The Debris Field

I never thought that I would "make it" after leaving high school.  Having lived a life so far of being ridiculed by both family and friends, I didn't have the best self esteem there ever was.  I grew up with a mother whose "post" was always in the kitchen holding a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.  I grew up with a father that was the nicest man that walked the face of the earth, but he put up with a lot of crap.  If you ever crossed him, he had a temper.  Although he would get frustrated and angry at times when he spanked, he never abused us.  As described earlier, I grew up with a brother who never could say anything to me without ridiculing me.  I went to catechism on Saturdays only to find priests stumbling around from having too much wine, or speaking coarsely to the parishioners as one did to my mother when I had an altercation there and I didn't even start it.  There was a nun I knew that once she met a man, she couldn't rip that habit off soon enough to get in bed with the guy. I was surrounded by such fine examples that I could almost just throw up.  These fellow classmates in high school that tried to "save" me for Christ also were in the backseat of their boyfriends car hammering it out contrary to what they would preach to me.  When one of these students parents found out what their nice daughter was doing, they yanked her from school and moved to Georgia.  Never heard from her again.  I even had an art teacher who couldn't even speak decent English ridicule me of a craft project that she gave each of us to do.  Because she didn't understand the design of it, it meant nothing to her and therefore, was nothing but crap to her.  It was the yin and yang Chinese design symbolizing how things interact with one another.  Because of her public ridicule of me right there in class, it's a wonder Adolf Hitler was not reborn again.  Being bombarded by all these people, plus the ridicule adding to the stress of trying to find myself, I was having this dream every night of being run over by a train.  Every night.  I would wake up in a cold sweat and then go back to sleep once I realized it was only a dream.  Some people don't realize what they do to another when they constantly ridicule.  Or maybe they do and it's sad that they don't feel guilty that they drove their victim to suicide.  They walk away, unfeeling of what they do and absolve themselves with the graciousness of God.  Contrary to that, some parents try to boost their children with everything that they do is right, when one can see that what they do is definitely wrong.  There is a matter of encouraging a child, but when the child is electrocuting a creature to death, I can't see why the parents write it off as a science project.  This being described in The Train Runs No More.  Again, Karma came back around on that one.

Having excelled in my field of aircraft work, ascertaining a salary that I found quite liveable, and having money left over at the end of the week that I didn't know what to do with, I found quite astonishing to myself.  I looked back at my classmates and those that I still heard about were making merely a living.  Big deal.  What I was doing, I did not even have to sell drugs doing it.  I built quite a bank account too.  I am so glad that I never hooked up with one girl from school who married a fireman only to wind up getting herself beat up on a daily basis and raped after.  She was merely looking for a financially supporting father to her daughter.  She wasn't looking for a husband that could love her and her love him.  She deemed me not capable of being financially supportive.  She found one of those, weeks after she left me.  It was so quick, I know being loved by her did not enter the picture.

Having this element of life to grow up with, I left, but I left with baggage that I thought cared for me, and later turned out that she also only wanted to be taken care of.  Without going over the same history again, I kept my chin up and marched on through the "mud of life" and am still doing well.  It just takes time and patience to find that satisfaction.  Some try to find it immediately, some search for a while, others never find it.  When it is found, others are not happy for you and never will be.  They try as much as they can to disrupt that satisfaction that has been found.  If you ignore them, that only pisses them off more, and they try to rub you out of the picture.  So they did that.  So what?  If people are that easily led that they can forget all about you, then they never cared for you in the first place.  All you can do is just step over the debris and keep on marching.  It's either you or them.  Who is most important?  You or them?

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.

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.

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.

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.