The man who would be introduced to me as my soon to be dad was alright at first, as much as I could tell for being barely four at the time. But it didn’t take long for me to learn the real nature of his ways. My mom walked down the aisle with her jaw wired shut, for some slight that I don’t recall ending in him breaking her jaw. The attention to me was soon to follow, and by the time I reached ten years old, my fear of any other human on earth was drilled out of me at the hands of my own personal boogey man. This continued for a number of years, before I was fifteen and my mom left him upon hearing the news that he slept with a prostitute in the company of my uncle.
I never said that my life story was a pleasant one, but on we go. We ended up back in Wichita at that point, my mom trying to start her life anew, and me hating everything and everyone involved in life. I went through a major rebellious stage for quite a few years. And where most kids talk about them trying drugs like pot, and staying out past curfew, I was being brought home by cops every second night and straight up leaving home for days at a time. I was fortunate enough not to get seriously involved in any drugs or alcohol, unlike most members of my families, cause I can just imagine what would have happened to my life if that had happened.
Instead my drug of choice was crime, theft in particular. I don’t know what it was about taking things that belonged to others, about not wanting to work for things, or invest in them. Perhaps it was because I saw virtually everything as disposable, things were things, and everything had a shelf life, even people. So after graduating from coins, smokes and the like to bikes and cars, eventually I found myself in the only place I was destined, jail. Fortunately for me I was still a minor at the time, so no permanent record stuff, and no sharing cells with, too many, murderers.
When I was released, it was just before my own eighteenth birthday, and a time in my life that I decided that I didn’t like the path I was heading down. I needed to do something different, something that would clean up my image, my act, and my ability to do anything constructive with my life, and I knew that the first step was getting the hell away from Wichita, which only seemed to bring me bad memories, and bad intentions. So I placed a call to a childhood friend who offered for me to come out to Louisville and try things over there. The next day I found myself in a truck and on my way, off to see what another city could offer me in life.