The Dream

Just as the title of this blog mentions, as well as my book, it is about a dream that has persisted for well over 25 years.  The Train Runs No More. This dream came about because I defied my parents once when I was younger and was almost killed.  Because of the fact that I defied my parents once, because I was almost killed, and because I had other external forces always against me, I was haunted by this dream continuously, every night.  The same goes today for children in school except in these days, children are bolder and meaner.  The more you rebel against it, the more they aspire to getting some sort of reaction from their victim.  I have yet to determine if it is because they aren't getting any attention at home, not enough from their friends, or maybe they see too much on television, or it could even be in the video games they play.  The writers of some television shows have tremendous imaginations, not to say that that is a bad thing, but some children fall into the trap of "trying this at home".  Some children spend so much time with television that the unreal becomes real.  The parents, both of whom are working and maybe even one of them is working two jobs just to keep up with the souring economy, have little time to be with their children.  When they are, they are so tired from working they don't want to be bothered.  Or if something is wrong, they put their head in the sand and hope the situation goes away.  Those that go to church seeking guidance, are distracted with the "wonderful works" that either have been done or need to be done around the world without regard for the need of help right here at home.  If one looks beyond the curtain, they find there is trouble within the church.  The pastors, priests, and preachers all have taken advantage of the power that they possess and have feathered there own nest with the tithing that has been received from its followers and use it for ill gain.  The Lord was supposed to swoop down on Oral Roberts if he didn't receive $8 million dollars by a certain date.  Really?  I was waiting to see the Lord make his swoop.  The way the media is and was, I was waiting for a televised cast of it.  Ol' Oral never got the money, and he never got swooped.  Jimmy Swaggart used his tithing for hookers, and ol' Jimmy Bakker did the same thing.  The Catholic organization took their donations and used it for legal services for the protection of their priests whom raped and molested children.  When it wasn't used for legal services, it was used to pay off the victims hoping they would go away.  Nowadays that same money is used to help illegal immigrants coming into this country, most of whom only want to come here rob, rape, and steal because when they go to jail in this country, they know we will put them up with three hots and a cot.  The Crystal Cathedral is being auctioned off because of the sins of the son.  But, I have digressed too far from the point.  Parents need to pay more attention to what is being said by their children.  Study their body language, look between the lines of the story being told.  As in the last topic, I have been ostracized by those I have attended school with, even by my own family, just because I am different.  However, having moved to another area and developing a whole new world of friends, I have learned to become resourceful and depend on no one for anything.  When you do become needful of your friends, you really find out just who your friends really are.  Even being denied a chance to tell my children goodbye when being kidnapped by their mother, or being denied ability to attend funeral services for my mother by my wonderful brother, has yet to incapacitate me any.  All of these people will answer soon enough for what they have done.  It may not be as soon as I wish for, but it will come.  In the end, the energy I expend, is and will always be positive energy.  I now have been with the same woman for almost twenty years because we respect each other and take care of each other whereas I couldn't ever find that with the first wife.  Yet I am deemed at fault.  The proof is in the pudding as they says.  The Train Runs No More.

Defiance

Up to now, now being out of high school for those at this time, they have put up with a lot of crap.  Not wanting to be classified as a tattletale, having to take what was dished out.  On the other hand, if they have already talked to their school administrators and nothing  seemed to work, then just as those who protested against the Vietnam War, if everyone is talkin', but there ain't nobody listenin', then it's time to take it to the next level.  Create a disturbance that no one can avoid.  In other words, and this is strictly my opinion and you need to decide for yourself just how much repercussion you are willing to take, the next time your "offender" feels necessary to oppress you in some manner, then make an approach in a non-threatening manner, and attack with such fierceness that everyone will notice and witness.  But, I am not saying to use a deadly weapon.  I am saying to use your fists if I have to spell it out for you.  Then when the corporal punishment begins, all you have to do is just reference the times you tried to make the administrators aware.  Two things will happen.  The mistreatment will stop or you will be expelled from school.  They can deny you admission to their school, but they cannot deny you and education.  But, you have to be ready for that crap.  After all of this, you have been ostracized by everyone in your graduating class.  So?  Ostracized.  You should be proud that not only was your graduating class able to learn a word greater than two syllables to describe their actions toward you, they were able to perform it as well.  It shows they did learn something.  But, they are like elephants.  Whatever you did or didn't do, acted in a certain way, or carried yourself, or something you said, they will NEVER forget, and they will NEVER let you forget.  The one thing in my favor;  even without a college degree from a major university, I still don't have to resort to buying my clothes from shit holes like Walmart, Mervyns, K-mart, Kohls, or even mid-level stores like Dillard's.  No wonder Dillard's went out of business.  I am able to associate with millionaires, low wage earners, engineers, blue collar workers, or whomever I feel I need to be around at the time.  I don't have to have a clique, I have never belonged to a clique, I don't need a clique now, and see no need for a clique.  I have been able to experience all levels, all races of people, without discrimination.  If my brother and my ex-wife find it necessary to ostracize me from the rest of my family, as well as my classmates doing likewise, then those people have a very narrow view on life and can't even see the forest for the trees.  Some people get eaten up by all that Christian crap.  Some can't handle their drugs and alcohol.  Some can't just leave people alone.  They just have to keep fucking with you until they get a reaction.  Then when you have responded in the manner that they were looking for, they never speak to you again.  The only way I have not responded is by taking my own life.  They have all wanted me to go away and die, or in the case of my ex-wife, she wanted me to commit suicide.  Because I stood in defiance, they are all so pissed off that that I am still here that they can't even see straight.  But, I have not missed them anymore than they have missed me.  However, my classmates did put one poor soul that they used to mistreat in school up to contacting me just to find out if I am still alive after all these years.  I explain that encounter in The Train Runs No More.  What's so astonishing is they put all their energy into having someone one contact me about a class reunion and to see if I am still alive, just so they can show that they still don't want me there.  Many of them have passed away even before me.  Many have let themselves go and have swollen up to be so fat that they have several rolls on their body.  WHETHER YA LIKE IT OR NOT!  I'M STILL HERE!  And I ain't goin' nowhere yet.  And the best part about it is that I am happy.  I am satisfied, and the woman that I am with now is not only my wife, but my best friend, my confidant, my lover, my everything.  She is that thing that some of my former classmates are still searching for, married or not.

Satisfaction

So, here I am.  I wasn't able to go to college because I didn't want to make the sacrifices that others make if they really want to go, like living in such a small ass place that you can't even fart in the place and walk away so that you don't have to smell it.  Or, picking up food in places when you should be paying for it.  Whatever it takes to go to college and you aren't able to get any school loans because of some governmental quota system.  I was denied entrance to a major university in Houston because of such a quota system  so was a gentleman by the name of Allan Bakke out in California.  He was denied entrance to University of California at Davis.  The only difference was, he was able to take his case to court.  He won his case.  But, he won after eight years.  Just long enough so that he was too old to go and acquire his medical degree.  I couldn't even take my case to court.  Disappointed?  If I dwell on it, I let it control me.  If I let it control me, then it eats me up inside and I am no longer that person that I used to be.  So, I held my chin up and moved on.  Just like the shitheads in my high school.  If I dwell on the way they treated me, then I become angry and lose myself.  So, I moved on.  If I allow them to bother me or effect me in anyway, they have won.  Those hypocrites in school that tried to "save" me and get me to follow the Lord.  I could see that they weren't practicing what they preached and I refused to follow such hypocrisies.  They gave up on me and moved on.  The negative path that some of them followed, because I exacerbated the path that they followed, they became jealous and no longer wanted to associate with me or even know me.  Fuck them too.  I moved on.  I haven't missed a thing.  My ex-wife.  After she discovered that I was not about to commit suicide at her request just so that she could collect on my life insurance policy, and by the way, to demonstrate how stupid and ignorant she is, insurance companies don't pay if it is suicide, then she decided just to kidnap my kids and be done with me.  After calling the police, they tell me a domestic quarrel is not considered kidnapping.  I suppose if I beat the crap out of her everyday or molested the children in someway, she would have every right to kidnap my kids and I would have been more understanding.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Even with the great salary I was able to acquire even without a college degree, we didn't purchase the two story home on the hill with a picket fence around the yard like she had expected by now. She was able to steal all the money out of the bank only to be used on jewelry for herself, new clothing for herself, while she dressed the children in used and hand made clothes.  The rest of the story is detailed in my book.  In the meantime, I had gotten wind of a class reunion with my high school.  I called to get the details, but had discovered that nothing had changed.  When the person on the other end of the phone realized who I was, they hung up.  In other words, even after all this time has passed (ten years), we still don't want you here.  I never gave it a second thought.  Why would anyone want to go back to visit with people that treated you like crap in the first place.  Why reopen those wounds?  Does one enjoy self-persecution?  Since it was just me now, why not enjoy myself?  I began taking vacation time and hitchhiking around the country.  I wouldn't so much as suggest it now because the world has become even more mean than it was when I was younger.  Unless one is physically able to handle themselves and willing to deal with the aftermath that comes from protecting one's self, it's not advisable to hitchhike anymore.  I enjoyed myself.  I had my encounters on the road.  I took care of those encounters and never looked back.  I have kept my chin up ever since and those that don't want to associate with me, their loss and my gain.  My nose is clean now and I'm satisfied.

Signs

Signs. Signs.  Everywhere there's signs.  Blocking up the scenery breaking up my mind... Just as the song by the Five Man Electrical Band says.  There are signs with everything you do.  There are signs with everywhere you go.  All you have to do is read the signs.  When you pull up to a busy intersection in a car that you just started to learn to drive in and you don't know what to do because there is not a traffic light there, but there is a pole with a big red insignia on it, all you have to do is read it.  You shouldn't ignore it just because there is very little traffic at the moment.  Read the damned sign!  But I ignored the sign.  I ignored several signs.  The girl I finally found in my long, arduous search was dolin' out that ass as though she couldn't give it away fast enough.  Defining my relationship with her in The Train Runs No More, she was the only one of her siblings that wasn't married yet.  I think she felt left out.  Anyway, with her giving me as much as I wanted to get, just about anytime I wanted to get it, she was able to apply the blinders so that I couldn't read all the signs available to me.  After having knocked her up, and by my own free will, I still wanted her because, she looked like Linda Carter of Wonder Woman at the time, I asked her to marry me.  Having done that, I was then not only invited into her family, but also asked of my opinion of a disagreement between her and her younger sister.  Like, I am supposed to settle whatever argument they were having.  Trying to be nice, I held back my opinion and just told her father that whatever opinion he had, that was the one I would go with.  Excuse my language, but, FUCK THAT SHIT!  That was the first sign and with the blinders on I couldn't read the sign.  I shouldn't have been nice.  I should have been myself.  Then when we showed up to the church for the rehearsal and there was a church sermon going on instead, that was another sign.  Then, I had my brother as one of the ushers.  I have no idea why.  Inside, my mind was asking why I would have someone who absolutely hated me so much that he couldn't talk to me without criticizing me all the time, in the wedding.  On the outside, by this time I was so selective of my friends, after separating myself from the dirt I used to hang with, that I felt I needed him for appearances.  I didn't pay attention to that either.  And, finally, as we began to file out at the wedding ceremony to wait and greet my soon to be wife, my brother tells me I still have a chance to turn around and leave.  There were four signs.  Of all the things my brother had to say to me, I should have paid attention to that one.  How many does one need before one realizes that something isn't right here?   And premonitions.  Those of you that have them, you have them for a reason.  Pay attention to them.  You might learn something.

Beyond the surface

So, you find somebody; like I did.  They were fun to be with.  They were happy to go out with you.  They were enjoying spending your money with you, not to mention the sex that was exchanged.  As long as they kept the sex coming, you kept the money coming, no pun intended.  But what was really behind all of that?  Did they really want to be with you?  Or were you just an escape bridge to get them out of the home they were in or the situation they were in.  My encounter is described in The Train Runs No More.  In my case, one attractive blonde lady was living with her divorced, alcoholic mother in a place that I wouldn't even house my dog in.  But the sex was great.  When she saw that I wasn't ready to get married or even ask her to marry me, she decided to call it quits.  She was married within a month after leaving me.  She wanted out of the house that she was in.  I was dating a beautiful Mexican lady for a while.  She had two beautiful, young daughters that I used to help her carry in from the car when they fell asleep on the way home from the baby sitter's house, as though I were their father.  I had been under the impression that she was divorced.  After several months of constant sex with her and I decided to ask for her hand.  She tells me her husband would not be happy with that.  Husband!  Bitch! Aren't you divorced!  Her answer was no and that her husband would not allow her to get divorced.  I was her escape while her husband was out running around with some other whore.  And then there was one that didn't care if she loved me or not.  She just needed a man with a good income to help raise her daughter.  When she could see that I was not quite set with a good job or income, off she went to find one that was.  She also married within a few months.  So, when your looking for someone, look beyond the surface. Find out why they are with you.  What is behind all of their efforts of being with you?  Just what the hell is their intention?  I wound up getting married to a person whom I thought had loved me.  It turned out that after six and a half years of marriage, she didn't get out of married life what her parents had in the thirty years of marriage that they had gotten.  She only married me because she was knocked up.  Not because she was in love with me.  All of her siblings were married and she felt left out. Besides, had she been in love with me, she wouldn't have tried to attack me once or ask me to commit suicide.  Who would do that to their spouse if they loved them?  Defined in The Train Runs No More, before you take on a partner, you had better know what you're getting into.  To this day, because my ex-wife didn't get what she wanted, even in divorce, she vowed that I would never see my children again and she has held true to her word.  She even caters to the hatred that my brother holds for me because he caters to her very wishes.  Have I missed my children?  On the one hand yes.  But, on the other, after being raised by someone with all that resentment and influence upon them, I have not missed a thing.  That only tells me just how simple minded my children are, as well as my brother, even though he thinks he is the cock of the walk.  Be careful of the shit that you step in.  You just might track it all over the place.

Sibling Interaction

While working at the insurance company I had three days off each weekend.  To take up my time, I then would tend bar at a discotheque.  I managed to pick up women there and out to breakfast we would go after the bar closed.  From there, on to their apartment.  I was still learning how to approach women.  I knew how to get them in bed, I just didn't know how to keep one as a girl friend.  If I wasn't tending bar, then I would go to Houston for the weekend and party there.  For some peculiar reason, my brother had me stay with him.  I don't know why.  He always would ridicule me.  He never missed a beat.  But then, him living away from home now, maybe I was missing the ridicule.  Maybe my personality was missing the abuse and the only satisfaction I could find was to stay with him or find it in the beds of available women.  In any case, it seemed to be more pleasant for a while.  He managed to run into some nice women.  Some were rich and I would wonder why they chose him.  Some were with child and I would wonder why they chose him.  All were attractive.  Then he ran into one that was peculiar.  She wasn't very attractive.  She had short hair like a dyke and was different from all of the others.  I never will forget.  One Saturday morning, my brother and I were up talking with each other.  She had called to see if she could come over.  He told her I was there, but it didn't matter.  She could come anyway.  I had grown used to his jabs and I was now jabbing back.  When "dykelike" finally arrived, we were introduced and we sat and talked.  My brother had said something to me that I thought was a jab, so I answered back in likewise fashion.  After my answer I looked at her face.  She was glaring at me with such disapproval of my answer to him that I could see hate in her face.  From that point on, it was down hill from there.  Not only was my brother putting my parents down for the clothing they would wear, but also the furniture in their house, the cars they would drive, even the things my father would do to keep busy.  For a full description read The Train Runs No More.  Even she would join in and it wasn't her place to do so.  She always thought she was better than my parents or even me.  I don't know how.  She was doing harder drugs than I was at the time.  Two things my mother used to say:  "Water seeks its own level and when you play with trash it will fall in your eye every time".  How right she was.  Eventually, I found other interests and stopped going to Houston, not to mention I had quit the insurance business and found other employment.  I was still trying to find myself.  I did learn that with the ridicule that my brother had to offer, apparently he didn't like it when I began fighting back.  His disposition began to evolve. And my evolution was changing as well.  I did manage to learn to listen to people and if there was something about them that I didn't appreciate, that would be the last time I would be around them.  I have developed an uncanny ability to detect within thirty minutes of speaking with someone whether someone is worth their salt or not.

After High School

After getting out of high school, by that time I was not under constant ridicule by my older brother.  He had done like everyone else.  To move up in the world you leave San Antonio.  Move up in the world.  Is that what you call it when you leave a low wage paying city and move to a higher wage paying city?  He was still punching a clock.  Anyway, at that time, if one wanted to make more money, they would leave for Houston.  It's like not living at home, but your still within driving distance.  So, I was less apt to be ridiculed on a daily basis now.  Yet, I was still getting my feet wet on how best to approach women.  After a funky job here and there, I finally landed a job at the world's large insurance company in San Antonio.  It paid more than any other job I had found there.  It was also a place to have a real smorgasbord as described in The Train Runs No More.  At the time, it was probably seventy-six percent women and twenty-four percent men.  I had a hard time working there because there were so many good looking women there.  Most would wear clothes that they couldn't afford on the salary that they made.  Many were there in search of a husband.  Others were there to have more than their share.  Every once in a while, I would go down to the parking lot on my break time or lunch time.  I would see a car with a couple inside hammering it out.  Either the husband wasn't getting enough at home and find some extra there, or the wife wasn't too happy at home and she was giving some away at work.  Doesn't matter the situation, the smorgasbord was there, and a guy could take a real advantage of it if he wanted to.  The parking lot was nice and dark in places like a cavern, completely full, and rarely checked by the over paid security force there.  Plus it was convenient.  You could meet a woman there, take her to lunch or dinner there, and get some ass all while being at work.  The problem with that was, if anything happened, like someone getting pregnant, someone cheating on their spouse, or even more embarrassing than that, then that piece of news spread like wildfire, not just in the department, but it would go from one end of the building to the other.  It may as well have been printed in a news bulletin.  I also became a victim of that.  I ran into a beautiful Mexican girl there.  She and I began hammering right from the start.  You can draw your on conclusions as to what happened after.  I didn't know how to handle all the gossip and speculation, the ridicule and embarrassment, so I quit.  And I didn't get to continue with the girl either.  Probably better off.  As attractive as she was, she was still from the west side of San Antonio, where white people aren't supposed to get lost unless they are looking for trouble.  It's ridiculously poor there, and strictly Mexican.  No whites allowed.  Digressing back, if one were looking for a spouse, or looking for some strange, that insurance company would be the one to work at.  It was a city all to itself, with entertainment, every once in a while one could buy their average clothing there, have their meals there, child care, it was all there.  I wasn't able to handle the ridicule though.  So, I left.

The World Is A Small Place

When one enters high school, that will be the period of forming who one is, who one becomes.  It not only begins to take on this mold with your academics, but also the type of friends you select, or that select you.  Your personality, your thought patterns, your image, and your friends all begin to take shape.  One doesn't really think about this when they are in high school.  All they think about is the clique they can join, the friends that they want to select so that they will make them look good, and the clothes that they wear.  For me, it was the Vietnam War years.  The Vietnam War was and undeclared war.  We were over there beginning in 1950 only as advisers to the French because the French didn't know how to fight a jungle war.  Our military had already fought many skirmishes in the Pacific Islands with the Japanese.  So our military had experience that the French needed.  In the early sixties, the French gave up, cut and ran leaving our military holding the bag.  Then we had a president whom was not paying attention to any of his Generals and the war escalated with sending more and more of our troops to their death.  I was paying more attention to this than my high school mates and I began communicating with radical groups protesting against the war.  In speaking with some of my classmates, they were more involved in the back seat of their boyfriend's cars, or trying to help me get "saved".  I didn't want to get saved.  I wanted some of that ass in the back seat just like everyone else was getting.  But, I was different.  I vowed I would never date anyone from the same high school that I was in.  I didn't need any gossip.  I didn't need any humiliation that might arise from it should a break up occur.  Shit!  I was already getting enough humiliation from my older brother.  I passed out an "underground" newspaper in high school trying to bring awareness of the Vietnam war.  The problem was the paper was not a local paper.  San Antonio had their head shoved too far up their ass to pay attention to anything like that outside the city limits.  So, while others were in the back seat banging it out, playing football to make a big impression on the next piece of ass they could get, or trying like Hell to be a hypocritical Christian, I was communicating with groups like the Black Panthers, the Yippies, the SLA, and so forth.  I even got removed from class several times because I refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  The only allegiance I had at the time was to help stop sending our boys overseas for a death march.  Being in a small "head in the sand" town like San Antonio, Texas, I protested where I could, described in The Train Runs No More.  I gave up real quick on my conversion of other classmates to become more aware of our politics.  I even had issues with my parents because of the posters of Patty Hearst and the SLA, Abbie Hoffman, and Bobby Seale on my bedroom walls.  I was in  my own world on this one.  So, here I was doing the protesting that I could where it made the most sense which was no where in the city of San Antonio.  And there were my classmates.  After high school ended and I began looking for real work, I had run into employers where my classmates had already gotten a job.  When completing the employment applications, I referenced those classmates that were working there.  Because of my reputation that I had formed in high school with those classmates, I never got the job.  So.  Always remember.  The world is a small place.  Be careful of whom you piss off.  You just might need them some day.  In today's world with computers, the world has become even smaller.  I had a boss at Lockheed in Marietta, Georgia that I became very close with.  He needed someone to perform a certain job on a C-5 one Saturday.  He needed someone that was going to work.  Detailed in my book, The Train Runs No More, he called me up and asked me to come in.  I asked how he was going to get around the union.  He told me, "Fuck the union!  I want somebody that wants to work and I know that you know the job and when you go in there, you're going to work on the job until it's done.  Now.  Do you want to work or not?"  I was at work within a few minutes since I lived right down the street from Dobbs, A. F. B.  In a crew meeting one day, he was explaining working as a team.  One of the things that he said and that I will always remember, "Be careful of who you piss off.  They just might be your boss one day".  He was right.  But I didn't adhere to that philosophy until after the fact.

In Treatment

If it hasn't been mentioned before my book, The Train Runs No More, refers to a reoccurring dream that has awoken me for years; since I was a child.  I understand that with children, most of their dreams involve trains.  I don't know what the association of trains and children are, but children are always drawn to trains.  This dream plagued me for years until one night I thought the train had actually run over me.  I had awoken from my sleep and that time, I decided I would journal it.  After some time of writing it down the dream began to dissipate until it finally went away.  I didn't learn to do that until I was in my late forties.  I was told by other people when I was much younger that I should journal my dreams and then I will be able to sleep better.  Too bad I didn't listen to them earlier.  As a child, since I had little interaction with an older sibling that hated the fact that another child came into his world and subtracted some of the attention that he was receiving, I had to create my own games so that I would have something to do when no one else was around.  When he was just as annoying as he could be, or as mean as he could be, I had to have a "place" to go.  I had to entertain myself.  I didn't understand why I was on the receiving end of all of this until many years later.  Then I deduced that if I were being treated this way by him all of the time, then when only a babe in the crib, why didn't he just simply put a pillow over my head and he would have been rid of all of those problems.  In those days, it would have been determined an accident and nothing would have happened to him.  Instead, I was persecuted by him and to this day, he still does.  When my mother passed away this past May, he never told me that her days were about to end when she was taken to a hospital.  He only called to say that she passed away.  Unbeknownst to him, my mother had contacted my wife to let her know it was time.  By that, I mean I was watching television when my wife announced, "You know?  I don't know why, but I have this feeling you should call your mother today".  Listening to my wife, I turned off the television and went into my office.  I sat down at the desk, looked up her phone number to call her, and the phone rang.  It was my brother calling, announcing that mother had passed away.  It is my feeling that he simply called to say that she died and I wasn't there when she died and he wanted to rub it in my face.  He told me there would be a service for her when her body was cremated.  I didn't know it takes eight months to cremate a body because I am still waiting for that phone call.  To know how he acted at my father's funeral, read, The Train Runs No More. Even my daughter, whom my brother felt it necessary to take over the rearing of her since he chose a wife that either didn't want to have children or couldn't have children, didn't even have the courtesy to call and give me her condolences.  An oh so Christian person that she is, walking in the light of the Lord the way she thinks she does, praising his name, yet defies one of the Ten Commandments.  Do not forsake your mother or your father.  I am now dead to her.  She is so religious that she couldn't say shit even if she had a mouth full of it.  The footsteps that she does follow in is her hateful, vengeful mother's.  Her mother couldn't have in our short history together, all the things that her parents took years to get, so when she left me, she made damned sure that I would never see my children again.  She has held true to her word ever since.  That is the only religious thing she has really done in her gracious walk with GOD.  She is so eaten up with all of that religious shit that she said she is praying for her glorification to become a virgin again so that when she meets with GOD she can have his children, or some ridiculous religious bullshit as that.  When you are that far into religion, it's called a cult.  My daughter with her college education can't even see that she also is absorbed by a cult.  She is lost to me forever, and I will never have the chance to see her ever again.  I could dwell on that and allow them to know how much it hurts, or I could move on with my life, unencumbered by that depression and be happy with the woman, the wife, my best friend that is with me now and  continue to acquire with someone all the things that they are patiently willing to work for.  I have been with this current person for almost twenty years and all the things my ex-wife wanted in the first year of marriage, I now have with this person.  It took years to acquire, it took hard work to acquire, even that area of happiness that few married couples are able to find, we now have.  Others have to seek out some form of religion because of their unhappiness.  Some resort to drugs or alcohol to find that kind of happiness.  We have it because we respect each other and care for and about each other.  It's all in the treatment.  How you treat others, how you expect to get treated, and what you expect from your treatment.  Find me on Twitter @yuhaftarun.

Interaction

I have done no scientific studies on the subject. No public surveys.  I have only had personal observations of others.  Usually, if there are siblings in the family there is some form of interaction.  I don't know about others whom had only two sibling children in the family and one being many years older than the other.  I just know in this one, there was very little or no interaction except for a sarcastic put down from the older brother all the time.  I can count the number of times on one hand I was included in a game with other neighborhood kids and he was involved.  I always heard from the kids I was growing up with, "My older brother this.  My older brother that."  I was never lucky enough to report that.  I was only lucky enough to be observant of the things he would do that our parents didn't appreciate.  He would get the hell spanked out of him with a belt and then when it was my turn I would tell myself, "I don't want any part of that shit!"  So, I wouldn't do it.  By not doing "it" whatever "it" was, I guess that made me the "weaker"of the two and he always seemed to bully me around and just take over.  He felt it was his duty to take over.  If he didn't think something was being dealt with the way he thought it should be dealt with, then he would take over and take care of it himself.  Even to this day, because my ex-wife didn't get what she thought she should get out of a marriage and therefore divorced me, she told me she would make sure that I never saw my children again.  After the divorce, she, in her sweet, southern charm, pleaded with my older brother and he took over the rearing of my children offering them money when I did not.  Taking them on skiing trips when I did not.  Being that I knew the vengeance of my ex-wife, by the laws of the court, I made sure I saw my children every chance I could.  When I was not able to see them because of some "excuse" that was created, yet they had the audacity to ask me for money, I simply explained that I was not paying them to stay away.  If they wanted to come and talk with me face to face about their need for money, I would be willing to meet with them.  That never happened.  Always, my older brother came through for them.  So, now I no longer exist to my children.  I have no patience for that kind of weakness.  If they don't want to come see me as long as I choose not to hand out money to them, I guess they don't need to be around me.  I paid my child/spousal support.  By that, I mean when I paid my child support, it went to the ex-wife and the buck stopped there.  The money did not necessarily  make it on to the children.  But my ex-wife sure as hell always had new jewelry on, or new make up, or new clothing, while my children got clothing made by her hand that I wouldn't even buy at K-Mart.  But, I have digressed from the point.  To this day, the old bro and I have no interaction what so ever.  For a better description, The Train Runs No More. These were the joys of having an older brother.

Emulation

The act of emulation is to be like the others.  For one to have friends, one has to be like the people they are trying to attract.  Sometimes that can work for you.  Other times that can work against you.  The question that took me sometime to answer was why and try to be like them?  Why not just try to be myself?  If I couldn't attract friends, then I must have been standing in the wrong crowd.  I was standing in the wrong crowd lots of times and for a long time before I realized that I did not have to be entertained by someone.  Of the girls I was trying to attract, they were praising the Lord every other breath, but at the same time, I would find them in the back seat of their boyfriend's car.  They would be doing some heavy praying.  Of the guys that would praise the Lord, they had an agenda and it was between the legs of their girlfriend.  Or, they were off performing some other undesirable act such as my next door neighbor blowing off his friends head with a shot gun.  The Jehovah's Witnesses across the street, they were just off, period.  Even though the husband was religious, he was religiously seeing another woman.  The priests at my church weren't much better.  They were either drunk, putting a meat shot on some parishioner or both.  There was an incident at my church described in The Train Runs No More.  This was at the time of the Jimmy and Tammy Faye Bakker's, Jimmy Swaggert, The Rev. Jesse, and so on and so forth.  There is a whole list of these evangelist's out to "save" us from sin.  All were womanizing, money laundering, extortionists, preaching how we should act, how we should be, and how we should treat others.  All the while, they were caught behind doors, cheating on their wives, with hookers of both genders, and extorting money in the name of GOD.  Because of the sins of the fathers, the children of these same people just manage to keep it quiet.  Slowly, it is evolving once again.  Growing up trying to find my way through this forest of life ahead, I am supposed to emulate these people?  If it doesn't feel comfortable why do it?  Why not just be who you are?

Taking A New Avenue

While in high school, I managed to get my first job at the local multi-screen theater.  That is where I encountered extra money to be made out in the parking lot.  I would hang with a group of guys in high school that weren't able to belong to some clique like myself and they allowed me to hang with them also.  A couple of the guys came to school one day bragging how they got hired at the theater.  I thought to myself that if guys like them could get a job there so could I.  So I went up there, applied, got hired, and started working there expecting to see the other guys there.  In reality, they didn't get hired.  I came to school and told them that I got hired and they didn't take it too lightly, but I was still allowed to associate with them.  After a year, I moved on to a local grocery store called Handy Andy.  While working there, I had my eye on a blonde with big breasticles, but I just didn't know how to approach her.  I wasn't able to learn from my brother because he and I had little association with each other and we didn't talk about things like that to start with.  This blonde had her eye on me as well because she made things a little easier for me to talk to.  The one thing I told myself that I would never do is to date someone from the same high school I was in.  For those reasons why, read, "The Train Runs No More".  I didn't want any testosterone levels to increase, I didn't want gossip, I didn't want any of that crap.  Eventually, she and I were together every night of the week.  And my hormone levels were rampant and so were hers.  After working there a while, I had injured my back to the point that one day while at work, my legs just fell out from under me.  I had to be carried to my car and I drove home.  The pain was so bad that by the time I got home, my legs would not move.  I was taken to the hospital and eight surgeons were looking at me all chanting, "Let's cut!  Let's cut!"  Only my orthopedic surgeon explained that I was too young to have my discs removed.  He started me on physical therapy for three weeks and then released me from the hospital only to continue therapy for the next year.  I wasn't even able to drive a car.  After six months of doctors care, I was walking on my own again and the doctor told me that I need to get used to living with mommy and daddy from here on out.  I didn't cotton to that too well, so I began riding a bicycle.  I started off with an eight mile trip, increasing to ten.  I moved on to twenty and then after a while, I was riding fifty miles a day.  In the meantime, I kept reflecting on my girlfriend and how good looking she was and where I would be in life with mommy and daddy's support.  My mother also had made a statement that this being my first girlfriend, how did I know she was the one.  After all of my reflection, I stupidly sent my girlfriend on her way.  Mistake.  BIG MISTAKE.  From that point on, I took a new avenue, being bored with nothing to do and I fell into the wrong crowd by being introduced by one of my so called friends from school.  Because I had chosen to get closer to that element, my friend was no longer.  But, the things I would do for them, my repayment was in something I enjoyed and kept going back for more.  My mother always said, "If you play with trash it will fall in your eye every time".  I played with trash and it fell in my eye.  So when you choose an undesirable path, be ready to lose all the friends that you know.

Watching and Learning

Whenever the older brother would do something not to the liking of my parents, he would get into trouble with them.  By trouble, I mean my brother would get spanked with a belt.  Spanked, not beat.  There is a difference.  These parents that believe in diverting a child's attention, that crap never works.  The child's attention keeps getting drawn right back to the source that is attracting them and they won't quit until they discover what the source is all about.  My parents used to have friends that would bring small children over and when they did, the parents of the small children proceeded to pick up and move all the things that were reachable out of the way.  My mother finally had enough of the shit and said, "If I want my stuff put away every time an irresponsible parent brings their children over, I'll do it myself.  If you don't have the good sense to control your child, don't come over here rearranging my stuff to suit your child".  Either those too arrogant enough to take control would stop coming over, or the ones that felt responsible finally took a hand and their brats sat down and left things alone.  So, when my brother would get spanked, I would say to myself, "Shit!  I don't want any of that!"  So, Whatever it was, I didn't do it.  Sometimes that meant I would miss out on some of the fun that others had.  Fun.  As a teenager trying to find myself, I began hanging with an undesirable group of guys away from school.  We would go up to the new local multi-screen theater on a busy night when the parking lot was full.  We would find cars with nice wheels, lift them up and slam bricks underneath.  A couple of guys would spray freon on the wheel nuts while another came behind and hit them with a good, heavy hammer.  It didn't matter if they were wheel locks or not, the nuts would come flying off and the wheels came right off.  Quick easy money.  Then for some peculiar reason, I had a stroke of good sense.  Here I was stealing wheels from some poor sap that had worked damned hard to buy these things and here I was taking them and selling them for less that they were actually worth for some quick money.  I wasn't actually doing it for the money.  I did it because I thought it was fun.  If the shoe were on the other foot, how would it effect me?  So I quit doing it before my parents found out and before the police came along.  It wasn't too many more times after I quit and the guys got busted.  Talk about the timing being right.  Conscience.  Having a conscience.  I felt bad after a while, when I got a real job and I had to work.  I had to work damned hard for the money I earned in those days and now I was in the other person's shoes and I didn't like it.  I turned to another avenue, detailed in my book, "The Train Runs No More". I turned that way because at least no one was putting me down with every other sentence being said like my brother would do.  Constant humiliation.  I would drink and drug with the boys because it was fun.  But then the fun stopped being fun.  When I eventually got married to someone I really should have never married in the first place, I decided that when having a child, it's time to stop druggin'.  So, I did.  My brother never could figure out that if even alcohol is taking over your life, just quit.  He couldn't quit.  He had to turn to that entity called GOD.  What a weakling.  That's just like all the convicts in the joint.  They get in and all of a sudden they find GOD.  Why didn't they find HIM before it was too late.  Now, with my brother, one so much as treats a wound with alcohol, they are an alcoholic and sentenced to HELL forever.  He is such a fucking hypocrite for turning to Christianity and yet acting like the shitty ass person he remains to be.  If one just steps outside their box and looks back at themselves, maybe they might learn something and change what they are, what they do, and who they do it with.  Like I said.  I quit the drugs.  I still drink, but only when all of my other responsibilities are taken care of first.  Do I miss the drugs.  Yes.  I miss that physical feeling I used to get.  But, with drugs, it's different from alcohol.  It has a harder effect and a wider effect.  I haven't done drugs in twenty five years because of all the responsibilities that I have had and still have.  Once all of those are rendered then I'd like to do it again.  But by that time, I will still have a responsibility to myself in that I will be older, I need to be mindful of the effects it will have on my body and if anything detrimental happens, I have to be mindful of the responsibility that I will be leaving behind for someone else forced to take care of at that point.  So, I guess your answer would be, no.  I won't be doing drugs anymore since I'm a responsible person.  It's all about growing up, becoming an adult, attaining and maintaining responsibility, learning from one's mistakes.

Trying to find myself

Being that my brother was nine years older than myself, and I invaded his territory right from the start, I was never appreciated by him.  As I said earlier, whenever he escorted me to school amongst his friends, I either had to walk in front or in back; never with.  Whenever he was having conversations with his friends and I came around, it got quiet until I left.  I don't recall ever being included in anything.  So, I had to find my own entertainment.  I had to invent one person games or play with my HO scale race track by myself.  I was able to be amongst the neighborhood boys, but I don't think I ever felt I was "with" them.  "Mr.  Mischief'" always was able to turn a nice game amongst the boys into a game of mischief and always someone wound up getting hurt, and always he would run home like he had nothing to do with it.  Sometimes the mischief would even wind up getting me into trouble with my own parents, so I learned better to play alone than with because I was tired of getting into trouble.  Since there was little association with the brother, there was little discussion about how to act amongst others or how to approach girls.  As a family, we didn't talk about things like that and if we did we were teased to no end.  There is a difference between being teased and being harangued to death.  I was harangued to the point that I grew up not liking to be teased.  I later in life had to teach myself that some teasing is okay and that I needed to accept some forms of teasing.  As a young teenager, my brother was doing something "special" for my parents in the back yard.  He had his friends over to help and I was allowed to help to a point, but then when the conversation turned, the teasing began.  In front of his friends, the teasing turned to being humiliated and I had just about had enough.  To find out the detail of what really happened read The Train Runs No More.

During my upbringing I had to attend catechism every Saturday and go to Catholic Church on Sunday.  That was in the days of the mass being said in Latin.  In those days I learned that the priests were alcoholics.  Even some of the nuns were also.  The nuns I had in catechism for teachers, if they caught you disrupting the class or not paying attention, they would walk up and whack you across the knuckles with a ruler.  If you cried out, you got whacked again.  I suppose that that was there idea of teaching respect.  Today, the Catholic priests are legalized child molesters.  Later in life, I "tested" other religions and found that the preachers of those religions were nothing more than fakes, womanizers, and money launderers.  Needless to say when someone comes to me and announces that they are a Christian, a red flag goes up like a penalty flag thrown at a football game.  This is digressing away from the story at hand though.  As stated earlier, I had to learn how to approach girls on my own and I did not learn to be successful.  What I did learn was that several of these girls were trying to save my soul through the works of God, but funny how they would discover them in the back seat of a car with their boyfriends.  I don't think they were preaching the word of God though.  I ascertained that these women that I approached and tried to show some likeness to, were nothing more than hypocrites.  And as far as the guys I hung around with, they must have been about as dorky as I was because they allowed me to hang around with them and we fed off each one's energy.  I mostly watched and listened so that I might learn from them what to do and what not to do.  I was trying to find myself in this path of which I had to follow.  My mother used to tell me when I would hang with someone that wasn't quite of  desirable character to her she would say, "If you play with trash, it will fall in your eye every time".  How right she was and I didn't listen.

Karma

I grew up next door to an only child that was about 2 years older than I was.  His parents spoiled the crap out of that kid and if he did anything wrong, they never lifted a finger against him.  "My child didn't do it" syndrome.  In front of his parents, he was always an angel.  Once he was away from his parents, always causing mischief.  One time, it was just he and I playing with his Lionel railroad set outside in what was called the carport.  After a time, he became bored so he caught a green lizard.  He disconnected part of the track so that the leads of the rail were sticking out.  He turned the train on just enough so that there was electricity flowing through the track.  He forced the lizards mouth open and held it to the leads.  Immediately, the lizard began to contort and change colours.  I told him to stop because I think he is killing the lizard.  He wanted to see what happens he said.  The lizard was looking worse.  I couldn't stop this kid because I was much smaller in stature and he was a bully anyway.  I don't even know why I was over there except that he was just next door and I had no one else to play with.  I couldn't stand watching him torture one of God's creatures, so I left.  Along Six Mile Creek, someone must have had a lot of time on their hands.  They had dug a series of tunnels into the bank of the creek.  One of  them even had a radio installed into the wall of one of the tunnels.  The next door neighbor kid and several others rode our bicycles to the creek to do some exploring.  While crawling through one of the tunnels "Mr. Mischief" let's call him, was having one of his moments.  He had caused a cave in.  It was not a serious one, but for a child of our age, it was serious enough.  He couldn't stop what he had caused, so he climbed on his bike and rode home; not to get help, but to pretend that he had nothing to do with the situation.  The rest of us were left to dig out the poor sap that was covered up.  Another time, we were riding our bikes through an old grave yard.  We all got off to walk our bikes through for a better look at the grave stones.  We all came upon a bee's nest that was on the ground.  We had the good sense to see the swarm swirling in the air and to leave it alone.  We gave wide clearance for the swarm.  I had noticed that "Mr.  Mischief" had turned around and went back, but I didn't pay attention to why.  It wasn't but a few seconds later and he had run by us like he was running for his life. I wound up getting stung by a couple of the bees and we ran like hell also.  He had gone back to poke at the nest on the ground and stirred the bees up good.  By the end of the day my arm where I had been stung, began to swell.  The next day my arm was twice its size.  My father was asking questions and I couldn't tell him because I wasn't supposed to be so far from the house.   I didn't have his or my mothers permission to ride for miles away.  On the third day my arm was so swollen that the skin on my arm began to split and look nasty.  My father said, "Ok.  That's it.  I'm taking you to the hospital".  It turned out that I was allergic to bees and I had to have a shot of antihistamine.  The swelling had gone done in a couple of days.  Years later, this same kid and a group of other bad asses from school that this kid was hanging with were out at the property that his parents bought for him to go deer hunting on.  I never heard all of the story because few ever spoke of what actually happened, but as the story goes, they were sitting around the campfire after a day of hunting.  All had been smoking grass and doing other "stuff".  Someone had a shotgun laying across their lap and pointed right at the head of the kid sitting next to him.  The gun accidentally went off.  I'm sure that after looking the situation over, they decided that this kid was surely dead.  Too much of his head if that was his head, was missing.  Rather than take him to the hospital to be pronounced dead, they just took him straight to the morgue.  I never did catch who all was involved and it really doesn't matter.  Later in time, "Mr. Mischief's" father was looking for his guns.  "Mr. Mischief" had stolen them and hocked them at the pawn shop to buy some smack.  He was an addict.  Probably trying to forget what had happened with the kid.  His parents later sent him to a rehabilitation clinic, he married, had a kid, and divorced.  He found a job up in Dallas, Texas and was working up there.  One weekend on his drive home, he stopped off at one of his friend's home because he was so tired he would have never made it home safely.  His friends made him a pallet to lay down on and go to sleep.  He did.  At thirty three years old, he had done enough smack to wreck his body.  When he went to sleep, he never work up again.  Karma. Karma always comes around sooner or later.
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I grew up....

I grew up in a small dusty little town called San Antonio, Texas.  When we moved there, there wasn't even a freeway yet.  Even Willougby's barber shop still had a wooden sidewalk existing from it's original construction way back from the 1800's.  The city was squarely divided with the poor whites on the South side, the blacks to the East, the rich whites to the North side, and the Mexicans on the West side.  As time passed on, all of that melded together and when the computer age entered San Antonio, the Asian Indians gravitated toward the Northwest.  We were always going to Grandma's house in Louisiana.  As a younger child I never knew a vacation outside of Grandma's house.  There was a story.  Grandma's house. The imagination that I had of my grandmother's attic was beyond any other.  Read, The Train Runs No More.  Everyone else got to go to Six Flags Over Texas, Disneyland, or some other attraction in the United States.  We got to go to Grandma's house.  Not that it wasn't fun there.  I always made it an adventure, especially riding in the back seat of a car with an older sibling that couldn't appreciate the sight of me.  I'd always have my escape routes around her house.  During the school year, I would get escorted by my brother to school, but I either had to walk ahead or walk behind and never with.  I don't know if I just had that look, I don't know if it were printed on my forehead, or just what it was.  But when at school, I would try to join in with classmates and there seemed to be something that said, "Please Fuck With Me".  So, not only would I receive antagonism from home, but also from school.  As I said before, we never talked at home, so growing up, my parents never knew what was building inside of me.  One day, at school, I felt I had had just about enough from one particular guy.  It just so happened to be a Mexican kid.  He was a nice kid too.  He wasn't a punk or anything like that, but he found a soft spot with me one day and the scab came off at the wrong time with the wrong person.  I doubled up my fist and swung and clocked him squarely in the face.  Too bad it wasn't hard enough.  Because after I made contact, he responded in kind only a little harder.  I did manage to remain standing on my feet and I think what stopped him was a good swift kick to the groin.  But, we both got discovered, taken to the Principal's office and both of us received a paddling.  I hadn't quite placed my finger on what age a child loses his innocence.  Is it ten years old?  Is it thirteen years old?  I haven't made that scientific discovery yet.  But I think when I got reprimanded for trying to protect myself in school, that is when I lost my innocence.  It wasn't too long after that fight, the other kid's father made him drop out of school and go work at the garbage dump to help out the rest of the family.  I suppose in those days that was equal to being an illegal immigrant lawn cutter of today.

As A Child...

As a child, I grew up second to one nine years my senior.  It was not a grandiose situation since the first born gets all the attention, all the love, all the teachings, and rearing that parents are supposed to bring forth.  If you were to see pictures of myself and the older brother, there were no pictures of how pleased he was to have a little brother.  No smiles.  Just posing for the camera as parents would do trying to bring another child into the world of another, while the new child is invading the first one's territory.  Growing up, I don't recall having any good times with the older brother.  If there were, they were far out shadowed by the bad.  I was constantly antagonized, to the point of crying.  It was more of a science project.  "Let's see.  If I continue this repeated action, let's see how long it takes for him to bust out in tears".  Then I would tattle to my mother.  I would get popped for tattling.  He would get popped for antagonizing me to the point of crying, then I would get popped by the brother for tattling and getting him into trouble.  It was a vicious cycle.  I don't believe either of us were supposed to be in this world to begin with.  One of my parents closest friends came over one Christmas to visit.  As things go, you eat, you drink, and then you drink more.  When you drink more, you become inebriated.  While inebriated, you loosen up and begin to talk more.  The husband of my parents friends became inebriated past the point of being able to spell the word anymore.  He was explaining how my mother became pregnant and that was not supposed to occur.  It happened, so my parents dealt with it.  I just knew what was coming next in the conversation, so as I began to get up and leave the room, sure enough, the explanation of the second pregnancy came about.  Again my parents dealt with it and so, here we are.  Although, me especially, am the product of an unwanted pregnancy, you could never tell it by at least my father.  He paid attention to me, played with me, took me places, even took me fishing.  Not to say he did any less of that with the older brother.  I'm just saying he never made us feel unwanted.  My mother came off of a farm where cows and vegetables are raised for food.  Sometimes I would feel like I was just another offspring of live stock, however, if I were in need of caring for, she was there.  So, I grew up being antagonized.  To alleviate the antagonism, I would create my own dreams just to have some escape if you will, or a place to go that was mine.  Mostly at night I would have these dreams as described in my book, The Train Runs No More.  That was the only pleasure I could find in all of this.  Rarely was I included in any brotherly games or associations that I recall.  I suppose that as parents, if my parents were more attentive to any given situation of their children, they would have talked with them.  That is the one thing that my family never did is talk.  By talking with one another, ones makes discoveries about another.  That is how parents discover something happening with their children, but few know how to talk, even to their own wife or husband.  It's all about talking.

The Train Runs No More

This is a blog for those that are frustrated.  This is a blog for those that see frustration. This is a blog for those that have no place else to turn and are trying to understand the particular situation that their young child or teenager is encountering. These kinds of frustrations seem to be associated with trains that run them over. The Train Runs No More is a look inside the life of a child that growing up that just didn't "fit in" with this group or that. This is a look at one being ostracized all of his life, but how this person handles it. This blog is open to criticism and I'm sure that it will be. The negative energy displayed by involved characters will be described and how it was handled at the time.  Maybe it could have been handled better, but with no one to find for advice, this young non-conformist handled it the only way he knew how.  Others whom read this blog may find a better solution. But the one thing that was accomplished was that the offended character grew up even to his elder years without carrying out what his offenders wanted the most.  They hoped he would go away and die or commit suicide. Instead, he used that energy to best suit his needs and therefore live a satisfying life.  Read about this lads life and the constant aggravation he was subjected to by his classmates, his own brother, and last but not least, his ex-wife. Read The Train Runs No More. Some of those subjects will be discussed here, but not all. For that, you have to read my book. Yes, this blog is to sell my book.  I won't lie. But for those who choose not to buy it, maybe this blog will help those parents of children that don't fit in and are frustrated at what their child is going through. My own frustrations are watching the news and seeing one good child after another commit suicide due to the meanness of others. I hope that my experiences can provide insight to others.