At the age of 3 I was introduced to the concept of losing something close to you. In 1993 my father died after being struck by a drunk driver. He made it to the hospital with severe internal bleeding and organ failure, he died a few hours later. When people hear that my father is dead they usually try to do one of two things either they pretend they didn't hear the fact or they try and tell me how sorry they are. Well seeing as it was almost 20 years ago and I have absolutely no memory of him theres no reason to do either. I'm not sad about it and never have been to be blunt. This marked the end of not only a father but the end of an entire family. The drunk driver was sued and had to pay the family a certain amount. The court found it would be best to give his son, me, the money. The Hough family didn't like the idea of some bastard child getting their money so they decided to try and sue to get the money back. They ended up losing but the lawyers and what not took most of the money. In the end I was given $14,000 which I don't have a dime of anymore, but thats a story for later down the road.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Born almost 22 years ago in 1989. I was the son of a young father and a younger mother, neither of which knew what a child meant or how to even begin to take care of one. The place of birth was nothing more than a way to escape parents, Phoenix wasn't more than another run away for the two. Whether they knew this would be my birthplace or not isn't fully understandable. At the age of 15 I seriously wonder if my mother even understood what the whole pregnancy thing was even suppose to be like. She claims that she was "ready" for a child, but what 15 year old can seriously be prepared for that? She was a middle-school drop out who had probably tried any "designer" drug for kids her age and begin drinking and smoking already. She met my father through a friend, her friend told her that they would work out and be "super cute." What lost young girl wouldn't
want a faithful companion to pick her up and save her from what she hates. My father, being several years older took her out of school and helped her begin skipping. Helped get her cigarettes or whatever it is she wanted. She must have felt she found her white knight. But this didn't all start in Arizona, no. This all started in southwest Michigan, in a sizable city, Portage. She was terrified of what high school would bring, she was already being the butt of every joke and felt that she would never make it in high school. She told my father that if they didn't runaway she would never know what to do. So thats what they did, they ran away. They never told my grandparents where she was going and the only people that really knew what was going on were my father's side of the family, and when confronted they refused to tell my grandparents on my mothers side where they had gone. Running away to Phoenix brings us back to where this blog all started in the far southwest almost 2,000 miles away from Portage. And on May 16th, 1989 it happened... I happened. Roughly three months after my birth both my mother and father returned to Portage so that they could get the help of my mother's parents. Not only that but after that they went their separate ways. After all who would want to date a now 16 year old mom? I wouldn't, and I guess neither did my father.