."
My next attempt to please my father, while in college, came from
the Army ROTC.
The Viet Nam war was heating up at that time, so I decided to
become a war hero. And I began by becoming the Cadet Commander
of the entire ROTC unit.
And for good measure, I became the president of the military
honorary society, Scabbard and Blade. I was about to please not
only my father, but my mother as well, as a leader of men. But,
my Guardian Angels had different ideas.
Before I graduated and received my commission, the local police
intervened. The Gainesville police reported all my police
arrests of fighting and public drunkenness to the authorities,
and I was kicked out of the ROTC program. Success, followed by
failure, was becoming a pattern in my life, which I am sure was
enforced by my early Methodist upbringing.
You see, my father was a Christian, who forced me and my sister
to go to Sunday School and church. It was there that I learned
about a wrathful God who could not only beat me with a belt, but
throw me into Hell's fires forever; but still, I was required to
love him. It was all beginning to sound much like the love-hate
relationship I had with my father, but it took me years to
actually really see the parallels.
In time, I learned that Moslems and Jews, also, had wrathful
Gods, they were required to love. Could it be that Christians,
Jews, and Moslems were all being reared as if they all had had
abusive fathers like I had? Could there be some massive Con (spiracy)
I have come to believe that Jesus was an advanced spiritual
being sent to Earth to awaken and enlighten us, but I believe
the same of Buddha. And that there could be no way that either
Jesus or Buddha would condone the wars perpetrated by
Christians, Jews, and Moslems. Obviously the tenets, texts and
teachings of those religions were altered by a power structure
that purposely set up wrathful Gods we are to love.
It has been a perfect set up to ensure endless fear, with hate
and wars as its by-products.
Thanks to the love-hate I had for my father, I would have never
succeeded in life, until I had caught on to the trap I was in.
Mankind will never exist in a peaceful harmonious state, until
Christians, Jews, and Moslems stop inventing "rational" reasons
for fear and the resultant wars and conflicts, promoted by their
governments, and transmitted by the controlled, corporate media.
Love is man's truly natural emotion, while fear is artificially
imposed, usually for self-serving reasons to generate hate. How
else would wars be possible?
But, we can learn from those who peddle and cause fear that
leads to hate, as I learned from my father.
Would I have ever caught on to the greatest hate producing
gimmick of the ages, had not my father beaten me and then
demanded that I love him?
Jesus told us to love and forgive our enemies, and I know that's
difficult to do, even when we learn from them.
When on his death-bed, my father tried to apologize to me for
his misdeeds. But never having forgiven myself for my cowardice
and self-hate, how could I forgive him? I dismissed my father's
plea with, "Don't worry about it." And those were the last words
I remember ever speaking to my father.
Today, I forgive myself. And Daddy, I forgive you.
Gathering and the 100th Monkey
and Introduction to World Gathering