This web site contains stories of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual child abuse.

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Another Saturday morning rolls around and we were up and at it real early. This was one day that I really dreaded seeing come to pass, because my wife had sat up most of the night before marking each and every garage sale that was advertised in our local paper. So I already knew ahead of time, that she would drag me by my shirt collar from house to house all over the county just looking at a bunch of worthless old junk.

Not only that, but it was exceptionally hot and the humidity was sticky beyond belief. When I walked out the front door of our house, it felt like someone had thrown a hot, wet wool blanket across me, which almost made me choke. Nevertheless, the wife was all smiles and she had that step about her, which makes one think that garage sales are the only thing in the world that makes life really worth living. All I needed now was for a couple of screaming grandkids to show up and then I could legally hit myself in the head with two large cans of green beans, possibly drawing blood.

Then off we headed in our hot car with her arms loaded with tons of newspaper clippings, charts, diagrams, Post'em notes, coast guard off shore diving maps and several 8 by 10 glossy aerial photos, which might possibly contain some secretly hidden underground garage sale items seen only by CIA satellites passing over the United States and/or its adjoining territories. Not to mention two cell phones (with extra batteries), mace, a stun gun, and the ever so handy 10,000 X 1 quick zoom binoculars with the new quick-grip night vision feature, as well as a roof mounted tripod with aftermarket speed turning to pick any last-minute items that might have secretly passed through the Panama Canal during the exchange process and/or any Henry the VIII particle board antique phone stands, which U.S. customs officials might have missed as they were being smuggled in by submarine during their 3 a.m. coffee break.

I have to admit that the first yard sale was really not too bad because I got to personally view two open cans of paint, which did not have any lids. Never before in my life had I ever had the chance to be the proud owner of a brown and a gray paint skin. But then I came across something that really excited me. I mean all the way to the core of my entire being; a red and black lawn mower, which someone had personally spray painted by hand and it was without handle or cutting blade. I stood there for about 10 minutes or so, with my hand on my chin thinking that for less than $1,000 I could get this $99 lawn mower back in perfect working condition. But then my chemical balance returned as I shook my head quickly bringing myself back to the "world of the living."

Finally, we ended up at a garage sale on Brighten Circle. As we walked up to the people who were throwing the spectacular event, I noticed a woman sitting on one of those lawn chairs that has those little bitty legs and it almost sits level to the ground. When I said "good morning" to the woman, I noticed that she had her legs cocked up with her feet in the chair seat. I also noticed that she was wearing a very loose pair of shorts and the leg of the pants was quite open. I could see that she was not wearing any under clothing.

"Whoa," I thought to myself as I spun around with my eyes closed to tell my wife.

As the little pink hearts, orange stars, yellow moons, green clovers and little blue diamonds slowly faded from my memory, I told my wife what I had seen, but she appeared to be more interested in what was happening at the junk table than in what I was trying to tell her. So I just turned around and went back to the car to wait for her.

On and on and on, the long hot hours slowly passed. Still my wife continued dragging me from one yard sale to another. The seasons came and went and as Haley's Comet flew by the lonely earth, the century turned over a new leaf and we eventually made it to the last yard sale on her long list. "Look here Dad, a bunch of tools in this old box," she said. I looked into the wooden box and saw several tools that were so old that the sizes stamped on the sides of the tools had been worn off. "There's no sizes on the sides of these wrenches and I'd have to guess the size every time I use one of them" I responded.

"That'll work," she said with a big smile.

Rolling my eyes back in my head and trying to come out of the semi-coma, which I had been in for the last seven hours, I finally purchased the three wrenches just to satisfy her. Three wrenches that I later gave to the Salvation Army store and that never appeared on their shelves.

I walked back to the car and waited until she was done. Then she came up and said, "Have you seen anything all day long that you liked, Dad?" Being sarcastic, I replied, "Not since Brighten Circle."

Boy! That old purse with the dead spider in it that she bought without any zipper or shoulder strap really hurt like hell.

Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.

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