Me Too Part II :'(

Last week I wrote about the gas station attendant who wouldn’t quit calling me “Sweetheart” despite repeated requests that he not do so and the boss who thought he’d get me drunk and do God knows what with me. I honestly wish I could say those were the only assaults I’ve endured. They weren’t.

            I do want to warn you that I will be a bit graphic in this post. Now, having said that I’ll get right to it.

            The first one was a male babysitter. He wanted to take a bath with me that night. I thought he was cute and didn’t see anything wrong with it. Once we were in the tub together, he did tell me not to tell my parents.

            After the bath, we went into my bedroom and laid on my bed naked. He wanted me to lick his penis while he licked my vagina. I thought this was weird, but went along with it. I quickly discovered that even freshly bathed, I didn’t care for the taste of his penis. When I told him, he told me to try using hand lotion. That really didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. I don’t remember how things ended, but at the time I didn’t think anything of what happened.

            There was one encounter with a stranger in the local park. For some reason, despite being warned about strangers, I would talk with them. I met a man at a local park while hanging out with my younger brother. We showed him around, including the forested area towards the back.

           

            While we were in the forested area, the man pulled his penis out and held my hand on it to stroke him. I remember being uncomfortable and not wanting to touch it, but I didn’t know what to do. Back then we weren’t told it was okay to say “no” in those kinds of situations. After a few minutes, he let go of my hand and put his penis away. We left the area as quickly as possible.

            Those two weren’t the worst in my life though. The next two stories I’m about to tell are the worst for me.

            The next incident involved a young man upon whom I had a crush. He was the nephew of a friend of my mother’s who she asked to babysit me and my brothers one night.

            I was years old and he was 15. I’d had a crush on him for a years and he knew it. That night, he started paying more attention to me. Pretty soon we were kissing when we thought my brothers weren’t looking. I had a high necked shirt on, so he asked me to change into something lower. I quickly did so.

            After a while we ended up on my parent’s bed laying side by side. At first we were just kissing. To me it was fun, but no big deal. Pretty soon he was asking me to have sex. I was surprised, but I said, “No.”

            He kissed me some more, then asked about sex again. I said, “No.”

            He kept asking and I kept saying, “No.” It didn’t matter to him. I told him I was worried about getting pregnant, but he told me I was too young. It didn’t matter to him how many times I said, “No.”

            He kept asking till I gave in. I don’t know what he got out of it, but it didn’t last long and it was painful for me. Not only that, but I felt guilty for years afterward because I’d “consented” to sex before marriage. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized that I had nothing to feel guilty about. My “consent” was given under pressure. That’s when I realized that I’d been taken advantage of and raped.

            Mother told me years later that when she came home that night, she found a suspicious damp spot on her bed. While she couldn’t prove anything, she never asked him to babysit again.

            The final person was my mother’s second husband, Don. The worst part in his case was that he deceived me into thinking it was just a secret game we played in my bedroom.

            He came to me with this idea for a game we would play. In this game, we’d each roll six dice up to three times. On any one roll we could keep some of the dice and reroll the rest or we could reroll all the dice. The person with the lowest total score lost. The loser then had to take off a piece of clothing. We would keep rolling till one person was naked. When one of us was naked, we’d do one last roll. If the naked person lost, the winner got to do what he wanted with the loser. I remember losing a lot.

            When I lost, Don would have me lay one my bed, then he’d use a vibrator on my vagina. I’m not talking about the sex toys that are so common today. It was made by Amway for the express purpose of relieving pain.  It was about 4 inches wide, by two inches deep, I'm guessing. It had a tan case with chrome bumps that made me think of a double humped camel.

            I’m guessing he liked to see me writhe around on the bed in an effort to control my body, but being unable to. On one occasion he made me hold it on myself.

            I can’t say for sure how long the game went on or how much longer it would have lasted. It came to an abrupt halt one night when I was cleaning my room. I found the cord for the vibrator in my room and went to put it away in another room. As I walked through the living room, mother noticed me carrying it and asked why I had it.

            I hesitantly told her about the “game.” She told me it was wrong, then I started to cry. She assured me that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but rather it was Don who was guilty. He knew that what we were doing was wrong.

            I was uncomfortable around him for a long time after that.

            He and mother divorced shortly after. Because he’d adopted me, he had visitation rights, so every once in a while, I’d go see him. I thought of him as “dad” for many years. I finally realized that he wasn’t my “dad” in any sense of the word and I didn’t have to think of him that way. I know now that even if he’d been my biological father, from the moment he abused me, he was no longer worthy of the title, “Dad.”

            The fact that my step father used deception and made the abuse into a “game” in which I was a willing participant is the biggest reason I’ve shared my “Me Too” story of abuse. In most accounts of abuse I’ve read the perpetrator used force, coercion, threats, drugs, or a combination thereof. I wanted the world to know that sometimes abusers are deceitful.

            If someone comes to you with their story, they’re trusting you in a powerful way. Please listen to them and offer as much support as you can. Encourage them to talk to law enforcement if at all possible. Go with them if necessary. Most importantly though, just be there for them. Sexual assault is hard enough to deal with without others acting like it’s not important or that somehow the victim brought it on themselves.

            One last thought; sexual assault is not about sex. It is about power over the victim.

             

Me Too Part I :(

            I hesitated to write my story about “me too” because so many were out there, but the more I read other people’s experiences, the more I realized that mine has differences that should be told. For this blog, I’m going to write about the one time I was verbally harassed and the one time an employer touched me inappropriately.

            I used to go to a Chevron gas station near where I lived as there wasn’t another one within a reasonable distance of home or work. One night as I was leaving after paying, the attendant said, “See you later, Sweetheart.”

            I politely asked him not to call me “sweetheart.” The next time I saw him, it happened again. It happened repeatedly, so I finally made it a point to talk to the manager. She literally said, “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

            What!? At that point, I was stunned. I came to her as a customer to complain about behavior that I found offensive, but instead of saying, “I’ll talk to him,” she acted like it was no big deal. I was so shocked and disappointed that I just walked out.

            I did think about finding another gas station, but the only other ones in the vicinity sold a lower quality of gas. Being a single woman who depended on her car, gas quality was important. I also spoke with another employee there about writing a letter to the owner, but he assured me that the manager would read it, so there was no point.

            He finally stopped one night when I started to walk out after paying. He called me “sweetheart,” again. I turned around, kicked the partially closed door open, and said, “DON’T EVER CALL ME ‘SWEETHEART,’ AGAIN.”

            I didn’t yell, but I was very “firm” in my tone of voice.  I was no longer politely requesting him to stop, but rather demanding that he stop. Either he finally got the message, or I never saw him again. I don’t remember at this point.

            When I was a teenager I got my first “real” job primarily doing phone sales for a two man carpet cleaning company. Once in a while I got to go out in the field with them and clean carpets. I didn’t earn much money, but it did give me some real “job” experience. For a few weeks.

            One night when we’d all been out cleaning carpets, the boss decided to stop by a liquor store. He asked me what I wanted. I was underage, so I didn’t know anything about alcohol. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember thinking, “Great! I’m going to get to try some alcohol.”

            It didn’t occur to me that he had other things on his mind besides giving me alcohol. Even after we got back to the “office,” which was located in his home and he started talking about having a recording of Marilyn Monroe giving some guy a blow job, I didn’t realize what he was hoping would happen.

            As we sat there, sipping our drinks and listening to the recording of Marilyn, I stretched with my arms high over my head. As I did so, my boss reached out and poked me right in the nipple on both sides. I was surprised and uncertain it had happened, so I stretched again. He poked me again.

            At this point, I didn’t know what to do or think about the situation. I still didn’t realize what his full intent was, either. Just as I’m sitting there wondering what to do and starting to realize that I need to get out of there, my mother pulled into the driveway. I grabbed my things and left. I asked my mother what had made her come to pick me up from work and she told me that it was getting late and she was concerned.

            By the next day, I was angry at my boss and had decided to never go back. I called him to give him the courtesy of letting him know, but got no answer. I called repeatedly for a couple of days to tell him. When I finally did reach him, all he said was, “Oh, hi. What’s up?”

            As if nothing had happened. I told him he could go to hell for all I cared as I was never coming back to work for him. Then I slammed the phone in his ear. This was in the days before cordless phones. The last time I saw him, I was with a friend of mine walking somewhere. I had stopped to re-tie my shoe when I heard a horn honk. I looked up just in time to see my former boss driving by. I stuck my middle finger up at him.

            Looking back on this, I realize I was lucky in more ways than one. I didn’t have to have a job, so I didn’t have to put up with his crap. Also, my mother showed up just in time to keep me from getting drunk and/or sexually assaulted. I know now that had I stayed there too much longer that night or any other day, I would have at some point been sexually assaulted by my boss and possibly his partner.

            I’m very thankful I wasn’t. I never did tell my mother what happened that night, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she figured out something had happened.

Next week I’ll write about the sexual assaults that hurt me most. Unfortunately there was more than one.

Father's Day

With Father’s Day having just passed, I thought I should write something about fathers in general. The question is, “what?” I mean seriously, I didn’t really have a father growing up, so what could I write about fathers? Then I remembered a blog I wrote earlier about “Not Sinning Keeps the Devil Away?” (http://wfwoodbury.blogspot.com/2015/07/not-sinning-keeps-devil-away.html) That’s when I realized that there are all kinds of fathers in the Bible to write about.

The first father of course, was Adam. He and Eve had three sons that were written about. There was Cain and Abel, then Seth. If you’re familiar with the story, then you know that Cain killed Abel because Abel’s sacrifice to God was accepted, but Cain’s was not.

Then there’s Noah. He had a few sons who took their wives with then when they entered the ark.

Isaac who was told in his old age that his wife, Sarah would bear him a son. Sarah basically scoffed at the idea because she was past child bearing age. She gave him her handmaid thinking that’s how God was going to fulfill His promise to her husband. The handmaid, Hagar, bore Ishmael. Later Sarah bore Isaac. This created all kinds of problems. Including, but not limited to Hagar feeling a certain pride that she could bear a child while her mistress could not, which in turn caused her to disrespect her mistress.

Isaac had two sons Esau and Jacob. Jacob in turn had 12 sons from two wives. Leah, his first wife bore him ten sons and Rachel, his second wife bore him two sons.

The Bible also talks about God as our heavenly father who cares for us more than any earthly father can. He loves us so much that He sent his only son to die on the cross for our sins. That’s powerful love.

So, why did my blog about “Not Sinning Keeps the Devil Away” remind me of fathers? Job. I know the primary story of Job is about how God allowed the Devil to take everything away from Job to the point that he was sitting in the ashes with boils on every part of his body. However, the former friend that I mentioned in the blog told me that Job had offered sin sacrifices on behalf of his children, even though by every standard there is, they were responsible for themselves. He said that was wrong. I’d never noticed that before, so I looked it up for myself.

In Job 1:1 we read:

“There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job, and that man was blameless, upright, fearing God, turning away from evil.” NAS

So, here we have God saying right off the bat that Job walked uprightly before Him. Blameless.  In other words, this was a man who did not sin.

In verse two, we see that Job had seven sons and three daughters. Verse three lists his worldly possessions that comprised his wealth. In verse four we read that his sons hold a feast in their house, each one in turn and invite their sisters to eat and drink with them.

In Job 1:5 we read:

“And it came about, when the days of feasting had completed their cycle, that Job would send and consecrate them, rising up early in the morning and offering up burnt offerings according to the number of them all; for Job said, ‘Perhaps my sons have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.’ Thus Job did continually.” NAS

Given that in verse one, we see God calling him a man that was “blameless, upright, fearing God, turning away from evil;” that alone tells me that Job offering up sacrifices on behalf of his children is not a sin. In fact, it strikes me as a good thing. A lot of people would say, “Okay, my children are grown, they’re in houses of their own and they are no longer my responsibility.”

But not Job. He loved his children and was willing to sacrifice out of his own herds. Now, I realize that Job was rich, so the financial cost of sacrificing on behalf of his children would not have been a burden; but how many fathers love their children enough to make such sacrifices?

Personally, I wish all fathers were like Job in regards to their children. If they were, this world would be a very different place. Children would grow up feeling loved and safe, which in turn would make them better adults. That in turn would help our country become a better place. A place where people could be safe in general.

A Tribute to One of My Best Friends

I was going to write a “Mother’s Day” post and maybe share some stories from the trenches of motherhood as I remember them from my son’s younger days. Then I sent flowers to a friend of mine’s mother and that got me to thinking about her son. Why is that so important? My friend is deceased, so I sent them in his honor.

He died last year in March, probably of natural causes. I didn’t go to his funeral because his family forgot that I had my name legally changed from “Mayone (my own)” to “Wynter.” I learned about his death when I realized that I hadn’t heard from him in a while. He usually called me every couple of months or so and we’d talk about whatever was on our minds. When I realized that I hadn’t heard from him, I tried to call him. When I got a recording telling me his number had been disconnected, I tried again. When I got the same recording after double checking the number, I really got worried. I looked him up on Facebook, but his page was gone. Thankfully, I knew he had a brother, so I looked for his page. That’s where I found pictures of my friend’s grave.

So, now it’s over a year later and Mother’s Day has just happened. Why not do something about Mother’s Day? Well, sending flowers to his mother in his honor got me to thinking about just how much I missed him.

Never again will I hear him say things like, “Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise,” or the way he’d say, “Great” in that slow, sarcastic baritone he had. I’m realizing more and more that I miss him more than I ever thought I would. Never again will I hear him tell me how his mother had hoped someday we’d marry. While I loved him as a brother, I was never going to be romantically interested in him. Largely because he was younger than me.

We met in junior high as we were both in a special education class. I don’t know why he was in there, but for me it was about learning how to deal with the mean kids in school without creating more problems for myself. I had no idea back then that he’d become one of my best friends.

At our class Christmas party, I believe we drew names. I don’t remember whose name I received, but I do remember that he got mine. He gave me a comb his mother had made with blue and white silk flowers on it along with a bottle of Sweet Honesty perfume. I wore that comb to death and kept the flowers from it for years after it had fallen apart.

We went to the same high school and would see each other in the halls. I always looked forward to our meetings. Then I graduated high school, his family moved to another state, and we lost touch. He did write and I meant to write back, but never got around to it.

Fast forward about 20 years and a website called “Classmates” becomes available. I signed up, then started looking for him. I’d forgotten that he was two years behind me, so I kept looking in my graduating class. Lol Then one day I remembered that he’d been two years younger. The moment I checked his graduating class, I found him. That’s when I paid the fees for membership so I could contact him.

I immediately e-mail him. I was thrilled when I heard back. We started e-mailing back and forth, then pretty soon he said he had something to tell me and he wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it. He was gay. I e-mailed back and told him that in John 3:16 “God so loved the world . . .” If God said that, who was I to differ? From then on, we kept in touch via e-mail.

He later told me that he’d found me, but was saving up the money for the fee. I simply had the money first.

It turned out he was still living in Oregon. Several weeks later, I was able to drive down to see him. I spent the weekend at a local B&B and we had a good time hanging out. We went to his favorite bar and just generally caught up in person.

That was a wonderful weekend, then several weeks later I took my then young son down to meet him and some other friends of mine. We spend the first day with Nathan and the plan was to spend the next day with my friends on the coast. The second day I woke up with a nasty headache and no pain reliever. I’d forgotten it at home. I managed to get through breakfast, then find a store to get some pain reliever. I had my son buckled in his car seat and told him that mommy didn’t feel good and needed a nap before we went anywhere else. He said, “Okay.”

Just as I settled in to the driver’s seat, my cell phone rang. It was Nathan telling me he’d had an urge to call me. When I told him what was going on with me, he immediately invited me over. Told me I could lay in his bed and he and my son would watch movies. I thanked him, then drove to his place. He lived on the second floor of a barn in a small apartment. The moment I got to the top of his stairs, I saw a couch of some sort and collapsed on it. I felt him cover me with a blanket, then I was out. When I woke up, I saw my son and Nathan sitting in his chairs watching a Disney animated movie, Tarzan, I think.

When I woke up, we got on our way, but I would not have had a good day had it not been for Nathan.

If memory serves, the next time I saw him, he and his parents had come to Washington for a short vacation. I invited him and his parents to dinner. While dinner was cooking, my son, Nathan, and I went across the street to an old school playground so my son could run off some energy while we visited. They were camping, so I believe I visited them at the campsite while they were here.

Anyway, from then on, we kept in touch, usually by phone, but occasionally by e-mail. We’d call each other although he called me far more than I called him. Every time I called him, I felt like I caught him at a bad time. I think it helped that anytime I was in Oregon, I made it a point to see him.

I knew he had serious health issues. He’d told me at one point that his doctor had told him that his lungs were so bad, it was if he was 80 years old and had smoked a pack of cigarettes a day since birth. That made my head and heart ache. Especially since he was younger than me.

The last time my roommate and I were in Oregon, we visited Nathan at his apartment.  While we were there we prayed for him; that he would be completely healed. After we returned home, I continued to pray for his healing. So, it came as a shock to learn that he’d died. I really had thought that God would heal him, but I also know God has reasons for not doing so.

Anyway, all this goes to say that Nathan had a wonderful mom. I don’t know her well, but I do know that she’s a good cook, she makes cute pot holders, and enjoys doing cross stitch items as gifts for her extended family. Most importantly though, she accepted my friend as he was. Even when he came out as gay. She even helped him choose his alter ego’s name. If more parents were like that, this world would be a better place. 

So, as the month of May ends, I’d like to salute all the Mom’s out there doing their best for their children.

P.S. I didn’t think to write this before I posted, but Nathan did walk away from the gay life a couple of years before his death. He got rid of everything related to it and lived the rest of his life as the wonderful man that he was. 

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff?

Several years ago there was a new attitude – “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and It’s All Small Stuff.” I never fully agreed with that idea, although I think whoever came up with the idea meant well. The problem as I see it, is that lots of things in life are built on “small” things.

I mean, think about. There are houses built of bricks. Now bricks aren’t very big, they’re actually kind of small, but stack enough together with mortar and you can build a very nice house. Even while the bricks are being laid, the bricklayer must periodically check that they’re level. If they’re not, the house won’t last.

If you’ve ever played “Tetris,” then you probably have a fair idea of what I mean. Making too many little holes in your game can cost you the game.

The same sort of thing applies to our personal life.  How many times have you had one small thing happen, that even though you brush it off, it almost seems to be the start of a bunch of small things going wrong? By the end of the day, you’re so tired and frustrated because a bunch of little things have gone wrong.  It’s as if the Universe has conspired to make your day horrible, using little things.

Then there’s the relationships in our life. Sometimes little things can add up if they’re undealt with in our relationships. I know I get impatient with my son when he doesn’t do his chores. I realize that to him they’re not important; they’re just little things, but they affect how the household functions overall. If he doesn’t take the recyclables down to the basement for instance, the little bucket overflows into my kitchen. Then there’s the towels. He’s expected to fold them after I’ve washed and dried them. If he doesn’t, I run out of kitchen towels, not to mention bath towels when one of us needs a bath.

Whether we like it or not, small stuff can add up to big stuff, which can become a real problem. I think the biggest problem we have is in deciding what we can truly ignore and what must be dealt with as it happens. We have to ignore some things like someone cutting us off as we’re driving, except for honking our horn, but things like household chores or whatever helps our lives run smoothly, we can’t afford to ignore.

11 Books You Can’t Put Down Plus One

Awhile back I came across a list online of 11 books that you can’t put down – supposedly. For a while I kept a tab open in my browser so I’d have no trouble finding it when I wanted to read the books. I finally just ordered them all from the library. Thankfully, they weren’t all available at once. I’m a fairly quick reader, but even I have limits as to how much I can read in two weeks. The great thing about this list is that most of the books were genres and books I probably wouldn’t have read without something like this list prompting me.

#1 Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

I know there’s a TV series based on this book, but I’ve never seen it and have no desire to see it. Having said that, I loved this book. I read it first thinking it wouldn’t be one I’d really enjoy. Boy, was I surprised. The heroine, Claire accidently travels back in time 200 years in Scotland. As a result she’s forced to marry a man she’s just met, despite being married to another man in her own time. She can’t tell anyone where she’s really from, yet her medical knowledge is more advanced because of having served as a nurse during a world war, which gives her a certain importance in the clan she’s become part of through her new marriage. As soon as I have time, I plan to read the rest of the series.

#2 The Mare by Mary Gaitskill

I thought at first that this book would be a boring girl meets horse. I was wrong. Velvet is an inner city girl who gets accepted into a two week program for children like her. The children who get accepted into the program are hosted by families in another part of the state. The story starts with Velvet’s point of view, switches to her host, Claire’s point of view, then back to Velvet’s. One of the great things about this is that by the time I’d finished, I’d seen things through not only Velvet and Claire’s point of view, but also through Velvet’s mom’s eyes and Claire’s husband, Paul’s. This could not have been easy to write, but it made for a more thorough understanding of the main character, not to mention “why” things happened.

#3 The Road by Cormac McCarthy

This book is a post-apocalyptic look at a father and son’s journey to the west coast. I didn’t get past the third or fourth page. The big reason was that when either character spoke, there were no quotation marks to differentiate what they said from the rest of the story. I ended up re-reading passages because I wasn’t sure what was happening.

#4 The Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll

The main character in this book is a young woman who gets everything she wants; or at least think she wants. The voice is world weary, at times bordering on sarcasm. It almost felt like staring at a train wreck. I want to look away but I can’t.

#5 Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

One of the great things about reading is that you can put your book, magazine, or newspaper down, walk away, come back later, and pick up right where you left off. However, every once in a while you come across a book that holds your attention hostage to the story. I can only think of two stories that have truly done this to me, before now.

“Justice Denied” by J. A. Jance

And

“50 Years in the Church of Rome” by Charles Chiniquy

I must now add to that short list, “Ready Player One” by Ernest Cline.

This is a book about a video game that also serves as a public school for young people. If you have money or credits, you can explore several virtual worlds on a private space ship, but if you don’t, you’re stuck on the world where your school is.

The owner/creator dies without any heirs, but he leaves a will. In his will he specifies that there are three keys. Each key can be found by solving a riddle. The person who solves all three riddles first will inherit the company. What happens next is a race to see who gains control of the company. Most players are single players who love what the game has to offer, with one notable exception. There’s a corporation in the race that is willing to do anything and everything to gain control, including murder.

The story kept me up later than I intended more than once. I truly did not want to put it down once I started.

#6 The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

An autistic man decides to seek the perfect wife. To that end he makes a 16 page survey to winnow out potential candidates. Of course in matters of the heart things don’t always go as planned. I don’t read a lot of romantic comedies, but this one really tickled my funny bone.

#7 Mycroft Holmes by Kareem Abdul Jabbar and Anna Waterhouse

I wrote notes about all the books I read, or so I thought. I know better than to trust my memory, but apparently I forgot to write notes about this one.

I do remember that it was a mystery based on the idea that Sherlock Holmes had a brother named, Mycroft. I love mysteries, so I really looked forward to this one. I wasn’t disappointed. In fact, this made me think that I should look into reading the original Sherlock Holmes series.

#8 The Secret Chord by Geraldine Brooks

This was supposed to be a historical fiction about King David. Ordinarily I enjoy this kind of thing, but this one bored me so bad, I didn’t get past the first few pages.

#9 The Life We Bury by Alleen Eskins

A college student interviews a Vietnam veteran who’s also a convicted murderer for a college paper. In doing so, he discovers there’s more to the man than anyone realizes. Part of what I liked about this book is that it’s a reminder that people aren’t always what you see on the surface.

#10 The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George

In this book, a man who owns a bookshop on a boat, decides to go on a voyage of self-discovery after finally reading a letter from a former lover. So, he unties his boat and starts floating down the river. Along the way, he makes new friends and has a few adventures. Very enjoyable read.

#11 A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore

This was the last book to come in and I didn’t get past the first 5 pages. The main character’s constant worrying drove me nuts.

Plus One – Schools on Trial: How Freedom and Creativity Can Fix Our Educational Malpractice

This is about our education system and what’s wrong with it. The author also makes suggestions about how to repair the system, including allowing children to choose what they learn.

This book was not part of the list of “11 Books You Can’t Put Down,” but after reading it, I thought it was worth mentioning here.

  

For anyone who might be interested, this is the link to the website where I found the original list of books. If you can’t click on it, then copy and paste it into you browser’s address bar:

https://www.romper.com/p/11-books-you-cant-put-down-no-matter-how-hard-you-try-1171