Installment One of My Existance Information
In the beginning there was me. Yup, as far as I'm concerned (at least right now) I'm where it all began. Lol
March 24, 1971
Slept all day, woke up as mom was going to bed and decided that I’d serenade her all night with my version of a screeching owl, whatever a screeching owl is.
Just kidding, that would take way too much server space to do it that way. Lol.
Anyway, I was born at some point in time on March 24th in the year of this cosmos 19 hundred and 71. I was brought kicking and screaming into this little town of Burgaw, N.C. So technically, I’m a tarheel by birth.
Here’s where our normal story goes to hell in a hand-basket. According to familial sources, I was abused by my natural mother and therefore placed into the loving but harsh hands of my paternal grandparents whom therefore became my parents and my natural mother became my sister. I know, I know, dueling banjoes and all that shit. Unconfirmed reports are that my sister/mother (laugh it up, fuckers, laugh it up) was molested by my father/grandpa (Just keeps getting better’n, better doesn’t it). And that’s how I came to be. I’m not exactly sure how true that information is. Some day’s, I look into the mirror and if I’ve shaved off my goatee, as I’m apt to do sometimes, I think I kinda look like my father and other times I don’t see any resemblance. I was told what my real fathers name is/was, but I cannot for the life of me remember it and considering the bastard never hung around, it’s not that important.
I’m going to break for a moment and simply say that this is the real deal. You can’t make this shit up.
Now back to our story.
So, within the first three months of life, I was born, adopted and wisked away to Ky were things were normal for a good many years. I was raised in a little hollow in Inez, Ky on coldwater creek and it is there that I learned a great many of the lessons that make me who I am today.
My siblings are 4 older sisters. One passed away last April (2005) one (the mother/sister) I haven’t seen or heard from since the death of my beloved Granny Nell, one lives in NC now and It seems like I only see her at weddings and funerals and the other one lives just down the street and because of work schedules, I don’t see here as much as I should and reasons for that will become evident at a later time.
My earliest memory is of this cute girl in kindergarten. Again, I can’t remember her name right now, but what I do remember is she was an absolute goddess before I even knew what a goddess was. All I can remember is that I had the funniest, most delightful feeling whenever I was around her. Damn, her name is right on the edge of my mind and it’s driving me up the wall. I know I’ll remember it later and when I do, I’ll include it for posterity’s sake.
Anyway, I made it through kindergarten. The next memory that springs to mind is of second grade. I sprained my ankle and mom seemed to take great pleasure in putting that damn ankle sock on me even though it hurt like hell. Yes, I’m a puss when it comes to pain. I don’t like to be hurt. I’ve come to accept and learn to live with it over the years, but I still don’t like it anymore now, than I did then. The other thing I remember about second grade was, I had to get glasses. Not the cool stylish glasses either, I’m talking pepsi bottles on a wire frame. Huge fuckers that were instrumental in forming my opinions and beliefs about the other members of our species and life in general.
Basically, people suck and are not to be trusted. I’ve grown out of the harshness of that, somewhat, over the years; but in all honestly, I still carry it with me today. I’m not very trusting of new people. Later in my ramblings, you’ll understand why and maybe I’ll remember to explain it sometime. There’s so much more that goes into that distrust than just one incident. It’s a learned response from a lifetime of pain and disappointment, but again, more on that later.
Y’know, folks, I can already tell that this isn’t going to be as organized as I originally thought it was, so, let me take this opportunity to apologize in advance but remind you that this really isn’t for you in the first place. It’s for me, so quit yer bitching and shut-up or leave.
Let me return now to my natural mother. Christine. (Yeah. From what I understand she makes the car look like a doll carriage. I can’t verify that, but there’s plenty to tell and I’ll start that now.)
Christine. I have no idea where she falls in the timeline of sisters other than she’s one of the oldest. She had me at 18 or something like that, checked herself into The Oaks (a mental institution in Wilmington, NC where I would later reside) and after getting out of there, joined the U.S. Navy where she retired a few years ago as a Master Chief Petty Officer or some such thing. Not a bad turn around to a rocky beginning to life, I suppose. She’s very much like dad tho, cryptic in her advice (both of them never really left the military) and hard core stubborn as fuck. I inherited that from her. The stubbornness, that is. Still not sure if it is a good thing or not; regardless, I have that trait. Christine retired and went to live in Florida with her husband, lover, boyfriend or whatever and eventually became a full blown lesbian witch. (Like I said, you can’t make this kinda shit up. Reality is so much stranger than fiction ever will be.) She’s an example of why I accept but don’t understand homosexuals. She started dating this womale and a whale of a one at that. I don’t remember its name, but it dressed like a man, all 350 pounds of her/him/it. Deep voice like brunehilda, that I remember. Christine brought her to Granny Nells’ funeral in 2000(?). Whenever Hurricane Floyd was. Gran-Nell passed away right afterwards. Anyway, she brings her new love and it just makes me wonder why be gay at all. I know that women understand women and men understand men, but why transform be gay if you’re just going to wind up putting up with the same shit that you would from a normal relationship. I’ve seen gay relationships and they still have one pretending to be the man and the other pretending to be the woman and they still fight about the same things that normal real men and women fight and argue about. Gays cheat, lie, steal, discriminate, stalk, kill and rape just as much as people who are much heavier in their loafers. In my experience, gays are more so prevalent to it than most people. I just don’t understand and maybe never will. Is it the attention, protection under laws that you don’t get as a straight person? Maybe straight people need to start having their own float at parades. Fruit-loopers do seem to get better deals on clothes and floats at parades. Maybe that’s because they’re lighter than we are. Maybe that’s it. It’s a gravitational thing. The planet doesn’t exert as much force on you if you like to take it in the ass or have a face full of girl-taco. I don’t know, but before I get too wound up on this one, I’ll get back to the regular confusion of my life.
And, just for all you rainbow stealing gravitationally gifted persons of alternate gender out there, I love you anyway. Without you, my life would be so much less interesting. You’ll understand that statement later.
Let me stop for a moment and say this:
My family, to you all, may seem weird and dysfunctional and whatever label you might want to put on them, but they are my family and I would, regardless of how much shit I talk about them and me and our relationships, defend them with my life. In the south, blood is truly thicker than water and sometimes, even family members forget that.
I think I’ll stop here and rest my brain. Trying to figure this shit out and make enough sense of it to put on page is taxing at the least.
Until Next Time……
(Bomba deedah, bomba deedah, Happy trai……..)
March 24, 1971
Slept all day, woke up as mom was going to bed and decided that I’d serenade her all night with my version of a screeching owl, whatever a screeching owl is.
Just kidding, that would take way too much server space to do it that way. Lol.
Anyway, I was born at some point in time on March 24th in the year of this cosmos 19 hundred and 71. I was brought kicking and screaming into this little town of Burgaw, N.C. So technically, I’m a tarheel by birth.
Here’s where our normal story goes to hell in a hand-basket. According to familial sources, I was abused by my natural mother and therefore placed into the loving but harsh hands of my paternal grandparents whom therefore became my parents and my natural mother became my sister. I know, I know, dueling banjoes and all that shit. Unconfirmed reports are that my sister/mother (laugh it up, fuckers, laugh it up) was molested by my father/grandpa (Just keeps getting better’n, better doesn’t it). And that’s how I came to be. I’m not exactly sure how true that information is. Some day’s, I look into the mirror and if I’ve shaved off my goatee, as I’m apt to do sometimes, I think I kinda look like my father and other times I don’t see any resemblance. I was told what my real fathers name is/was, but I cannot for the life of me remember it and considering the bastard never hung around, it’s not that important.
I’m going to break for a moment and simply say that this is the real deal. You can’t make this shit up.
Now back to our story.
So, within the first three months of life, I was born, adopted and wisked away to Ky were things were normal for a good many years. I was raised in a little hollow in Inez, Ky on coldwater creek and it is there that I learned a great many of the lessons that make me who I am today.
My siblings are 4 older sisters. One passed away last April (2005) one (the mother/sister) I haven’t seen or heard from since the death of my beloved Granny Nell, one lives in NC now and It seems like I only see her at weddings and funerals and the other one lives just down the street and because of work schedules, I don’t see here as much as I should and reasons for that will become evident at a later time.
My earliest memory is of this cute girl in kindergarten. Again, I can’t remember her name right now, but what I do remember is she was an absolute goddess before I even knew what a goddess was. All I can remember is that I had the funniest, most delightful feeling whenever I was around her. Damn, her name is right on the edge of my mind and it’s driving me up the wall. I know I’ll remember it later and when I do, I’ll include it for posterity’s sake.
Anyway, I made it through kindergarten. The next memory that springs to mind is of second grade. I sprained my ankle and mom seemed to take great pleasure in putting that damn ankle sock on me even though it hurt like hell. Yes, I’m a puss when it comes to pain. I don’t like to be hurt. I’ve come to accept and learn to live with it over the years, but I still don’t like it anymore now, than I did then. The other thing I remember about second grade was, I had to get glasses. Not the cool stylish glasses either, I’m talking pepsi bottles on a wire frame. Huge fuckers that were instrumental in forming my opinions and beliefs about the other members of our species and life in general.
Basically, people suck and are not to be trusted. I’ve grown out of the harshness of that, somewhat, over the years; but in all honestly, I still carry it with me today. I’m not very trusting of new people. Later in my ramblings, you’ll understand why and maybe I’ll remember to explain it sometime. There’s so much more that goes into that distrust than just one incident. It’s a learned response from a lifetime of pain and disappointment, but again, more on that later.
Y’know, folks, I can already tell that this isn’t going to be as organized as I originally thought it was, so, let me take this opportunity to apologize in advance but remind you that this really isn’t for you in the first place. It’s for me, so quit yer bitching and shut-up or leave.
Let me return now to my natural mother. Christine. (Yeah. From what I understand she makes the car look like a doll carriage. I can’t verify that, but there’s plenty to tell and I’ll start that now.)
Christine. I have no idea where she falls in the timeline of sisters other than she’s one of the oldest. She had me at 18 or something like that, checked herself into The Oaks (a mental institution in Wilmington, NC where I would later reside) and after getting out of there, joined the U.S. Navy where she retired a few years ago as a Master Chief Petty Officer or some such thing. Not a bad turn around to a rocky beginning to life, I suppose. She’s very much like dad tho, cryptic in her advice (both of them never really left the military) and hard core stubborn as fuck. I inherited that from her. The stubbornness, that is. Still not sure if it is a good thing or not; regardless, I have that trait. Christine retired and went to live in Florida with her husband, lover, boyfriend or whatever and eventually became a full blown lesbian witch. (Like I said, you can’t make this kinda shit up. Reality is so much stranger than fiction ever will be.) She’s an example of why I accept but don’t understand homosexuals. She started dating this womale and a whale of a one at that. I don’t remember its name, but it dressed like a man, all 350 pounds of her/him/it. Deep voice like brunehilda, that I remember. Christine brought her to Granny Nells’ funeral in 2000(?). Whenever Hurricane Floyd was. Gran-Nell passed away right afterwards. Anyway, she brings her new love and it just makes me wonder why be gay at all. I know that women understand women and men understand men, but why transform be gay if you’re just going to wind up putting up with the same shit that you would from a normal relationship. I’ve seen gay relationships and they still have one pretending to be the man and the other pretending to be the woman and they still fight about the same things that normal real men and women fight and argue about. Gays cheat, lie, steal, discriminate, stalk, kill and rape just as much as people who are much heavier in their loafers. In my experience, gays are more so prevalent to it than most people. I just don’t understand and maybe never will. Is it the attention, protection under laws that you don’t get as a straight person? Maybe straight people need to start having their own float at parades. Fruit-loopers do seem to get better deals on clothes and floats at parades. Maybe that’s because they’re lighter than we are. Maybe that’s it. It’s a gravitational thing. The planet doesn’t exert as much force on you if you like to take it in the ass or have a face full of girl-taco. I don’t know, but before I get too wound up on this one, I’ll get back to the regular confusion of my life.
And, just for all you rainbow stealing gravitationally gifted persons of alternate gender out there, I love you anyway. Without you, my life would be so much less interesting. You’ll understand that statement later.
Let me stop for a moment and say this:
My family, to you all, may seem weird and dysfunctional and whatever label you might want to put on them, but they are my family and I would, regardless of how much shit I talk about them and me and our relationships, defend them with my life. In the south, blood is truly thicker than water and sometimes, even family members forget that.
I think I’ll stop here and rest my brain. Trying to figure this shit out and make enough sense of it to put on page is taxing at the least.
Until Next Time……
(Bomba deedah, bomba deedah, Happy trai……..)
posted by Chuck at 11:44 PM
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