It was a dark and stormy night. There was a blinding swirl all around me and the winds seemed to be picking up at an alarming rate. The weather forecast was calling for everyone to be on the lookout for possible tornados. I can remember everything being so very dark at first. I seemed to be lost in some sort of whirlpool that kept pulling and pulling until I could no longer breathe. Then came a humongous slap! I could only cry helplessly as I was being tossed in all different directions. Then all of a sudden I was warm. I stopped crying and looked up. Isaw the largest woman on the face of the planet... my mother! Thus my life had begun, and that's the story of my birth.

I'm really only kidding. As far as I know, I had a normal childbirth. I think it's the only part of my life that was normal... At least until I met my lovely wife! To this day, I still don't really know where I was born. I believe it was Fort Worth, Texas, but where in Fort Worth, I haven't a clue. The only reason "where" matters is bacause my Grandfather told me once that I was born "inside that house" as he pointed to an empty field. I couldn't figure out if he was really seeing something, or if he was just plain delusional. I was in a stolen Mercedes-Benz at the time, taking my "Grandfather" and "Step-Grandmother" to get their Social Security checks. He was supposed to be my grandfather, but, like everything else about my life, I couldn't really tell you if he was or if he wasn't. I was 17 when I met him for the first time. I'm not sure how I actually found him, but I believe it was through the phone book. I was looking for the man that was listed on my birth certificate as my father. When I finally arrived at his home, he acted as if no one had pulled up. His house was ragged looking and he looked as if he could be my father, but there was no way to tell. He sure was quiet for some reason though. I don't think the man said 10 words to me the whole time. Needless to say, it wasn't the father son reunion that I'd expected.

Before my 10th birthday, my mother was full of hope and inspiration for life. She'd always promise me that one day we'd have a real home and I'd have a father who cared about me no matter what. A father that would never leave us alone. Boy, was she ever wrong. None of those things ever happened, and I suppose it's a good thing. The men my mother deemed as appropriate father figures were often mentally bankrupt.

Mom had several physical problems other than just her weight. She often complained about chest pains, which I assumed were caused from being so top heavy, and she constantly complained about other physical ailments that are too numerous to mention. Mom was a registered nurse, and she knew her way around a hospital. She was also well aware that the best hospitals to go to for medication were the small town hospitals where the only nurse on duty at 2 AM would also be the secretary, and a doctor was always at least an hour away on call. By the time the doctor had finally arrived, mom had already stolen the medication that she wanted, and the only real thing the doctor did was give her an extra dose. She seemed to have a way with the doctors. She was really the one to tell them what she wanted, and she seldom failed to get her way.

Usually when it was time to go to the hospital, mom would circle around for better than a half hour and she'd ask me, "Are you sure we haven't been here before?" My memory was so keen as a child, mom wouldn't go near a hospital if I thought we'd been there before. Usually this was to my advantage if I were too sleepy to get up and go in. I'd simply say "I even remember what the doctor looks like, and that crazy woman behind the desk!" We'd go to another hospital and I'd get a little extra sleep. Hey, it worked!

She was brave when it came to her body. At least that's what it seemed. She was numb when it came to getting shots too. She was the queen of shots. I still wonder if she wasn't some sort of voodoo doll for doctors and nurses, or maybe she even enjoyed getting shots. God only knows.

We were staying in a women's shelter once, and while everyone was sleeping, mom went to the bottom of the stairs, pretended like she fell, and I watched in horror as she cut her stomach open with a razor blade. She cut a gash about 4 inches along one of her many incisions, but it didn't really bleed. It was almost hollow inside. She had had three by-pass for weight loss surgeries, and she looked as if you could bend her over backwards and she'd pop in half. She was literally cut from her left side to her right, and when you're almost 400 pounds of human flesh, that's one huge scar! Mom had three of them! I'm not sure what happened that night she cut herself open, but I do know it wouldn't be the last time I watched as my mother opened herself up with a razor blade.

The one thing that always amazed me about my mother was her ability to attract men. As a child, I honestly believed that my mother was the largest woman on the face of the planet. I remember her as a sobering 397 Lbs. for the majority of my childhood until the time of her departure from this earth in 1982. She was closer to 135 Lbs. when she passed away. She was also a registered nurse, a drug addict and one of the best con-artists I'd ever met in my life. So, how my mother managed to attract men was always beside me. It was always no big deal to her. If she didn't like the man she was married to, she'd pack our things and we'd leave, and go through the same process all over again.

I may have had the wrong idea about what a normal family life was supposed to be like in the 1970 era, but I don't think I was too far off. I mean, I should have had a father, a mother and a nice home to live in where I'd attend the neighborhood school. Right? We should have watched TV together, played games or, even gone to the movies once in awhile. Church should have been every Sunday morning and we should have slept in late on Saturday only to wake with dear old dad making pancakes! Well, if family is a blessing, then maybe we can say that God was really, really trying to bless me as a child. After all, my mother was married 12 times in 8 different states. So I suppose the father part was taken care of! I don't know if I could even begin to tell you about all the step-fathers I had. Truth be told, I only remember a few of them. As for the home where I lived while attending school... by the time I was 12, I'd lived in 32 foster homes, 12 group homes, Father Flanagans Boys Town in Omaha, Nebraska, and at least 4 Juvenile Detention Centers!

I remember mom being married to Wayne, who was in the United States Army. Fred, who was in the United States Air Force. Melvin, who delivered the United States Mail, and then there was Bill, whom my sisters tell me is my biological father, but refuses to admit it (He's the biological father to both of my sisters). There was a crippled man in Texas and another crippled man in yet another state. I remember one in Irving, Texas and another in Georgia and yet one more in California. These are only the gentlemen I remember. Since my mother was married so many times, we were always moving from one place to the next, so truth be told, I really only remember the bad times with each of her husbands. It was usually bad because the first few days are what psychologists would consider the transition phase, and that's usually about how long moms relationships would last.

She was born in Yuma, Arizona in 1945. An only child, she was adopted by my Granny at 6 months of age. My Uncle Mitchell was only a few days old when he was adopted by my Granny as well. How and why my Granny ever went to Arizona to adopt 2 children, I'll probably never know, but she did. Some of the records I have indicate that my Granny got married in one month and in less than 3 weeks, she was adopting my mother and my Uncle. My Granny lived in Muldrow, Oklahoma, and that's why it always seemed so odd to me that she went to Arizona to adopt 2 children form 2 separate families. I suppose when you're looking for newborn babies to adopt, it's not unheard of to travel across the country to retrieve them. As I explain more about my Granny later on, you'll probably start to wonder some things yourself. I know I still wonder about some things!

My mother was a smart student in school, but her weight seemed to control her emotional well-being. She obviously went to college so she could become a registered nurse, but to date, I have no idea where. I guess I've never really thought about it, but as good a con-artist as she was, she could have easily forged her credentials as a registered nurse. I'd watched as my mother forged some of our governments most sacred documents, including birth certificates, social security records, school records and a handful of others.

Mom worked for a credit union once, and I was really proud of her. Hey, with my mother, any job she had made me proud of her! Only this time, she was accused of stealing a bunch of money! I remember it being one of the few times that we were actually living with my Granny in Muldrow. I must have been inside when I heard the commotion, ran outside and saw a couple of guys in suits putting mom in the back of their car. Trust me when I say that it wasn't because I thought she was going to jail that I started crying and throwing a fit... it was because I knew I was going to have to stay with the Wicked Witch of the West and her pussy cat, A.K.A. Pam, my sister! As usual, I don't know how mom got herself out of jail, but she did. It wouldn't be the last time she went to jail, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time she got herself out either! As I said before, she was one of the best con-artists I'd ever known.

My childhood was spent in emergency rooms, waiting on my mother to get her fix so we could move on to the next town. The emergency room waiting area is where most of my time was spent, but mom had an ulterior motive for me when no one was looking. She'd have me go through the patient rooms looking for wallets, purses and any other items of vale that could be found. She'd often call the secretary (the nurse) into the emergency room where she was waiting on the doctor and have me take evrything from the typewriter to the unused pencils in the desk. Sometimes I'd get lucky and even find the nurses purse. Mom was my encouragement while this was happening. She'd often give me simple rewards for getting lucky. Rewards were things like candy out of the vending machines, cherry coke at Big Boy restaurants, etc. If I ever got caught while performing my duties, she'd not only let me "have it" when we got into the car, but she'd act as if I were some sort of demon possed child whom needed  major psycological treatment for my behavior. This was her way of "getting us out of trouble." She'd always apologize to me once we were well out of sight.

When we visited the bigger hospitals, mom wanted me to go throught the cars in the parking lot. This was something that stayed with me even when she passed away. It was interesting to see what you could find in people's cars. There was always the change in the ash tray or under the seats, and mom always had me take spare tires if I could life them. This was traded for gasoline at a local filling station. It would always help us get to the next hospital of the next church. To mom, I was a good boy. To the rest of the world, I was a good thief!

Churches were also a big part of our lives. It was always the same thing. Mom would visit a local church and see just how much money she could talk them out of. She'd give them a sob story about how I needed to be fed, or how she needed a life saving surgery. She'd use so many medical terms they wouldn't know what to think. Usually she'd get $50 - $100 dollars and we left. The church was my favorite place to go. Being in the presence of a pastor and his family, as much as it hurt, would often give me a sense of safety, warmth and family. It was a nice feeling, but the hurtful part was having to leave. The pastor could usually sense that something was wrong, but never would I say anything in front of my mother. For that matter, I don't even think I'd say anything behind her back. There was always this fear that she'd know what was happening. I didn't say much as a child, which is probably why I can't quit talking now! I could stay on the phone for hours at a time now! Just ask my wife!

When mom would talk to the pastor of a church, there was always one thing that honestly astounded me. My mother knew the bible. She could talk to a pastor about the bible and have him perplexed by her knowledge. But she still continued to live a sinful life. It just goes to show that someone can know the bible inside and out and still not know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. My mother was a living witness to this.

By the time I was 12 years old, I had been baptized Baptist, which I grew up as in Oklahoma, baptized Mormon in Salt Lake City Utah, taken Communion with the Catholics in Father Flanagans Boys Town in Omaha, Nebraska, been confused with the Jehovah's Witnesses and I'd attended more religious ceremonies with more groups that I'll ever remember! Religion was a huge part of my childhood, but not in the way most children are accustomed to. My mother used religion in any way she could in order to profit. This is another thing I wouldn't change about my life. Being around decent people gave me a sense of what life was supposed to be like. It took me 25 years to learn, but it did finally sink into my thick skull. Believe me when I say it's thick!

Mom used to have tons of little note pads on which she would literally write down hundreds and hundreds of questions. I'm not sure if the questions were intended as a reminder to her on which questions she had already asked a specific pastor, or if they were sincere questions she desperately seeked the answers to. In Salt Lake City, Utah, mom took out her little note pad and started in on one of the families we were living with at the time. We were staying with a host home from the Mormon church. She sat down at the kitchen table and started asking about the meaning of life. What seemed like an eternity to a child later, and by the time she was finished with them, not only was their faith somewhat diminshed , but we were no longer welcome in their home. When you get someone to question why they believe a certain way, you'll do one of two things. Either you'll convert them to your beliefs, or you'll make them weaker within their own religion. This is one of the reasons why we need to put God's Word in our hearts daily. Mom was one of those people who was able to make you question your very existance. It takes faith to believe in God, and we can't allow someone to come into our lives and destroy that faith for anything in the world. If my mother was out there trying to do this, then there are others doing the very same thing. It's like the old saying goes... When one dictator falls, another, much stronger dictator, will arise. Please learn from what my mother did.