How Do I Say This?

I'm not satisfied with that title. I pondered over a slew of options but couldn't find one to best describe what I'm about to say. You may think it doesn't matter that much, but coming from a place of experience, it does. I've been writing this blog for nearly 13 years now. And while I mostly do it for my love of writing and to share my thoughts with anyone who may take a pause to read them, sometimes I do it because I'm hoping certain people will simply happen to see the post and read it. A hail mary of expression if you will. So I ponder these titles and hope they live up to their allure. 

Now to my main reason for this post. I've had a lot on my mind lately. Mostly about people. There's been a lot of change in my connections with many of them throughout the years and it's not always to my liking. As I continue to write my life's story here, the more reflection hits me. That combined with all the different situations surrounding me that are creating chaos in my well being. 

This is going to be somewhat vague and a lot of non-flowing thought, but that's how this cookie is going to crumble. I hope I'm wrong about this first one, but in the past two years, I think I had a long-time friend who I was close with in high school and have kept in touch with throughout the years suddenly ghost me. I visited this person last in 2021 and nothing seemed off then. But for the last two years, not one response to a single text. Maybe they changed their number and forgot to tell me, but I don't truly believe that because if someone else had gotten that number, they may have sent me a "wrong number" reply which I never got. And this person hasn't made one attempt to reach out to me in two years, even though I've tried numerous times. It gnaws at me because I'm always wondering if it's something I did or said and have no idea what it could be I'm hoping I'm simply wrong and they somehow reappear again.

I have another high school friend who was very influential on my passion for writing. And when I say influential, I mean they are 80% of the reason I not only decided to continue writing through high school and beyond, but they also critiqued it in a way and helped me refine it to be closer to what it is today. After we graduated, I was able to keep in touch a bit throughout college. They moved out of state post college and I have tried a few times throughout the years to meet up, but it has not yet worked out. I haven't seen this person in 14 years and there are times I wish I could reconnect with them, even for a day.

There was someone who came from another state, lived here for a handful of years, was close with my age group of friends, and served in the church. This person eventually moved back to where they came from and I did not see them as much anymore, but still thought about them from time to time. Then seemingly out of nowhere, I found out they had blocked me on facebook. It caught me off guard as I could not fathom what I had done to cause such a heavy action. It hurt. And I still have no idea to this day what was the cause. I wish I knew. If it was something I did to offend them, it was unintentional and I would like to mend that situation. Even if I don't believe I did anything wrong, it kills me not knowing what happened.

A friend from many moons ago was involved in my childhood. Then when I moved away, we simply drifted apart. I managed to get in touch with them years later, but that was the last time. They've basically fallen off the grid. Facebook account is long gone. They changed their phone number and the only person I could get it from was told not to give it out. I have not seen them in nearly ten years. Yet, they still inhabit my thoughts every now and then. And I would honestly go to great lengths just to get a phone call from them.

Then there are many dear friends whom I've known for years, but we live quite far apart. I would still see them frequently as our churches did many joint events throughout the years. But in recent times, there have been changes that have caused me to see them less and less. We're not on bad terms by any means. Far from it. But not having seen some of them in 5-10 years is quite maddening. On a recent trip I got into a deep discussion with a friend. In that conversation, they asked a simple question. "Is there anyone you really want to see?" I didn't hold back, I rattled off a lengthy list of names. The reality of it is, if you told me that I could see at least one of these people again, but there would be a price, I'd have two words. "Name it." 

Exposing thought. There are times I wish I didn't care as much as I do. Because then these empty holes wouldn't hurt so much. Second exposing thought. There are some people that don't fall into the MIA category. But there are some things that I wish they knew that I don't have the words to express it to them for fear of damaging a relationship that isn't currently damaged. Who knows, maybe one day the cards will be played right, the door will open, and it will be necessary to spill the beans. But for now, I'll keep riding the waves.

I started this post over a month ago, when my feelings on this subject were much stronger than they are now. But I didn't want this post to end up as one of the many unfinished and unpublished drafts sitting on this blog. As I finish this, I realize there's not really a good time to post something like this, but felt the need to let it loose. Ultimately, I'm in good shape. But these thoughts and feelings of missing people come and go like the wind. Maybe a resolution will come and maybe it won't. Only time will be able to reveal that. That is all.

The Story of My Life: The Trio is Born

I thought I could resist making strong connections. I really didn't want to have to leave good friends again in a year. But my social side needed those connections. My human side needed those connections. In only six months, I had come really close to Timothy and Jeremiah. Then, one winter night during a young people's meeting, a new family arrived. They were the Greenwoods. 

They had come from Wisconsin and they had moved here for their father's job. It was sort of a homecoming for them as they had family here. There were three children called Mark, Melissa, and Matthew. Mark was nine months younger than I, but we seemed to hit it off really quick. I'd make it a point to talk to him at the YP meetings. I had made another friend.

The friendship started very casual as the only time I hung out with Mark was on Friday nights and very briefly on Sunday mornings. I was still spending a lot of time with Timothy since he lived next door. I also began spending weekends of at Jer's house too. But then, in late July, I heard Mark's mom, Carla, make a comment about inviting me somewhere. Shortly after, Mark invited me to a sleepover for his birthday. It was an immediate yes from me. 

I was expecting a standard sized birthday party crowd, but it turned out that the only people invited/and could make it were me and another young person from the church named Stephen H.(pronounced Steh-fen). Stephen was also one of the many kids I had met through the YP meetings, but I didn't know him as well yet. That all would change during the weekend. 

The Greenwoods had a very nice house with a small woods and creek that ran through their back yard. The sleepover was going to take place in the woods. We started off the early evening with a little campfire and $5 Domino's pizza, a pizza for each of the three of us. Mark loved Domino's and I didn't blame him as their pizza was delicious. After we finished the pizza, Stephen went looking for something. He came back holding a very flat rock about the size of a small appetizer plate. He promptly threw it in the fire. Mark didn't say a word and my pyro knowledge was in its infant stages, so I was oblivious as to what was about to happen. We continued talking and I had completely forgotten about the ordeal. We started discussing different interests and possibly video games when BANG! The fire flared up and I nearly fell out of my chair. The sound was so loud it echoed through the woods and all the way up to the house. Mark's dad, Sid, who was relaxing on the back deck shouted "WHAT WAS THAT?!?" Stephen happily calls out "a rock!" "What did you do that for?!" Sid shouted back. "Because it was cool!" came Stephen's reply. His dad just shook his head gave a little chuckle and said not to do it again. 

In that moment I learned a few things. Superheating a rock can make it explode. Fire is incredibly fascinating. And that Sid was a down-to-earth guy. In a few more hours, the sun would set, and the real fun began. With the sun gone and darkness taking over, the glow of the fire was our light. We wandered the woods hunting for toads, bugs, and any other small thing that that made noise in our vicinity. If any winged bug tried to enter camp, it met its fate with the flames. While our shenanigans were a bit nutty, we kept the fire fed, but contained. 

Somewhere between 3-4am, we decided to give in to our body's cries for sleep. I was about to experience something I never had before. There was no tent. Simply a tarp on the ground, three sleeping bags, and three pillows. This was purposely planned. Looking back I realized it was a miracle we didn't get eaten alive by bugs, nor awoken by the night rodents, and the weather was calm and clear all night. We slept well under the stars that night. It was a little out of my comfort zone, but the experience reminded me of the stories from the Wild West. Cowboys would sleep in the out in the open, with nothing but the stars above. In the right climate and the right setting, it is magical.

That experience created a bigger bond between Mark and I. I began to spend more weekends over at his house. One very memorable one that comes to mind occurred on a chilly Autumn Saturday. I had spent the night and we were up really late playing video games. We didn't leave the comfort of the covers until the morning had long left our presence. We sauntered down the stairs to grab something to sate our hunger and once we had found it, we promptly went back up the stairs where we stayed the majority of the day. Those hours were wasted away on a trifecta of things that made a teenage boy feel like he was on cloud nine. We kicked thing's off by playing a brand new PC game Mark had gotten for his birthday. Sid Meir's Pirates! In my love for history, I always had an interest in the pirate realm. Now to play a game where I commanded a pirate ship and battled the likes of Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, and even Blackbeard himself allowed hours of fun to cruise right on by. When we had enough of the games, we went to a popular website that existed long before Youtube really came on the scene; it was known as Moronland.net. The website was known for a vast collection of humorous videos. From cats being doofuses, to comedic animated skits, to the best moments that appeared on late night shows, my sides hurt by the time we had had enough. The icing on the cake was that Mark had a sizeable portion of Halloween candy left. I don't know how he kept up with me having eaten so much in the month prior, but we finished what was left in that humongous bag.

Sometimes we found chaos and other times, chaos found us. I had this habit of keeping all my graded school work in tact until the end of the year. Normally I would tear it or toss it at Summer's first light to signify the freedom that came with it. But this time, I had a different plan. As spoken of previously, Mark's family had a fire pit. I love fire. Nothing would've pleased me more then watching the sour grades go up in flames. I talked to Mark and put my plan into motion. We set the weekend and when it came time, I had loaded a garbage bag with every scrap of graded work I had kept from the school year. Sid had known what our plan was and approved, but told us to wait until he and Carla returned later that evening. Mark's grandmother, Marilyn, came over to make sure we didn't wreak havoc on the house. 

Everything was running smoothly, that is until the Cheez-It incident. We had been snacking on a whole box when we heard Mark's parents come home. He leapt off the couch and started to run up the stairs. "Wait!" I shouted. "Take this with you!" I launched the box in a spiral motion. Mark's reaction was to pancake catch it. He made a great catch, but unfortunately, he caught the box upside-down and the force of his hands smacking the sides caused the top to fly open and release its contents all over the floor. We both stood there in shocked silence. Then I started laughing. Replaying the image of the exploding box over and over in my mind, I was all in fits. Once I recovered, we quickly cleaned up the mess. We then ran upstairs to find Mark's parents to get the approval to begin that night's festivities.

My heart stopped a little when Carla mentioned about getting ready for bed. "But...but we were going to burn stuff," I pleaded. Sid saw that look and knew he had promised us we could. He gave us the okay and we bolted down to the fire pit. I had my trash bag and he had his. "What are we going to start this with," I asked motioning to the pile of logs. "There's some old gas in the garage," Mark said. "I'll be back." Before I could protest, he was up the hill and back again with that all to familiar red container. "Are you sure we can use this?" I inquired. "We use this all the time for burning so it's fine," came Mark's reply. I thought we were going to use a little on some of the logs, but I watched as Mark removed the cap and then proceeded to douse the entire pile until it was soaked in gasoline. Once he had finished, the pyro in me began to awake. I grabbed the lighter, lit a single graded paper and prepared to toss it. "Careful," Mark said. "That pile's going to explode." "I got this," I said confidently. I stood about four feet away and tossed the paper. It landed on the log, but the wind had quenched the flame before it hit. I went to flip it, but Mark saw the embers on the paper. "Get a stick and flip it," he cautioned. I heeded his words and did so. The embers hit the soaked logs and the pile burst into flames. We rejoiced as the fun was about to begin.

I went into maniac mode and laughed evil laughs as I happily threw papers, tests, homework, and anything else that had caused me grief that school year into the hungry flames. I whipped them in with gusto. I made paper airplanes and launched them in. I made them kiss the flames and burn slow deaths. I couldn't think of a better way to welcome in the summer.

It wasn't long before we had burned through the majority of our stash. The fire was dying down and the flames nearly gone. My pyro side had been satisfied. But then, Mark made an unsuspecting move. He picked up that red gas can and made his way towards the embers. "What are you doing?!" I exclaimed. We have nothing left to burn." "I want to finish off the gas." I was cool with that, but wasn't prepared for what was about to happen. Mark, who had been so cautious before, threw all that out the window. He walked straight up to the edge of the pit and began to pour. The moment the fossil fuel hit the pit, the flames awoke like a demon released from hell. Mark somehow reacted quickly enough to keep his eyebrows, but he stumbled backward through the woods, dripping gas and causing mini flames to follow. I quickly ran over and began stomping ferociously trying to prevent those infamous forest fires that show up on the news every year. Mark came to his senses and helped me avert disaster. We put out all the fire spawns and surveyed the area. No major damage and the fuel in the pit was all burned up. We got very lucky. Chalk one up to surviving stupid. 

After our near disaster, Mark surprised me again. I thought for sure that he'd keep our little incident under wraps. But instead, he told his dad what happened. I wasn't in the same room when he did, but he told me he had. Once again, there was no scolding, no telling us what we did wrong, but instead a knowledge that a lesson about gas and fire had been learned. And a word of caution when handling such things. 

It was long after all these memorable moments that I mentioned to Jeremiah all the shenanigans Mark and I were getting into. He mentioned that his mom had said it would be a good idea to connect with him. And that's exactly what he did. Pretty soon the three of us started hanging out together. And just like that, the Trio was born. The shenanigans we were going to cause and the memories we were going to make would be of epic proportions. This would become more than just a friendship. This was a brotherhood. 

The Story of My Life: Life Lessons Don't Always Come Easy

After a couple of years throwing some vicious haymakers, 2004 was about to bring about many key life lessons that would define my teenage years and have lasting impacts throughout my life. I never placed 2004 in my "favorite years" list, but as I write this and reflect upon how my life turned out that year, I realize I undervalued that year for far too long. 

I went into 2004 excited as 2003 was finally put to bed. I was almost halfway through my first year in Cleveland which in my mind meant being that much closer to returning to Pennsylvania. In terms of how school was going, I was flying high. My one on one attention from homeschool and being put into the 7th grade instead of the 8th, was allowing me to get straight A's in my sleep. I was also earning moniker's like Smarty Pants, Nerd, and Teacher's Pet. I would normally get offended, but all of those nicknames were true. Especially Teacher's Pet. My worst fear was getting in trouble. The best way to combat that was to literally be a teacher's pet, at least that's what I thought. Also it was a good way to combat bullies as being on the teacher's good side would likely always have them choose my side over the bully. Which in turn earned me the nickname Snitch. As annoying as these names were, I tried for the most part not to let them get to me. Retaliation would mean enemies and that's one thing I didn't wasn't prepared to create.

Despite of all that, I managed to make connections including one with one of the newer kids who transferred halfway through the school year. His name was Zack, which is ironic because as you all know, I had a friend back in PA named Zach. To become friends was written in the stars. Zack would become a good friend of mine as we both shared a love for video games and professional sports. One day, during lunch, Zack mentioned a free online video game where you could create a character, level them up, roam through a massive world, complete quests, and battle creatures. And the kicker was you could play with thousands of other people online in real time. The game was called Runescape. 

Up until this point, online gaming with other people wasn't as big as it is now. The only experience I had in that department was when I would sleep over at Jeremiah's house and me, him, and his older brother Dan would stay up until 4AM playing Counter Strike. A game in which six random people would play six other random people in as terrorists vs counter-terrorists. The goal was to eliminate all the other team or set off/diffuse a bomb. A game my parents would've never approved of if they knew I was playing it. But you won't tell right? The games were over in the blink of an eye so the actual interaction you had with the other players was over really quick. Runescape, however, was different. It would become a staple in my life, but also teach me a life lesson I was not ready for.

After Zack told me about Runescape and the website to go to, I didn't hesitate to create an account. At the time, the game ran in the browser on a flash player so I didn't have to download anything which was amazing because trying to download anything on dial-up internet was like waiting for a sloth to cross the road. Once my account was created, I had to give my character a screen name (like AIM). I was still heavily into sword fighting and days of old. And Tom Cruise's movie, The Last Samurai, had just come out and I thought that would be a cool name. So I called my character thelastsamurai13. Why I had an obsession with the number 13, I do not know. But all I knew was thelastsamurai13 was ready to take on the Runescape world. 

Within a few days of joining and getting familiar with the game world, I discovered that Jeremiah played too. That made the game more appealing because when I logged on, I could find him or Zack playing and we could play together, even though we weren't in the same room or even at times in the same city. We could make our characters meet in the same location in the same world, and play the game while also talking about life. 

As that first week went on, I began interacting with other real life people in the game. There were people willing to trade digital items, help me on a quest, or just make a new friend. That was all going great until I met this one guy trying to help people get free memberships. A membership was a paid version of the game that unlocked an excessive amount of quests, items, skills, and the rest of the world map that you could not get access to on a free account. It was the main way the game developers kept a portion of the game free, because they supplied paying members with all the extra content. So of course, every kid who didn't have money would love a free membership. This guy told me in game chat that there was a special way to do it. My present day self sees this as an obvious red flag. My thirteen year old self who had little understanding about internet safety, had no clue.

The person I was interacting with seemed like he genuinely wanted to help me. He asked me to follow his character and said I needed to pass some tests. The first was I had to kill a level 2 creature to show I was strong enough. I was level 10 at that point so that was no problem. Then we went to one of the biggest and most player populated cities in the game...Varrock. He then said I needed to be able to pay the in game fee of 1 gold piece. I had thousands of those at this point so I gave him one measly digital GP for free. Pleased with my progress, he said there was one last trial. He asked me to follow him. Our characters ended up walking a very long time to a very remote part of the world. I didn't know it then, but his purpose was to eliminate the chance of any other real life players seeing our chat as the chat was open to all players in proximity. Once we got there, he said the last thing he needed was trust. He needed to access my account to upgrade it to a membership account. He asked for my password. Alarm bells should've been blaring. Sirens should've been wailing. The dead should've been waking just to scream at me to run away. But all I could think about was the possibility of being able to have access to all that fun stuff for free. So I typed my password in chat and hit "Enter". He then told me to log out, wait 10 minutes, then log back in and I would have access to a full membership. So I did just that. 

Ten minutes later, I went to log in. I typed in thelastsamurai13 and my password. Access denied. Tried again. Incorrect password. My heart sank. My brain was now only processing what had happened. I had given a complete stranger the only thing that could access my account and I gave it to him on a silver platter. I had officially been scammed. To make matters worse, signing up for the account requires a name, address, and other personal information that could easily lead to identity theft. I was devastated. My character that I had put a week's worth of work into was gone. The levels I worked so hard to obtain...gone. The screenname thelastsamuri13...also gone. I was reckless, stupid, and had made a rookie mistake. 

The next time I saw Jeremiah, I told him what happened and he confirmed I had been scammed. He said people try to do that to newer accounts just to get all the items and other things you earned to give to their main accounts. To say I was frustrated would be an understatement. But there was a silver lining here. I now was aware of scamming and realized it could happen to anyone...even me. This time it was a gaming account that did not have a credit card attached. It could've been much worse. I got lucky, but a life lesson had been learned. I created a new account and called it Ninja2421. I was going to be the one in the shadows and made it a vendetta to go up against any wrongdoing I saw. This will come into play later.

Switching gears to a matter that was out of my control. I had been a relatively healthy kid up to this point. No medications, no allergies, no broken bones, and no ER visits. But in early January on a Monday morning I had gone to school with a bit of an ache. By second period, I was not doing so well and Mrs. Morris thought it best that I go home. My dad came and got me. I went straight to the doctor's office. There they diagnosed me with the flu and prescribed medication. I was a bit scared because I knew what the flu could do to older people and that it wipes anyone out for days. I was told I had to stay out of school at least through Thursday unless my symptoms worsened. My heart sank as I knew how much work I'd have to catch up on and that I'd have to go on medication. I couldn't catch a break.

Monday got worse and by Tuesday I was in so much pain it was hard to sleep. My head hurt, my throat hurt, I didn't feel like eating, everything was a mess. I thought for sure this was going to last for a long time. By Wednesday, things started to get a bit better, but I still felt crummy. My siblings brought home make-up work given to them by my teachers. Having nothing better to do, I tackled what I could and hoped for the best. By Thursday, I woke to my siblings getting ready for school, having slept through the night for the first time in two days. After they all left and the commotion died down, I fell back asleep and did not wake up again until almost 2 in the afternoon. By this point, I was feeling about 85% peachy. When I woke up Friday morning, my temperature was normal and I felt well enough to return to school. I was a bit worried because I didn't finish all the work, Mrs. Morris and Ms. Bentkowski had grace on me and didn't count the assignments I couldn't complete. They were simply nixed from my grade. I thought it was going to take me awhile to catch back up, but it turned out that I was fine because I was still familiar the material from homeschool. What I was able to take away from this was that sometimes in life, some things are out of my control. And rather than worry about the storm, I should focus on the recovery from the aftermath. 

One final life lesson is actually a throwback to December of 2003. The school decided it would be a fun idea to have a door decorating contest for the Christmas season and the winning class would get a pizza party. Looking back it may have been more to brighten up the dull ancient building that was Nathaniel Hawthorne and to get the kids into a bit of school fun. Now there was a bit of a rivalry between the two 7th grades. Mainly because one was full of advanced level kids and the other was full of standard level kids. I was in the standard level because they didn't know if I was ready to be placed in the advanced. There was another girl in my class who should've been in the advanced, but she had refused and wanted to remain with the kids she had gone through most of middle school with. Her name was Oliva. 

The rivalry formed because it was two groups of kid with different statuses. While we all generally got along, whenever competition came up, the heat was on. Backed behind the enthusiasm of Mrs. Morris, we were all in to win the contest. The materials were supplied and we went to work. The door was edged with frame paper and wrapped in colorful wrapping paper. We added gold stars with paper gingerbread men and stuck a picture of each student's face on each one. A wreath of red baubles was hung and a cut-out of the Grinch was slapped on the front. The final touch was golden tassels at the top of the door. We were proud of that work, but weren't sure if it was enough to get us to #1. But Mrs. Morris had a trick up her sleeve. She told us that the day before the judging was to occur, she was going to bring in her secret weapon. A large inflatable Santa Claus. We went nuts. We knew there was no way the other class was going to see that one coming. But we had to keep it a secret for a few days.

The day before the "secret" Santa was to arrive, we all were in Ms. Bentkowski's room for English. I don't remember exactly what happened, but someone or something had rubbed a boy in our class the wrong way. His retaliation was to spill the beans on Santa. We all went simultaneously shouted his name is disbelief. Ms. Bentkowski tried to hide her laughter. I thought we were done. Our secret had been exposed. When things had calmed down, I witnessed something of what made a teacher want to be a teacher. Ms. Bentkowski, without any initiation on our end, said she'd make us a deal. She would not tell her class our secret if we managed to finish class under sound circumstances and everyone completed the assignment. Somehow that proposition worked. 

When we returned to Mrs. Morris's classroom, we gave her the bad news that a certain someone had spilled the beans. She wasn't too pleased. But we explained Ms. Bentkowski's compromise and things cooled down once again. The next morning when we arrived to class, there was the large Santa, greeting us at the door. As the students from the other class came in, their jaws dropped. The term gobsmacked would suffice here. We knew Ms. Bentkowski held up her end of the deal. 

A couple days later, before we went on Christmas break, we heard Mr. Pempin come over the loud speaker to announce the winners of the door contest. We all became quiet. He went on about the heated contest and the great effort everyone put in. Then, after a brief pause, he announced the winners as room 202, Mrs. Morris's class. Anything he said after that was drowned out by our joyous uproar. It was an incredible feeling. I learned two things in that moment. 1) When there's a moment of weakness that can be taken advantage of, compassion is the path least traveled, but is the honorable thing to do. 2) Teachers teach for a reason. And while there may be a few bad apples in the bunch, most care about those they teach, no matter how difficult they sometimes may be. 

There's a lot more I have to say about 2004, but for now I'll leave you with a pretty dashing photo.

The Story of My Life: Tales to Close 2003

I was approaching my first year as a teenager quite rapidly. My preteen years refused to go away without a fight. From my world being flipped upside-down, to the goodbyes, the move, starting a new school, life kept coming like an unleashed locomotive. 2003 still had a handful of stories to write and I'm going to retell them.

It took seven days. Seven days of public school for me to decide I wanted to fake being sick. It was my second Monday I was supposed to attend school and when I woke up that morning, I simply didn't want to go. My dad came in the room and told me it was time to arise. I let out a weak moan. He asked if everything was all right. I mumbled that I wasn't feeling well. He asked if I was sure and I answered yes. That was not the truth. My brother Tim still shared a room with me at this point. My dad turned to him next as he wasn't getting up either. He groaned and said he wasn't feeling well either. For a reason unknown to me, Dad took both of those responses as legitimate and called the school, telling them that Tim and I would not be coming in today. 

I knew for my ruse to fully work, I had to be lethargic all day and that was not a problem. That Monday came and went without much fanfare. I discovered I had a potential get-out-of-jail-free card. But it was a card that still had to be played carefully. I wasn't going to play it two days in a row, so I reluctantly went to school on Tuesday. That's when I found I had made a slight error. Just because I missed a day of school did not mean I got out of schoolwork. I found out that being a lesson behind could be a bit problematic and two days worth of homework was no fun. Some kids handle this well. I did not. I hated the feeling of being behind and having extra work. My goody-two-shoes side had learned a lesson. Don't skip school unless you can handle the consequences. It still surprised me that it took only seven days.

One early evening I was walking through the kitchen. Suddenly, there was knock at the door. I was still in the phase where racing to answer the door or the phone before your siblings was the thing you had to do. I flung the door open and there stood Jim McNaughton. Jim, his wife Cindy, and their three young children (Abby, Channin, and Sean) all lived across the street from us. They were one of the many families we met through the church when we moved out here. Jim was holding something in his hands. I looked down and saw a big colorful box that was labeled Nintendo 64. My eyes grew big. He promptly placed it in my hands. "What's this?" I said rhetorically in an elevated voice. "I don't know." he said with a bit of a smirk. Jim then walked away as quickly as he appeared. 

For a little context, at this point, my parents still did not allow video games in the house, but they were also a little lenient with gifts. I started shouting in excitement. "Look what we got!" Instantly all of my siblings appeared in the kitchen. Once they saw what I had, they went nuts. My dad heard the commotion and entered the scene. "Look what Jim gave us!" I watched his expression carefully to determine whether or not my excitement was in vain. I could tell he wasn't too pleased, but was giving it a lot of thought as his response was very delayed. Then he began to speak. We all became quiet, awaiting the verdict. "There will be strong restrictions..." before he could finish the rest of his sentence, we exploded with joy knowing that those words meant we could keep it. "Fifteen minutes a day per person. That's it." Knowing how much we played video games when at Grandma and Grandpa's, that seemed awfully short. But it meant we finally had a foot in the door that would one day hopefully crack a bit wider. You may be wondering if we broke the 15 minute rule. Of course we did. But we mostly tried not to as it meant day bans that could also turn into bans lasting a week.

Contrary to popular belief, my Dad had video games when he was younger by way of the Atari. So he was no stranger to them. We discovered not long after owning the N64 that he liked to play Mario Kart. This gave us a plan to hatch. We decided to ask Dad to play with us which would almost assuredly go past the 15 minutes of allotted time. He agreed. There was one problem. There were five kids and one adult, but only four controllers. To solve this issue, four people would do a race. The two that finished 3rd and 4th would swap out. The other two would stay in. We'd end up doing 8 to 12 races in the beginning, but would eventually eclipse all 16. There were lots of laughs, playful aggression, some taunting, but overall, lots of general fun. We thought we were beating the system. But I believe Dad truly enjoyed being able to spend all that time with his kids, even if it was through those dastardly video games. I still remember some nights as I headed off to bed where I could hear the Mario kart music and the sound of Yoshi's voice as he drove around the track, controlled by Dad who was finding his inner child once more from years past. Jim may have been simply trying to give away something he no longer desired, but what he really did was gave us pure joy and memories for a lifetime.

We got our first PC in the mid-late 90s. I remember one day it was having issues and my mom called her genius cousin. He walked her step-by-step through the process and suddenly Windows 95 appeared on the screen. I heard my mom shot "Ahh WINDOWS!" She was so excited because she could now electronically type documents and save files. Us kids were excited because we could play games. Word Muncher and Troggle Trouble Math were two of the games that our PC could run somewhat okay. But we never had internet because the PC was too slow and it wasn't affordable to my parents at the time. So all our world wide web surfing came from being at Miss Alice's and at at the library. Enough back story. When we moved out to Cleveland, we had to get up with the times and get internet. My parents decided on Netzero dial-up. If you've heard of netzero, brownie points to you. If you can recall the awful sound dial up made, welcome to the club. Having internet was going to introduce me to many doors to the world. Some good and some bad, but all part of the life experience.

One of the first things I did was download programs I knew I wanted. The first was this chat program (they weren't called apps yet) called AOL Instant Messenger (AIM for short). How it worked is you first created a screen name (a fictional name used as your identity on the internet). Then you logged in and a side-bar would pop up on screen. You added your friends screen names to you chat list and as soon as you messaged them, BAM. A window would pop up on their computer screen with your message. It didn't matter what they or you were doing. You could be watching a video, doing homework, playing a game, and message your friends all at the same time (this was before cell phones and texting were a big thing yet). It was a game changer because I could socially interact with my friends more than the few times a week I saw them. What was my screen name you ask? Being twelve when I created it, I was into knights, sword fighting, jousting, basically that era in history. I called myself...theswordmaster...except that name was already taken. Shocker. The program gave me suggested numbers to add to it and I took the lowest one I saw. The number 13. Thus I became theswordmaster13. 

AIM became a big staple in my life and on nights I didn't feel like surfing the web or playing games, I would spend hours chatting with my buds. While it seems like AIM was my golden ticket in the world, it would also become the channel to some very crazy moments. The one I'm going to share with you now happened at a time most unexpected. I was home by myself and took the opportunity to get in some extra computer time. I had AIM set to auto log-in when I logged into my account on our family PC. The sidebar popped up and no one was really online because it was mid-afternoon. A few minutes after it had logged in, A message from a screen name I had not seen before appeared. Now I being young, dumb, and not really knowing what internet safety was (this will come into play later as well), I responded to the "hello" I received with "who's this?" Another message "Josh Watkins." My first thought was a friend had gotten my screen name from someone else and was playing a prank on me. "No you're not," I replied. "Seriously, who is this?" Another message appeared. "Seriously this is Josh Watkins. I'm from Wellington, OH. I went to the screen name search bar, typed in my name, and it gave me a list of a bunch of screen names associated with the name Josh Watkins. I started messaging them because I thought it would be fun." My mind was blown. We did chat for a bit more, but I can't recall what was said. That moment was brief as we never messaged each other again.

After the mysterious Josh Watkins signed off, I tested the search feature he had mentioned. When I typed in my name, a ton of random screen names appeared that had accounts with the registered name being Josh Watkins. I thought about messaging one, but decided I didn't feel like talking to another stranger. Looking back on that experience years down the road, I realized a few things. As incredible as AIM was, some of it's features were huge security issues. By being able to search for screen names based on someone's real name, it sort of defeated the purpose of a screen name. AOL later removed the feature probably due to security issues. Even though it was cool that you could message your friends, there was nothing really in place to prevent anyone from adding your screen name and messaging you. You could block people, but sometimes a message from a stranger popping up could be a bit off-putting. Lastly, it opened a door to my world where a lack of internet safety existed. I didn't think chatting with a stranger was a bad thing. I also didn't think that sharing some things about my self was a big deal. Thankfully nothing came from those juvenile missteps, but my ignorance would cost me something and teach me a valuable life lesson, But we'll get to that when I get into the year 2004.

November appeared as it always did and I kissed my pre-teen years goodbye. I turned the big 13 and was officially a teenager. I felt like I had matured many years, but the reality was I simply turned a year older. The gift my parents got me that year was a black and green snowboard with plastic, gray straps. I guess my daredevil years of going downhill standing up on a sled were too much for them to bear. That snowboard became the key of a lot of winter fun, insane rides, and even some pretty close calls. This gift would definitely fall in the category of memorable and timeless.

I did also end up having an extended party that year. It was my first sleepover in Ohio. I invited Timothy and Jeremiah, as well as two other fly dudes close to my age named John and Sean. Like many of these new folks I'll introduce throughout this journey, I met them on that first night we moved. Throughout the first few months, I got to know them pretty well too. Enough that I invited them over. I did come to learn that Sean's birthday was two days after mine and the same year. As for the party, we ended up eating a lot of snacks, playing a lot of the N64 (restrictions were off for this special occasion), and I believe we also watched a movie. John couldn't stay over but I was still glad he could come. We stayed up pretty late and didn't get up until close to noon the next day. It wasn't long before they all had to go, but I would see them later that night at the young people's meeting. As this story shows, I was still failing at this whole "trying not to make close friends" thing.

I'll close the book on 2003 with a memory that I hold dear to my heart. Since we moved to Cleveland in August, this was possibly going to be our first Christmas away from my grandparents and the rest of my Dad's side of the family. I wasn't ready for that and I don't think my Dad was either. As Christmas approached, my Dad informed us that we would be going back to Pennsylvania to celebrate the holiday. My heart exploded with joy. This was something I so desperately needed. My mom could not join us for this trip as she had been working at a nursing facility for only a few months and had to work the holiday shift. My Dad somehow managed to get five young children and all of our stuff packed into that old Chevy Lumina and drive 6 hours back to the homeland. You'd think after a long journey that we'd be beat. But pulling into Grandpa and Grandma's driveway like we had done so many times before and seeing the Christmas decorations on the house, we couldn't exit the van fast enough once it came to a halt.

We entered the house and were warmly greeted by Grandpa and Grandma. The smell of baked goods filled the air and the twinkling Christmas lights in the kitchen were playing jingle bells, just as they had done in years past. The tree was in its usual spot at the bottom of the basement stairs, already adorned with ornaments and lights. Presents were also spread under the tree. While we would have to wait until the next day for the festive fun, the atmosphere made it feel like we had never left.

Night turned into day, and then back into night on the eve of Christmas. We all once again assembled in the basement and my grandfather had another roaring fire in the fireplace. I don't fully remember all the gifts that were exchanged that night, because for one of the first times in my life, I was lost in the moment. Taking in the atmosphere. Enjoying the company of my family on my favorite holiday. Realizing it may be one of the last like it was. Maybe my first year as a teenager did dawn some wisdom on me. Because it was in that moment, that I really began to appreciate the moment and the people I was with more so than all the fanfare that came with the holiday. And that's what made that Christmas so special. 

And with that, we have come to the end of 2003. I had survived nearly half a year in the 216 and to my surprise, I was mostly doing fine. But as for the approaching year of 2004, it had a lot in store for me that was going to once again, reshape and define my life. Because as the saying goes, "life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride."

The Story of My Life: Public School Awaits

There was nothing slow about the move. We only had about a week of summer freedom left before I was about to experience something I had never experienced before. Public school. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. No longer would I be able be able to do school work in a time frame that suited me. No longer would I be able to rely on my parent's understanding and tolerance of me to make it through. No longer would I start my summer in early May and end it in late August. Now I would have to get up at an ungodly hour. Now I would have to take a school bus on a strange route full of strange kids. Now I would have to wear a uniform I hated. Now I would have to deal with many children who had grown up together and were strangers to me. Now I would be at the full mercy of teachers who weren't my parents. And I still had anxiety issues which complicated things even more. Life lessons were going to be learned.

That first day was tumultuous. My stomach was in knots from the moment I opened my eyes. I wanted to stay in the warmth embrace of the covers that draped over me. My pillow was suddenly my best friend that I was forced to rudely abandon. I was grumpy. The school had a dress code which for boys was navy blue or black khakis or dress shorts and navy blue, light blue, or white polos or dress shirts. Not only did I have to be up early, but I couldn't wear my favorite shirt with Bugs Bunny in a backwards cap slam-dunking a basketball. Nope. Just itchy, dull, second hand clothes that gave me another early reason to not look forward to public school.

We had to walk a couple blocks up the street to where the bus was to pick us up. My four other siblings, my Dad, and I all stood on the corner of the very busy Warren road and waited for the big yellow bus to come up the nearby brick road. There was no mistaking it when it did as its loud motor was a dead giveaway. I found out that we were the second stop which meant choice seats, but that didn't do a whole lot to change my perspective. The large, yellow can on wheels came to a halt with a loud squeal. The doors hissed as they swung open. I felt like I was entering a transport to a warped dimension that was going to leave me trapped in its chaos. Nope. Just a plain old school bus soon to be filled with noisy children who have way too much energy at this hour of the morning. 

I saw my Dad wave goodbye and I returned a wave half heartedly. The whole ride I focused on memorizing the bus route. I wanted to be absolutely sure I knew where I was at all times in case anything went south. I watched where each kid got on, every turn the bus made, and every street it rolled down. There was standard child commotion on the bus, but I ignored it. Eventually, we arrived at the Nathaniel Hawthorne building.

This place didn't look much like a school at all. From the outside, it had the looks of an old storage/factory building. That's because this building was only a temporary location for Riverside Elementary School. They were in the process of completely rebuilding their previous building from the ground up and needed a place to operate for two years. Lucky me. Other than the grass and some trees out front, the building had a rough, somewhat in need of repair, parking lot. That ugly piece of asphalt was one day going to become hallowed ground, but not today. 

I exited the bus and followed the train of children into the building. The classroom was not my first destination. Surprisingly, the school had enough funding to provide both free breakfast and lunch. Through the food line I went, grabbing whatever I was allowed, including the juice which came in fruit-cup sized containers with foil tops. I was not a fan of the packaging, but juice was juice, so I had to cope. 

The bell rang to let us know we had to get to our first class. I hustled up the stone tile stairs as I did not want to be late for my first class. The doors to the rooms where thick, heavy, storage type doors and they made a loud bang if you closed them to hard. The one I entered was propped open to avoid this problem. Upon entering, I took a seat in the front row because I came in with the intention of getting straight A's and being attentive to everything. The room was laid out like a classroom with blackboards across the walls and decorations with math problems and items used in science. One could tell the teacher did her best to make a gloomy old office/factory room into a classroom. She was there to greet us as we entered and her name was Mrs. Morris.

Decorations and a welcoming atmosphere weren't going to be enough to convince me that she was the real deal. From my days in PA, I had heard a horror story or two from Zach about a teacher or two he had. So I rolled with a side of caution. Mrs. Morris had been at this teaching game for awhile and she was no rookie. She got bonus points in my book for making the first day about fun and not so much about hitting the books. However, there was still a whole year to go. One day wasn't going to win me over.

Now for a quick teacher breakdown. There were approximately two classes per grade. An advanced class and a standard class. I was in the standard class because they weren't sure if I was ready for the advanced having never been in public school before. Mrs. Morris was my home teacher meaning she handled a good chunk of our classes and we spent most of the day in her room. The advanced teacher for the 7th grade was Ms. Bentkowski. Our class saw her twice a day for English and Social Studies. Mrs. Morris covered Math, Science, and Literature. We would then rotate between different universal subjects throughout the week. Art was taught by Mr. Eagleeye. Music by Mrs. Jeric. Gym by Ms. Bodziony. And we had Library time which was led by Mrs. Tilow. These were all the main teachers I ended up having throughout my first year at Riverside. I would come to know many more through my next two years, but more on them later.

One thing that really impressed me right off the bat was how the principal, Mr. Pempin, was involved with the kids. This man made it his personal mission to know every child's name in the entire school. As the year progressed, he blew me away with how many names he knew. The second thing is that he gave up his personal time to be with the kids. Since this was a temporary building, all we had to use during recess was an empty, beat-up, old parking lot. No playground, no equipment, just our imagination and a ball or two if someone remembered to bring it. One or two kids always made sure to bring a football. Most of the 7th and 6th grade boys would partake in two-hand touch football. It consisted of one person snapping the ball and 10-12 kids rushing off down the parking lot yelling "here!" It was good, old fashioned fun, but there'd be a decent amount of arguing at times over who would be the QB. Enter Mr. Pempin. In a dress shirt and tie, he would come out to the lot and play full time QB, throwing the ball for both sides. Everyone loved it because if he saw the big play, he'd take it. He would also make sure to spread the ball around so most kids were able to make a play or two. That was usually not the case with a kid QB. I have plenty of schoolyard football stories that will be revealed later on.

Eventually, the 3 o'clock bell rang signaling it was time to go home. I made my way out of the building, made sure to find my four other siblings, and get on the correctly numbered bus. I once again watched the route carefully, trying to retain it while other loud and energetic children caused chaos on the bus. After what seemed like forever, the bumpy, yellow bus pulled up to Warren road. Dad was there waiting to greet us. The day didn't go as bad as I thought it would, but I still had 179 to go. My nerves did play a small part that day and would continue to do so for awhile, but I survived. Riverside would come to play a big role in my life over the next two years. And man oh man, it created some doozy memories and life experiences. And this is just the beginning.

The Story of My Life: A Chapter Ends, Another Begins

I gazed out the window of that old maroon Chevy Lumina van and watched as that brown shotgun rancher became smaller and smaller. I intently stared at the layout of Abbottstown center as we went through the circle one last time. We passed my grandparent's house, traveled through New Oxford, and eventually reached historic Gettysburg. I absorbed every detail like a sponge, not knowing when I would see the places I loved, the streets I knew, or every little detail that made that part of Pennsylvania home for the past 10 years again. We motored along until we entered onto the Turnpike. I kept staring and watching as those Pidgeon hills rolled on by. I didn't appreciate them as much as I wished I did when I was a younger, but I would soon get hit with the harsh reality on how much I was going to miss them as my daily backdrop.

After a little over four long hours, the Ohio Welcomes You sign appeared and we once again entered the Buckeye State. The land became flat and the hills vanished. We soon entered Cleveland's city limits and shortly after, we were pulling into the driveway of the meeting hall. I was slightly confused as we did not end up at the house across from Impett Park. My parents probably mentioned it before, but it must've gone in one ear and out the other. Apparently, the family that was moving out of that house decided to stay a little longer, so we were moving in blind to the house at the entrance of the meeting hall driveway. Seems like chaos was unleashed from the word "go!"

The other mini surprise was that the night we arrived was also youth meeting night. And for the kids attending, instead of their standard meeting, they had the privalidge of helping us unloaded our U-Haul. It was really nice because with that many hands, that truck was unloaded quick. I remember not helping that much though. Instead, I grabbed my scooter and road it around like a maniac, trying to show off. I think other than Timothy telling me how cool my scooter was, I was mostly ignored. Well, except for Timothy's mom, Connie, who told me to stop racing it towards Warren Road, simply because she didn't want me ending up being a casualty of the heavy traffic.

Post unloading, there was still time for a short youth meeting. My parents and some of the other adults who helped stayed at the house to continue to set things up while Sarah, all the other local kids, and I went into the meeting hall. When everyone was inside, it then dawned on me how many kids there actually were. The number was somewhere north of 30. That was a big deal for me because coming from a small town in PA, it was rare that this many kids were in a local group. 

I was introduced to a lot of people that night, mostly by Timothy, but my name retention was not the greatest. As cool as it was to meet all those kids, I had a flaw that I chose to carry. With the mindset of living in Cleveland for a year with the hope of moving back to PA, I didn't want to build strong friendships for the fear of leaving them behind. and not seeing them again. I was already feeling the effects of that with my PA friendships, but I would come to learn not to long down the road that my efforts were stupid and would be futile.

The meeting eventually adjourned and even though the sun had long ago set, the kids returned to the cool August air for some more rambunctiousness while waiting for parents to arrive. When the last of us began to leave, I found out I wouldn't be sleeping in my new dwelling that night. Because we moved in late to a house we hadn't seen prior, nothing was set up. The Miller's once again graciously offered their abode for us to stay in. That was probably the most exciting thing for me as I would be staying in Timothy's house yet again. 

What was potentially one night turned into three as that's how long it took for the house to be livable for a family of seven. During that time I was already failing at my efforts to resist strong friendship. Timothy was more than happy to let me see some of world. He took me on a more in depth tour of the entire meeting hall property. Some of the highlights included a massive Dogwood tree right in front of the house we had just moved into. Beautiful pink blossoms in the spring and plenty of leafy green shade for the summer. Some of the branches had the names of the youth carved into them. We climbed that tree and hid among it's shade. While the Dogwood was grand, there was a smaller, yet meaningful tree way in the back of the property. A small Crab-apple tree. A little tree it may have been, but it was one of Timothy's favorite places to be. It was fun to climb and one could gorge themselves on the fruit it produced. That tree soon became a staple in my life. He also showed me some more of the cool spots in the meeting hall, but one location took the cake, even though we weren't technically supposed to access it. That location was the roof. There was no ladder nor opening that led up to it. One had to climb on smaller objects and scale walls and beams like a monkey to get up there. And the building was tall enough that when up there, you felt on top of the world. That roof would become a staple in my life, provide some interesting moments, and be a place of reprieve. More on that later.

At this point in the year, there were only 4 months left in 2003. Yet in those four months, I was going to go through many more life changes and experiences. Many of them will have get their own chapters because of their importance in my journey. I also have many more people to introduce you to, but I'm going to end this brief chapter with one introduction in particular. It occurred during Labor Day weekend of 2003. Like the church conference we attended every year in Virginia, they held one at the meeting hall in Cleveland as well. In order to accommodate the number of people that came and their children, the church would rent out a building off site where the kids would spend the day while the parents were in meetings. This year's location was a few miles away in a local high school known as Lakewood High School. It was a massive building with a huge gym at our disposal. I did not know it then, but this majestic building with the giant Johnny Appleseed figure mounted on the front would later play a key part in my life. 

During the day, us kids would do a bunch of activities which ranged from athletics to crafts and everything in between. There were snack breaks at well and it was during one of these times that I would meet a fellow who would eventually become one of my best friends. The snack was laid out on a table and we all lined up beside it. We were handed our snacks and then had to find a table to sit at. I found Timothy at a table and naturally gravitated towards him. He was talking a laughing with someone else. Timothy paused his conversation and introduced me to his good friend Jeremiah. Jeremiah was still laughing and he caught his breath long enough to say hi. Then he promptly did something I thought strange. He opened his package of M&M's and instead of eating them, he immediately began to color-code them. Then one by one, he popped them in his mouth in order of the rainbow. I gave Timothy a strange look and then both of them burst into laughter again. Even though Jeremiah's strangeness was exuberant, it didn't put me off, but rather peaked my curiosity as someone I'd like to know better. And boy would I.

The next few chapters will introduce you to a swath of characters that flood into my life as well as some more big life changes, events, and a close out of 2003. From this life change to the point my age reflected the number 13, it seemed like someone put a brick on the pedal and left the car in drive. Buckle up because it's going to be a bumpy, curvy, and crazy ride.

The Story of My Life: Ohio Visit & Moving Day

There was one specific moment of 2003 that happened during the farewell tour. We took a multi-day trip to Ohio to see where we would be living and to meet the people there. This small excursion had such an impact on me and would set the tone for the first major move I was about to experience.

On August 9th, 2003, we all piled into the car and made the 6 hour drive to Cleveland, OH. When we arrived it was pretty late and the sky was black. As we dragged our tired selves to this strange house, I was expecting the family that lived there to greet us. But instead, all that could be found was a note on the door. My parents were well aware that the note be there when we arrived, but this was not knowledge to me. Based on the instructions of the note, we were able to get inside. My first thought was, how crazy must they be to not only leave their house unlocked but to let 7 strangers enter their home and fall asleep before they arrive?? I personally would've lost my mind if my parents did that fearing that random children may be terrorizing my room, getting into all my Legos, or simply invading my sacred space. Eventually my tiredness overwhelmed me and I drifted off to the land of dreams.

I awoke the next morning to a lively house. Most of the host family was awake and breakfast was being prepared. I wanted to sleep a little longer, but with all the commotion, that wasn't going to happen. It was time to meet our hosts, the Miller family. The first ones I met were the parents, Tim and Connie as they were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Their youngest, Timothy was also there as he was eager to meet us. Their oldest son, Mark, eventually traversed the stairs and made an appearance. Not long after that, he was tasked by his mom with telling his sister, Hannah, that it was time to wake up. Little did I know it then, but those five people were about to become a crucial part of my life.

The few days we were there blur together in my mind, but I do remember bits and pieces. I remember all three days being sunny. I remember touring Impett Park which was right across the street from where we were supposed to move and being stoked there was a public pool that close. I remember Timothy being excited to show me around the meeting hall, all the secret spots, and the crab-apple tree that was fun for climbing and eating from. 

One of the days was spent touring the house we were going to move into. From the outside, it didn't look that big, but it was big enough to hold a family of 7. I don't remember much how it looked because I was more focused on the big TV in the basement where a young man was playing video games. That young man's name was Jason. And he was the cousin of Grace and Isaac who we knew back in Pennsylvania. Him and his mom were going to move back overseas which is why the house would be available. What I really liked was that it was right across the street from Impett Park with the pool.

Now being 12 years old, I still had mischievous ways of my own. A few weeks prior to the visit, my friend Jordan had given me his only Gameboy, unbeknownst to my parents. It wasn't that we weren't allowed to play video games, but my parent's didn't want us owning any because they didn't want our lives to be consumed by them. I made the daring move of sneaking it out to Ohio. It really didn't get used during the day, but instead, when I was in bed each night, I spent about an hour playing it. It was hidden under my pillow and yes I left it there overnight because the pillow was so soft and padded that I couldn't feel it underneath. Each morning, I would then stuff it deep in my bag so it a slim chance of being discovered.

My craftiness was on par. My stealth was unmatched. I felt like a ninja. But I slipped. I made a crucial mistake. On the very last night, I played the Gameboy as I normally did, then instead of putting it into my bag so it was ready to go when we left, my brain was on autopilot and I put it under the pillow. The next morning I was so excited to be going back to PA, that I lapsed and left it under the pillow. It wasn't until later in the day when we were getting ready to leave that I remembered I had left it there. I ran all the way up to the third floor to find a bed with new sheets, no pillow, and the Gameboy was gone. My brother Tim told me Dad and Mom had found it. I thought I was a dead pigeon. Instead of waiting for them to confront me, I went to them. With a bit of fear, but a plan in mind, I asked them where it was. Dad had it and asked me where I got it from and why did I have it? Instead of saying it was given to me, I told him that I had borrowed it from Jordan for the long car trip. I was expecting him to scold me and hang onto it, but surprisingly, he did neither. He gave it back and said something along the lines of getting in back to him when we got home. I felt like I had dodged a bullet. While I was not proud of that moment, I did not take for granted one of the few times I felt like I had been given a free pass I did not deserve.

That handful of days blew by and before I knew it, we were ready to head back to PA for the last time as residents of the Keystone State. Meeting the Millers had eased my fears a bit more knowing we were going to be around some great people. Right before we hit the road, Timothy, in his goodbye, mentioned the Friday night young people's meeting they have every week and said it would be cool if we could be there. My dad told him being 6 hours away was a bit of a trek, but when we moved there, we'd be sure to check it out. We said our goodbyes and off we went.

On August 14th, 2003, shortly after we returned home, disaster struck the Northeastern US and parts of Canada. The Northeast Blackout. In short, a bug in an alarm system and a plant failure that began in Ohio triggered a chain reaction that wiped out power across 7 states and parts of Canada. It affected 55 million people and lasted anywhere from 2 hours to 4 days depending on where one was located. To make matters worse, there was a heat wave that August that made things scorching hot without A/C. The silver lining to all this was that where my family lived was in an unaffected area. We had power for the entire duration of the blackout. I was grateful it didn't happen while we were in Cleveland and that it didn't affect us, but it didn't do my anxiety any good as my mind put another negative mark on Cleveland for potential power disasters. It would be something the folks of northeast Ohio would talk about for a long time.

Before I get into moving day, I need to make mention of one more significant event that happened in 2003. After five long years, Elise and her family moved back from Germany to Pennsylvania. We both had definitely changed, but it was a good to have them back. But now it was our turn to depart.

The week leading up to moving day was essentially moving week. When one has a big family and lived in one place for almost 10 years, said large family accumulates a lot of stuff. Now we weren't pack rats by any means, aside from Sarah who kept every little doodle, bead, and scrap of paper under the sun, but it was easier to store stuff in the attic than find away to get rid of it. I remember the process being this whole ordeal. My parents were pulling items out of the attic I never knew existed. The task was an all hands on deck affair.

Many hands came and helped. Stuff my parent's considered no longer worth anything was put into black trash bags and set out on the curb. There were so many that you couldn't see any grass or plant life where they laid. Then, my parents called in the calvary. Al drove over in his Jeep Wagoneer with his two wheel trailer in tow. That trailer was loaded up for two reasons. The first was to take items we did not need to bring with us, but still wanted to keep back to his house to store for us. The second was to haul larger items off to the dump. We also loaded up our early 90s Chevrolet Lumina mini van multiple times with possessions in order to transport them all to Al and Sue's in a timely manner.

It wasn't long before that week came to an end. The house that had been full of Watkins's and their stuff was now empty. It was weird seeing it like that because the very first time I saw it for myself, everything was moved in and it was furnished. It had a slight, eerie, feeling to it. We weren't going to be able to take all three cars vehicles with us as there were only two people who could legally drive and one had to drive the U-haul. So we drove the behemoth Dodge van over to my grandparent's house and parked it there. The 83' Ford Tempo was tow-hitched onto the back of the U-haul and filled with stuff that wouldn't fit in the truck. The Lumina would be the only vehicle of the three that would have a driver for the whole journey. With all our goodbyes said and our entire life loaded up, it was time to say goodbye to Abbottstown, PA one last time.

While I recall the memories of that week, all the organized chaos, the moving parts and pieces, the only thing really on my mind then was that this chapter of my life was coming to a close. Even though I was well aware my parents were renting that brown shotgun ranch house all those years, I was ignorant to the fact that this was far from longevity as possible. This house was the first house I had lived in longer than two years. And for a kid that went from nearly four years old to 12 years old in one place, that was an eternity...until it wasn't. Life is a funny thing for a kid to navigate, but in doing so, it teaches how to grow, learn, and live. Sometimes it'll throw haymakers when least expected. It's not how they knock you down that matters. It's how you get back up.