I realize it’s a bit of an oxymoron, having the blog title that I chose to assume, as news is representative of something new, exciting, and unfamiliar happening, while writing of the city of Wichita, where the last new thing we had happen was the instillation of the telegraph. Ok, maybe things aren’t that bad, but it’s simpler to say that this place isn’t exactly known for it’s global impact on a day to day basis. I can state that knowing full well as I have spent the majority of my life here. I had moved away a few times, trying to get away from the life that I led here, but somehow I always end up coming back, there’s a long running joke about this place being a black hole, but the more I wind up back here, the more it seems to be fact.
I guess the simplest way of me telling my tale in this medium would be to start from the start. So here goes. I was born in the wee hours of a May day to a mother who was barely out of her seventeenth year. She was working part time in a restaurant that happened to feature live music. My dad was a drummer in a band on it’s way through town who happened to catch my moms eye. A steamy romp at the local swimming spot, and the loss of my moms virginity resulted in me. My grandfather was the traditional type, and didn’t take kindly to my mom being pregnant both out of wedlock and barely out of high school and kicked her to the curb.
My dad, was apparently in the middle of a divorce when all of this went down, and so wasn’t exactly in the spirits to be sticking around. He moved across the country shortly after finding out that he was to be a father, and I didn’t have the opportunity to meet him until I was in my twenties and long on my own by that time. Instead, my mom was left to her own devices, which included moving in with her sister. My aunt and her shared a place until I was born, and my mom got her own.
By the earliest years of my life, I was already trying to break out of this town. I would wake up earlier than my mother, scoot a chair over to the front door, unlock the bolt and chain, and head across the street to the college campus to ask the kids if they’d make me breakfast. Being only two at the time, this was quite the shock for school officials, and eventually led to children’s services being called. I was barely three when I first escaped this city, on my way to a foster family on the outskirts of the city. I remained there for a year before my mom came to pick me up, with her husband to be driving the car they arrived in.