The truth of the matter is that I'm a sixteen year old creatively suppressed artist, I suppose. That's why when I'm on my blog I can write three posts in one night an still feel like I have accomplished nothing. Well, it's not like anyone reads these, cept I Am Me of course. Props to you. The truth of it:
Early days
I have very few memories of when I was younger. I can't remember before the age of five, except very important things. Like my uncle Terry. He wasn't really my uncle he was a close friend of my dad's and later I was to find out quite the trouble maker. I remember him with his bandanna in his boat visiting us and having a cup of coffee with my dad while the both chain smoke their Marlboros. I suppose I also remember the Marlboros, my father hasn't smoked them in years but every time I smell them I feel a sense of nostalgia. They sat at the old picnic table, which is long gone now, and I'd listen to them talk. Terry had a wonderful imagination, it was worthy of getting lost in. He always said there was an amphibious pachyderm that lived in the bay, under our dock. I believed him and everyday I would look for that water dwelling elephant in the hopes that it would let me ride it. I was only later to realize that our bay was far too shallow for any elephant sized creatures to dwell there, but, when I was young anything was possible.
A lot of Terry's stories had reasons behind them such as the one when he told my sister and I that our neighbors were serial killers and that's why there was a fence there. That kept us from trespassing for sure.
My sister believed she had a curse. When her first god-father passed away from some sort of cancer, I believe, she named Terry her god-father. Then he had a stroke. Terry was a close friend of mine at the time before I really had started school, I visited him in the hospital and sobbed when I realized he couldn't remember my name. I saw him in the greatest of his days and the worst. Shortly there after Terry died, he suffered another stroke. That's his story, I will never forget my second father.
Andrew
I have an older brother whom I have adored since I can remember. He adored me too, he still does. He and my older sister have never gotten along as well as we have. I will never understand some things about him. My mother said he was sick. I just think he was angry, he was angry sad and lonely. He had a learning disability, but he was never stupid. People made fun of him for it though, he didn't play sports (almost a crime in my hometown) he wasn't in any extra-curricular activities it was almost like he was the Boo Radley of his grade. He attracted some attention from girls but they turned on him. They told him to kill himself and they called him names. He was 15, this was just after what we Minnesotans call the Red Lake School Shooting (It was as the name implies a school shooting in Red Lake a rez here). He sent an e-mail to the girl telling her that something like Red Lake was going to happen here if the harassment didn't stop. She reported it to the police. My family didn't own any guns or weapons. We didn't hunt, we rarely fished, there was no need to search our house but the police came they took my brother, our computer, and a telescope stand which was the best possible weapon they could find. My sister and I watched from behind our garage as our brother was taken away from us. We were still so young, we couldn't understand this. He was sent to a juvenile facility for some time and then he returned to us when I was probably about ten or eleven. But, he wouldn't stay long.
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