Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Available For Free Download
- Author: David Goggins
- Genre: Memoirs, Biographies & Memoirs, Motivational Self-Help
- Publish Date: 28 November 2018
- Size: 6 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A
STATISTIC
We found hell in a beautiful neighborhood. In 1981, Williamsville
offered the tastiest real estate in Buffalo, New York. Leafy and friendly, its
safe streets were dotted with dainty homes filled with model citizens.
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Doctors, attorneys, steel plant executives, dentists, and professional football
players lived there with their adoring wives and their 2.2 kids. Cars were
new, roads swept, possibilities endless. We’re talking about a living,
breathing American Dream. Hell was a corner lot on Paradise Road.
That’s where we lived in a two-story, four-bedroom, white wooden home
with four square pillars framing a front porch that led to the widest,
greenest lawn in Williamsville.
We had a vegetable garden out back and a
two-car garage stocked with a 1962 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, a 1980
Mercedes 450 SLC, and, in the driveway, a sparkling new 1981 black
Corvette. Everyone on Paradise Road lived near the top of the food chain,
and based on appearances, most of our neighbors thought that we, the socalled happy, well-adjusted Goggins family, were the tip of that spear. But
glossy surfaces reflect much more than they reveal.
They’d see us most weekday mornings, gathered in the driveway at 7 a.m.
My dad, Trunnis Goggins, wasn’t tall but he was handsome and built like a
boxer. He wore tailored suits, his smile warm and open. He looked every bit
the successful businessman on his way to work. My mother, Jackie, was
seventeen years younger, slender and beautiful, and my brother and I were
clean cut, well dressed in jeans and pastel Izod shirts, and strapped with
backpacks just like the other kids. The white kids. In our version of affluent
America, each driveway was a staging ground for nods and waves before
parents and children rode off to work and school. Neighbors saw what they
wanted. Nobody probed too deep.
Good thing. The truth was, the Goggins family had just returned home from
another all-nighter in the hood, and if Paradise Road was Hell, that meant I
lived with the Devil himself. As soon as our neighbors shut the door or
turned the corner, my father’s smile morphed into a scowl. He barked
orders and went inside to sleep another one off, but our work wasn’t done.
My brother, Trunnis Jr., and I had somewhere to be, and it was up to our
sleepless mother to get us there.
I was in first grade in 1981, and I was in a school daze, for real. Not
because the academics were hard—at least not yet—but because I couldn’t
stay awake. The teacher’s sing-song voice was my lullaby, my crossed arms
on my desk, a comfy pillow, and her sharp words—once she caught me
dreaming—an unwelcome alarm clock that wouldn’t stop blaring. Children
that young are infinite sponges. They soak up language and ideas at warp
speed to establish a fundamental foundation upon which most people build
life-long skills like reading and spelling and basic math, but because I
worked nights, I couldn’t concentrate on anything most mornings, except
trying to stay awake.
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