Plight of the Fortunate

© 2021 Tre LaVin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/27/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-2422-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-2423-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-2424-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021908491

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 Congress Park

Chapter 2 The Other Twin’s Best Friend

Chapter 3 New Dimensions

Chapter 4 The Seed of Disruption

Chapter 5 16

Chapter 6 Impactful Decisions

Chapter 7 Profiles in Courage

Chapter 8 Quicksand

Chapter 9 Limping to the Finish

Chapter 10 Trial For Error

Chapter 11 College Bound, Trouble Found

Chapter 12 It All Comes Down to This

About the Author

Oh, to be special in that particular way…elevating from the surface of what they heard and leaving them to wallow in the depths of what they can never even begin to understand…

This work is dedicated to all who are struggling to balance what others see against what it is yet to be conceived in an effort to do more than just merely exist.

Introduction

W here to even begin? All my life I’ve heard that if I just continue moving forward there will be no reason to look back. Doing everything the way I’m supposed to in order to meet everyone else’s expectations has its benefits, but I am not a robot either. I know we just met but let me show you where I am, or better yet, let me introduce you to my deeper thoughts through one of my many journal entries:

Addiction

He didn’t know that he had it

This thing called a habit

He liked the fact that he could love it

So much that he hid his lust for it

They courted for awhile

Seeing each other in passing

Three weeks was all it took

To get to know his friend called Passion

Whenever they got together

He was totally free

They would meet on weekends

At the corner of distortion and reality

Taking a detour from responsibility

Always trying to capture missing priorities

They closed so many doors throwing away the key

That his own mirror

Couldn’t stand the fractured sight of he

In gaining one friend

He pushed the others away

Until, finally, he and Passion

Saw each other what seemed like everyday

After about six months

He couldn’t recognize

The man he had become,

Whom so many would despise

Many people tried to tell him

But he just wouldn’t listen

He couldn’t bring himself to see

His friend Passion, as an addiction

So, there’s that…but why even talk to you? No one else seems to be listening or let alone, care. Sometimes speaking in third person helps me to create some distance between where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going. Quite honestly, from moment to moment I am not always entirely sure where that is even supposed to be. In trying to forge my own path it feels like I have never been able to escape this lingering shadow. Let me tell you, the weight of that has been suffocating at times. Telling you where I am is easy enough…showing you just how I got here, now that is a different story…

One

Congress Park

C onfidence brings conviction to conversation. All my life I have heard some version of this same phrase. It is my father’s way of saying that belief in oneself coupled with the audacity and courage to stand for up for it will give anyone the tools needed to express themselves to others and be heard. I remember thinking once how much being heard was important but then challenging myself to find a more impactful way to make sure that I, Gabriel Clarkson, could be understood.

I have always known that I was here on this earth to do more than just exist. The trouble was that everyone (my parents especially) just expected that I would just do what was right. A solid reputation is a great thing to have, and I DO have one, don’t get me wrong…but I also have vices…you know, shortcomings. I am tainted and imperfect and I do struggle from time to time or moment to moment. Yet, whenever I mention such things, I am told to just shake them off and keep pushing forward because the best is still to come.

I have been going off script for a while, in my head at least trying to hold fast to the belief that the greatness that my father has proclaimed for me will come to pass. I certainly don’t want to let him down because Andrew Clarkson is NOT someone that you let down! But the pressure to not fail at times has overrode the pressure to succeed and be the best that I could be. Those things may sound like they are the same but trust me when I tell you they are not!

One of the hardest parts of the self-serving identify crisis that I now find myself in stems from what I see when I look in the mirror because I don’t just see my father but also my twin sister, Delila. We may come from the same gene pool, but that mirror shows me the parts of myself I can’t run from and the other parts of me that I should embrace but have not yet built up the courage to explore, those parts of my inadequacy that Delila seems to have mastered.

Perceptions can get clouded. I’ve run into people who seem to think that just because I am well spoken or carry myself a certain way that I somehow got everything handed to me. My mother, Sophie has a saying: Everything earned, nothing given! Now my mother and sister get typecast all the time by people thinking that there is no brain attached to the natural outer beauty that they possess. That is until someone crosses them or makes the wrong assumption. At that point, all who confidently strode over struggle back carrying the dropped jaws of their misconceptions with them like a ball and chain. My mother has a term she uses to describe such people, often saying that those with these types of misgivings can’t help it if they are stuck stiff.

I have a good life. I won’t deny that, nor should I. I have been a straight A student all throughout high school and am now set to be the salutatorian of my college graduating class. I grew up in church. In all honesty though I have reached a point where there seem to be more questions than answers regarding the way I should be walking on this spiritual journey. Just because mom and dad said it and grandma prayed for it, does that make it all right? I am beginning to wonder.

This brings me back to my father. He is what some people would call a self-made man. He can’t stand excuses, so he makes none and refuses to allow his family to become stagnant to the point where we either make excuses or worse, become one. If there is ever a problem, he likes to solve it by walking out one of his many sayings, (called Drew-isms by those who know him best): the solution is in the soil. We all take this to mean that we can’t grow if we are not willing to dig deep and turn over a few rocks.

Ever since I was little, I always looked up to my father. He is my hero. He has always given me the confidence to know that if the work is done right the reward will show up in the results. I’ve seen this man endure, persevere, overcome, and ultimately win. He is a pillar in our community, one who has done all he could to lay the groundwork for the legacy that he hopes will be carried forward long after he is gone. My sister and I are aware of what he and my mother have sacrificed for us and the responsibility we have going forward to make our own mark as we are tasked to not only preserve the legacy but carry it forward leaving it even better than we found it.

We are not from the gutter and quite honestly, I don’t know what it means to go without, but I DO know what it means to have to work for everything I have. Delia and I were taught early to respect others and take nothing for granted. At the same time, we were taught to be prepared and not to be intimidated walking into any room. It is our job to enter a room full of questions and walk out leaving only the assurance of definitive answers.

Denver, Colorado has shaped and molded the man I have become. I am proud to be from here. There is something uniquely special about the Mile High City as it has become known, gaining its name from the fact that the city sits one mile above sea level. My parents are from here. My dad graduated from Manual High, and my mom graduated from George Washington High in the city. They met in college at the University of Denver, or DU as we Denverites call it, after earning basketball scholarships, with dad studying law and mom studying art history. Dad would later earn his Juris Doctor (JD) from DU as well. He is now a prominent lawyer in the city, having started his own practice, the Clarkson Firm, and mom is an art history professor at DU.

Delila is full of confidence. While we were in middle school, she was introduced to theatre arts and she was instantly hooked. Ever since that first encounter, life has always been a stage. I am proud of my sister. She has really found an outward channel that allows her the freedom of expression. For college she decided to go to DU, following our parents and continuing the Pioneer legacy.

We are people who love sports, food, and the arts. It is not uncommon to find a member of the Clarkson family somewhere in the city at a Broncos, Nuggets, Rockies, or Avalanche game. You are just as likely to find us at the Denver Art Museum or Fillmore Auditorium showing an appreciation for art and live music. We have a running joke in the family that captures the spirit of our family to the core. See, Fillmore Auditorium is located on Clarkson Street and dad likes to think that we are meant to be there given that our family name and the street that the auditorium sits on are one in the same.

All those places are wonderful, but I always find the most serenity at nearby Ferril Lake, located in City Park, which is just under a mile from the family home. Growing up, whenever I was stressed and needed to clear my head I would go to the lake, sit in the park, and write. A sunset glistening off the lake is one of the more beautiful sights I have ever seen in my lifetime.

Why do I find so much peace there? There are two reasons, nature doesn’t ask for much and blank pages of loose-leaf paper don’t talk back. Delila and I have this saying, D has her stage and G has his page. When one of us mentions this, the other already knows that there is a real need to process whatever we are dealing with and the places that we do this allow us the freedom to find ourselves before we got lost completely.

On another note, growing up in the Baptist Church has been a great experience for our family as well. My entire spiritual journey has been cultivated at Zion Baptist Church, which also happens to be the oldest church in the Rocky Mountain western region, having been established back in 1865. The church is located just under two miles from our home and less than a mile from where dad grew up. Some of my greatest memories and moments have happened in and around that place.

Dad also made sure that Sundays were free for church, Broncos games in football season, and mom’s Sunday dinners. Mom’s lamb chops with roasted red potatoes and asparagus along with her smothered pork chops with mac and cheese, collard greens, and cornbread are mainstays that are always requested. Those dinners eventually took on a life of their own as it was not uncommon to see any and everybody in the neighborhood stop through after church to grab a bite to eat, watch the game, and listen to some good music. Mom and dad’s favorite musical group is Earth, Wind, and Fire with the songs September, Shining Star, and Reasons serving as family favorites.

If we weren’t inside, we were out on the basketball court in the back yard. The games of one on one were always intense but those were nothing compared to the fierce two on two games we would play as a family. The only person I ever met that was more intense that my father when it came to sports was my mother. That mentality carries over into everything the Clarksons do, and it shows. Spades. Dominoes. Darts. The game itself doesn’t matter but there must be a winner because mom doesn’t believe