Shortly after my parents divorced my father remarried a woman named Anne. Anne has 3 children of her own and a particular dislike for me. In my eyes she viewed me as nothing but baggage of the man she had preyed upon to bring her money. The very first day of living with my new stepmother I could feel the hate from her. I was made to sleep in the laundry room on a broken cot. I was always the last to be able to go play and was always given the most chores to do. The clothing and toys my real mother would buy me would be given to her children. She would always call me names like stupid and tell me I was dumb and good for nothing.

My father was a real gem too. If he was not at work till dusk, he was out snorting cocaine with his buddies. On many occasions he would come home all coked-up and beat up on me and throw me around. To be honest I got quite used to the abuse. I remember the time I brought home a puppy that I had found and my father

My mom and I have a strong, loving relationship and she knows that I am sorry for being such a bastard as a teenager. She said, “ I understand, it’s all part of growing up.” We talk at least twice a week and she never gets of the phone without saying,” I love you”.

was so pissed he slammed the pup into the living room wall and hurt him badly, but usually I was the one to get all the bruises.

When I was 8 years old I was aloud to chose who I wanted to live with and the choice was easy – Mom! Finally I was going to be away from the evil-stepmother and asshole-father. Living with my mom was great; she would always do the little things to let me know that she always thought about me. Things like, taking an interest in what I liked to do, supporting my skateboarding, coming home with a new comic for me, and just always making me feel special. My mom worked so hard to support me and at times would even be working two jobs. Eventually I was a teenager and as teenagers are known to do I became extremely rebellious in everything I did. Hanging with the wrong crowd will do that to you. I was constantly in trouble. If it wasn’t fighting or stealing, I would be spray painting or vandalizing something. My friends and I were like a demolition company without having to get a call for a job or a permit to do it. My mom had enough; I was so troublesome that the cops threatened to put my mom in jail because I was missing too much school. Pushing my mom to the limit got me a one-way trip back to my father, who had moved to Oklahoma.

I have known David since I was 5 years old. We used to have races at the bus stop before school and would hang out

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