I figured I should add some detail. These are just the facts. This is really about motivation.

My mother was pregnant with me when she was 16. I was born when she was 17. This was the early 60s in the US. The poor dear was shamed and ridiculed. My dad, slight blood pressure rise here, was/is not a nice guy. When I was 3 months old she dropped me off at my grandmothers, my dad's mother, and left to be a stripper in New Orleans. My dad was 29 at the time, married to this 16yo. Yup, a real nice guy. I lived with my grandmother, who was the kindest person I have ever known, until I was 3+yo. Then surprise! My dad remarried. He took my from the only mother I had known. I went to live with him, his new wife and her son who was 1 year older than me. My new brother and I got along for the most part. There were the normal fist fights, rock throwing fights and such. One particular incident is actually kind of funny now. My brother and I were standing at the apex of our barn. Yup, he pushed me off! Thankfully I landed on top of a horse manure pile. It only knocked the wind out of me. Of course I went to tell his mother, talk about a stacked court!

One day, when I was 11, my brother and I had built a stick fort type structure. The old man did not like it and, in so many foul words, told us to tear it down. We proceeded to throw the sticks down to the railroad tracks. I was about 15 yards from my brother, between him and tracks. I was bent down picking up sticks. He threw one and thought it was going to hit me. He yelled my name and I stood up. BAM! The stick stuck directly in my left eye! I reached over with my right hand, pulling it out. Of course everyone was beside themselves except for me. I was on vacation - in shock. The ambulance took me away.

He divorced that woman within a month. We never lived together again. I went to live with my aunt for almost 2 years. She was nice enough. She was a widower with a 10yo daughter. The three of us got on splendidly. To my knowledge this was my third 'mother' type.

So there I was. 12 years old, one eye, funky protective glasses, over weight, certainly not cute or handsome. The kids in the neighborhood called me Pugsley - of the Adam's family. Look it up. I recall the occularist saying
that I was such a handsome young man as she was painting my first fake eye. Foreign words to me that I would treasure even to this day. It is actually a shell that covers the eye. If you recall the Ophthalmologist had to remove so many splinters there was no way the eye would be functional however it did not have to be removed. At least the patch and metal cover over the left eye could now be removed.

When I was about 14 my dad 'found the perfect one' - again. Before they were married we were at her house with her 4 children for a Thanksgiving Day dinner. The old man commented on her gravy and next thing you know, she has a freekin butcher knife, chasing him around the house! He went out the front door. I had already snuck out the back door! As far as I knew I would be carved up next! They patched things up and surprise of surprises I was one of 4 kids living with him and her. Her oldest went to live with his father. What a joke. There were two boys, 10 and 12, and a girl 14. The 14yo always wanted to make out. No thanks I had enough of women by that time. The younger one was a nasty tattle tale. I was always being tagged as doing something by this kid. Having had enough of his mother on my a** I discovered my inner anger. I told the kid that the next time he ratted me out I would punch him in the gut. Sure enough he told and his mother came right over to threaten my life (HAHAHAHA!). So I kept my word and punched this kid as hard as I could in the gut. While he was bent over I whispered in his ear, you tell anyone and I will punch you twice. That was the end of that! They were divorced within shortly after a year. Go figure.

I learned something that day. I learned that I could be mean without remorse. I learned that force could be deployed to change the circumstances around me. I learned that I could protect myself physically and personally.

Then it started. Junior high brought out all the bullies. That first year was hell. Remember I still had these funky glasses (to protect my good eye) and I was overweight. During that summer I started lifting. I had a few dollars and stole the rest of the money from the old man (yeah, we had that kind of relationship) to pick up some weights. The plastic kind filled with cement. I began lifting. By the end of that summer I had lost so much weight people around me thought that I was sick. They were correct, I was sick of it all! I was absolutely fed fu****g up! When I went back to school I started dishing out the buck wheats! Mess with me, regardless of your size, you would have a furl of fists reigning down on you! At the beginning I lost a bunch of fights. I continued to lift and practiced some boxing. The next year came around and there was a change of wind. I started to win
every fight. That made 9th and 10th grades victorious. All bullies were challenged and beaten. Sometimes without mercy. If you looked at me with a hint of menace it was 'go time'. I graduated in 11th grade and moved on with life.

I was 16+ when the old man came to me and said, 'I am moving to California. Are you going to be ok?'. What glorious words! At this point living with him alone, it was kill or be killed. We are talking about having a body bag handy! During the time of living with him I did not say a word. It was all internal. I knew that I was thoroughly violent. I was enraged and worked out my aggression at that time by lifting and lighting fires. What can I say? These were field fires. No house was burnt only a shed and a lot grass/trees. Well he left and I lived on the porch of one of his girlfriends. It did not take long to find others that were like me. Young men of rage with a death wish. Well I had some $$$ from an insurance settlement for the eye. I had my first scoot and a Trans Am by the time I was 17. By default I linked up with the lawless crowd and proceeded to exercise full authority of one that is in control. I picked up a 30lb bale of good weed. I packaged it up in small bags and gave every bit away. That was the beginning of my business and Satan's Playmates.

A group of 15-20 guys depending on jail, cowardice or a rescuing dad or mom. We were lords of the street. While I was the leader, guys would take charge of side jobs or efforts on their own. Good enough. One rule, no
involvement of women. No offense, I was just not OK with prostitution, abuse, strippers, etc. You want to do that, you are on your own. A few did leave because of my preferences however our reputation spoke for itself and
replacement thugs were easy to come by! Most were already friends of mine. 100s of fights, brawls, lawless acts. You get the idea. Of course girls still hung around. Some are attracted to that type of behavior. Like my half
sister explaining to Christine a few years into our relationship. She explained that there was not a time she was with me where she was not in fear for her life.

All of sudden - everything changed! More on that some other time.