My mom had a bikers wedding. Real punk rock, real horrorshow.
That was dad #2, but I didn’t know that. Not at the time.
He was good at getting to the bottle, and the bottle getting to him. Then she remarried. A real stiff guy, the kind who could make diamonds.
We moved away from the continental US. That was the first time I became the black guy; attacked and ridiculed for nothing more than the color of my skin.
I’m a white kid.
Guam attacked me with a rage that I’ve never really lost. My first taste of real life, the first real look beyond the facade of peace, […]