The Boogie Man

The Boogie Man

This is not fiction. This is a true story that happened to me. This sort of thing, and much worse, goes on all over the world every day. We’re supposed to protect our children, not abuse them.

I think the most amazing thing my father did for me was to teach me to be unmaterialistic. When I was 12, dad told me to clean my room. But I was busy doing kid stuff. A little later he told me once more. But still I was busy doing kid stuff. The third time did the trick. He ordered me to remove all personal items from my room leaving only my furniture, clothes and school materials. He then ordered me to take all these silly materialistic things down stairs and outside to the burn barrel and set them on fire. I learned not to be materialistic as I watched all my model cars, books, fan magazines, National Geographics, records, drawings, carvings, bug collection, indian arrow head collection, museum souvenirs, transistor radio, photographs, post cards, pen pal letters…all those those material things that I “thought” were important to me, go up in smoke. I also quickly learned to become very philosophical that day. And yes, my room was spotless and much easier to take care of after that. It was that day that I found out the boogie man didn’t live under my bed. He was married to my mother.

Footnote: Unfortunately, my father was a cruel and sadistic man who thoroughly enjoyed his perversion. What I find unbelievable is that I truly loved him and did everything I could to gain his approval. ~ Trabue Gentry

Invisible by Laura Williams

Camera:NIKON D5100 Lens: 50mm 1.8 Focal Length: 50mm Shutter Speed: 1/1250 secs Aperture: f/1.8 ISO/Film: 100

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Downtown Nashville, Tennessee in the early hours. Photography by Trabue Gentry, 1978

My Great Uncle Walter

Among the many things I inherited, one stands out: my extreme emotions. My great uncle Walter was exactly like me. He suffered from, what they called back then, melancholy. He was so emotional he could barely stand living. He wrote incredibly romantic poetry constantly in an attempt to purge his emotions and every line was a flowery lament. He loved all people and cared what happened to them. He worried about poverty, sadness and pain. He was incurably romantic and loved women, all women and was deeply depressed over this. Eventually, when he was in his 30’s he became so melancholy that he committed suicide sighting that he couldn't stand to “feel” any longer. Side note: When I was in my 30's a psychologist suggested that I get the boo "Women Who Feel Too Much" and exchange the word women for men. ~ Trabue Gentry