Ulysses Simon Armstrong

Ulysses stood there looking up at the very large, very angry man above him.  The muscles in the man’s arm and shoulder tensed and sent his open hand shooting out like a rocket on a sled.  It hit the boy square in the face leaving a bright red mark and drawing a tear the surface of his cheek.  The man drew his hand back to his ear readying it for a second blow.

“Please.  No.”  Ulysses mumbled.  He needed to show his father that he was brave, that he could take whatever the big man could dish out.  He needed to prove that he was big enough now that the man could no longer push him to the ground and watch while a small helpless boy crumpled to a corner and blubbered. 

His father said, how could Ulysses even think of spending the money that Ulysses had just been paid for his paper route?  How dare he.  He knew that money was supposed to go straight to his father’s hand.  Didn’t he know that his father knew what was best for him?  He should have known that.  

It was now three days after his eighteenth birthday and he had forgotten to give his dear ole dad the money he had received from family and friends for this last turning of years.  The eight-teen year old boy looked up the tree trunk of an arm that belonged to his father and gritted his teeth.  He took a deep breath and pulled himself up the wall that he had fallen against.  He looked his father straight in the eye. 

“I won’t give you that money.  Or anymore for that matter, ever.  I will not let you use my money to fund your gambling or let you drink it away at my expense.”

Ulysses could see his father’s face get bright red.

Ulysses said. “It is my money.  I earned it.  I spent hours in the rain and snow on a bicycle twice my age, throwing papers.  I out peddled Dalmatians and out maneuvered minivans and I’ve been yelled at more times than I can count.   It’s my money and I earned it.  You cannot have it.”  Ulysses waved his hands wildly.  His hand knocked the cup of tea that his father had been holding into the sink.  The entire cup of tea spiraled down the drain. 

That same arm that had hit Ulysses, struck again.   This time the hand on the end of that arm was closed.  The fist struck Ulysses in the same spot on the cheek that the open hand had.  This time however instead of drawing a tear, this one drew blood.  It was the strike that could be heard around the world. 

Ulysses could feel his father’s knuckle dig into his cheekbone and shove his face into the wall behind him.  He caught himself only half sliding down the wall.  Pushing harder than he had ever in his life he brought himself to his feet.  He spit the blood that was now filling his mouth then turned to the man that he had once considered his father. 

That man only stood there a mixed expression of unbelief and smugness parted his lips.  “You can’t actually be getting up?” 

Ulysses did not say a word.  He merely balled his hand into a fist.  Before he even knew what was going on he hit the large man square in the jaw, sending him sprawling.  The man quickly regained his footing and moved toward his son.  Ulysses knew exactly what that meant, so he hit him again and again.  They exchanged blows, saliva and blood seemed to mist the floor around them.  When all was said and done the man lay on the ground unmoving.  It seemed to Ulysses that he was too proud to meet his son’s gaze.

            Ulysses turned around and walked out of the door of his house, never looking back.  He never again saw the inside of that house.  Now many years later he was here standing his own son who lay curled on the floor of his house.  Ulysses arms had grown large and strong, no one that had ever challenged his strength had ever tried a second time.

He raised his hand and held it high above his head.  “Don’t make me hit you, boy.  I will if I have to.”  The young boy under his gaze merely glared defiantly.  Apparently the boy didn’t take the threat seriously, that made Ulysses’ blood boil. 

“That’s it.  You just lost all of you allowance until you give me that cash.”

“You wouldn’t dare hit me.  That would make you just like your dad.”  The young boy said.

Ulysses pulled his shirt collar away from his neck it seemed to be constricting on his throat.  “Boy.  You don’t know what you are talking about.”  

The twelve year old boy still stood there looking up at his father.  He said. “I know more that you think. I know how he used to hit you and how he would take money from you.”  

That last sentence snapped something inside of his brain.  Ulysses Simon Armstrong exploded from where he stood.  With both of his arms he pushed the boy, his son, onto the ground.  He stood over the boy on the ground wagging his finger.  He took a breath to calm his nerves but still pointed his finger menacingly. 

“If I, ever.  Hear you compare me to him again I swear you right now that I will make sure that you regret that moment. 

Ulysses stomped out of the room.  How dare he compare to that man.  I am nothing like him.  He has no idea.  I’ll show him what he was like.  Suddenly his hand throbbed.  He looked down to the wall where his closed fist had just passed through.

Ulysses felt the hole in the wall and saw where the straight flat dry-wall crumpled and dipped into a crater where his hand had hit the wall like a meteor.  He has seen these before as a kid.  In fact he had fixed so many himself that he could do it all with his eyes closed.  The chalky crumbling dry-wall sent him back.  He could still feel his father’s hand taking the money from his own sweaty hands.  He could remember how his legs and arms ache at the end of each day working hard to earn that money.  It hadn’t been much, but it was his.

Now here he was taking money from his son.  Spending every last dime they had plus his sons’ plus whatever he could put on credit cards at the horse track.  This very morning he had gone to the loan shark and talked with that Chinese man at the window.  He had already taken a second out on their home.  He had been telling himself and anyone that would listen that it was for his family’s own good.  He told them not to worry; he would take care of everything.

As Ulysses crumbled the drywall into white powder he began to wonder if he could make good on all of those promises.  In fact, as he looked from the hole in the wall to the powder in his hand he wondered how he could have made those promises in the first place.  He could hardly take care of himself much less someone else.  Did he really know what was best for everyone else?  It suddenly struck him as arrogant.

A tear streaked down his face.  He quickly wiped it away.  He called for his son, who slowly shuffled into the room.  He moved closer to his young boy, who instinctively flinched at his father’s sudden movement.  Ulysses grabbed his son and pulled his close, hugging closer than he had in a long time. 

“I’m sorry.  Your money is yours, you earned it.  I was wrong.”

Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.

         George Santayana, Reason in Common Sense 1905

Remember democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.

John Adams, letter to John Taylor, April 15, 1814

They that can give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.

Benjamin Franklin, Historical Review of Pennsylvania, 1759