Create-A-Hero+Story

Chase Whitehead Ms. Moosman 10/10/12 Period 5

 Inspiring Reflection

 Empathy is a lie. People everywhere tell you they understand what it is like. None of them really do. So after years of people saying it is okay you learn to fake a smile. You act happy just to please others but you know the truth. You know you still have that anger swelling deep inside you. You also know that the only way to get rid of it is to find the solution to it, your own solution to it. Nobody can tell you how to solve this problem and so it is through your own personal growth and evolution that you find your true path and become a person you are content with. I know this only because the problem of anger almost consumed me long ago, sometimes it still shows up, but I can control it when it does, because I have solved my problem. My name is James Jackson, J.J. for short, and this is my story.

 I awoke with a sudden startle, unaware of the world around me. I didn’t have a whole lot on my mind because I couldn’t remember what had happened most of my life. The only thing I really remembered was that my parents were dead. I remember every gruesome detail of what happened that night. How we had gone out to dinner, by my request, to celebrate my graduating elementary school. I remember us having a good time until we decided to leave, that’s when it started g going downhill. On the way out a man came up to us with a gun, he wanted money. My father complied and gave him what he requested. After getting what he wanted he then ran away, or so we thought. We got into our car and went home. Our family was not rich and wealthy, not poor either. My father always said we were in need of money but never failed to provide us with the things we needed. Upon arriving home I was sent to bed so my parents could discuss what had happened that short while ago. I did as I was told without any arguments. About an hour or so later I heard my mother screaming for me. I awoke instantly and bolted out of bed to find her. She was kneeling next to my father who lay on the ground of the living room, in a pool of red liquid I hadn’t recognized as blood at that moment. As soon as I stepped into the room I heard a loud bang and saw my mother drop instantly as well. I turned to where the noise came from and saw the man who had robbed us, he had followed us home. His face was covered so I could not see it but it didn’t matter because moments later all I saw was blackness. That is all I remembered when I woke up in the hospital bed. That was four years ago, and it is still the only thing on my mind.

 A lot has changed about me in the past four years. The once short skinny boy was now a tall, lean teenager. For a sixteen year old I looked much older than I really was. At 6’2” most people had to look up to see my eyes, the rough, dark brown stubble didn’t exactly make me look young either. I also weighed in at 175 pounds, of muscle, lean, but not bulky. Over the past couple of years I learned to fake my happiness. I managed to get by on my own because I ran away from the foster home I was sent too. That place was one of the worst I had seen. Everyone there had lost their parents and they all felt like they knew what you were feeling, but none of them really did. They would apologize for what had happened when nothing could be done to change it; they tried to act like you were a part of their family now, but worst of all they expected you to forget about the traumatic event that you experienced. So I ran away from that place and started to work on getting by on my own. I started with a job and a little shack that was abandoned. Over time I began to fix the place up into a semi-decent home. I was smart for a boy my age, but not book-smart. I could out-whit anyone when I was trapped in a sticky situation, I could persuade others to believe my point of view, and I could schmooze my way to things like promotions and raises. That is how I became so high up in my job so fast, but the job didn’t matter. I was close to the top in the career field I was in but it still didn’t matter. I wasn’t happy and I am pretty sure anyone who has met me could determine that too. So I began thinking about what the problem was. Over time I figured out that I still hadn’t moved on past my parent’s deaths. I desperately wanted a solution to my problem, but came up with nothing. I began getting frustrated and angry that no solution was found. That led to me quitting my job, having a “short fuse”, and the beginning of my drinking problems at the young age of sixteen. Over time I began to think of these things less as problems and more as my way of life. Drinking became more consistent, arguing and fighting with people I didn’t even know became more common, and that memory of my parents death became smaller and smaller; little did I know that all I was doing was covering the problem up, and it was still there, buried deep inside of me. I lived that way for roughly five years. That is when I met Anna Hudson.

 She was a few months younger than me and took my breath away the moment I saw here. She was about 5’7” with long, semi-curly sandy blonde hair, and deep brown eyes. She had recently been hired at a coffeehouse that was just down the street from my shack home. That is when my drinking problem turned into a coffee problem. I began visiting the coffeehouse regularly. At first she seemed kind of nervous around me but over time she was comfortable having conversations with me. She helped me get over my anger problems and made me want to have a job again. As we started to get to know each other the more we liked each other. Eventually we started dating, her father didn’t approve. He thought I was just a bum who liked to mooch off of what others had earned. For the past couple of years that was pretty accurate but more recently, not so much. Anna didn’t care what her father thought though; all she cared about was me. It was extremely helpful to have someone with you who cared so much about you. That is why I wanted Anna and I to last, and that was going great until my problem slipped out. Anna’s parents were having us over for dinner and her mother asked about my parents. That’s when it came out, all of it. I told them about how we were out celebrating and had gotten robbed the moment we left. How I was told to go to bed the second we got home. I even told them how I had watched them die right in front of me. By the end of the story I was in tears and the three of them were stunned. None of them would have ever imagined that this kind of situation actually happened to me as a child. I expected them to be like the foster home but they weren’t. They didn’t apologize or change subject. All they did was ask if I had moved on. I told them I had but I was always a bad liar. That night Anna never left my side. She asked me what the real problem was. That was the first question that has ever left me speechless. I didn’t have an answer. That’s when she asked me if the police had caught the murderer? The police had caught him a couple months after my parents died. She then told me I had to go visit the killer.

For a while I thought she was crazy, but she was very persistent. Eventually I agreed and we went to the prison where I knew the killer was located. She went in with me and never left my side. I was left in a room with him. I found out his name was Mike Evans. He didn’t recognize me, but when I told him who I was the first thing he did was apologize to me. He told me his side of the story about how he worked for a boss that was pure evil. His boss had managed kidnap his son. He used this as blackmail and said that if Mike didn’t kill my parents his son would die. He also mentioned that after he was put in prison that his son was safely returned and his former boss eventually died of disease. Throughout the story Mike apologized numerous times. When he was finished I stood up and began walking towards the door. At the doorway I stopped and turned to Mike and told him I forgave him. The anger I felt inside of me was no longer there. However, I still felt like there was something else there besides anger. It was a feeling of emptiness and unfulfillment. I began to feel like there were other kids out there who were in situations similar to mine. They would never feel the same way that I did but if there was anything I could possibly do to help those children I would find a way.

 That is when my life began to go uphill again. I got another job and saved up money until I had enough to open up my own business. My business instantly skyrocketed to success due to my charismatic abilities. Anna and I got married and for the most part I had a very happy life. However, there was still that small feeling of emptiness whenever I thought of my parents deaths. That is when I created my own foundation for foster children. Once a week I would donate a portion of my profit to my foundation. I would also spend at least an hour a day doing community service for foster homes around town. The more I helped the children the more complete I felt. Now, I feel content with myself. I still get a little depressed and angry when I think of my parents death, but Anna helps those feelings go away quickly. The foster homes were more inviting then they were while I was there. Everyone in town says that it is because of me and the service I did for others, but I didn’t see it that way, because their idea of my service and bringing smiles to children’s faces, is just what gets me through the days. My name is James Jackson and this was my story.