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OT: going to write a book. Things that don't happen to normal people.

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  • #31 and you...have a very mirrored upbringing.
    Now I know why you always felt like a brother to me. gut feelings are so reliable....
    I have tools I don't even know I own...


    • #32
      Just read some more of your "clips"!
      I'd seriously like to see you do this.
      I tried to write a book once....whew! Lotta work that I wasn't ready for at the time.
      I have tools I don't even know I own...


      • #33
        Dave try not too dwell too much on bad things. Although maybe writing it all down maybe therapeutic for you .You have indeed a tallent for stringing words to gether. Bron my wife has written a number of books and is now working on one about the life of Robert Burns for the shoolchildren to encourage them to read more keep well and don't get too down.kindest regards pal Alistair
        Please excuse my typing as I have a form of parkinsons disease


        • #34
          Something you missed out on Alistair..

          Here's a tiny bit of history you missed out on Alistair.. Yes, quite good therapy I suppose.. I am on about the twelfth page. Terrible things to remember.. I like the girls memories much better.

          The racial intergration laws of the 70s.. well now.. ain't it so fine I was able to participate in that action..
          Looking back, I see.. I was in a white school, Osburn elementry, all white.. we had a token black boy, a jehovah's witness fellow, Marius Bogus.. who was great fun to play with, energetic, fun.. He was later found murdered, seems there was other family members in the car with him.. too nice in a violent society back then..
          Anyways, the great white principle decided he had to comply with the law, he picked the ones who would go to the BLACK school there in Wallaceville jr high.. My mother was one of them Jehovah's witnesses who had taught us all that we are all equal.. so.. here I went.. a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.. On the first day, the school bus went around picked up all the black children, then drove about a hour to pick me up.. all the kids were hateful, upset.. probably had to get up earlier to make the trip over to get me.. My mom walked me out to the bus.. I got on, my Beatles length long hair almost touched my shoulder.. the bus has not moved from in front of my home before the abuse began.
          Pulled my hair.. looked around, nobody took credit for it.. I was skinny, always hungry.. small build frame.. about a block from the house, one black boy came to me and started a fight.. when I went to return, it seemed a hundred arms and hands came out of the crowd to hold me, he beat me all over except where it would show.. arms, legs, chest, groin.. This happened about daily.
          I hated school, my grades suffered, I told my mom later, she said..”you'll just have to learn to get along”.. so I tried.. the more I tried, give a bully something to appease them, they increase the hatred and wrath upon you.. it got worse.. and worse.. I was trained at that age to hate black people.. not just the mean ones but anything with a dark skin..
          I skipped school, when I saw the bus coming, I'd run for the woods, my mother chasing me. She would then hold me in the house and beat me all the way to the bus, where the abuse would continue all the way to school. I snuck off way before everyone got up in the mornings.. then would come home looking for something to eat.. Soon a truant officer was showing up at the house for breakfast. I quit school at sixteen, went to work in a carpet mill.. It was the late 80s before I got over the hostility I felt every time I saw or heard a black person.
          They, black people, most are raised just as I was, a carbon copy of home-domestic violence and hatred, except they are focused in the opposite direction, toward WHITEY.. and not DARKIE..

          This abuse, hatred continued into the high school years, not only black people at that point, but everyone.. I carried a knife to school because I was skinny could not fight worth spit, and was scared. I felt it would have been better to be killed with my own knife than beat up anymore. I remember the one occasion a girl showed me attention, she sat in my lap, there, the long rigid hunting knife in behind my belt.. she thought it was something else, till she grabbed it.. ohh was she surprised..

          When Martin Luther King JR was shot? My mom, the paranoid, she went on for a full ten hours about them throwing a <*quote>“nigga-FAR-BUM”<end quote*> into our home.. I was scared.. I sat on the porch with a 22 rifle waiting on the mob to make it's way to our home.. Imagine that? I saw no mob.. I shot nobody.. thank god..

          True race equality, people are color blind.. do not call each other by a skin tone, or enjoy cruel jokes to either race. Now, it seems we are all mutts.. irish, german, cherokee, indian, negro? All mixed up.. Our president, he is as confused as the rest of us, just trying to get along in the world.
          __________________________________________________ ______________________
          Excuse me, I farted.


          • #35
            Photographs - Illustrations


            I hope you get your camera fixed when you get around to inserting photgraphs into this tome.

            Best of luck on the endeavor.


            • #36
              I was born in East St.Louis. I spent most of my early years playing and going to school with black kids. We didn't know we were white, until my Dad died.
              After his passing, we had to move, and I soon had to put my childhood on hold to help raise my four younger brothers. My Mom went from a stay-at-home housewife to a working single mother, with five boys. I still don't know how she managed it. Along with the responsibility of caring for my brothers, I was tasked with most of the housework, too. Cooking and cleaning, changing diapers, tending the garden and feeding the chickens....a lot of work for a ten-year-old kid....The new school we attended was vastly different than East St.Louis....The blacks and the whites kept to themselves, frequently fights broke out. I recall being in several....It was a long, painful, growing up period. Somehow, we managed....My Mom remarried, and I soon found myself kicked out of the house....a stint in the Army hardened my resolve, when I got out, I went crazy. Drugs and alcohol. Party time....every day and night.
              Dozens of minimum wage jobs and dozens of old cars came and went. Eventually, I found myself in jail, looking at a long sentence. When I got out, I went to stay with my next youngest brother's family. I think it was then that I realized life was about more than drinking and taking drugs....
              No good deed goes unpunished.


              • #37
                Never been to prison. By luck.
                Have been to jail a couple of times, once for speeding way too fast to be sane. I deserved to be arrested, but when he saw the large around of cash in my wallet (instrument tech working too much overtime) he "ASSUMED" I was a dope dealer. I got seven tickets. That was 91?? I forget.

                Northern people get along better than southern ones with people of opposite colors, I think, after the civil war, there was a lot of black people put into public office here in the south, I "read" this, that the soldiers returning from the war were still considered criminals and could not hold public office or vote.
                That, started the Klan.. if no legal justice, than illegal justice. so I read.

                I was of course not there and depend on others to record history.. It has been changed a few times to suite public opinion.

                Something funny? Cherokee indians? well being indian in the early 1900s, it was akin to being black in the early 40s.. so.. each grandmother made up a lie, they did not have "indian" blood, but were descendants of "INDIAN PRINCESSES"... Ha.. I've heard that so many times I choke when I hear it now.

                I have not been a perfect citizen. The bible teachings in my youth have led me to stay out the places where others I know have been, drug addiction and prison. Everyone messes up at times I think.. makes mistakes..

                The loudest preachers were probably the worst drunks. The quiet people living by "example" are the ones you must pay close attention to. (not me..)
                Excuse me, I farted.


                • #38
                  I don't have a problem with people who are of African descent, in fact I have many friends "of color".
                  The ones I don't like are the entitlist, "whitey owes me a living" arseholes.
                  I don't feel sorry for these idiots. If anybody should apologize, it's them.
                  True, our ancestors captured their ancestors and brought them to the USA, to be slaves....Shame on my ancestors....But truth be known, less than 5% of the African natives that were captured and sold as slaves came to America. 85% of the Africans were captured by Muslim slave traders, and marched, overland, to the middle East, where they were sold into slavery.
                  During these forced marches, only 20% of the slaves survived. Those that did survive were castrated...women who were "with child" had their babies killed as soon as they were born. As many as 14 million Africans were believed to have been sold as slaves. The Muslims had been slave traders since 800 BC....a lot of Africans went unaccounted for.
                  On the other hand, slaves brought here, to the USA, were well treated in comparison. They worked on plantations and their masters saw to it that they had lodgings and clothes. Most were well fed. Many learned to read and write, some getting educations. If anything, the Afro-American people of today should be grateful to our ancestors for bringing their ancestors to these shores, instead of acting so "uppity" and self-righteous about their poor, abused ancestors. Most of them wouldn't be here had their distant relatives been taken to Iraq instead of Virginia....think about it...
                  No good deed goes unpunished.


                  • #39
                    22 pages of recollections now. geeze.. the things the human brain retains.

                    My edm, built to hsm langlois plans got moved from the house dining room table to the shop.

                    Well the transformers and other parts are mostly the same, the appearance? not exactly.. huh? I got them capacitors stuffed into the bottom today and fixed so they would not move about.
                    Excuse me, I farted.


                    • #40
                      Jeez David, the part about sitting on the front porch with a .22 rifle after MLK was killed struck a weird note, because that is EXACTLY what I did. At the time I lived in Alexandria, VA and my mom worked in Washington, DC. I sat on the step with my rifle waiting for her to get home, the entire sky to the north completely black with smoke as the city burned. 6x6s full of Marines and soldiers from Quantico and Ft. Belvoir raced toward the city. During my high school years I was involved in several racial mob fights, one of which was large enough there were TV news crews on hand. When that's what you grew up with as a kid, it's hard stuff to put behind you.