*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*
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Before getting ahead of myself, I’ve decided to give you some of my background. I’ve never been one to stand on a soapbox and say ‘look at me!’ On the contrary, I prefer to be sitting in the audience and not up on any stage in the slightest.
I feel it’s important though to state who or what I am. I truly believe that the only way you can truly know a man is to see what he does when nobody is looking. It’s 3 am. My son is fast asleep. Nothing accompanies me but the sound of a cheap air conditioner humming in this motel room.
I’ve led a life that would make sloth yawn. And I’m good with that.
I’m 35 years old.
Born in a small town.
Two average parents who never divorced. (which I suppose is not normal these days).
Never any serious trouble as a teenager other than getting caught racing cars on a Saturday night.
Finished high school with above average grades, moved to a larger city, completed University with a degree in Mechanical Eng.
Married when I was 25.
Adopted our beautiful son Michael (not his real name)
I suppose one way to know someone is to know his or her parents. My Father was a hard, working man with strong ethics. Not too strong of ethics though to the point where you couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. On the contrary, people loved him. He was funny, smart and genuinely cared about people.
I remember once, (I think I was 9), a fight between two men had broken out in a store. I have no idea what the fists were flying about but I clearly remember that one guy was much bigger and it looked like he was going to kill the smaller. Without hesitation, my Father leaped into the middle and forcibly saved the smaller guy by wrestling the other to the ground. Police quickly arrived and took over. Thinking now, I realize that my Father risked his life that day to help (and possibly save the life) of a stranger. No names were exchanged. My Father simply straightened out his clothes, wiped some blood from his chin and led me from the store. We just carried on with our day and not another word was said. Just like a superhero, anonymously helping a man at extreme risk, asking nothing in return.
That pretty much sums up my Father.
My Mother was a quiet woman who worked part time to give us the extras in life. She never complained about one thing. (not to my ears anyway). She would sing when she took care of the house. A sound that would warm my heart. And to this day, when I think about how that made me feel, I smile.
Looking back, I didn’t truly appreciate her. I didn’t realize that the house didn’t clean itself. I didn’t realize that a good dinner (which we had every night) was more than touching the buttons on the microwave. And I had no idea what it was like for a Mother, who worked, baked, shopped and cleaned all day, to put her coat on and go work a few hours every night at a local restaurant. When you’re a kid you just expect things to be the way they are and never change. My lunch would be made for me every day with out question. Sometimes with a note wrapped around a candy bar or a bag of licorice. I used to be embarrassed by those notes at school. Not wanting my buddies to see ‘I love you’ or ‘Kisses from Mom’ scrawled inside. I’d quickly throw them in the garbage and run off to play.
My parents lives were ended in a heartbeat 11yrs ago when a logging truck slammed into their camper.
To this day, I wish I kept those notes.
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