Theres things that I know many of us have carried subconsciously since our childhood. Big ones that would for sure bring back memories for me is the intro to Disneys “That’s So Raven” or the classic movie intros and trailers from the early-mid 2000s. But I imagine we all have our own that are more specific. Mine was always the sound the TV made when it turned on. That high pitched dog whistle kind of sound, and the static crackles when it turned off. Whichever it was, it always brought excitement.
I say that because some of my more vivid memories from the first house I lived in as a kid tended to be around that sound. Saturday morning Power Rangers and cartoons, the 30 minutes a day on my NES with Super-Mario Bros, and my sneaking at night to the part of the stairs to see the TV after my bedtime, where I’d spy on my parents while they watched movies like Casino Royale. Anything that had a screen, I remember pretty well. Even when my dad tried explaining stocks to me on Moms closet Mac computer where I was really only interested in buying shares in Wal-Mart and Toys R’ Us because I thought that meant I’d be able to get free toys.
In 2007 Mom and Dad built a new house only a mile or so away and we moved there when it was finished. The house was tucked away all by itself in a regular sized neighborhood. We had a long curvy driveway with trees surrounding the property that provided plenty of privacy on the 3 acres we lived on. There was a creek that ran through the property and tunneled underneath the driveway at the mid-point. As a kid I’d always love to run down there to try and catch frogs and lizards but never succeeded too much. The house though, it was much bigger than the first. With a big front porch, yard and lots of windows, I felt like I was moving into a mansion.
Inside, there was a big kitchen that had marble countertops all around with a marble topped island. The sink had a direct view into the front yard and driveway, where Mom would sometimes knock on the windows when she wanted us in or saw something she didn’t like us doing. The kitchen was a large open room that also had a dining table and living space on the other side. Mom also kept her Mac computer at her new desk that sat to the left of the side door to the porch. Walking out of the kitchen you could’ve taken four routes. One was the door to the garage where we kept our cars in the first two bays and dad kept his lawn equipment, tools and bikes cluttered in the third bay. The second was just to the left of that garage door, a glass window door leading to the backyard and patio that was built a few years after we moved in. The third was on the other side of the room, a hallway leading one way to my parents room and another leading to the TV room. Then the fourth was a big doorway to the dining room and into the foyer. Walking upstairs, 23 steps (I think) – 13 straight, then 10 to the right. There were three bedrooms upstairs. At the end of the hall was my sisters room, then mine in the middle then the guest bed which doubled as dads office. My room was the biggest of the three.
As a kid it was great having such a big space to be in. I had so much room for my Lego sets, Nerf guns and lightsabers. What more could a kid want. That year I was starting 4th grade and was getting along pretty well as far as I can remember. The only downside was my teacher. She often yelled at me for doing normal things. I remember her even throwing expo markers and stuff at me for daydreaming. I don’t remember it bothering me though. I figured it was my fault and was normal. But about halfway through the year, Mom and Dad decided to pull me out of school and homeschool me. At the time I wasn’t sure why but I just went with it. Homeschool was boring and I always got dragged along with Mom grocery shopping or to Hobby Lobby. That whole time though, my sister was still in school.
While I was homeschooled, I’d go once a week to this learning facility about 30 minutes from my house where I’d have 1 on 1 learning sessions with this nice lady. I don’t remember her name but she’d always have different quizzes for me to do while she timed me. I always felt pressured when that happened. Though I did always see this one kid in the waiting room when I went. I knew him from church and he was quiet, but he was nice.
Church is something I could talk a while about. I may talk about it and tell a few stories intermittently but all you need to know now is it was a typical Church in the South.
A big change in my life came when I was 9. I think it’s easily said that I’ve been a curious guy my whole life. Wether it was taking apart my RC cars to see how they worked or modifying my Nerf guns to make them shoot faster, I was always curious. But there were some times where curiosity got me in trouble. Like the time I pulled he cigarette lighter out on my Dads F150 while I was waiting to go to school one morning, putting my thumb on the glowing red coils to see what it was. Or my trying to use Mom and Dads tape camcorder to take video of the couch fort I made, only to find out I’d taped over their vacation to St. Lucia. So yeah! My curiosity held some bad sides. But if I could name the worst and most impactful incident, this would be it.
I was 9 years old and it was a Sunday afternoon. Mom, Dad, and my sister were in the TV room watching the Food network like we always did around that time. I was on the couch in the kitchen messing with my digital camera. It was a sunny day and the room was well lit. All of a sudden I realized that my kid self had never seen a girl naked before. So as my curiosity goes I hopped onto Moms computer and typed into the Google search then went to images. As soon as the first pictures popped up I got scared and closed the window. I ran back over to my camera and sat down. Still in my church clothes I felt scared and guilty but didn’t know why. Not a minute went by before I found my way back to the computer. Looking longer this time. I knew I was doing something wrong, but I liked it. And by that point it was too late.
A seed had been planted in my head and going to that computer became all I wanted to do when I got the chance to be alone. I even ended up using my little digital camera to take pictures of the computer screen so I could spend more time looking. I was able to do that for about a year or two before I was caught when Mom checked search history one day. By that time I’d already been doing homeschool and was about 10 or 11, I don’t remember. I do remember though feeling as if I was being interrogated when my parents found out.
Asking why, who showed you, how long, and other things like that. And as a kid it was tear drenched “I don’t knows” that met them as responses. They even called my youth group pastor at the time and had him come to tell me how much of a mistake it was and tried to explain the weight of my sins and hell and whatnot. And to be honest I didn’t really care. As an 11 year old I still wanted to find pleasure. It probably wasn’t 3 or 4 months before I found new ways to search. This time it lasted about a year before I was caught again. But punishment came more in the form of anger this time. I was 12 now and my parents made me pray with them for Jesus to heal me and blah blah blah. I was crying and guilty and wanted to be away from them. So I just nodded and did what they wanted til I could leave. I know my sister was ashamed of me and I think that’s what hurt most at the time.
That had a big effect on my personality for those few years. And wether my parents admit it or not, I think it’s because of my drastic personality change that they sent me to that special learning center for those few years. They knew something was wrong, though it wasn’t in my brain but in my heart.
I went back to public school in the seventh grade. I was excited to get back and see friends I hadn’t seen in a few years. I wasn’t welcomed back in the ways I expected. The guys I knew before didn’t treat me well, calling me names and pushing me around. I wondered if it was because I didn’t have long Nike socks or slides or bright neon shirts and silly bands. But it was more often than not them making fun of my weight calling me fat or chubby. I ended up trying to make new friends around. And after getting pushed out of lunch tables for a while I ended up at an empty seat with the kids in the corner of the cafeteria. They wore mostly black and said words I’d only heard in the movies Mom and Dad watched. But whoever they were, they didn’t push me out.
This new culture I’d come into was one I liked. Where aggression and vulgarity was accepted, I felt like I could say the things I always wanted to. I never felt the need to impress anyone. I tried to start dressing more like them but Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me. My friends had longer hair so I wanted to grow mine out but Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me. My friends cut themselves too. Wether it was in more subtle places on their bodies or more visible spots, there were consistently new scars. Mom and Dad couldn’t stop me from doing that if they didn’t know, so I did it too. Most of the cuts were on my arms where people couldn’t see but there were a few on my hands too. I’d even burn myself sometimes if I didn’t want to cut. I did it because I wanted to fit in but also because I wanted to. I still have some scars.
I did this all throughout seventh and eighth grade. And I, in some ways, adored my friends, but in reality we never treated one another very well, we all just ended up together. I honestly think we treated one another so poorly because we figured it was normal, or maybe because we didn’t know how to process what we were feeling either. Later on in my eighth grade year, 2 of the girls that hung around us died in separate car accidents. It hit everyone hard in my friend group but for some reason it didn’t really bother me. I remember trying to fake cry to not stick out but I didn’t really feel anything. I knew it was a sad and tragic moment but I didn’t feel that. No joy, no sadness, just nothing. It sorta just shut me down.
Summer after eighth grade was lonely, I went to church camp and really only wanted to meet girls, I’m a ladies man at heart what can I say. As I headed into high school, much of that previous friend group came apart. Some moved away, found different friends, or just didn’t want to be around. So those first few months were weird. Every day was the same routine of going to school, getting picked up and having mom or dad ask, “how was school,” or “what’d you do today?” I always hated that.
My first day of ninth grade I had no clue how to get around the school. I saw my sister during a class change and tried to get her help but she was irritated at seeing me, as any older sibling would typically be. She and I never really got along during high school, especially when it came to social events. Mom usually forced her to take me with her on occasion, and a few months into the school year she forced me to go with her to something called Young Life. I didn’t know what it was and thought it was some school thing. When we pulled up to this random house and saw all the people I immediately knew I didn’t want to be there. Not because of the crowd but because the guys from my grade that were there were the “popular” kids. They were the ones that usually made fun of me and pushed me around in previous years. My sister had her friends there and really the only people there were the popular kids. The guys my age were playing at the basketball goal and so I just stood to the side minding my business. A guy came up to me pretty quickly and introduced himself, he said his name and that he was a Young Life leader. He asked my name and I kinda just froze. Partly because I was still processing everything else but mainly because the only people that normally asked my name and introduce themselves like that were older people from church.
He pulled all the guys in my grade together for an impromptu meeting as one of the guys in my grade, who was a twin, called me by name to join the group of them to talk about something called campaigners. I had no clue what was going on and just nodded at everything that was being talked about.
I was still focused on the fact one of them knew my name.