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Two boys and a choice

Here's a story...based on something that really happened. The people in it never, in the story, mention God but...I firmly believe God is a choice we make...to step out in faith and grow and blossom out of our gunk of this life so, the choice that each of us faces is what we are going to do with what we're given. We are going to be a lot of miserable people if we spend our lives still in the past and allowing ourselves to become abusers just because we've been abused. So...enough with my yak yak here's the story

Two Boys and A Choice
Author: Gwendolyn Duncan
Date: December 2, 2005
Word Count: 855
Based on a true story and written with Jesus’ parable of the wise man who built his house on stone in mind (Matthew 7:24-27)

“Ricky!” My voice rose to a shout. “Wait up!”

“Don’t worry,” Ricky’s older brother, Tim rode over and grabbed my horse’s head, forcing him to stand still and let me clamber onto his bare back. “We’ll catch up…his horse is going to give him a fit before long.”

Sure enough as we took off in hot pursuit I looked up in time to see Ricky’s horse half-rear, protesting leaving his buddies so far behind.

“Let’s go!” I nudged my horse into a full run towards the boys’ home.

Our afternoon together had been fun but their dad was sure to want help milking.

As I slowed my horse to let Ricky come up next to us I caught his worried look. “Hey, Ricky, I’ll help and so it won’t matter that we’re a little late.”

Mid-summer dust marked our trail into the dairy yard.

“Here,” Tim made a moving dismount and handed the horse’s rein to me, his brother following suit. “Cindie, you cool the horses off and put them in the corral, then meet us in the barn.”

My reply was lost as the two boys jogged off, leaving yet another dust trail.

The barn only had a few lights on at one end when I finally made my way into it, making it hard for me to see where the angry voices were coming from.

“You two good-for-nothing, lazy brats are going to be the end of us all!” The voice I heard could only be their dad. But why would he be saying such things about Tim and Ricky just because we were a half-hour late?

I crept closer and peeked in the washroom’s open door. The stench of liquor hit me like a cold, winter wind. As another angry tirade of words I shudder even remembering, were aimed at my friends, I spotted the three figures…their dad had a broken bottle in one hand and a belt in the other. More bottles lay around the room. Tim stood against the wall opposite the door and Ricky knelt in a corner.

My whole body cringed as the belt came down on Ricky twice, then the bottle flew towards Tim, accompanied by another line of curses and accusations. Stepping forward with the hope of helping, the lump in my throat stopped me.

Tim noticed my movement and waved me away mouthing the words. “Don’t worry. Get away from here!”
Tears fell down my face as I turned and fled out of the building to the corral where my horse waited. How could a father hurt his kids this way? Can’t someone do something to stop him? Life isn’t fair!

That summer…the summer Ricky was eight, I was nine, and Tim was ten…that night wasn’t the only one of its kind, just the first time I became aware of it. Now it seems time back then flew, but back then the three of us felt stuck in heartache. My parents tried to intervene but anything anyone tried to do to help only caused the drinking and beating to get worse. And worse it got. I think the worst part for the boys was their helplessness when their father turned on their mother.

As often as possible the three of us escaped on horseback to the far corners of either their ranch or mine, and we’d stay there until well after dark.
School gave us another escape and finally as graduation approached we all began on three very separate paths.

For a couple years, a young man my dad had hired and I had been falling more and more into love. So, following our engagement, my dad offered him a partnership and we set to planning our future together.

Tim enrolled in a school for pilot training, dreaming of flying as a full-time career.

Ricky, well…Ricky struggled. His grades never were good and seemed to just get worse and he seemed angry more and more. He’d gotten a job at a local bar and casino and…I guess he planned to continue there, dreaming of nothing.

As time passed, we still kept in touch. I watched Tim graduate from pilot school and get hired on at United Airlines, and Ricky get drunk over and over…Tim set some flight records, and Ricky get caught stealing liquor…Tim wed a lovely, warm, caring woman, and Ricky use many young, innocent girls.

One September I sat wondering how and why such an ironic contrast existed. In my next letter to each of them I asked them…asked them what they thought made them who they were.

“And do you know what they both said?” I asked of my husband after I’d read each of their responses. “They both said their dad.”

Tim said he’d been determined not to become like his dad and Ricky said there was no way he could’ve been any different…just look at his dad.

“So…” my husband took my hand and squeezed it as once again I shed tears for my two dear friends. “They were both given the same building supplies but each one chose what to build and where, or on what, to build it.”
wow............... that is very true.
thank you for this story.
God bless
Hey vlooi,
I LOVE your signature!!! Psalm 91 got me through some major trials this summer. Thanks for the reminder