(no subject)
I really hate Christmas, it’s not because I have some deep philosophical or moral objection to what it means, or how it’s become an over commercialized excuse for self indulgence, or because retailers use it to increase their bottom line or the sad realization that so many people go into debt over it. It’s not because I have some horrid memory of Christmas past like not getting that one great gift I always wanted or someone crushing my dreams of Santa Clause from a young age. The truth is I don’t know why I hate it so much… maybe it’s because so many people try and make up for 11 months of treating others badly with a card and some trinket wrapped in shiny paper.
I know I have not written for a while in this, and I promised to rant less and write more so here we go some deep revealing facts about me…. I don’t remember when I first started realizing Christmas was a big deal, the first Christmas I actually remember I was 5 or 6 years old I guess, actually I must have been older then that because my brother was up and running around. I must have been closer to 8 or 9. Anyway I remember just being awe struck at all the presents and things I was getting. Santa and the Easter bunny and such were never things as children we were ever left to believe in for even a second, so there was no mystery where they were coming from.
For those that don’t know I was raised by my grand parents until around 2001 when in true American fashion after decades of being married decided they needed a divorce…. Kid you not they were both pushing 60 and decide well you know maybe there IS someone better out there for me! I grew up with them and my uncle… he was 9 years older then me I think, I guess he was more like an older brother then anything. One of those cool older brothers though, the ones you fight with and do stupid things with and look back later and life and wonder how you didn’t end up dead? I wonder sometimes how I didn’t end up seriously injured more times then I can count. I guess one positive thing about a rural upbringing is you have to be some kind of survivor, and you have to work…. Christ do you have to work. I grew up on a working ranch on top of it all so it was that much worse. For better or worse I guess that molded me into what I am today, weather it was knowing how to handle a gun from the time I was 5 or 6, to trucking through the woods with a rifle that was as big as I was by the time I was 11… actually I did have one serious injury now that I think about it. When I was 10 years old me and my uncle were fighting…. Sparring I guess you would call it but rather roughly we did that, but I loved it. I love a good fight I always have… anyway I really fucked up my knee and ankle. Sprained both and ripped muscles and tendons in it I later found out…. I still have trouble with that knee sometimes. But unless you are gushing blood or there is bone poking through your skin you don’t go to the hospital if you grow up in Maine…. You get an ice pack and a pillow…. I didn’t walk for almost a month.
I remember it because I missed hunting season that year…. That was the worst thing ever…. Of course there is a yearly thing I probably should have died in too…. Nothing like giving a 10 year old a rifle and sending them out to the woods with a compass and vague directions about where you are supposed to meet later… I remember the first time I shot a deer… I felt so bad after… I guess that a big difference between rural and urban upbringing too…. I was 11 years old, and I shot this deer at a run from probably 100 yards off with a British Enfield 303 no scope just regular iron sights, for those that don’t know guns this was the main rifle that the British army used in both world wars…. So it’s quite a formidable gun and not to sound like I am bragging but I was a damn good shot back then too. Anyway I shot this poor deer, I got 2 rounds off…. The first one hit it in the back and my assumption is it paralyzed it because it didn’t move… it just stood there while I got a second shot off this one in the chest and it went down…. I remember walking up to it and the realization that it was still alive…. I never felt so shitty in my life. It’s hard to explain that feeling, being a kid and walking up to another living thing that you just shot…. Keep in mind you can hear it breathing from a few yards off… and when we were hunting you were pretty often by yourself so I was there alone while I waited for my grandfather to make his way here. I shot it 3 more times before the fucking thing finally died… needless to say I never had that whole dead goldfish talk about what happens when something dies… no if you live in rural new England you probably have it while also learning how to skin and butcher one type of animal or another.
But anyway I am way off topic… Christmas and my birthday were the two times a year I could count on actually seeing my mother for more then a few hours a week. By the time I was 12 or 13 I had formed the idea that this was too show off her kids to friend and co workers etc. truth is my mother was really young when I was born, and we didn’t really get along until I was old enough to act like an adult. Looking back on it I feel like an ass for thinking that.
The truth is I have never been an easy person to live with I guess, I have been arrogant and thought I was better then most people since I was a teenager… in 2001 I moved in with my mother, brother and her boyfriend/fiancée at the time. I don’t remember if they were engaged at the time or not… I don’t really know when it happened. It was after my birthday and after 9/11 cause I remember watching that at my grand parents, so probably on late September early October. I was 15 then… I got my first handgun that birthday… a Bryco Jennings 9mm…. god what a pos gun that is, but it also tops the list of guns used in violent crimes put out by the FBI every year since.
October 2003 my father died in a motorcycle accident… It wasn’t a big deal for me I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, but my mother was devastated, I guess that brought us closer together then anything… by then her and Rob had been having problems and I probably wasn’t making it any better. I never really liked him, I didn’t hate him then like I do now but it was hard to explain I guess. Him and my brother hated each other though…. But then my brother is not easy to get along with, in fact he is an ass. Thanksgiving 2003…. I was 17 and had been living with my mother and Rob for 2 years by then… this was the first time we had been to my mother’s family’s house for any type of holiday gathering… I don’t remember exactly what led up to it but Rob eventually had started running his mouth about something and I took offense to whatever it was. I don’t remember how it got as far as it did but not long after we were outside and fighting…. Keep in mind this is a grown man fighting with a 17 year old kid…. Mature I know. That said I beat the shit out of him, was one of the most satisfying things I had ever done in my life….. I didn’t see him until the next day, it was late November so it was raining out and cold, I never got over how childish he was about the whole thing… not only on thanksgiving but the next day when he decided to pick another fight… that night I put him though a car window…. Needless to say that was the end of my mother’s relationship with him. I had been in fights before but nothing like that. I really wanted to hurt him, or worse. I remember when we moved *that same night) the next day my mother went back to get some stuff and she had to wait for the police to be present… but nothing was ever said to me so I guess when calling the police and claiming you are in fear for your life you leave out the fact that you have been picking fights with minors and that’s what you are afraid of.
I grew up and got past it, he never did. They eventually got back together a year or so later when I was gone it lasted about a year spring 2006 it was over again this time the moron tried to pick a fight with my brother who was 16 at the time…. Yeah real mature guy I know. Unfortunately by then my mother was already pregnant and that December my sister was born…. So I have the constant headache of dealing with him now because of that…. More often then not I am around my mother’s when he comes to pick the baby up on the weekend 2 years old next week. It’s scary the amount of times I have thought seriously about just shooting him… but I have held back this long.
Looking back I have no idea why I wrote all that when I started talking about Christmas… but there you go, more then a little you didn’t know about me, and a glimpse of what my family is like. Now maybe yours doesn’t look so bad?
Anyway I will write more tomorrow maybe….
I know I have not written for a while in this, and I promised to rant less and write more so here we go some deep revealing facts about me…. I don’t remember when I first started realizing Christmas was a big deal, the first Christmas I actually remember I was 5 or 6 years old I guess, actually I must have been older then that because my brother was up and running around. I must have been closer to 8 or 9. Anyway I remember just being awe struck at all the presents and things I was getting. Santa and the Easter bunny and such were never things as children we were ever left to believe in for even a second, so there was no mystery where they were coming from.
For those that don’t know I was raised by my grand parents until around 2001 when in true American fashion after decades of being married decided they needed a divorce…. Kid you not they were both pushing 60 and decide well you know maybe there IS someone better out there for me! I grew up with them and my uncle… he was 9 years older then me I think, I guess he was more like an older brother then anything. One of those cool older brothers though, the ones you fight with and do stupid things with and look back later and life and wonder how you didn’t end up dead? I wonder sometimes how I didn’t end up seriously injured more times then I can count. I guess one positive thing about a rural upbringing is you have to be some kind of survivor, and you have to work…. Christ do you have to work. I grew up on a working ranch on top of it all so it was that much worse. For better or worse I guess that molded me into what I am today, weather it was knowing how to handle a gun from the time I was 5 or 6, to trucking through the woods with a rifle that was as big as I was by the time I was 11… actually I did have one serious injury now that I think about it. When I was 10 years old me and my uncle were fighting…. Sparring I guess you would call it but rather roughly we did that, but I loved it. I love a good fight I always have… anyway I really fucked up my knee and ankle. Sprained both and ripped muscles and tendons in it I later found out…. I still have trouble with that knee sometimes. But unless you are gushing blood or there is bone poking through your skin you don’t go to the hospital if you grow up in Maine…. You get an ice pack and a pillow…. I didn’t walk for almost a month.
I remember it because I missed hunting season that year…. That was the worst thing ever…. Of course there is a yearly thing I probably should have died in too…. Nothing like giving a 10 year old a rifle and sending them out to the woods with a compass and vague directions about where you are supposed to meet later… I remember the first time I shot a deer… I felt so bad after… I guess that a big difference between rural and urban upbringing too…. I was 11 years old, and I shot this deer at a run from probably 100 yards off with a British Enfield 303 no scope just regular iron sights, for those that don’t know guns this was the main rifle that the British army used in both world wars…. So it’s quite a formidable gun and not to sound like I am bragging but I was a damn good shot back then too. Anyway I shot this poor deer, I got 2 rounds off…. The first one hit it in the back and my assumption is it paralyzed it because it didn’t move… it just stood there while I got a second shot off this one in the chest and it went down…. I remember walking up to it and the realization that it was still alive…. I never felt so shitty in my life. It’s hard to explain that feeling, being a kid and walking up to another living thing that you just shot…. Keep in mind you can hear it breathing from a few yards off… and when we were hunting you were pretty often by yourself so I was there alone while I waited for my grandfather to make his way here. I shot it 3 more times before the fucking thing finally died… needless to say I never had that whole dead goldfish talk about what happens when something dies… no if you live in rural new England you probably have it while also learning how to skin and butcher one type of animal or another.
But anyway I am way off topic… Christmas and my birthday were the two times a year I could count on actually seeing my mother for more then a few hours a week. By the time I was 12 or 13 I had formed the idea that this was too show off her kids to friend and co workers etc. truth is my mother was really young when I was born, and we didn’t really get along until I was old enough to act like an adult. Looking back on it I feel like an ass for thinking that.
The truth is I have never been an easy person to live with I guess, I have been arrogant and thought I was better then most people since I was a teenager… in 2001 I moved in with my mother, brother and her boyfriend/fiancée at the time. I don’t remember if they were engaged at the time or not… I don’t really know when it happened. It was after my birthday and after 9/11 cause I remember watching that at my grand parents, so probably on late September early October. I was 15 then… I got my first handgun that birthday… a Bryco Jennings 9mm…. god what a pos gun that is, but it also tops the list of guns used in violent crimes put out by the FBI every year since.
October 2003 my father died in a motorcycle accident… It wasn’t a big deal for me I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, but my mother was devastated, I guess that brought us closer together then anything… by then her and Rob had been having problems and I probably wasn’t making it any better. I never really liked him, I didn’t hate him then like I do now but it was hard to explain I guess. Him and my brother hated each other though…. But then my brother is not easy to get along with, in fact he is an ass. Thanksgiving 2003…. I was 17 and had been living with my mother and Rob for 2 years by then… this was the first time we had been to my mother’s family’s house for any type of holiday gathering… I don’t remember exactly what led up to it but Rob eventually had started running his mouth about something and I took offense to whatever it was. I don’t remember how it got as far as it did but not long after we were outside and fighting…. Keep in mind this is a grown man fighting with a 17 year old kid…. Mature I know. That said I beat the shit out of him, was one of the most satisfying things I had ever done in my life….. I didn’t see him until the next day, it was late November so it was raining out and cold, I never got over how childish he was about the whole thing… not only on thanksgiving but the next day when he decided to pick another fight… that night I put him though a car window…. Needless to say that was the end of my mother’s relationship with him. I had been in fights before but nothing like that. I really wanted to hurt him, or worse. I remember when we moved *that same night) the next day my mother went back to get some stuff and she had to wait for the police to be present… but nothing was ever said to me so I guess when calling the police and claiming you are in fear for your life you leave out the fact that you have been picking fights with minors and that’s what you are afraid of.
I grew up and got past it, he never did. They eventually got back together a year or so later when I was gone it lasted about a year spring 2006 it was over again this time the moron tried to pick a fight with my brother who was 16 at the time…. Yeah real mature guy I know. Unfortunately by then my mother was already pregnant and that December my sister was born…. So I have the constant headache of dealing with him now because of that…. More often then not I am around my mother’s when he comes to pick the baby up on the weekend 2 years old next week. It’s scary the amount of times I have thought seriously about just shooting him… but I have held back this long.
Looking back I have no idea why I wrote all that when I started talking about Christmas… but there you go, more then a little you didn’t know about me, and a glimpse of what my family is like. Now maybe yours doesn’t look so bad?
Anyway I will write more tomorrow maybe….