A Man’s Open Letter To His Mother

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I was trolling around the internet as I usually do, looking for things being discussed by others by reviewing forums, social media, and so forth. I like to check out what is out there at any particular moment because I don’t want to have my own information wrong if I’m wrong or step on any toes if I’m right. Well, okay, I don’t really care about stepping on toes but I do like to know the toes I’m stepping on in advance if possible. Of course, nowadays, I seem to be pissing everyone off with what I post. I had made the choice not to do anything really new until after the new year but I found something that “moved” me and now I want to talk about it. In reality, everything we post on the internet, no matter where it is posted, can be considered an “open letter” by pure definition. How so? We don’t ever know who will be reading it much less if the intended party(ies) will ever read it. I relate it to pissing into the wind, it might get on someone somewhere and then again  it might not. Take my own blog for example, I take the time to write or do other posts, push publish, and wonder who stumbled across it by accident. Neither here nor there, when I write or post something it isn’t generally pointed in a specific direction, I call them shotgun blasts because it is unknown who will see or read them. It’s not like I have a dedicated audience waiting on the edge of their seat for what I will post next. Well, that’s not true, I have a handful of fans, aka The Scorpion Army, who always inform me that they are waiting for something. All I can say is that I’m sorry, life got busy for me.

Anyway, back to my trolling, because I read something that hit home with me simply because parts of it could’ve been written by me if I didn’t know any better. It was an open letter from a thirty four year man to his biological mother he had never known existed until recently, information passed to him by his mother as she lay dying from cancer in a hospital bed. She had the need to get something off her chest before she dies. After what he describes as being hours of apologetic talk from her she discloses that she isn’t his biological mother. She told him that hours after he was born that his biological mother was returned to the medical facility at the prison she was serving time in as she had been convicted of murder. His biological mother brutally murdered the man that had shot her husband, then carjacked her and kidnapped her, and raping her sixty seven times before leaving her for dead in an old abandoned house at the edge of town. She was sentenced 99 years in prison with no eligibility for parole. She had been serving only about a month of her sentence when he was born. She had no other information. Her and her husband had been on the adoption waiting list for an infant for several years when they were contacted that they could now move forward with an immediate adoption. For thirty four years his parents had buried this secret vowing to never disclose it to another living soul. But, she wanted to die with a clear conscious and the only way she felt she could do that was by telling her son the truth.

Amazingly enough, he explained that he really had no idea he was adopted, nor that he ever had a reason to consider or entertain the idea that he was adopted. To say the least, by reading his open letter to his biological mother, he was indeed more than just a little shocked by the turn of events. As a result, he wrote his biological mother a letter, knowing to himself it would go unanswered, but felt he needed to acknowledge her existence now that he knew she actually exists. I leave you now to read his letter.

Mother – Only you knew I existed. Only you were to bear the torture of not knowing. Only you knew the pain of our separation. We will never meet, I will never see you, nor you, I. Not because I don’t want to look into your eyes and weep with you but because there is no information of who you are, the only records available by the agency show Jane Doe gave birth to an un-named male child and nothing else. In reality I’m not sure why I write this letter to you today because I know you will never see it and even if you were to see this letter I doubt you would know it was to you. I regret the fact that we will never be reunited but at the same time we are both lucky because we do not know one another. I’m really not sure if I really need to meet you. I have lived my life, raised by gracious parents, and now raise my own family. There is no room for these twists and turns in my life and I don’t think there will ever be a good time for it. I’m sorry you will spend your life in prison because life is much too beautiful to live in a cage. I will close this by saying that I pray for you even though I don’t know you as we are connected by the bond of birth if you can understand that.

Regards, GW

There are things I would like to tell GW but his life is none of my business. It is a great weight to bear being told something of this magnitude. What one chooses to do with it is a personal choice. Personally I think he is selling it all short, imagine never knowing who your biological family really is. I can say this will experience and authority as my older sister and I are both adopted. The difference is that I took the steps into the darkness, not knowing what to expect, and have made contact with my biologicals and to this day we talk regularly. Search this blog for adoption and y’all will find more than a couple entries. My older sister has a different mindset, she believes she was discarded and therefore has no wishes to ever make contact. If she knew that I have researched it all for her behind her back she might be a bit furious, but I wanted to use my personal experiences to help her. Although she would see it as me trying to sabotage her life. We will never agree on this topic and she has made it a forbidden topic to talk about. I hope, one day, she will change her mind, and when she does I hope she will ask for my help. I’m willing to help, I want to help, but it falls on deaf ears, which is sad for her. I leave y’all with a final question. What would you do if you found out one day that you were adopted? Or, if you were informed about being adopted what was your reaction and what have you done with that information since? I know, pretty personal issue, but I also know it helps to talk about the struggles and successes, even if it is with a perfect stranger.

The Thank You Letter From My Son

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This morning I awoke to find an envelope tucked under my hat and keys on the kitchen table. On the front of the envelope was written the words, “My Hero, My Dad”. Curiosity got me and I immediately opened the envelope, finding a short letter which really made me sit back and think about how my 13 old son sees his dad. I wanted to share his letter with y’all because, as a veteran, as a person who has served, I feel that others will feel the warmth and sincerity that he has been written to me early on this Veterans Day.

” Dad,

The older I get, the more I talk to family, the more that I read, and the more we talk, I have learned that I have a respect for you that runs very deep in my own heart for you and every person who has ever been brave enough to put on a uniform to serve our great country. I’m lucky, I have my dad with me every day. I feel grateful that you are alive, well, and in my daily life, because many sons and daughters are not as lucky. I just want you to know that I love you, I’m grateful for your service, and know I will always honor and appreciate all of your sacrifices, big and small. Thank you dad.

Your son, Jack “

Yes, this letter from my son brought tears to my eyes, he has a big heart, and I think he knows what this letter means to me.

An Open Letter To Whomever

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It has come to my attention within the last 24 hours that I made remarks which certain people on our planet have taken to be historically in bad taste. These people mistake my sarcasm as me just being a cold hearted bastard. I make light of many things in current times as well as in history but for some reason, that I am obviously to damn ignorant to comprehend, people find cause in pointing out WHY what was said was so wrong and offensive. I have the answer to why this happens and that answer is simple. I am who I am and you ate not me, you are not capable of knowing what I know, seeing what I see, or even grasping why I speak the way I do. I don’t offend people on purpose, people make the choice to get offended by what I say. Here’s the damn deal, I don’t give a shit. It goes well beyond this blog, it goes deeper than social media, and the big picture is something these people choose not to see. Its great that they can pin point focus on a tiny part but 99.99% of the time it is taken way out of context which really draws one attention away from how words were being used. Right now there are people wondering what in the unholy Fuck I am talking about, which is cool because we don’t all travel in the same social circles. If you know what I am referencing that is great and if you are not with the program that is great as well. All I ask is that one must remember that there are things and people and placed that I understand all to well and the way I choose to interact is my way, its not something I need permission to do. It doesn’t make a difference to me if people come here or interact with me. Its nice that y’all do but I don’t run off and cry when people leave me. Shit happens because that’s just fucking life. I will be the first to admit we ate different, and you should cherish that fact not be offended by that fact. But who am I to say, y’all are strong willed people and should already now this. I mentioned, when I started here on WP that I was being reborn, that I was back with a purpose this time, and will not cater to the pussies in the world who think that complaining enough will finally get me shut down. Should it offend me that you are offended? Nope, fuck you. My blog and what I say is not for everyone, hell its not actually for anyone, except those who have the stomach to go ahead and be amused with life and the people here on planet dirt. We, the people of planet Earth, are all fucked up in one way or another. I have yet to meet the perfect human and I am comfortable knowing that I never will. Its probably a stretch to ask people to have their own lives perfect before deciding mine is not, I will make it simple for you, I don’t live the perfect life in your eyes, but I do live a perfectly happy life in my own eyes. Luckily I gave up, many many years ago, trying to convince people that they are very different from each other. As a bonus, this decision to give up has given me a better opportunity to watch people make complete asses out of themselves while they try to get me and others to give a shit about there opinions.

In conclusion, I know I have opened the literal flood gates of hate and poison that certain people have coursing through their veins by merely having an oppositional opinion that may differ from their own. Yes, I am an asshole. Tell me something I don’t already know. But, y’all should know that generally I don’t pull out my asshole card unless provoked to do so. Some will argue, as the do regularly, that the mete existence of this blog and its contents will always provoke an I’ll response from just the right person at that right moment in time. At the end of the day we can all agree on one simple fact, each of us must take care of ourselves and our own sanity. We can’t all be sheeple and Fucktards now can we.

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Homeowner’s Association Form Letter

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So, yesterday I walked the close to 1/4 mile trek out to collect my mail from the mailbox located out at the end of my driveway. Normally I would take the golf cart but I was feeling froggy and just decided to walk. I don’t usually “sort” my mail out here in the street but there was allot of crap that I was going to put in the recycle bin since it had not been collected yet. As I am flipping through it all I see a letter addressed to “Resident” with my address printed below it. It is a letter from our beloved homeowner’s association. Might be important so I went ahead and opened it. After reading it through the first time I was left asking “what the fuck?” and need to read it again before I got pissed all the way. After A quick review I can see that they are talking of my location, it has the correct block, lot, plot, and section. The address on the envelope belongs to me, so it must be my property being spoke of. The jist of the form letter is to inform me (property owner) that a complaint has been filed suggesting I am burning “trash” items too close to the street which is too close to neighboring houses. The date sited was 22 days ago. Too close to my neighbors? My nearest neighbor’s house is over 650 yards away. The letter continues to outline the “offense” by stating that I was burning tires and other accelerant fuels. Wait just a damn minute here. First I don’t burn anywhere except the rear of my almost ten acres of property. Second, I don’t burn tires or use gas or diesel to set such fires. The letter has me at a loss.

As I am walking back to the house to go make a phone call because they have assessed a $350.00 fine for the incident, I notice, which makes me remember, I did have a fire in my front yard about three weeks ago. The scorch marks are still visible as I walk by. I wonder if this could be what they are referring to in the letter. I haven’t written about this yet here so y’all are probably scratching your heads wondering what has happened. I guess this is a good place to put in what happened and the I will figure out why there was a complaint. In a way I guess an outsider could say it was a trash fire in my front yard but if a person was paying attention they would of seen it was my riding lawn mower that had actually burst into flames. Man, I loved that old mower too, I was sad to see it go out in a blaze of glory like it did. What happened? I was mowing in the yard in front of my house pretty close to my driveway when a giant puff of black smoke blew out of the front of the engine cowel. I jumped off and flipped it open and when I did it burst into open flames. I was able to dowse the flames with the garden hose but it was too late. As I stood there watching it smolder a bit I secretly was hearing TAPS being played off in the distance. It was almost a tearful moment for me, but I held it back. It truly was a spectacular show but at the same time I didn’t like seeing my old friend roast its own marshmallows.

In review of the complaints in the letter I can see why they would say I was burning tires and using an accelerant because the tires did catch fire and the fuel line did melt and feed the fire. But hold on, this means that my incident was visible to someone somewhere. So I stood in the spot and looked around 360 degrees to see if I could figure out who the bastard was that assumed I was burning trash in my front yard. Well, there is only one house in my view and that is straight across the street. That old bastard has the eyes of a hawk then because its a good 200 yards from the street in front of his house. And it only burned for 10-12 minutes anyways. I’m so confused. Anyway, I will deal with him later, I have bigger fish to fry. I went in the house and called the secretary of the homeowner’s association to discuss the complaint and the fine I was not ever going to pay. I invited him out to check out the burned out carcas and I was declined a visit. I was told to go to their website and print out a form which I could use to defend myself. Once filled out I am to mail it to them with supporting information and/or pictures if available to justify my case. I was also reminded to enclose a check or money order with my form so I could pay the fine. Ummm, fuck you, there will be no check or money order enclosed you goofy bastards. I filled out the form and enclosed some nice glossy pictures with my explanation of what occurred. When I was done I sent my son down to throw it in the mail box for pick up today. This is why I detest having neighbors.

This whole thing has served as a good reminder. Since my other rider (the back up) isn’t in that great of shape and isn’t exactly dependable, I think I will get dressed and go mower shopping. I wonder what I will come home with. Have y’all seen the commercials for all the different riding mowers lately? Maybe they have been the “sign” I have been looking for and just haven’t realized it. I better make sure the trash fire I have going currently is out before I go because I would hate for some snooper to say I left it unattended. If I get a new toy I will be sure to show y’all so don’t worry.

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…………. And Then She Was Gone

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When a family member commits suicide, the entire family is plunged into confusion and grief. Life is instinctually valued by all of life’s creatures. Even a blade of grass or flower fights for the privilege of life. When someone close to you voluntarily ends their lives, your entire value system is thrown into question. Family members are consumed with guilt, thinking that they somehow should have seen the signs that led to the individuals suicide. This following note was found next to my 19 y/o niece’s body late in the afternoon on Christmas day after she did not show up at her parents house for brunch. Her dad went to pick her up figuring she was having car trouble. I’m sharing it with you today to remind you it is never too late.

“To my parents and sisters I love.

I do not know where to begin. I don’t know where I left off. I have been needing someone to talk to but our lives are very different. I have had big changes in my life which I cannot understand. I know that you would not understand my feelings. My pain. My situation. I sit here looking in the mirror wondering who I see. I sit here looking in the mirror looking to see who you don’t see. Wondering maybe. Wondering yes. Yes I wonder. I wonder if you wonder about my wonders. I sit here looking at my puffy face. Red with tears. Red with rage. Red with fear. Red with tears. I see myself scream. I hear nothing. I see myself cry. Alone I cry. I will not bear the pain of confronting you today. Family gathers, my sisters who I love. I am out of tears, I am out of anger, I am out of care, I am out of my own mind. I need time to myself. I need time not to be judged. I need time to say goodbye. Say goodbye for me to my unborn daughter, Cynthia Danielle. We are leaving, we are done. Merry Christmas, I love you, L.”

I sat there at her funeral on the following Saturday and wondered, as many did I assume, what makes suicide the answer. I tried to spend my time at the dual funeral believing that she isn’t suffering any longer. I held my wife’s hand as she cried and tried to be strong for her as she mourned her sister’s first born. I have been to my share of funerals but this is the first funeral I had been to that was a result of a suicide. It makes it different. The questions are different. The answers are none. I was unsure at that time what was going through my own children’s minds. How were they feeling, has this ever crossed their minds. It saddens me that she ended her life as much as it saddens me knowing what she has left behind.

In her memory I will not be discussing her method of suicide, that will not be talked about. I remember her as my niece I love.