What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger

What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger”

I am by most peoples deffinition crazy. You know “loco, lost it, out of my tree, off my rocker” I like that being my definition, I feel that its my calling. So many people today are conformists, they are willing to fit into a nice neat mold of “American society” YUCK. That’s not for me by any stretch of the imagination. To start my career of not being a conformist my single mother, single handedly, homeshooled me while supporting us. You will quickly come to understansd that I hold my mother in the highest reguard as the most amazing woman, toped only by Mary the mother of Jesus, that have ever known, seen, or herd of. Anyway, As I began my life being one of those unsociliazed homeschoolers, I started to become the man that I am today.

I guess to start I should tell you about the was that I was brought up. My mother had a little brother, Randy. I don’t remember my uncle Randy he commited Suicide when I was two years old. Randy from what I have been told or have gathered, was the definition of a timid person. This, I do not think wa shis fault but was a result of his upbringing. You see theor parents got divorced when Melodie (my mom) and Randy where 13 and 11. I think the way that a person handles adversary this early in his or her life does a lot for defining the rest of what theirs looks like. Now don’t get me wrong my mom didn’t handle it perfectly by any means but differently. As a result of these events in their lives, a few things were set in stone. The first my mother decided that no matter what it took she would protect her own children with everything that she was andlet them know beyond the shadow of a dout that she loved them unconditionaly. The second was my uncle Randys total lack of self confidence was completed, signed, and sealed. Skip forward to 1990. I am conceved, out of marriage. 1991 My mother deciodes that she will raise and love me unconditionally by herself.
As she set out on this seemingly insurmountable, road she had many goals in mind. Love unconditionaly, instill responsibility, discipline often, and do all to the Glory of the Lord. Now I am sure that if you were to ask my mother she would say that she had no such thought but as I look back there is no way that she didn’t have at least some, subconscious as it may have been, incling in this direction.
Love was not her only goal but it was a huge part of the reason that I am “crazy.” What comes from total unconditional love? A confidence that cannot be replaced by anything else, a knowledge that no matter what happens you will still be loved. I grew up knowing that there was nothing that I could do to increase or deacrese my mothers love. Looking back I guess this is the perfect picture of the wat God loves us. I knew that if I told my mother that I loved her a lot or spent lots of time with her it would put her in a good mood and I could get what I wanted (I nevwer said that I was perfect), but evn if I failed to to do these things, although it put her in less of a good mood, she wouldn’t love me any less. I was not showed love just through positive reinforcement, although that was a big part of it. I was shown love through her disciplining me, whenever I needed it, but never in anger. I remember one particular instance that I had something to really make my mom angry, i wish that I could remember what it was but I don’t, and she sent me to our room (we shared a room as we lived with my grandmother), since she refused to spank me in anger I would get to sit and think about whatever I had done for as long as it took mom to cool down. Then she would come up the stairs. I remember perfectly the sound or her shoes going from the lanolniom to the carpeted stairs, the 4th stair creakes “shes ¼ of the way here “ I would think. Then thhe landing at the top groans ever so slightly as if to say “your really in for it this time dude”, then she would spank me. I hated her at that moment but she was the only one that I wanted to hold me as I cried. She would always tell me before and after the spanking that she loved me and that’s why she was doing this. I didn’t believe her till I was too old to spank, then I started to get it. She would never withhold punishment, no matter how much I cried, if I had really earned it and she never punished me when I didn’t deserve it. This reinforced the knowledge in me that there would be concquences but there would ayways bwe a hug waiting at the end of the pain, or to help me get through it. What a great testament to a parents love if, in the middle of the deserved punishment they stop to hush and hold then finish the sentence. Along with the unconditional love and not-to-rare punishment was the responsibility that I was given to help me deveolpe. I was slowely given things that I had to take care of. One of the biggest lessons that I was able to learn happened when I was eight years old. My uncle had just gotten into the livestock bisness, and as a result of a hard winter had a calf that would never get over 350-400 lbs. He let me bring the calf home and take care of him, I named him midget (even though he out weighed me by 250 lbs). Having a cowof my very own was awesome, for the first ten minuits. Then I realized that I was going to he=ave to wake up early to carry water I would have to get it hay, EVERY DAY. But I got usted to it and started to fall into a rut, never a good thing. As I got mre and more used to my new responsibility I started to slack off in areas. I started my only carrying half buckets of water, then by not so much hay, as a result I had to move the cow more and more often, then I started to not care where I would tie him. I once tied him to close to the road. We came home to a scared cow standing on our front porch. After a blaring poliece car went by he broke his rope and went to where he always saw us going. Later that year I tied midget within reach of the grain for the chickens. I didn’t think anything of it, not knowing much about cows and their uncanny ability to eat themselves to death. The next morning I woke up to a very sick cow and about 100lbs less chicken grain. We called the vet who came out and tried to punp the poor cows stomach but to no end, the grain was to digested and killing him. So there I sat holding the head of my dying cow in my lap. Knowing that this was all my fault. Midget died that day, and I learned so much. I learned that failure puts an evil taste in your mouth and I hated that taste. That day I had failed my uncle, who had trusted me with his cow. I faailed my mother, who put up with having a cow around the house for the better part of a year. But what seemed to be the worst of all, I had failed myself, I had thought that I was ready for that kind of responsibility and I wasn’t. I realized that there were two ways for me to avoid this feeling, for the most part that is, cause nobody can totally avoid all failure. I could etheir set my expectations so low of myself that there is no way that I could “fail” them, or I could never stop trying to learn, never stop giving everything my all. This is a huge part of my “crazyness,” I mean think about it the many things that are done on a daily basis when done with passion or to the fullest that is possible are going to inadvertently be known as crazy. I know that, like I said, nobody can completely avoid failure, however, if we decide as we go into something that if we fail we will learn from it how not to fail next time I think we can come one steop closer to being the people that we should be.

SECTION TWO, THE MEN IN MY LIFE
There have been a lot of men in my life. Some that I have respected some that I have not. Many that have made me a very high priority in their lives and who I owe much more than I could ever repay.

My uncle (second cousin) Buddy
I started my relationship with my uncle Buddy at a young age, about 4. He ownes an auto body and repair shop that, at that time was right below my backyard. I started to spend time with him wacching him in wonder as he would disect a transmission or install a radiatior. He would pay me $.25 a day to sweep his shop, so faithfully every afternoon I would go down and start to sweep, I am sure that he alyaws had to clean up the mess that I made after I left but I loved it. The havdle on the door was to high for me to reach so he put a screw into the door at the perfect height for me to get in and out of the shop, the screw is still there. I have learned a lot in my uncle Buddys shop. Starting with how to cuss, I think that I was 6 the first time that I used the F-word. My great aunt Suzie immediately wanted to know where I had learned such foul language and I said said proudly “the shop” then she washed my mouth out with soap. I learned everything that I know about cars from that shop and a good deal of what I know about life, politics, partying, driving and most recently love. Now don’t get me wrong I didn’t learn everything that I know from an auto shop but I would be willing to say that most of what stuck was reinforced by me sitting on a tailgate, tire, or air jack sitting in that sacred shop. I was taught the inportance4 of changing my oil, and how to properly use a firearm. I learned the right way to jack up a car, and the wrong way, luckily nobody got hurt as I learned. I learned that democrats were always wrong and republicans hardly better. At a young age I was convinced, and still am, that my uncle Buddy would be the perfect president. I learned that hard work never killed anybody and family is more important than everything else. Most recently I learned about marriage. I am currently in Nepal, planing on coming home and asking my current girlfriend to marry me. Before I left to come here I asked my girlfriends father if I could ask her before I left, he said no, for now. It was hard to take but I don’t in the least hold it against him. My uncle Buddy has a way of talking very intently, without letting anybody say anything, its not preaching or lecturing but more of a passing of knowledge and when he does it I know to listen closely. Anyway I was sitting in “the shop” three nights before I left to come here and the conversation turned to the subject of me and Sarah. We discussed some things about our relationship and I told him why I felt that I could spend the rest of my life loving only her. He started to “pass knowledge” and I started to listen. We talked for about two hours and at the end I had his blessing to marry her whenever her father would give me his and much more knowledge about marriage, life and women. The main things that I took from that conversation were things that were simple but profound. I had never before herd my uncle say the word love but that night he said it like life itself depended upon that very word and me knowing that it was not something to be toyed with. Even though we have never said it, and probably never will, I know that my uncle loves me like a son, and I him like a father.

My uncle (second cousin) Peter
Peter is Buddy’s little brother. Peter is different than Buddy, not quite as gruff, but fully as knowledgeable in more areas than I could list. I didn’t really start to develop a close relationship with my uncle Peter till I was about ten. I think that when I really took an intrest in the farm that we all live on. Peter and Buddy are the mainj farmers on the 50 ort so acres that we farm at home. Peter does a good amount of the picking in the summer and when I was 10 years old I started to help. I have spent countless hours in a field leaning on a hoe or a shovle or a rototiller, talking about life and family and friends and “crazy.” Peter hes this awesome way of making you feel like you are the most important person in the world when you talk to him. Even if you are telling a storie that he has heard a thousansd times, he stops what he is doing, listens and nods like ther is no one else that matrter5s even a little bit right then. The things that I have learned from Peter are about as many as the stars and as valueable to me as life itself. I learned that it really doesn’t matter what people think if of you as long as you tell the truth, family always comes first and marriage is the hardest thing I will ever do. I remember one time that my uncle and I were sitting at a fire in the drive of the farm. My memory is slightly sketchy on this so please forgive me if it isn’t exectly correct. Peters wife had taken their daughter and gone to California to visiot her family. Peter was just sitting outside alone before I walked up. I asked as I sat down “whatcha doin?” he replyed “thinkin.” “bout what?” “Everything” he said with out missing a beat. So there we sat without saying nothing, thinking about everything. That is one of the times with my uncle that I really cherish. Another time we were having a conversation about half of the farm being sold, I was angry and making it known. He asked why I was angry? I said because I have memories of people that I will never see again in those fields and times that I will never get back.” “Yeah, so do I, buy nobody can ever take those memories away, nobody no matter how strong or big or mean can ever take those times that we had from you, or me.” I promptly shut up. I have worked for my uncle the past two summers as a seasonal member on the crew of workers that the company he works for employs. In these past two summers I have learned more than I could write about, but it included things like, work ethic, how to drive and not get tickets, and how to do the best and expect the least praise. I remember one of my first object lessons from my uncle. I really don’t know why I acted the way I did but anyway here goes. It was a fall day, I was about 10. I used some of my uncles tools to work on something that I was trying to do, I don’t remember what. I didn’t put the tools away. The next day when Peter saw me he told me that I needed to put the tools away. I didn’t. I don’t know why I refused to put them away I just didn’t want to obey. Anyway over the course of a week or so I eventually put the tools away, as I was getting lectured about my disobedience I asked my uncle Peter why he didn’t just put the tools away for me, anyway it was only 15 feet to the tool box? “Because I wont be there for the rest of your life to pick up your tools, you need to know that before you are finished doing whatever you are working on you must pick up after yourself.” It really wasn’t that great or profound but it really stuck with me. I think because I had this picture in my head of what a dad did for his kids and that day when Peter said that to me I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Peter would be there for me, not be my father, but jut be there fo rme when I needed him. Having that revelation at ten was pretty big. I think sometimes Peter has egretted being the one that I call, but he has never said so. Not when I rolled a Jeep in the field and needed to get it back onto its wheels before mom got home. Did I mention that it was about 9.30 pm Peter was getting ready for bed and 45 minuits before had told me to not roll the Jeep? Or the time that MY friend wrecked his car and couldn’t call his parents, so again, I don’t know what time it was, late, I called my uncle to came help us slightly freeking out teenagers fix the mess that we were in. Ahh the new truck. It was spring of 2005, Peter had purchased a beautiful blue dodge ram the fall before. We were putting up barb wire fence in a canyon not far from home. Every weekend we would load up the Four wheelers and head up to work. We did this for three weeks without any incendents, and then the fatefull day. I managed to think that I knew exactly how to secure an ATV into a pickup bed, I was wrong. The result was many very large dents and scratches in to forward section of the pickup bed. Since then My uncle and I have kept pretty even with the number of dents we have put into his truck and even so he still lets me near it. Even though we have never said it, and probably never will, I know that my uncle loves me like a son, and I him like a father.




SECTION THREE, WHO I SHOULD BE
Who should I be? What should I be? Why am I here? To what end is my life? Questions, questions, questions.