They let me out

I was only in that juvenile center for about five months. She had to throw a fit to get me out though. They did not want to let me out at all. They wanted to send me to one of those boy homes. I don't remember what they called them, they had catchy names, but all the kids in juvy said they were bad places to go. I took their word for it. They didn't want to let me out of that detention center because they knew what I was to some degree. They knew I was only going to fuck something else up. They knew it was only a matter of time. They knew what my parents were. The lack of remorse really bugged them, and it should have. I really didn't feel bad about anything I had done, or did, or was going to do. For her, it was one of those things she did to seem like a good mother. She didn't want to be the woman whose kid was locked up. I know the truth though. For her it was a victory of sorts because she could say, "See, he went to his dad's and look what happened," as if it was his fault entirely or something. It was like she was in a competition or something with him about who was the better parent. What a joke.

I did not want to go live with her at all, but I had no choice. They refused to let me go back with him because he was an alcoholic. Because I committed so many crimes both parents had to undergo some counseling too. My juvenile officer put me on house arrest, and she, the woman I lived with, would literally call the cops on me when I did not behave. She finally had a bit of control over me because my probation officer was helping her keep me reigned in. She still couldn't stop me though. By this time nothing could stop me. I still did what I wanted. She only made me craftier about it. I hated her guts, and every time she called the cops, or called my probation officer on me, I just hated her even more. How proud I was, I had a mother that called the cops on me if I didn't behave. How awesome is that? I hated the town I lived in too. None of the kids liked me. All the moving around always made me the new kid in town. I was constantly bullied and made fun of. I was so fucked up, why would they like me? It is never good to be the new kid in town when you attract attention like I do.

She was on her third marriage by this time. Actually her third marriage was one of the reasons I had wanted to go live with him so badly. I have to give that guy some credit though; he never laid a hand on me, never not once. He actually only ever yelled at me one time. Me and her were going at it pretty good one day and he slammed his hand down on the dresser and shouted that he had had enough. I just stood and looked at him. Of course the hair on the back of my neck was raised. For what had been done to me anytime a male raises his voice towards me I am ready to go instantly. He left the house for awhile.

The third husband had two boys of his own from a previous marriage. That meant sometimes there would be six boys in the house. Those two boys had issues just like I did. Their mother was just as crazy as mine. This was one of the reasons why I fought so hard to go live with the biological sperm donor. Being in poverty as she always was we never lived in nice houses. We lived in a house in Tebbetts, MO once. I went back to this house as an adult once. I couldn't believe how small it was. I can't believe eight of us lived in it. It only had one bedroom. Her and Bob made the living room their bedroom. When she lived with Bob, the third husband, she was just as messed up as before, I just wasn't being out right physically abused. The mental abuse never ceased. Each time she remarried, the guy was a little bit better than the previous one, I'll give her that. Not smarter, just a little more nice than the previous one.

The house she was living in when I got out of juvy was the nicest house she had ever lived in. It had enough bedrooms for my brothers and me. I actually had my own bedroom down in the basement. It was on a nice street in Fulton. We could no longer be immediately identified as dirt poor just by looking at the house we lived in. We had moved up in the world a bit I guess.

Within a year of being in Fulton I was somewhat established with my fellow dysfunctional hyper masculinized drunk drug using friends. These people were not really my friends we just shared some common themes. We were fucked up, our parents fucked us up, our parents were fucked up. We just wanted to party, to be cool, and to do what kids do in small towns where there is nothing else to do; get fucked up. As always, I had to take it a step further than the rest.