The end of being young is steadily approaching, the big 30. The first proper milestone that life throws at you to let you know that life is no joke and it will end whether you do the thing’s you dream of or not.
I for one have had several hurricanes destroy my life leaving me with nothing but to start again, which suits me because I have never liked stability. Whether that hurricane is my own attitude still remains to be seen (probably is). I think it has more to do with being misunderstood. I have learned over the last couple of years that people don’t like what they don’t understand and anyone not acting as society/marketing has pre approved as normal will be shot with a bucket of their own shit even if there is no reason to do so.
I have had a bit of a head start in the adversity and struggle department. It all started when I was a kid. Not many kids can say that they learned to dodge mystical flying knives thrown by a crazy smiling Asian assassin at a young age…I can!
My mother measuring at barely 5ft tall and less than 50kg possessed and had passed on the trait of unmatched fury. Many times throughout my childhood, youth and young adulthood I would see police at the front door expecting to arrest a man in a domestic violence complaint. This was something of a normality for me, were both adults of the house would be bleeding and battered but to the surprise of the police, the call would be to protect the boyfriend at the time.
This would be a minimum of a bi weekly event for my entire childhood…
My mother, small in stature had what I call Jungle Fury. What she lacked in size, she made up for in aggression and an explosively accurate throwing arm that would put Tom Brady to shame…Yes, these knives would have perfect spirals!
The funniest thing about my mother is that she was the definition of zero to a hundred. On a good day my mother was extremely nice and accommodating to everyone and anyone BUT on a bad day, you would be lucky to get out of the house without having to patch up some sort of wound or laceration. This gene run rampant throughout the Philippine side of my family and was passed on to myself and a little bit to my brother.
Hell has no fury like women scorned.
Throughout my childhood, this type of craziness was normal to me. Holes in the wall, computers, TV’s, plates, windows and anything in between smashed on the floor, no biggy. People going to hospital and police around once a month also no problem. of course, it didn’t affect me until I reached the age of hormonal imbalance…now there would be two…
Entrepreneur from early on
By age 15 I had been arrested and suspended more times than even my mother could handle. I was second to a kid named Ben who had ADHD as bad as you could get it. I know this because I used to sell his medication for lunch money and he still had plenty left over to dull his urge to drown the neighborhood’s cats. To give you some perspective on my childhood, we were told to not see each other again as I was considered by his parent’s (who were in denial) to be a bad influence…I wasn’t that bad!
The First and worst bad influence
My father’s side of the family was as Australian as you could get growing up in rural New South Wales and eventually settling in a lovely part of Sydney known as Blacktown…the home of the drive by shooting! They also don’t mind a good stabbing from time to time out in the lovely western suburb.
I still do not know why my father lived the way he lived but he also led an “adventurous” life much like my own…
My Father was also known for his shenanigans. He too earned too much money from a young age and was well traveled as he would say “back when no one was doing it.” He was known by his friends as the smarter and wiser guy of the group which to his credit he was in good company in terms of skills and ability.
As my dad used to say “the damage was already done” from years of living with my mother as if to he had no part in the damage…
From the age of eight, I would travel to Perth 2 or 3 times a year to visit. It was always a fun time but my father much like myself was a trouble maker when he was drunk. Once a week Dad would drink with his mates down the road at Bruce’s. I would sit with him and his friends until they started to get drunk as this would usually turn into slurring arguments, yelling stupid things, eventually the fun would end with dads good friend Bruce knocking himself out somehow (similar to Kramer from Seinfeld with his different ways to enter Jerry’s apartment, Bruce knocked himself out a different way each time) and setting up camp where ever he landed until morning. Then dad would calmly grab what was left of his beer, step over Bruce’s unconscious possibly concussed body and drive the 200 metres home. I swear on everything I hold dear Bruce was extremely intelligent as he had retired at 30ish until he died at 70.
Once dad would get home the fun would begin!
For the next hour or so I would get whatever was left. Normally it would be questions about “The Billy Boys” (priests) at the church had touched me up (in those words) or perhaps we would have a discussion about how I would never be good at anything. Either way it would be a solid 2 hours of my father trying to entertain himself and humiliate me. As smart as he was, he had no fucking clue as to how to talk to an eight year old kid, being so young and being unable to push past my dad as his seat would block the only way to my bedroom I would sit there and listen to this old Prick make me hate him for the next couple of days. In saying that it wasn’t always about bad stuff but enough to cause a bit of damage growing up.
To be continued…