I've read through this thread more times than I can count since joining up here and just didn't know where to start.
My story started as the oldest of 3 brothers, born to a mother who preferred prescription meds and illegal narcotics to being a mom and to a father who, having done a few tours in da Nam, would rather get drunk and beat the hell out of us. My mom rolled out when I was 4 and left us with my dad. I didn't see her again until I was 17. I buried her before I turned 22.
I know what it's like to voluntarily take a beating to keep my brothers safe. I know what it's like to steal food from the store so they could eat, or to cram my school lunch in my coat pockets so they could have food at night.
I became hard. Fast. I was smaller than most at school. Dirty clothes, hair, fingernail, etc. So between the beatings I got at home and the ribbing I got at school, I had no choice but to get hard. As such, I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. Stealing, fighting, drugs, and so on.
My childhood built a fire in me, deep down in places you don't talk about with even your wife. That fire turned to hunger. For something "better". So at 16yrs old, I loaded my old Jeep up with my 2 little brothers, who were 13 and 15, and we headed out. I had cut enough wood and hauled enough hay to rent a trailer from a friend's family. At 18, with little options in front of me, and a world of pain behind me, I signed my ass over to Uncle Sam and landed at Ft Benning, Georgia. After a 3yr hitch as a paratrooper, I came home, hungrier for more.
Somehow scored a job at a local factory on the production floor and then was accepted into a 4yr millwright apprenticeship at the same plant. Then did 2 more yrs to get my journeyman card as an industrial electrician. In the midst of all my work and schooling, I met a woman with 2 small kids. They saved my life. They gave me purpose and taught me what love is. I didn't know what a father was supposed to be, but I damn sure knew what NOT to be. Then one day, I'm walking the daughter down the aisle. Next thing I know, I have 6 grandkids. The next chapter in atoning for my sins. And that is what the last 28yrs has been for me. Atonement.
I've always been quite a bit higher on the IQ scale than those around me. That, combined with a wealth of experience and fire in my gut for a better life, has led me to some damn interesting places on this planet. From wilderness rescues, climbing Rainier and Hood, paddling the Natahayla and the Colorado, running construction projects in jungles and 3rd world *s-word holes, you name it.
I've made more money and been more successful than I ever had any right to be. Due to the stress and strain that comes with a global engineering management positon, things that I thought were long in my past began to surface in early 2016. My mind raced, I would wake up in the middle of the night, taking notes, coming up with solutions to problems so the company (who didn't two chits about me) could make even more money. I became numb and my work performance began to suffer. And my drinking, which had once been for fun and a part of the corporate culture, took control.
Once again, I was saved by my wife. We had everything we wanted in life by most standards. 360acres, high dollar horses, sports cars, houses, kids were spoiled ass rotten. I tried to give her and them what I never had, and in doing so, had reached a point where I no longer wanted to go on. My wife told me none of what we had was worth it any longer. We sold it. The farm, the horses, the whole shebang. I got on an airplane, flew to our corporate headquarters in Frankfurt, Germany and walked away from a job and salary that Harvard grads don't make. Six figures a few times over.
I took a job at a company in Okahoma for a lot less money, but also a lot less stress. What we didn't sell in Arkansas, we loaded up and hauled to Oklahoma in 2016.
I lose focus in most hobbies and activities fairly quickly. I pick up a hobby, master it, get bored, and move on. Shooting, mountaineering, rodeo, rescue, whitewater paddling, skydiving. BTDT.
The one thing that I always come back to is cuttin wood. I may have a closet full of ostrich skin cowboy boots and $1000 suits, but at the end of the day, I'm still the dirt-poor farm boy from SE Oklahoma, who grew up with an old Homelite that kept me and my brothers alive.
Between the love of my wife, a son and daughter who didn't start out as mine, a herd of grandkids, and my love of the feel of a good sharp chain throwing chips, I may have found a little peace in my soul.
I still have bad days. I still wish I could take back some of the bad chit I've done and the enemies I've made because of it. But I'm okay. I'm a survivor.
To all in this thread who may be having a bad day or going through a tough time, remember this - no matter how bad it gets, someone loves you, counts on you, and believes in you. The one thing that differentiates those who survive and those who don't is purpose. Find that purpose. See the beauty in all things around you and know that you are here for a reason.
Sorry for the long winded post. I have no damn clue why I told my story to a group of 2000+ complete strangers on a chainsaw forum. Just hope it helps someone.
Al
