After seven years in the Southeastern mountains of Kentucky, Every holiday, Aunts, Uncles, cousins and the families married into them, came down for their vacations and get a ways. I didn’t have toys and, things that my cousins had, but I was happy beyond belief. Farm work is hard work, but mostly, I would sneak away almost daily. Pretty much I raised myself in a sense, but at least my Grandparents wasn’t sending me off to live with another Aunt or Uncle. I was learning by trial and error, about nature and mankind. One thing that was next to impossible to sneak away from, was weekly church meetings, and the answers I got from my elderly Grandparents, was short, sweet and direct to a truth that a child could understand.
Before my best friends fathers tractor got burned to the ground by his own son, my understanding of discipline, was that people don’t disrespect their elders or other people without paying a penalty of stripes across their back side, whether it be their buttock, back and legs. My Grandmother was mostly in charge of this detail, because Grandpa would lose his temper and could hurt someone pretty badly, if Grandma didn’t step in. My first crime was me stepping through an unlocked window to retrieve a piece of Christmas candy that my neighbors had given me a piece of earlier that day. When they went Christmas shopping, I went to their house to help myself to another piece I was sure they would not miss. The only problem was they came home early while I was still within their house, and I hid in their closet. Right away they notice someone had been there, and they started searching for the culprit.
Here I am, five years old, and I’ve done my first burglary and I’m hiding in their bedroom closet till I heard them go out on the back porch to graze their eyes over the back hills to see if they spotted the culprit. I took that as my chance to leave and tried to sneak out the front door and make it up the hill and across the road to Grandma house without being seen. To no avail, the neighbors looked around the corner of their back porch and caught sight of me as I was topping the hill. They called Grandma on the party line and told her what I had done. My Grandmother had alway used switches to punish me up till that day, but she took me across the road from their house and picked up a tobacco stick, that’s the big wooden stick, that holds around ten stocks of tobacco, and she whipped me right in front of the neighbors that I had just stolen from, with it. What I found out later though, is that the man of the house had claimed I had played with his shotgun and broke the firing pin, and grandma was responsible for getting it fixed. I had never touched that mans guns.
Four year later, I was playing with my friend Dude, my best friend to this very day down there in the Southeastern Mountains of Kentucky, and his family were going to a church revival. They told me I had to go home, so off I went to my home and around bedtime, His father came to my Grandmother house with claims that I had burned down his new Ford Tractor. I had done no such thing, and since I was such a terrible liar, my grandmother asked me and I told her the truth that I came straight home without playing on or near his tractor. He demanded that she pay for it or told her that I would be found dead face down in a ditch somewhere nearby. That is when my Grandmother decided that it would be safer for my to go to Dayton, Ohio and live with my poor mother, for my safety sake. Jackson County Kentucky was like Heaven in my life, and now my journey back into Hell was to begin again.
Twenty years later, the man who threatened my life, found out from his own son, that his son had accidentally burned his tractor to the ground because they needed gas for the car they rode around in, and didn’t pull the siphon holes out and had flipped a lit cigarette but down on the ground. I was making regular trips to Kentucky for pounds of marijuana, and that man still never apologized to me. My life of crime kept growing from the day I was sent away from a way of life, were peace, Love and the feeling of unity seemed to be a way of life for a people, who had been really close to God and nature around them. They were the butt end of jokes from city people, and couldn’t understand how one country boy could body slam a half-dozen of them, because throwing fifty-five pounds to sixty-five pounds of bales of hay on a wagon each season, and hanging tobacco in a four tiered barn make a person awful strong. Not only that, I had a bushel basket of common sense to every drop they could muster from a whole group of their selves.
This is another little known fact. A friend of mine from up here in Dayton, Ohio, took his children down there to Kentucky, Burnside to be exact, and his children had to be tutored, because they were two and a half years behind in school work then all those kids that a lot of you people say that their family trees go straight up without any branches. Just what are you all saying about your selves? Forgive me for that, that just goes and shows you all the stuff I had to put up with. Abuse, comes in different shapes, forms and ways. I like to put everything into an atomic classification. Like the atom, though in reality and Pi, all things fits into three-point something. For instance, three types of abuse, Emotional, Physical and Intellectual. For Instance, if we are to every be wise and use wisdom the correct way, and this is where the point something comes into play, like the value of Pi, We must center our-self and join our-self with only our Heart and Mind, the mind being on top, using these three parts, Logic, Reasoning and common sense filtered through the greatest Love the Heart can muster.