News At 11

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.

This Just In            

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.