Shattered Masks

AuthorHouse

Contents

Chapter 1. Why We Wear Masks....................................1Chapter 2. Life before Masks....................................3Chapter 3. Introduction to the Mask Maker.......................5Chapter 4. Death of Identity....................................8Chapter 5. Frozen in Wax........................................11Chapter 6. Almost Free..........................................15Chapter 7. Derrick..............................................18Chapter 8. Prayer Meeting Canceled..............................22Chapter 9. A Girl Name Tasha....................................25Chapter 10. Vindication..........................................33Chapter 11. Poetry In Motion.....................................36Chapter 12. Night Assassins......................................45Chapter 13. Fly With Doves, RUN WITH BOBCATS.....................53Chapter 14. A wife's scorn.......................................64Chapter 15. Lost in a dream......................................77Chapter 16. Returning home.......................................89Chapter 17. Genuine Self.........................................103Chapter 18. A Great Legacy.......................................111Chapter 19. You Are Not the Father...............................177Chapter 20. Made Whole...........................................123Chapter 21. Shatter Your Masks...................................130Chapter 22. Enjoying Life without Masks..........................153

Chapter One

Growing up, movies and comic books that hid the identities of the heroes fascinated me. One of my favorites, Spider-Man, detailed the life of a shy, awkward kid named Peter Parker. Parker haphazardly acquired his powers after a reengineered super spider bit him. Instead of running out to tell his friends about the powers, which showed up less than 24 hours after the bite, Parker went on a quest to find his own alter ego.

I often wondered why heroes like Peter focused on hiding their identities. Was it to protect the people they loved? On the other hand, would exposing their alter egos threaten their ability to serve justice? Regardless of the motivation, I suspect it's hard to lead a normal life if everyone you meet immediately recognizes you.

While many of these superheroes acquired their super abilities through freak accidents or a mutation, there is one who hides amongst the people as one of them. Kal-el, the alien fondly referred to as Superman, he hides his identity as Clark Kent, an All-American boy raised in the heartland by a Protestant farmer and his wife. As Clark Kent, the character dons thick spectacles to disguise his true persona, Superman, from his friends, co-workers, and Lex Luther—his nemesis. I never understood why no one could see Superman behind those black rimmed glasses.

Now, the superstars we follow through the media are just as intriguing as superheroes we rooted for as kids. Do they show us their identities or a brand created by a team of stylists, make-up artist, and agents? Often times these perfectly designed personas are contradicted as news of their drug use, infidelity, or tax evasion surfaces. Celebrities spend thousands of dollars hiring media consultants and "spin doctors" to salvage and protect their media images enhanced with air brushed photos, hair extensions, make-up, and special lighting that gives them the appearance of flawless skin and unmatched beauty.

As with superheroes and superstars, there are enormous expectations placed on men by themselves and the American society. Manhood is often defined by our ability to solve problems and provide for our families without showing signs of fear, frustration, and fatigue. Boys learn at an early age not to show their feelings or emotions. One famous brand's commercial goes as far to warn us to "never let them see you sweat."

While studying kung-Fu, my instructor chastised teen-aged students for displaying signs of pain, fatigue, or weakness. As he taught us discipline and endurance, he unconsciously taught us to disguise our emotions. Corrective discipline is not bad, neither is enduring painful situations but there must be a balance. This, I learned later in life.

Decades of buried emotions and psychological masks resurfaced in adulthood as unhealthy behaviors. I suffered from shortness of breath, migraine headaches, and insomnia. To numb the physical symptoms I ingested five different medications a day, but the pain in my soul was incurable. I wanted to be whole, not fragmented.

My aspirations to be complete were hindered as the masks squeezed the life out of me. I had to deal with the pain tucked away and holding on to these masks provided pseudo comfort at best. In the end, the faces I hid behind left me empty and hollow. My only escape was to shatter each mask until the obscurity I had become no longer existed. In the following chapters, I will unveil seven masks worn and how I had to confront my own kryptonite.

Time for Reflection

1. Can you relate to hiding behind psychological masks?

2. Do you wear a mask? If so, why?

3. When did you start wearing a mask?

4. What have you learned from this chapter?

Chapter Two

In the 1960s and 70s, neighborhoods were much more than a collection of houses and apartments; the families lived intermingled in urban villages. The laughter of children filled the air as senior citizens sat on their porches keeping a watchful eye. The Dayton View Neighborhood was no different. If a child disrespected an adult, it was that adults' obligation to reprimand the child and inform their parents of the alleged incident. These village elders knew each child's name, their parents and, depending on the parent's age their grandparents as well.

You had to be tough or related to someone who was tough to survive in Dayton View. While majority of the kids in my neighborhood were athletic and brave, I lacked self-esteem and confidence. I was a small child, an easy target for bullies. My brother Robert was self-confident, naturally strong, and blessed with a great singing voice. Most importantly, Robert was not afraid to fight. He often saved me from getting smashed by school bullies as I hid or sat on the playground crying.

My extreme lack of courage to physically engage in fights with older, bigger kids irritated my stepfather so much he resorted to saying I was a sissy.

"Don't call him a sissy," my grandmother would say in a protective tone, "he's just tender hearted."

In addition to my brother and grandmother, my friend Lance always looked out for me. Lance's father was a successful business owner in the recycling industry when most Americans were not concern about it. I idolized Lance, who was about three years older. My fondest memory of him is the time we spent repairing an old canoe we purchased for fifty- cents. After several days of hard work, we devised a plan to test our canoe at Wesley Nature Center. We thought of everything: fishing poles, bagged lunches, BB gun and some worms.

At 5 a.m., we sneaked out our houses and went to Wesley Nature Center, a few blocks away. We eased the canoe into the river, placed our things inside, and then climbed aboard. Our eagerness to complete our mission clouded our ability to assess...