Yay, I'm secure enough in my adulthood to tell this little gem.  Maybe a testament to my social awkwards, maybe a propellant of my social awkwardness...who's to say, either way, what a childhood.  So I was in scouts as a kid, and really had a great time all along.  If I remember correctly, I skipped the smallest ranking of cub, but had 2 years of wolf, 2 years of bear, and I think there is a 3rd rank in there before webelo scout...had to google it, bobcat.  Webelo is where all the cool stuff happens, in my opinion, but as you can see, i was pretty well invested in the program with around 7 or 8 years involved.  Towards the end, I started getting less and less involved, perhaps a little disinterest on my part, perhaps some parental differences, perhaps going to a private school instead of the public school that all the other kids went to, but probably a mix of all of the above.  I think there was a time where I had missed like 3 months of activity and one day my dad just said, "You're going." when I wanted out because I didn't know anyone anymore.  Anyway, it was a night where there was some structured lecture thing going on, maybe about 50 kids in the room sitting in a grid of fold out wooden chairs.  I don't remember how old I am, I think 5th grade, but certainly old enough to know when I need to go to the bathroom, and I did know I had to...just not sure of what protocol was necessary to go.  Welcome to my oppressed childhood.  The scout master is up there rambling on and on, and I'm stuck worried about getting in trouble for interrupting if I just got up and went to the bathroom without someone's permission.  I tried my hardest to wait.  I knew it couldn't be long until the end of the meeting.  I don't know anyone here anymore.  I really don't want to be here.  Then I just let it flow.

  I remember now that I was wearing brand new white sneakers too.  I just sat there waiting for the meeting to end...not that I new what to do once it ended...but yeah...I was deer in the headlights mentally.  Then the others caught on.  "Dude, you're leaking" someone said.  I played confused and tried to blame it on a leak in the ceiling...haha, wow.  "I know, this crazy leak in the ceiling is falling right onto my crotch and I just don't know what to do about it since I am chained to this chair and the chair is nailed to the floor" seemed like a good explanation at the time at least.  The scout master said the final words, something that would start everyone to get up and do some kind of pledging, and I bolted in the crowd of movement.  I ran outside, with no destination in mind, I was thinking about hiding in a bush until I saw my mom, but thank God she had already parked the van in the parking lot and was cleaning it out.  Mom to the rescue...again.  I remember balling my eyes out trying to explain what the crap I just did.  I can't even imagine what was going through her head.  She helped me come up with a plan to sneak into the house so that Serah and J'aime wouldn't see.  I think they did though.  That, or my mom told them later.  I know my dad told them later.

You'd think that'd be it though, right?  Nah, dad says I'm not allowed to quit.  Time to go to a weekend camping trip with the troop.  I was not friends with the kids before because I just didn't know them, but now they're not friends with me because I'm the kid who peed his pants.  They stuck me in a tent with one of the older kids, probably so I didn't get beat up.  I don't remember much of that weekend, really it seemed like it went pretty well in retrospect.  We camped at a small airport and I got to fly in a plane for the first time.  There was a helicopter there too, and I really liked helicopters.  The worst part about it though was spaghetti was on the menu for the whole weekend...and I didn't eat spaghetti.  It was ham barbecue for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Since that weekend, I've never been able to eat a ham barbecue sandwich without emotionally cringing.  It has become the embodiment of one of the worst childhood experiences I can remember.

Good ol' Heritage Hills Christian Academy.  Bring your conservative christians, your social outcasts, your vagabond christian school seekers, your public school expellants, they're all welcome.  I met some of my best friends there.  From 3rd grade to 9th grade, I learned a lot, grew a lot personally, and I attribute so much of my life's foundation from lessons and experiences from there.  There's probably some sort of metaphor tying into the fact that it was filled with asbestos and is now torn down, but I live in a world of self-denial.

So many stories I could tell you.  Getting caught in the library with my first real girlfriend by my mother, sliding a table into the stomach of my math teacher who would later turn out to be my step father, being kicked out of class by my english teach who just happened to be my mother because "she couldn't stand to see my face.", how we used to ask our history teacher if we could go to the gym instead of having class; and we would, or how we'd skip the whole asking permission thing and just go right to the gym or to the closed off half of the 3 story ~30 classroom building to explore, or make our way to one of the numerous access points to the roof...Ah, the roof.  Such a huge building...100 feet?  We'd throw anything we found off of it.  One time, we we're running around the many different sections of the roof and one of my best friends, Dallas, nearly jumped into a section with a 30 foot drop to the second floor accidently.

But I'll spare the stories.  The real thing I look back to is what I made mention to in the first paragraph; How much I attribute that place in the forming the groundwork for my life, sense of humor, and attitude.  Could I have been a bigger achiever?  You betcha, but I wouldn't have had fun.  Infact, I probably wouldn't have learned how to have fun.  Life is a series of moments, and that's all you get.  Would the Federalist Papers have expanded my understanding of the government?  Perhaps, but I wouldn't have the pictures that I drew with friends that I have today.  Life can't be a structured, scheduled, organized, predictable thing.  Free thinking and human expression cannot have boundaries and limitations.  There are so many different people that I've been exposed to, and we all have our histories weaved together, so much thicker than just a public school experience of the same faces day in and day out.  We all learned together and grew together.  Maybe some were able to walk away from there without learning or growing spiritually, academically, socially, personally, or even creatively, and to those people, I apologize, but to everyone else, students, teachers, and parents a like: Thank You.

When I was around 7 or so, my parents decided to split.  I don't remember particularly why, but it was decided that J'aime and I both needed to see psychiatrists as a result.  Actually, I don't remember if J'aime started at the same time as I did or not, all I know is right around that time, I started seeing Cindy.  From memory, she was in her 30s, dirty blonde hair to her shoulders, not too over weight, but not overly attractive either.  Anyway, I'd go see her, I think once a week, and she had this black garbage bag (in retrospect, you'd think she'd have a better storage solution) full of toys that she'd let me play with as she played with me and probably used mind tricks to have me reveal my feelings.  I was actually pretty open to this, and want to say I grew pretty attached to meeting with her.  Heck, it was surely better than beating my forehead against the door frame when my parents started fighting...(again on retrospect...perhaps that's why they sent me to therapy??).  I have no idea how long I saw Cindy, but I remember that she came to my graduation ceremony one here.  She sat right in the middle of the room, right pews, first seat in.  I still remember walking down and being so happy and surprised to see her.

Somewhere along the way though, Cindy decided to get married and move to Connecticut or some other New England state.  It was sudden and unexpected, but perhaps that was their plan.  I remember crying at home once; crying to talk to Cindy.  I can remember my mom trying to find her number in the phone book or some way to get in contact with her.  I don't think we ever did.

I think I was done with head doctors for a while, until I went to see Mark.  Mark was a mid 20s guy, slim, tan, wore a thin gold chain, and pretty energetic.  I remember thinking his wife was pretty attractive, so he must have been some sort of lady's man.  He was cool.  Probably too cool for me.  He talked about playing basketball one day with me, but we'd play waste basketball in his office instead.  I think i saw him for a while, and it was good having a guy to talk to, but like i said, I think he was just too cool and energetic for me.

I know I've been to at least 1 other therapist, Rod, but he was more like a family therapist that we all saw at times.  Although I do not have the scientific pleasure of being objective and can only rely on introspection, I feel that shrinks were a waste of time and money, at least for me.  Therapy, by that I mean an act, hobby, or some sort of interaction or escape is invaluable though.  Legos -- Therapy.  Guitar -- Therapy.  Driving long distance -- Therapy.  This blog -- Therapy. 

Three years ago today, around 2pm, I watched the color from my dad's face dissappear.  it was a Monday.  I held his left hand in my left hand.  I almost got sick at how he changed colors so fast and drastically.  J'aime, Serah, and Robbie were in the room too, but I'm not sure which ones were watching too.  A week before, almost to the hour, he found out he had a brain tumor.  He went into surgery that Friday, and never woke up afterward.

I'm going to recount the first night I went to see my dad, but only what I directly experience, and only what happened that night. 

.J'aime had called me from the hospital that Tuesday before and said that daddy wanted to talk to me.  I talked to him briefly and said that i'd come down to see him.  I didn't right away.  It wasn't until a day later when J'aime called me and said she needed me to come down right away that i actually went down.  I ran down to Mercy hospital since it was only a mile or so from my apartment.  Turns out, Robbie was trying to marry my dad, and that was a lot of emotion, at a very emotional time.

I got tried to get some alone time with my dad to talk about whether or not he wanted this.  The tumor had been causing him to forgot things and say things that didn't make sense, and he just seemed out of it.  I said, "So, i hear something about you and robbie getting married, do you want that to happen?"  He immediately went from a dopey happy face to an embarrassed child's face that knows he did something wrong.  He slumped down a little and looked away and said, "Oh.  I don't know."  I only had a minute or so before some guy that knew daddy came in and sat down to interrupt us.  then Sarah Slavic came in too.  I didn't get what time I wanted, but it was enough for me to know that it was out of the question to let talks of marriage continue.

Robbie had gathered all her relatives in the chapel downstairs.  They came with a ring and they were expecting a cermony.  I hadn't talked to her family for quite a few years, but I always loved and missed them.  Robbie's brother-in-law, Scott, was one of them that I felt I could really connect with because he just had a very easy going personality and was religious.  J'aime and I asked Scott if we could talk to him about what's going to happen.  The 3 of us went into a room and talked very calmly about it.  J'aime and I said that there was no reason to rush this decision, they've had 7 years to get married and they never were able to comit to eachother then.  We said that he is not in any state of mind to make such a life changing decision, that not only affects him but everyone, ESPECIALLY if he died.  Scott said that we shouldn't deny Robbie the chance to marry someone that she loved.  We failed to see eye to eye on the topic, which was shocking to J'aime and I because of how obvious the right choice seemed.

Robbie called for a Catholic priest she had been familiar with to marry them.  The priest wanted to meet with my dad before hand, as he always did, to make sure the two people want to unite.  As he did that, we called my dad's best friend, Bruce, and let him know to come down.  I called my step-grand father, an attorney, and asked him what we're allowed to do legally to stop this, or if we can't what are we looking at in terms of the estate, life insurance, and anything else if my father dies and they are married.  It wasn't pretty.  (but honestly, neither is what ended up happening anyway)

The priest came out and said that my father seemed very lucid but that my dad simply seemed like he didnt know if he wanted to marry Robbie, and on that ground, he wouldn't marrry them.  Honestly, we all chuckled a bit at the relieve because the priest called my dad lucid.  As Robbie went to tell her family there would be no wedding, Serah and I went in with my dad.  This is where "Mr. Lucid" pointed to his IV and asked me if I knew what was in it.  I think i said something along the lines of, "the good stuff, I'm sure."  He said, and I'll try to quote this as best as I can, "The mon valley express way.  they point it in there and it flows from here (points to bag) to here (points to forearm).  heh, i'm tearfully laughing here...wow dad, you really loved that express way.

A few minutes later, we were watching something on the TV and it hinted the mentioning of this dutch colony in the middle of the state somewhere.  For the life of me I can't remember the name of it now.  But as he talked about it, I remembered going there as a kid in kindergarten.  I remember seeing their bread ovens.  I remember riding on the bus there.  I remember putting the wood bar that held pales of cow milk on either end on my shoulders.  A rush of these childhood memories came to me, that I don't think i ever thought about until that moment.  It was quite overwhelming and refreshing, that these memories were coming to me, but not only that, but that my dad was reconnecting me to them.  how Ironic, the man that forced me to block out so much of my childhood was helping me remember some. 

When it came time to leave, everyone hugged daddy and told him that they loved him.  I wasn't ready for that, because I expected him to come through that surgery fine, and I didn't want him to think this was an open door to my life once he got better.  I waiting until last and just smiled at him and said, "hey, take care of yourself, I'll see you this weekend when you get out." 

New category!  sometimes weird memories pop into my head that are usually pretty funny or very truth telling of what really happened.  I've had 2 of these recently, but for the life of me I can't remember what they were.  I'll try to keep this category geared towards entertaining stories.  I can see how I could really open up a can of worms with some of the truth-telling stories, but it's all in the past, so everyone should have moved on by now...right? ...right...

When I was 14-16, I ran away from my dad's house to my mom's house at least twice.  The two houses are about 5 miles or so away from eachother.  One of the times, I think the second time, I took off walking while no one was paying attention to me after my dad had accused me of purposefully breaking a push mower so that I didnt have to cut grass.  About 30 minutes into my walk, my dad caught on and got into his big red 12 passenger van in search of me.  Dude was manic.  He pulled up next to me with this Jack Nicholson look straight out of "The Shining" saying, "Get in the van, Josh, get in."  It was a very narrow road with no shoulder, and as cars would come up behind him, he'd have to drive ahead and turn around somewhere and come back in the other direction in pursuit of me.  At some points, I was sure he was going to come up behind me and hit me with the van.  After the 2nd time of him turning around, and see how much time that bought me, I ended up crossing to the other side of the road while he was turning around, forcing him to do his little turn around bit every time.  He probably made 4 or 5 passes before I got smart and ducked into a family friend's house.  The Sanders house.  They were perplexed to see me show up at their house at all, let alone in grass stained shoes and jeans, as if I was just mowing their lawn...I was a little out of breath from the sprint into their house so that my dad didn't see where i went.  I came up with a story that I was just out for a run, and since it looked like it was going to ran soon (Thank God) I said that I was wondering if i could use their phone to call my mother to pick me up.  Thank God again that she was home.  That ~10-15 minutes spent in their house was mind-racking.  Mr. Sanders was a pastor, and not one of those pastors that like to drink beer and watch football and do marathons while listening to the latest foo fighters album....and I just lied to his face.  And his whole family.  He had 2 daughters that I think had crushes on me, and I actually got along pretty well as friends with the older one, but making small talk there, with all of their family just standing around me, knowing my dad could kick in the door at any second screaming "GET BACK TO WORK" was messed up.  Mommy to the rescue!