I guess I should start by explaining why I would put my memoirs on an open blog. I'm a simple man (in style and pleasures alone) with big plans for the future. I decided to start recording the event's of my life so there would be a written history of my past for future generations to read about. Call me conceited. Call me egocentric. I don't care. I know I'm meant for great things and I might as well prepare for it.
My life started in humble beginnings. My parent's weren't rich or well known, just getting by, living paycheck to paycheck, in a small apartment in Phoenix, Arizona. I was 6 weeks when we moved there from Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I was born, and up until today. This is where we have been living and where I have grown up. I have come a long way from living in a small apartment in a (now) rundown part of town to a pretty nice house on the edge of Phoenix and Scottsdale. I had grown up in private school where my mom worked as a preschool teacher (as she still does today) because it was higher education an since she was an employee, my sister and I got to go for free. All throughout school, I was made fun of for being fat, dumb, dorky, you name it. If you didn't have a torturous childhood that may be because you were torturing some poor nice kid. As I have had extensive experience with this, I can honestly say, there is no enemy more malicious than a kid with poor self image bent on knocking down others. Some say bully, I say terrorist. There were days I came home crying as hard as I could because a group of kids would not leave me alone. Now, I'm a big guy. Always have been. I was the tallest in my class all through school (minus high school and 4th grade) and now, at 6'4", I could probably take on any one that crosses me. My only leash that kept me from sending kids to the hospital was my wonderfully kind, caring, and fun loving personality. Now I see it as a blessing but back then I saw it as a curse. All I wanted to do was unleash hell on them all, but, alas, I couldn't bring myself to do it.
It took me 4 years from the time I had left that school in 6th grade, when the school went under financially, to figure out who I was, and to see that I had worth. Even though I had a caring disposition, I still felt it was better to be feared than loved, because that seemed easier to do. My awkward years were these 4 years from 7th grade through sophomore year in high school (Go Trojans!). (One day I will summarize my high school years but for now this has been my life in a nut shell.)
During high school, I was going to an awesome youth group, meeting great friends, and dealing with life drama. Which was nice for a change! My group of friends had expanded from my long time best friend, Brett, since 1st grade and a handful of girls who were nice to me, to 20 to 30 new, different, and in some cases, weird people that liked me because of who I was. My "avoid" group (the people who lived to make my life a living hell) shrunk from an entire class ahead of me and all of the boys in my class, to one (ok maybe like 3 or 4, but only one that I was at odds with), and that one kid is a WHOLE other story (pretty much my high school summary). It was great. Honestly, my years in high school really formed who I am today (as I type this).
I was never really a good student. I learned everything I needed to in class and would pass tests easily. Homework always seemed like a waist of time. The only academic class I passed with a B or higher was my Geometry class, second semester sophomore year. Our teacher was great (minus his overly ridiculous monotone voice). He was funny, to a point, and he never graded homework because he figured if you did it, you would pass the tests. A lot of kids failed that class because they relied to heavily on the homework but I passed the tests like they were nothing. Because my grades were so low, the class schedulers (whoever picks classes for the kids) kept putting me in dumb classes. I got bored, didn't do anything, resulting in low grades... again. "So, what was it?" They probably asked themselves. "Was it that he just got bored or was he needing to be in a lower class than that?"Any papers I turned in showed skills that were above most of the rest of the class, rating my writing skill at a college level. Even my reading was over and above (well the little reading I did at least). My spelling and math were the only skills that were lacking but I would still ace tests so, that begged the question, "why isn't he trying?" To this day I am still not sure if I can correctly answer that question. My parents were at a loss. they tried everything they could think of to motivate me but I would rather think of a new story to write, or draw, or fantasize about girls in my classes than do my homework. My level of caring just wasn't high enough and there was little, if anything short of risk of dropping out, that could change that. it wasn't until my Senior English teacher told me thow bad I was doing in her class, that last semester, that I really felt the hole I had dug my self into. After the last two weeks of after school catch up with past assignments and my teachers having great mercy on me and my grades, I finally passed all of my classes (thank God a D is passing) and the Pride and sense of acoplishment I felt as I walked with my class was so amazing, words fail to describe them.
Now that I am in college I hope that this lack of interest has left me and I plan on pursuing my classes with the utmost priority. From once where i was taking classes because I needed to, to now taking classes because I want to, my expectations are higher and my outlook on education has brightened. Even as I type this, I am proud of my writing skills and I enjoy reading what I have written. I look forward to my career as a screenwriter and hope that the future holds new and exciting things for me. I am exhilarated by the fact that this day, I am taking the first steps into my destiny and I embrace every moment of it.
