Growing up as an anxiety filled, depression fueled young man; I didn't want to bother with the nuisances and headaches of family. Unfortunately, I had no choice, as I was completely dependent on my parents for sustenance. I can see, now, that most of my problems were of my own creation. I don't want to take responsibility for that, but I have to. As long as my family is alive, I can't blame them (as soon as they pass on however...). Although I'm not sure that they are completely innocent.
To make things clear, I do love my family. They just annoy the crap out of me most of the time. With that out of the way, allow me to now tell you about the man who raised me and his futile attempts to annihilate me.
I've become convinced over the years that my father is trying to kill me. I understand why he would want to kill me. He is just one of many on a list. I have after all made the man's life difficult. I would say I drove him to insanity but he was kind of there already.
The first major injury of my life happened before I was old enough for school. It is a situation that, if it happened today, people from the state would strike my parents with a stick and take me to live with an overly happy, tolerant, and culturally sensitive family.
Thank God the back hills of Kentucky weren’t that worried about childcare in the late eighties. The above substitute parents would weird me out.
On this fateful day, I was in the field outside of our house playing. Here is the first problem. I'm not that close to the house and playing alone. I'm also younger than 5. The second problem was the toy I was playing with. I was playing with one of those
old metal Tonka trucks. Back in those days, they hadn't realized that the toy was safer if they curved the metal around the edges.
So my parents let me play alone, out of sight, and with a toy that was essentially a tetanus pool. Sounds like I might survive the day if I'm careful. However, I was also playing next to a five foot deep by three feet wide ditch. (
To this day I'm not sure why such a gorge was running through our front yard.) These factors have since lead me to believe that my father was trying to kill me.
Some of you are thinking that it was both of my parents that were responsible for the shoddy protection. However, it was my father to bought me the tetanus truck and provided the grand canyon in the yard. I was a foolish child to trust in the love of a father. I've since learned.
Once the setup was in place, my father ever so gently allowed me to play in the yard. Excited I took my tetanus toy and went to build a pile of dirt. Oh sweet pile of dirt, prepare to become mine! But what’s this? A gorge per say? Interesting.
As anyone who has been around kids can guess, I was fascinated by the lack of dirt. (
I had been in that yard before and I could've swore that there was dirt in that hole.)
I moved next to the great divide and began creating a dirt city where little dirt people could create an economy that would rely solely on tiny rocks, or pebbles if you will. And would also have the benefit of attracting tourists to the moat, which protected the tiny dirt city.
Creating aimlessly in my own little world where there were never disputes because a dirt father couldn’t afford to get his dirt woman the best possible dirt house because his job doesn’t pay enough pebbles, we could all learn a lesson from Dirtania, I moved closer and closer to the trench, precariously daring to take Dirtania from a little dirt hick town to a dirt metropolis.
Then a terrible construction accident took place.
As the little dirt foreman was on break, the other construction dirters were fooling around with the dump, they are called dirters because they all have tetanus from the Tonka truck and are lower than everyone else in the society, the truck went over the edge and was lost to the dirters in the Grand Canyon!
Why, oh why? How could such a terrible misfortune happen to the loyal citizens of Dirtania?
Being the largest person in Dirtania, the responsibility fell to me to save those poor dirty souls from the wreckage of my Tonka truck. I put on a brave face and went over the side after it.
To those of you who still remember that I’m younger than 5, now is the time to realize that I’m a two foot tall child in a five foot deep trench. I’m also not very smart.
Long story short, which sucks for those of you who actually read the above story, my head caught the edge of the tetanus Tonka truck and started bleeding profusely. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but was told that I had a ball in the emergency room. Jumping over seats, bleeding on old dying people and so on.
Since that day, my father has tried the same plan numerous times. I have learned from his first attempt and have defeated his futile efforts to end my life. Or maybe he’s just digging ditches in the yard for no apparent reason. If that is the case then I’ve fried the man’s brain.
Kudos to me. I still win.
