Writing at 5:30 in the morning has its challenges. I’m still on the alertness curve at the moment

What you can’t see right now are the two minute pauses in between my sentences.

*sips first cup of coffee

Better

Sorta

*gulps second

Better closer warmer

Sorry I’m loosening my journal thumbs

Cracking knuckles

Procrastinating

Yesterday while minding my own damn business my friend in my head says “you really fucking hated middle school and high school”

“Didn’t you?”

Wasn’t really a questing after that it was awaiting my agreement.

Uh yeah. I sure did. I’ve never hidden it

“Why?”

Um it sucked. You were there dummy

“Why?”

Cmon man we’ve got another half hour of Fargo to finish can this wait ?

“Nah”

Fine hombre where do we start?

“Trace it back. Take your time. You’ve thought about it enough to break it down”

*sighs

Yeah man so I was pulled into two separate family households when I was 8. I was bussed into a small town in Anderson county where I knew absolutely no one but my mother. No explanation, no apologies and no fucking nothing. A summer of confusion of where I was going to start 4th grade soon at another school I’d never seen before or heard of.

Meet new kids

New teachers

At home?

A little house right by a highway. Across from me where cows

Beside me were cows

Behind me? Cows

I was a Greenville city kid. Cows were cartoon characters.

I knew my parents were splitting I was there for the confirmation. Never heard the exact conversation between my parents I only remember hearing my dad say “I’ll pack and leave tomorrow”

I’m writing to release. This one won’t hit the papers.

Im releasing

Expounding

What was that conversation?

“I met someone else Ron. He’s younger, a truck driver.”

Or maybe he was in construction?

My mom was around 41 or so. Same age as me when I opened Southern. I always compare timelines and ages with my parents to sync where we both were at certain times in our lives. My dad? 58. I’m nearing it. Gotta a few but close enough to feel it. My mom’s suitor? 39 ish. His birthday was last week. He’d be 86 if he were alive today. Me at 39? I was a brand new papa. My daughter was enjoying her first year here on life.

Tom, my mother’s new man, was about to be a brand new papa to four fucking kids he’d never met. Wild to take a mother of four in without meeting any of her kids. Tom got more than he bargained for. I suppose we all did.

Tom was gruff. An old school country redneck. Cowboy boots and hat to match. Big ass belt buckle and a lot of shit around his home related to rodeos and horses. I was ignorant to this lifestyle. I still am to this day.

If anything in this entry resembles my bringing down Tom’s character down it’s not intended. Tom was the best man at my wedding for a reason. I grew to love and admire him over time. I took awhile. We were both headstrong and committed to staying that way. I’m recalling old trauma memories that need to be reckoned with. I’ve been recognizing old habits that come back home that I need to release.

It’s been awhile since I’ve dealt with this. I’m closing chapters this is important to me.

I spent roughly five years of my life praying before bedtime that my parents would get back together.

Every single night. No one answered.

That thought rode shotgun with me every day.

My first day at Wren Middle school to my last. My summer breaks, holidays in between. Amidst this chaotic fantasy world I’d get on the school bus and get my ass kicked on a daily basis until the end of my freshman year. Maybe a little after I can’t remember. New faces at school take some time to be regular faces. Took a bit longer for me. I was a new kid with a new family and lifestyle.

I didn’t like all of the above. That included myself. What did I do to make my family split?

It wasn’t your fault Chad. Yeah I know but no one told me that. I had to grow through it.

Murky ass growing pains.

Piedmont didn’t like me. It only mirrored my energy back to me.

I never gravitated to the folk there and they knew it. Felt it. I felt alone. Man I felt alone for a long time.

Enemy territory

Hanging out at my new grandparents home with people I didn’t know. Staying overnight in mudrooms/guest beds. Being made to pray bedside with my future cousins I didn’t know.

Listen

Don’t do that shit to kids for fuck sake.

Don’t

Make

Kids

Pray

Add to that I was placed into a denomination of church that was very foreign to me. Much more strict, close minded and countrified. You can still read my anger 45 years later.

I’m releasing

I’m not angry.

This is a trauma response for me. When I see our government try to impose religion into our schools and daily lives I knee jerk a hefty fuck off to you.

Trauma

Go back a few paragraphs about the school bus fights

I’ve got quite the chip on my shoulder now. I won’t sleep if I feel like someone or something got the best of me. My instinct is to destroy anything that I feel disrespected me.

Beat the living shit out of it. That’s why my voice is like it is sometimes on social media.

He’s boastful

He’s proud

He’s cocky

He’s actually scared to get back on that bus again. So he acts that way so he doesn’t have to again. It hurts just to say it

But

I recognize it

I never accepted the culture of Piedmont. I didn’t want any part of it. From 8 to 18 I resided there and have been scrubbing the stains left on me ever since.

This isn’t about my fellow peeps that grew up there with me. This is entirely me. If me talking shit about your little town offends you it’s not intentional.

I’ve earned the right though, my childhood home there is a now a fucking storage center. It fits

I always felt like the new kid no one remembered or wanted. Where would I be had we stayed in Greenville? I can’t answer that. But I wouldn’t have moved backwards for a few years.

Grades? Terrible

My scholastic footprint? My senior annual will tell you my only participation the enter time I was there was pep rallies.

That’s it.

C minus student my entire career. With the exception of one or two friends my cliques changed every year.

Volatility

Disdain is dripping right now broseph

Shoulder checks as I walked down the hallways in middle school. Man I didn’t want to be there either.

There are still people walking around that I want to reckon with. That’s not healthy. I don’t carry that chip as much as I used to but it’s nearby at all times.

My mom changed. Piedmont took her over. The culture

I suppose that’s what she wanted I can’t be sure.

We were poor. Broke weekly. I was surrounded by talks of money scarcity, bills unpaid, things taken away. No luxuries purchased. Anything bought was old and broken. We’d repair it until it was capable of being used.

Trauma response: I’m frugal to the bone. I don’t feel like I deserve to have certain things.

My old man used to always buy me a candy bar when we went to the gas station. I’d just walk up to the counter with him with my candy bar of choice. Tried that with my stepfather in Piedmont once. I was reprimanded for my assumption that we could afford a candy bar.

That stuck with me for a long time.

My teachers disliked me. I wasn’t a good student and my mood and mouth reflected that. Teachers don’t get your background story they’ve got 25 plus other kids to deal with. All they see is the kid furiously scribbling his homework three minutes before collecting it.

Mom never checked my homework. Never asked but she’d get mad at my grades when she saw them.

“What do you want me to do mom? I’m at this point because of your decisions”

Sorry but it’s true

Because of our financial difficulties there were no vacations. Weekends in Walhalla were my getaways. Not really though my getaway was a broken down camper I hid inside of all summer for years.

I vacationed from my head. In my head..

Our brokenness made me resent others. I disliked the kids at school that showed up in the clothes I wanted to have.

The cars I wanted to drive

They played the sports I wanted to play but couldn’t because of resources we didn’t have.

Trauma response to this day I get angry at people who have worked less and have more.

I can’t help it. I work on it man but it’s tough

But

I’m aware of it.

My daughter had 12 of her friends up in her bedroom yesterday. All laughing, giggling while getting ready for spirit week and football game. My daughter is wearing what she wants, cowboy boots we bought for her. Her car we bought for her sits in our driveway. Sometimes she buys gas but often times it’s us.

She’s well liked at school, boys are lining up. Man I never got eyeballed from anyone in school. Honor roll, high 90’s on her test scores. She’s touring colleges. I toured one. Had my heart set on it until I found out my parents spent all my tuition money on bills and loaning money to my older siblings.

Big fucking trauma response to that one. Too many to count.

College meant nothing to me after that. I wasn’t interested in a degree in honorable mention.

My daughter smiles as she leaves with all of her friends

And I smile right with her.

“I’ll die before I let you experience the same childhood as me”

I’m here to break that generational trauma barrier for you kiddo. Your mother too.

I went through what I had to go through so you didn’t have to.

That’s fucking love and sacrifice Lily. One day you’ll realize that when your kids have an even easier time than you. Leveling up is your job now that mom and dad have broke that barrier for you.

A “badge of honor” I never asked for but I get it now. You won’t carry the same traumas as me because I refused to hand them down as my parents did.

Your smiles are my reward to myself.

I’ll take it