The Anger Within

By Melvin Hayden


Melvin Hayden pens a 3-part series on the affect anger has when it stays within.

I remember the last time I got my butt-cut from my mom. I remember how it felt. I remember the words she spoke with every lick that struck my behind.  I remember her words - they cut through me more than the belt did. I remember the anger.  The anger I felt towards her for hitting me. The anger I felt because it was her doing it. This woman that holds my emotional value has to play both roles of mother and father, and it causes confusion for me as I tried to understand her role in my life - nurture me or torture me. The anger within started with something deep-rooted, it started with something a lot simpler than a butt-cutting or a punishment. I found that this was the reasons why I didn’t care about consequences or my actions that caused them.

  It was the anger. This anger started with a decision I had nothing to do with. His decision would affect me and every woman or child that is involved with me for my life. I was committed to anger the day I was conceived.  When a man starts to become a man he looks to other men. This look is not for guidance or direction like people think. This look is for understanding. I want to understand who I am, what I am and how did I get here? These are the questions a young man is seeking out. I don’t have an immediate example of that, so I’m out on my own to understand the DNA inside me.

Image by engin akyurt

I have to find out what it means to be a man. I’m scared out here. I’m looking in places of darkness because that’s how I feel and it consoles the anger.  I’m ready to become whatever it takes to wear that insignia on my chest.  I am willing to listen to the first person ready to train me regardless of where the knowledge comes from or how I have to get it. Being a man will be the image I create. My mother can give me an image of what she thinks a man looks like. That is based on her opinion and ideas of what she wanted. Maybe her image was shattered with ideas of what her daddy wasn’t or got lost in translation.  Somewhere in her life she took what was given to her and tried to work with it. He presented an image but maybe his image was the same as whatever his mother presented to him. With that said, we are both still searching for the same thing but for different reasons. 

Reasons that cause more anger, reasons that keep her still looking for a daddy and me trying to become one. I hate that when I look around I’m still staring at myself. I hate that because the image of myself makes me hate myself -because I look like someone I don’t know. I blame the unavailable person but he has no face, so I blame momma.