We've been at this blog for a while now, so I think it's time you all learned a little about us. Today, I'm going to Uncov myself.

I think it's clear that I don't have the sunshine-up-your-ass San Francisco world view. How did I get so cynical and just plain mean spirited? There was an event in my childhood that set the tone for my life so far. I've been to several therapists over the years, and one of them suggested that I write about it to help clarify my feelings. Maybe getting comments from a wider audience will help more, so here goes.

Thunder Chunky

I grew up in rural Connecticut. Like every 13 year old, I had my neighborhood crew of boys. We got into our fair share of trouble, but never anything serious. At heart, we were good kids. One summer, my neighbor Dan went with his family on a trip to Florida to visit his grandmother. On drive back north, he stopped in South Carolina at a rest stop. He went into the convenience store while his Dad was gassing up the car. He said he was going to buy a soda, but he was really on a mission: a mission that was planned and financed by the crew.

Dan walked out of that store with a twelve-ounce Coke and a twelve-pound backpack of fireworks. Being illegal in Connecticut, we had to plan these missions months in advance. Most had failed by way of nosy parents, but every now and then, we had success. This one was the biggest score in history.

When he returned, we all went to his house to examine our bounty. Everything was there: bottle rockets, M-80s, roman candles, mortars, ... you name it, we had it. The first order of business, of course, was to turn our neighborhood into a war zone. Of course, the same nosy parents that foil Phase I of the plan will foil Phase II if they catch wind of what's going on. So, we planned a camping trip.

Well-Laid Plans

The next weekend, five of us met at the end of my driveway. We had all the necessary elements: bags of potato chips, Coke, porno magazines, a 6 pack of wine coolers that John had scored from his older brother's minifridge, and of course, a big sack of fireworks.

Being in rural Connecticut, all we had to do was hike a mile or so back into the woods and nobody could hear what we were up to. Five of us hiked into that trail, but only four came out.

John, Mike, Dan, Sam, and myself set up our camp about a mile down the trail. There was a clearing large enough to set up 2 big ass tents, build a fire, and dick around. We wasted no time and started into our score. With five of us lighting these things off asynchronously, the 12 pound sack disappeared quickly. In fact, about 30 minutes into our camping trip, we were out of fireworks.

We spent the rest of the day burning shit in our fire pit, drinking the few precious wine coolers, and thumbing through our porno mags. I don't know what time we eventually went to bed, but it was pretty late.

Where It All Went South

The next morning was pretty tame. I was the first one up. I went outside my tent, and worked on restarting the fire. I had made enough noise doing this to wake up everyone else. In the morning, in the summer, in Connecticut, there is a lot of moisture in the air. All of the kindling I had tried to gather was wet, so I failed at starting the fire.

A quarter mile or so from our campsite was this high-tension electricity line. We figured we would walk down to the high-tension wires to see if there was anything cool down there to steal. Boys will be boys. There was a path under the wires for trucks from the electric company to drive down, and a shed full of supplies next to one of the towers. We figured we would break our way into the shed and steal anything cool in there.

If you've ever been a 13 year old boy, you know that it only takes two 13 year old boys to break into a shed. Myself, Sam, and John watched as Dan and Mike tried to break the padlock with no success. We got bored and started fucking with Sam. We were trying to convince him to climb up the wire-tower to be a lookout in case the electric company showed up. After a few minutes of calling him chickenshit, he finally caved and started to climb the tower.

He got 6 or 7 footpegs up, and started whining. "I want to come down, there's no one coming." I said "come on you pussy go higher". He kept climbing.

I don't know if it was the moisture on the peg or whether he just lost his footing, but Sam's foot slipped. We all watched him fall in slow motion. We watched his ankle twist between the pegs and we heard the snap. We watched him hit a peg on the way down, and we watched the peg gash his neck. We watched him hit the ground, and when we ran over to him, we watched the look of fear on his face as he bled to death. He tried to speak, but his neck was too badly cut. By the time any of us came to our senses about what happened, it was too late.

What none of us knew, and what I would later find out, is that Sam's father had been sexually abusing him for years. While doing the autopsy, the state medical examiner found evidence of abuse, and the district attorneys used this to prosecute Sam's father for abusing Sam's brother, Patrick. This kid had such an awful childhood, and it all ended when we dared him to climb that tower. I can't help but carry this burden. It's led me through bouts of depression, guilt, and fear. It is this sequence of events that flipped my life upside-down, and made me what I am today. Anyhow, before I get ahead of myself, let me finish the story.

Dan and Mike stayed with Sam, while John and I ran through the woods to the nearest house. Through the hysterical tears, the man at the door figured out what was going on, and called 911. As the paramedics were taking Sam's body out of the woods, the police showed up to take statements from us all. They had called my parents, and my Mom got scared and said "You're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air. I whistled for a cab and when it came near, the license plate said FRESH and it had dice in the mirror. If anything, I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought "nah, forget it". Yo homes, to Bel-Air! I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo homes, smell ya later!" Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the prince of Bel-Air.