Rough and Salty Seas to Zion
This story here is an example of 'creative non fiction' loosely based on my father's upbringing and experiences. This was my second story to get published.
I came from meager beginnings, a preacher’s son living in the top level of a church. Music and theatre were the devil’s work I was told. My father had extraordinarily little use for humour. He was a peddler of everything fire and brimstone. Love often was withheld from me, his coldness often harsher than the Nova Scotian winters. If this was living Christ-like I had no interest in being part of the flock. Rebellion was on the horizon.
The allure of rock and roll, the love of a good woman finally seduced me. This alone had liberated me. I successfully married and reared three children. Although I was not without help, the bottle I leaned on far too long tried its best to tear my life asunder many a time. I allowed the darkness to plan for domination of my life. This I would later vanquish. Addiction had been the captain of my ship for far too long.
Lake Charlotte provided me an honest Nova Scotian living. Driving junky k-cars, clamming paid a poor man’s wage. This meant no vacations or the finer things in life. Sacrifices made altruistically provided for my family. I’d soon be able to rest I thought; one more measly year symbolized my near future retirement. The salt from the basin dried my skin out for far too long. The smell would never be forgotten by me. This though was no longer an old man’s game.
Cancer guaranteed a miserable start to retirement. Yellowed skin, testing quickly showed cancer in my prostate. God, I later realized, lived in this land, the sea. These people are the salt of the earth. Chemotherapy would be rough, but I was not yet ready to leave Eden. Maybe we all are part of “his” flock after all.
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