This story has nothing in common with the famous old Christmas movie.
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On a beautiful spring day as I was travelling to a suburban hotel near the airport to pick up some technical drawings from a client of the company that I work for I was smug. I don't normally feel smug because I learned long ago that when you do feel smug something unexpected arises to bite you in the ass. I was feeling smug while driving to my rendezvous because I was thinking back on where I had come from compared to where I was now.
I, Ben Ackley, was a hard-nosed asshole up to about the time of my 19th birthday. I was big, tough, accomplished at fighting, and nasty. I didn't realize at the time that I had innate intelligence; my worthless parents had never given me any positive feedback, encouragement, or even love so I became a hard ass in response. Within a month of my 19th birthday I thought that I was the biggest hard ass within three counties and no one even dared to challenge me at that juncture given my track record for sending people to the hospital and skating on any assault charges that were filed.
On the day of my drive I was 48 years old. Despite having only a High School degree I was now wealthy and worked only because I liked my job and felt beholden to Barry Swinton, the majority stockholder and CEO of the public company that I worked for. I had successfully raised three kids who were now married, and I was still married to my first wife, Brenda. I'd call her my High School Sweetheart, but that isn't entirely accurate.
Not only was I still married to Brenda but we were enjoying sex -- and life -- more than at any time in the past. Brenda is one of those rare women who got better-looking as she got older. Some was genetics because her mother and older sister are lookers, but she also worked hard at it and in view of our stable financial situation could throw money at it too. She has a hard body, complements of six day a week workouts (cardio, yoga, cross-training, bicycling, weightlifting -- you name it, she does it). As a result she looks better now at 48 -- although obviously much more mature looking -- than she did when we got married when we were both 19. While of course we went through sexual ups and downs when raising three active kids we always were attuned to each other and even though now we may not make love with the same frequency as in our early twenties we still do it often, passionately, creatively, and zealously -- it's fucking great!
I caught my client's engineer just as he was about to get a cab to the airport. He briefly explained the drawings to me -- he was a great engineer so they actually were self-explanatory -- shook my hand and then got in a cab with his luggage and left for the airport.
I saw a florist in the hotel lobby so I bought a dozen roses for Brenda -- which would insure that tonight's roll in the hay would be even more spectacular than normal -- and as I was walking out of the hotel lobby my smugness bit me in the ass.
My youngest daughter Sophia was approaching the reception desk dressed more like a slut than a father could stand and on the arm of a guy who definitely was NOT her husband Craig. The guy must have already been checked in because he just picked up an envelope from the desk then he and Sophia walked to the elevators and got in, exchanging a kiss as they did so.
I normally am quick-witted and act accordingly but this was one of the most startling things that I had seen in my 48 years and I was riveted in place until the elevator doors started to close. I finally came to my senses and rushed toward it -- too late, and clearly Sophia didn't see me. Since Sophia and her "friend" were the only ones on the elevator I watched to see what floor they got off on, hoping that it was the 2nd floor because there were only conference rooms and ballrooms on that floor. No such luck; the elevator stopped at floor six -- which has only guest rooms -- and then came back down.
Before I relate what happened next I need to tell you more about my family and my background otherwise you won't believe it -- maybe you won't anyway, but I'm still going to give you some context which you can skip over -- to the second set of dollar signs after this sentence -- if you're easily bored.
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As a result of my non-upbringing and asshole tough-guy attitude I was a bully and malcontent during my senior year in High School when I was 18 and approaching 19. One of the girls in my class was the aforementioned Brenda Ackley nee Lorry. While I was essentially white trash, Brenda was the youngest daughter of a fairly well-to-do and respected family in the town. Her father was a bank president or something and her older sister and older brother were legendary at the school having been past valedictorians, star athletes, prom queen and king, etc. Brenda was the rebellious black sheet of the family.
It wasn't that Brenda wasn't as smart or as physically gifted as her siblings; she just didn't give a shit. No one knew where her bad attitude came from, but she had it.
Being young and reckless Brenda enjoyed fucking -- and fucking (with women) and fighting (with men) were my two favorite pastimes -- so we got along well; too well; and too careless. About two months before graduation she ended up pregnant.
While wild and rebellious, Brenda also had a rigid (even if some parts were very unusual, such as the fucking part) moral structure that did not include terminating a pregnancy unless the health of the mother was at risk or the child wasn't viable. I wanted her to have an abortion, but she wouldn't hear of it.
Of course Brenda's parents found out and her father demanded that I come to see him. I was threatened with a lawsuit if I didn't so I showed up at his house one Saturday morning with my normal bad attitude. Brenda and her mom were out.
I should have known that something was up when Norman -- I kind of thought that was a pussy name at the time, consistent with my view of him as some pussy banker -- insisted that we meet in his empty garage and he closed the overhead door when we were both inside. I was a little surprised at how big he was -- I was (and still am) six foot one and one-half inches (187 cm) tall and 227 pounds (103 kg). He looked like he had me by about three inches (7 cm) and thirty pounds (13 kg) but I assumed that it was fat and after all he was an old man (44 as it turns out).
After an exchange of nasty words when he told me that I wasn't worth a shit and wasn't good enough for his daughter but that I'd pay through the nose for the kid I, the toughest guy in a three county area, went after him with my best one-two-three combination, a fist, elbow, and knee. Next thing I knew I was waking up on the concrete garage floor flat on my back and blood staining my shirt. It took me a good two minutes to get into a sitting position. When I finally regained my bearings my supposed-pussy was staring at and through me.
"Listen asshole, I eat chumps like you for breakfast. Do not under any circumstances try anything physical with me again or next time I put you in the hospital for a week. Understand," he snarled pushing his left index finger into my chest; it felt like a tool in was so hard.
After having lost my first fight -- if you could call it that -- since I was 16 I was at least smart enough to say "I understand," especially because the roll-up garage door was closed and the garage side door and the button to activate the roll-up door were behind Norm. In view of having just woken up from having my clock cleaned without even knowing how I didn't like my chances of going through Norm to get to the side door so I just agreed with him.
Then, while making me stand, Norm sat down on a chair and pulled out three folders from a briefcase that I hadn't noticed was sitting there; maybe he got it when I was out cold. Anyway from the covers of the folders it was clear that one was my school record, one was my arrest record (I had never been convicted but had been arrested three times for assault), and the other a P. I.'s report. I was going to ask him how he got my school and arrest records but at that point in time I wasn't going to do or say anything that might land me out cold on the garage concrete floor again.
"From your school and arrest records it's clear to me that you're a lazy bully who's never made even the slightest effort to reach your potential. From your test scores and from what my P I gathered you're smart but completely unmotivated. Unless you immediately make major changes in your fucked-up life you're going to end up in prison, as a derelict, or dead. Today is the start of your new life asshole," Norm sneered.
I apparently temporarily forgot that Norm was a bigger hard ass than I was because I snapped "You can't fucking talk to me like that old man." I think that I remember him catapulting himself off of his chair, but not clearly. I do remember waking up from being out on the concrete floor drenched with cold water and Norm holding a bucket.
"Keep your fucking mouth shut because I'm still not certain that I'm going to try to save you as opposed to just fucking killing you; asshole," Norm snarled.
After that I was a compliant as a little lamb.
Norm talked to me for the next half hour about what changes I needed to make to a) become a good father, b) ultimately get a decent job, c) improve my attitude in general, and d) treat people properly. At first I had no choice but to listen even though I resented the hell out of it; but after a while I listened because I wanted to hear what he was saying. No respectable male of an age that he could be my father had ever taken an interest in me before. I realized that I felt honored that someone would take the time to actually care about me -- whatever the reason -- rather than just treating me like the hard-ass white trash I considered myself to be.
I could write more than a hundred pages going into detail of what my life was like the next seven months until little Alicia was born but suffice it to say that I had a metamorphosis under Norm's tutelage while Brenda was having her own transformation due to carrying a baby in her belly.
Although it was one of the toughest and most unpleasant things to do at the time, it turned out to be the most worthwhile. Norm made me go to the houses of the eight kids that I had bullied the most and not only apologize to them but to give them an IOU that said "As a minor way to make up for my past treatment of the bearer, the bearer is entitled to call on me in the future for one favor which I will gladly grant as long as it is legal and no one else will be hurt or humiliated." Norm dictated the wording to me.
The responses of the kids that I had bullied -- then all 16, 17, or 18 years old -- was astounding. One, realizing that my bullying days were over, verbally abused me and ripped up my IOU. Three were overwhelmed and started shedding some tears, and actually thanked me. Two asked me to perform favors right away, the first one simple, the second one a little more complex. I'll digress now and explain the second favor I granted.
