New Meaning
I think the appropriate place to start this story should be at my ripe age of 33 years old, and my tragic story. I was diagnosed with a near fatal liver disease. I was called one day in January for a liver transplant and it was my last hope at living.
Upon arriving, and realizing that my friends from the past were only my friends on a social basis and they were only long time drinking buddies. They were not there for me during one of the most trying times when I needed them the most. My family were the only ones, who were there for me. My mother and my sister were the only ones at my bedside, before I departed into the room of death or that certainly was the feel anyway It was a very large room, very cold and a lot of instruments all around. I laid there for what was like 5 minutes, but to me it seemed like hours had passed, when the doctors finally came in and explained to me that they needed me to breath in very deeply. As I did, I felt myself drifting off to sleep. Not to awake for some 8-10 hours later.
From my memory:
I remember laying there in my bed, I could hear people talking about me. The thing about it, is inside my head, I had a battle raging inside of me. One that was between good and bad in my opinion, there were two dragons, one being white and representing good, and the other black representing bad. The battle went on in my mind for hours, I could feel myself sweating, but when I began to awaken the white dragon had just defeated the black dragon. I then saw a light, and started walking toward it, when I literally felt the hand of God turn me away from it. I then awoke to a roomful of family. I was literally in tears and telling them of what I had encountered. From that day on, things seemed so different for me, I mean; it was like I was happy just to wake up each day. It was a sense of belonging and knowing that I am here for some reason. I never dispute that fact and hope that I am doing what it is I am supposed to be.
I spent 31 days in the hospital, going through many trials and difficulties of just getting out. I had to learn to walk again, balance, and build strength back that I had lost from lying there. It was strange to have to go through all the childhood things again. It was like starting a new life.
Thirty-one days into it, and they were not sure that this new liver was going to take. They, then, told me that they could not let me go home because they fear the worst. I told them you have got to let me go or I will never get better in here. At this point in time, depression had taken over for me. I was crying all the time and mean. I was throwing trays at the girls who were bringing me food.
They finally agreed that they would let me go home, but it was against their wishes and that I would need to make the long haul to the hospital over four hours away and every three days. My sister was there for me. She knew that I would die if I would have stayed in there. I did exactly what they said. They even called me back up there on two separate occasions for a new heart, but they either didn't fit or were no good, so I went home. This went on for some odd three months, until one weekend the doctors and said something I did at home had opened up the arteries and scar tissue has trapped it open and that I was now going to be on the road to recovery. I was so ecstatic, it was Easter Sunday that this happened.
The impact of all that happened had made me see things different. I, now, noticed the little things, like; butterflies fluttering, the smell of fresh cut grass, the sunshine, the water against your face. It is strange what life, taken and given back, can do to a person. God walked with me all my life and I had not seen it until tragedy struck, but now he is here and we continue our journey together. I thank my mom, my sister, and the rest of my family who was there for me during these trying times. See ya next week with childhood memories .
Life as a child was never easy for me. As far back as I can remember, my life was unsettled.
My first recollection or memories are ones my mother had told me about. She said in the early years-- up until I was like four or five years old-- I was my parent’s world along with my sister Lynetta, who came just one year after me.
Pictures and my mom's memories, paint a picture of two siblings who were super close and two parents who worshiped us.
My mom recalls me at the age of two, with bleach blonde hair that she wouldn't allow me to cut, because it was so pretty. She said my favorite toy was a curling iron, and I was constantly acting like I was curling my hair and primping. Those days were sure signs of my feminine side. 
My first real memory was around the age of six. Me and my family then lived in Palm Springs, Florida. This first memory was one of great discomfort. Me, my sis, and my brother Kirk were all placed into the bath tub by our dad. He then shut the door, the only thing we could hear was mom's cry for help, pleading with dad not to hit her any more. I may have been young, but I remember crawling out of the tub and walking into the living room crying. I remember dad saying "he's always been up your skirt, he's probably not even my kid anyway". That is just before dad walks away and picks up a billiard's ball from the pool table and slams it through an expensive china cabinet that he had just bought mom a month before to make up for his last lashing on her. He then disappeared. We did not see him for almost a month after that. Mom was not working, dad did not allow her to do that. After about two weeks, we were running out of food. I remember mom feeding us crackers and peanut butter to keep us going while the whole time not eating herself. What kind of father could do that? I remember wondering, what did I do so bad to make Daddy hurt mom and stop feeding us? Dad supposedly loved us; if he did, how could he not wonder if we had enough to eat?
I remember about two weeks later, mom came to the realization that dad was not coming back and she had to do something to provide for herself and us. She began taking all our possessions outside into the yard and having a huge moving sale. She wanted to make enough money to move us back to Ohio, where our family could help us. The last day of the yard sale, we had taken the remainder of the stuff back into the garage, but we were still about sixty dollars short of bus fare. When sis came running into the house, telling mom that she had found a hundred dollar bill laying in the driveway. We knew God had provided us a way out.
That evening, our things were packed. I was Mommie's boy, so I slept with mom that night. Mom had always slept with a knife under the bed because she never knew what dad would do next. We just knew the next day we were out of there.
Anyway, that next morning around 3:45am, dad came in and he was in a drunken rage. He began beating mom and calling her a whore. While I laid there beside her crying, dad telling me "go to the other room, you little bastard." I just laid there.
Dad had mom by the throat, she had no way to fight him off. She then pulled the knife out from underneath the bed and stuck the knife into dad's abdomen. While I screamed in horror.
Dad screamed "you stupid bitch, you cut me, now you are going to sew me back up."
I only remember from there, my dad dragging mom by the hair into the living room, grabbing a needle and thread from the china cabinet drawer. He then shoved his guts back inside and made mom sew his belly up. I was screaming, begging for mom to come get me. Mom could do nothing. He got up from the chair and beat her many times, knocking her down and kicking her in the ribs. With no feelings of what he had done to her, he said “go to Ohio, you whore! You will be back, you always are!"
Luckily my sister and brother stayed in the bedroom when dad told them to. They were scared to death of dad but then again so was I. He then left and we didn't see him again. The next day we made our track to Ohio, and the first episode of my childhood came to a close.
Next week, I will take you to a few good moments of my life In Palm Springs, Florida.
Life in a small Town
While Palm Springs was a very bad time for me, there were some good memories that I recall. I remember my father being very prejudiced against black people. I had crossed racial barriers at a young age because of a black school teacher named Ms Turnquist, a true inspiration and a second mother figure to me at that very dreary time in my life. 
She was a teacher, but even more than that, a friend to her students. She would talk to me one on one about my life at home and the sadness that I felt. She held her hand out and made me believe better things would come.
My mother endured a lot to give me and my siblings a life in Palm Springs, Florida, but finally realized that she had to feed and provide a home for them back in Ohio. Her strength and courage is what made me so strong today.
A lot of children would have probably lost their minds. I had the support of friends and family. My best friend Jeff Mulligan, age 7, whom I stayed with a lot, kept me from losing it. I remember good memories at Jeff's singing children's songs like “B-I-N-G-O” and “I've been working on the Railroad”. Jeff's house was a safe haven for me, and my mom knew this and always took me there when things were getting bad at home.
I, also, had another good friend. One I had a lot in common with--a tomboy named Jennifer Milechek. I believe that we had so much in common because we were both gay. I remembers being able to talk to her about everything and Christmas Caroling with her, climbing trees, and just hanging out.
So, it goes to say; in times of need, never give up. Just look to the people around you, you can always find support. I believe love is not only found in sex partners, but it can be found in a friend.
Friendship is opening an ear, a heart, and a mind. It is learning to understand someone, what they have been through and accepting them as who they are regardless of their insecurities and lack of material things.
God blesses us with people in our lives, so cherish each and every one and accept them for who and what they are. Next week: I take you to Coal Run; Ohio and yet another move. This time to Hollywood, Florida and a kidnapping.
I think the appropriate place to start this story should be at my ripe age of 33 years old, and my tragic story. I was diagnosed with a near fatal liver disease. I was called one day in January for a liver transplant and it was my last hope at living.
Upon arriving, and realizing that my friends from the past were only my friends on a social basis and they were only long time drinking buddies. They were not there for me during one of the most trying times when I needed them the most. My family were the only ones, who were there for me. My mother and my sister were the only ones at my bedside, before I departed into the room of death or that certainly was the feel anyway It was a very large room, very cold and a lot of instruments all around. I laid there for what was like 5 minutes, but to me it seemed like hours had passed, when the doctors finally came in and explained to me that they needed me to breath in very deeply. As I did, I felt myself drifting off to sleep. Not to awake for some 8-10 hours later.
From my memory:
I remember laying there in my bed, I could hear people talking about me. The thing about it, is inside my head, I had a battle raging inside of me. One that was between good and bad in my opinion, there were two dragons, one being white and representing good, and the other black representing bad. The battle went on in my mind for hours, I could feel myself sweating, but when I began to awaken the white dragon had just defeated the black dragon. I then saw a light, and started walking toward it, when I literally felt the hand of God turn me away from it. I then awoke to a roomful of family. I was literally in tears and telling them of what I had encountered.
I spent 31 days in the hospital, going through many trials and difficulties of just getting out. I had to learn to walk again, balance, and build strength back that I had lost from lying there. It was strange to have to go through all the childhood things again. It was like starting a new life.
Thirty-one days into it, and they were not sure that this new liver was going to take. They, then, told me that they could not let me go home because they fear the worst. I told them you have got to let me go or I will never get better in here. At this point in time, depression had taken over for me. I was crying all the time and mean. I was throwing trays at the girls who were bringing me food.
They finally agreed that they would let me go home, but it was against their wishes and that I would need to make the long haul to the hospital over four hours away and every three days. My sister was there for me. She knew that I would die if I would have stayed in there. I did exactly what they said. They even called me back up there on two separate occasions for a new heart, but they either didn't fit or were no good, so I went home. This went on for some odd three months, until one weekend the doctors and said something I did at home had opened up the arteries and scar tissue has trapped it open and that I was now going to be on the road to recovery. I was so ecstatic, it was Easter Sunday that this happened.
The impact of all that happened had made me see things different. I, now, noticed the little things, like; butterflies fluttering, the smell of fresh cut grass, the sunshine, the water against your face. It is strange what life, taken and given back, can do to a person. God walked with me all my life and I had not seen it until tragedy struck, but now he is here and we continue our journey together.
Life as a child was never easy for me. As far back as I can remember, my life was unsettled.
My first recollection or memories are ones my mother had told me about. She said in the early years-- up until I was like four or five years old-- I was my parent’s world along with my sister Lynetta, who came just one year after me.
My first recollection or memories are ones my mother had told me about. She said in the early years-- up until I was like four or five years old-- I was my parent’s world along with my sister Lynetta, who came just one year after me.
Pictures and my mom's memories, paint a picture of two siblings who were super close and two parents who worshiped us.
My mom recalls me at the age of two, with bleach blonde hair that she wouldn't allow me to cut, because it was so pretty. She said my favorite toy was a curling iron, and I was constantly acting like I was curling my hair and primping. Those days were sure signs of my feminine side.
My first real memory was around the age of six. Me and my family then lived in Palm Springs, Florida. This first memory was one of great discomfort. Me, my sis, and my brother Kirk were all placed into the bath tub by our dad.
He then shut the door, the only thing we could hear was mom's cry for help, pleading with dad not to hit her any more. I may have been young, but I remember crawling out of the tub and walking into the living room crying. I remember dad saying "he's always been up your skirt, he's probably not even my kid anyway".
That is just before dad walks away and picks up a billiard's ball from the pool table and slams it through an expensive china cabinet that he had just bought mom a month before to make up for his last lashing on her. He then disappeared. We did not see him for almost a month after that. Mom was not working, dad did not allow her to do that.
After about two weeks, we were running out of food. I remember mom feeding us crackers and peanut butter to keep us going while the whole time not eating herself. What kind of father could do that? I remember wondering, what did I do so bad to make Daddy hurt mom and stop feeding us? Dad supposedly loved us; if he did, how could he not wonder if we had enough to eat?
I remember about two weeks later, mom came to the realization that dad was not coming back and she had to do something to provide for herself and us. She began taking all our possessions outside into the yard and having a huge moving sale. She wanted to make enough money to move us back to Ohio, where our family could help us. The last day of the yard sale, we had taken the remainder of the stuff back into the garage, but we were still about sixty dollars short of bus fare. When sis came running into the house, telling mom that she had found a hundred dollar bill laying in the driveway. We knew God had provided us a way out.
That evening, our things were packed. I was Mommie's boy, so I slept with mom that night. Mom had always slept with a knife under the bed because she never knew what dad would do next. We just knew the next day we were out of there.
Anyway, that next morning around 3:45am, dad came in and he was in a drunken rage. He began beating mom and calling her a whore. While I laid there beside her crying, dad telling me "go to the other room, you little bastard." I just laid there.
Dad had mom by the throat, she had no way to fight him off. She then pulled the knife out from underneath the bed and stuck the knife into dad's abdomen. While I screamed in horror.
Dad screamed "you stupid bitch, you cut me, now you are going to sew me back up."
I only remember from there, my dad dragging mom by the hair into the living room, grabbing a needle and thread from the china cabinet drawer. He then shoved his guts back inside and made mom sew his belly up. I was screaming, begging for mom to come get me. Mom could do nothing. He got up from the chair and beat her many times, knocking her down and kicking her in the ribs. With no feelings of what he had done to her, he said “go to Ohio, you whore! You will be back, you always are!"
Luckily my sister and brother stayed in the bedroom when dad told them to. They were scared to death of dad but then again so was I. He then left and we didn't see him again. The next day we made our track to Ohio, and the first episode of my childhood came to a close.
Next week, I will take you to a few good moments of my life In Palm Springs, Florida.
Life in a small Town
While Palm Springs was a very bad time for me, there were some good memories that I recall. I remember my father being very prejudiced against black people. I had crossed racial barriers at a young age because of a black school teacher named Ms Turnquist, a true inspiration and a second mother figure to me at that very dreary time in my life.
She was a teacher, but even more than that, a friend to her students. She would talk to me one on one about my life at home and the sadness that I felt. She held her hand out and made me believe better things would come.
My mother endured a lot to give me and my siblings a life in Palm Springs, Florida, but finally realized that she had to feed and provide a home for them back in Ohio. Her strength and courage is what made me so strong today.
A lot of children would have probably lost their minds. I had the support of friends and family. My best friend Jeff Mulligan, age 7, whom I stayed with a lot, kept me from losing it. I remember good memories at Jeff's singing children's songs like “B-I-N-G-O” and “I've been working on the Railroad”. Jeff's house was a safe haven for me, and my mom knew this and always took me there when things were getting bad at home.
I, also, had another good friend. One I had a lot in common with--a tomboy named Jennifer Milechek. I believe that we had so much in common because we were both gay. I remembers being able to talk to her about everything and Christmas Caroling with her, climbing trees, and just hanging out.
So, it goes to say; in times of need, never give up. Just look to the people around you, you can always find support. I believe love is not only found in sex partners, but it can be found in a friend.
Friendship is opening an ear, a heart, and a mind. It is learning to understand someone, what they have been through and accepting them as who they are regardless of their insecurities and lack of material things.
God blesses us with people in our lives, so cherish each and every one and accept them for who and what they are. Next week: I take you to Coal Run; Ohio and yet another move. This time to Hollywood, Florida and a kidnapping.
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