Updated: Jul 13, 2022
We last talked about my father, who I could go on and on about, but he mostly comes into play when I was in my mid-teens. So, who was my primary father figure after my biological father was out of the picture? A tall, black haired, pale-skinned, green eyed, skinny man who loved kung fu and smoking weed.
I didn't know about my stepfather being a weed smoker, but apparently, according to my mom, he was. He was also a fisherman, who mostly just welded metal (boats, oil tanks etc.) and disappeared during the summer to kill thousands of fish for profits pushing into the six-figure range. Those profits split among his crew, amounted to around a year's salary for each of them, and we're talking only spending the summer doing this.
Memories of my stepdad mostly can be found when I lived in my primary childhood home, a flat roofed, 1 acre lot house, right next to a creek in a beautiful, middle-of-nowhere environment. We had goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits and more. The house was 2 bedrooms, but I was provided with a bedroom custom modified for me, as it was originally just a room for the washer, dryer, furnace and water heater. We're talking 9 feet by 5 feet. I somehow fit in that room thanks to a bunk bed being built onto the wall, above half the appliances, by my stepdad. My stepdad was a wood master, he made custom beds for other family members, and made it possible for me to not have to sleep in the front room, which, during the winter months, probably would have been better considering my head rested next to the blazing gas furnace every night.
Before that home, we lived in an apartment building, and before that, a house just down the street from the elementary school where I learned how to sing all fifty American states like it was nothing. I can still, to this day, rap off at least 40 states in under 60 seconds.
I went through a series of being bullied in school. In preschool I was peed on by another boy, and as a result of me reporting this incident to my mom, I was able to have everyone leave the bathroom whenever I wanted to go to the bathroom. Why? Because the bathroom at my preschool had a line of 14 or so toilets without stalls. No privacy, and even at a very young age, I wasn't having it. I hate to say it, but that boy peeing on my leg was probably one of my first memories. That and the powdered milk my mom used to insist I drink instead of real milk due to how poor we were. I remember the chunks of unmixed milk, oh what terrible taste.
But how could we be so poor if my wholesome Christian father was paying child support? Often times, he wasn't.
The only other memory I have from preschool is getting beans stuck in my nose and ear. I remember the sensation of trying to stick hard beans (from crafting projects) in my ear and nose, and sometimes going too far, to the point of my little boy self, panicking.
Do you see what I mean by saying "If something traumatic happened to me as a child I would probably remember it?" Yeah, hard cold uncooked beans. I remember the bean scares.
Regardless, off to kindergarten I went, which I remember none of. I could have been put in a hibernation tank for all I know. Kindergarten was just a non-event experience. First grade was interesting because I went to multiple schools in a short time. I attended one school where someone once screamed "Are you a girl or a boy!", I yelled back angrily "I'm a boy!" very offended by the idea anyone could think I was something else. Another school I went to was where I discovered, while waiting for the bus, what a woman's boobs and vaginas looked like.
At first, I was horrified. As I reached into that recycling dumpster and grabbed the adult magazine out of it, I flipped page after page and saw woman after woman spreading the lips of her crotch to reveal what I could only assume was a horrifyingly dangerous wound.