My Life | Just a Thought or Three...

Chapter X – The Politics, The Wars, My Mind Smashes into Reality

Posted by Adron in My Life on July 3, 2010

13. 13 Years old was when I went brashly, unknowingly, slamming into reality. Yeah, it was what happens to everyone then, every kid all of a sudden hits the teens and BAM, everything changes. Well my years definitely did that, and as with most kids, I had my unique experiences of it. For the most part my teen years were great, and in many ways they sucked. The worse thing that came smashing into me when I was a teenager was politics. Most kids suffer the angst of sex, drugs, alcohol, or some other average twist of fate, mine was politics.

Reality

At the age of 13, waning from the interest in GI Joe’s I found a new love. That love was bicycling, specifically vert riding. Bicycling gave me the freedom of movement, of going to see my friends, of removing myself from the grasp of those in charge. I could go and do whatever the hell I wanted to. This freedom was enrapturing, greater than any feeling I had known up until then. I could go to school, I could skip school, I could get away from people or go find people, I could go to the store, I could live because I had a bicycle.

During this time I also met who would become one of my best friends. Michael Gronmeyer, or simply Mike. Mike was a calm and cool, yet weird kid. I wasn’t too sure about this guy, but one day when I stated I was bored, my mother drove me over there since she had to meet his mother for some reason. She said I could, "go play with Mike". I thought, "that Mike kid is kind of weird". Upon actually hanging out at his house though I realized he was a rather cool dude, and thus a friendship born of common interest and a whole lot of Mississippi mischievousness was created.

Mike and I would ride together everywhere. At first we started out with some crappy bikes. We understood, to get better gear we’d have to earn it through chores or whatever, and we busted butt doing so. We would ride from sun up and often until long after the sun had left the sky. We didn’t have the safety mess of today’s kids, no helmets, no reflectors because they got in the way. We rode straight, hard, and close to the street. We lived on edge and loved it.
Mind you, our parents just didn’t whimsically let us do this, we tried to let em’ know what we were up to. The problem is, often as a kid you just can’t let them because you don’t know. This is were some of my burgeoning political thought was about to smack me in the face. It would smack me in the face hard.
Mike and I were out and about as usual. We were riding near a parking lot by the Roseland Park Southern Baptist Church. We weren’t hurting a thing. Another friend of ours joined us and we kept jumping, trying tricks, and figuring out how to push the envelope however we could. We weren’t grinding corners, breaking anything, or smashing a thing. That didn’t matter. A Picayune Police Officer approached Mike, our other friend and myself. He said we had to leave immediately. I remember asking as a curious kid, "leave, why do we have to leave, we aren’t doing anything"? I asked because I wanted to know and because this request made no sense at all. As far as all three of us were concerned it was an absolutely stupid request. The officer didn’t care about a reason and snarled back, "because I said so, now get out of here". I was stunned at his brashness toward a couple of 13 year old kids. So I spouted, "whatever". We all left.

I got to thinking that night and asked my parents why we had to leave. My father and mother as always tried to deduce some reason why this had happened. I couldn’t figure it out, and they unfortunately couldn’t provide me a good reason why an officer would do this. I stewed on the thought for a few days.

A few days later Mike, the same friend, and I jumped aboard our bikes for a new adventure. Our intention was to meet up, go to what we considered downtown at the time, and ride on a few pieces of curb and street by the vacant Murphy’s Mart Parking lot. We had discussed things that had previously happened and all decided that the cop was just being a "pest". Probably the same thing he thought of us by associating us with other kids that might have been. We didn’t care though, we wanted treated with the respect of the individuals we were. Why should we be treated like crap because of others? It didn’t make any sense either.

We headed out and were by the same parking lot by Roseland Park Southern Baptist Church. Our friend all of a sudden had a problem with his bike as we rode in front of the church, by the street mind you, clearly away from the church. His handle bar stem had become lose and the handle bars could not easily be used to steer the bike. This was a dangerous thing to try to do, ride a bike with this problem, when we were about to go across the old Highway 11 Bridge toward downtown with traffic. The Highway 11 Bridge was an old style bridge with no sidewalk, and absolutely zero way for anything other than cars and truck to cross. So we stopped and tried to see what we could do, pending either getting it fixed or returning to our friends house to find some tools to fix the problem.

With dust kicking up from the tires as the car pulled off of Highway 11 toward us, the same harassing Picayune Police Office drove toward us. Now mind you, he drove at us, straight at us. We immediately felt threatened, and in our youthful pride and already determined minds that this guy was a prick. We tensed up prepared for impact. He at the last minute pulled parallel to us and immediately in a gruff voice stated, "I told you boys to not come around here!" I said, "we’re trying to leave, we aren’t riding in the lot or near the church but our friends bike is busted". He didn’t care and immediately grunted, "I don’t care if his leg is broke get out of here, I told you kids before!" At this point our pride was close to hurt, and me being the one to not stand for injustice, bulked up and stepped toward his car. I believe, this might have been my first use of this term publicly, but it felt right and it was what I meant, "Quit being an asshole dude!" The officer looked startled and leaned toward me since I had approached his passenger side window. He chirped, without the grunt of before, "I told you kids to leave and I want you out of here in a minute or I’m taking you in and your parents can come pick you up." I was sickened by his lack of patience, his bully attitude, and simple stupidity in this situation. I told him, knowing I was in the right, "We’ll leave when we can get our friends bike working, he can’t ride it right now. You can just wait."

Yeah, I didn’t like injustice and this was when I learned that justice didn’t matter one bit if the other guy was bigger. No matter what though, I was going to do everything I could reasonably do to enforce some semblance of honor and justice. Then the officer stepped out of his car, slamming his door and looking perturbed. I backed up in fear at this point, not knowing what this guy was going to do. He walked up and grabbed my upper arm, I squirmed a bit but didn’t break free. Mike asked, "What’s your problem man?" or something akin to that. The officer spouted something about, "Ya’ll are!" and I knew we were in trouble. That’s when I lost it, all of 13 and now pissed that justice was being spit on, desecrated in a way that was just unbearable to me. I had my bike handle bar cross bar in one hand, my other arm grasped by the officer, and I turned my head. I stated again, "Let me go." Mike and our friend both said, "Let him go, he didn’t do anything!" I then instantaneously thought that I was going to just have to do it. I was going to do something super stupid. I was going to either hit the cop with my bike or spit on him or something, he more than deserved. I had at that moment lost all respect for this Police Officer. I said to Mike and our friend, "You guys run, run and we’ll meet up later." I added, "Go tell your mom Mike, tell your dad and tell them to call the police station." They looked at me oddly and I stated again in an almost scream, "RUN!" The cop said, "shut up" and as he turned his head I lobbed spit at his face, missing miserably and getting it all over his uniform. But that did it, he let go to wipe the spit off and I took off like a bat out of hell. The officer yelled, "Hey, get back here". But I rode, with Mike and our other friend in the distance peddling away, hard as all of us could.

I’m not sure what that cop did, or were Mike and our buddy ended up that day, but I went straight home. I told my parents and they tried to apply logic and reason to the situation again, asking what I had done. The simple and only answer was, "nothing".

This was my awakening that just because someone is in uniform, or supposed to uphold the law and be a respectful, honorable, noble person, doesn’t mean a damn thing. It all boils down to how the individual is going to behave, not the ideal of what they’re upholding.

Reality, Now Politics, and Stealing

One day I was reading. It was some home school material and I heard my father and mother talking about how much some of the material was going to cost. I asked, "Is it really that much?" To which I received the answer, "Yes, it is". The books and material for the first semester were going to be a solid bit of cash. I forget the exact amount but it left us a little short after paying for my brother and for my school materials. We’d make do, but it was somewhat unsettling. I asked a question that has and always will burn, "Hey dad, how do the schools get money?" Which I followed up with, "Schools have to pay for buildings and teachers and the materials, but we never really paid them." He replied with the obvious answer, "Those materials, the teachers, and everything else are paid for out of taxes." I asked, "Well why do you pay for taxes if you don’t use the schools for us?" Heaven forbid I apply some logic here, heaven forbid I thought we might receive some type of break, maybe a tax break, for them to provide my brother and I an education. He replied again, "We don’t get anything back, we still have to pay the full amount for the schools." I just replied with a dejected and somewhat confused, "Oh".

Again, as with anything that didn’t make sense I thought about it more over time. I thought, how could this be? Even if other kids can’t afford this, it’s still like they’re just taking the money from my father and mother. They aren’t asking, they didn’t ask, my parents didn’t get a vote on this, they just have to pay. I did another thing that moment and went to find a dictionary. After fumbling through the closet were some of these books were stored I stumbled upon a dictionary. Merriam-Webster I assumed would be fine. I looked for the word that had come to mind. I found the S and kept looking for the next letter T. There the word was, and I read the definition;

Stealing : to take (the property of another or others) without permission or right, esp. secretly or by force: A pickpocket stole his watch.

I was left aghast and amazed. How could this be in America, were we are free that we allow something like this. The honest definition of this process was exactly what was happening. There was no question about it, there was the definition. I pondered, how could this be, it is against the law to steal. How is the school allowed to collect taxes by stealing when it is against the law. I didn’t realize the school was operated by the Government yet. I didn’t know what was run by the Government. All I knew was we the American people were free, or supposed to be. But here was something that removed our family’s freedom to have me taught at home by my parents. Something that, especially now, I know was the best thing for me. We were going to have a hard few months to make sure everything worked, but we were going to do it. I was also set on it, I didn’t want to go back to the High School or any of the schools in the area.

So I moved forward in life, absolutely confused and pissed off at this injustice. Again, leveled squarely at myself and my family. We were poorer for trying to do something and to provide something better for ourselves, for me, and for my brother. With this reality, the injustice of daily life, of trying to gain an education, and learning that the school were allowed to steal left me in a strangely odd place. I knew one thing though, my friends and I had discovered one thing that resonated loudly and clearly to us. It didn’t leave us with ironies and oxymoron. This new thing we had found almost by accident didn’t leave questions without answers or bore us with the drivel of the adults in our surrounding world. This new thing left us hungry for more.

Heavy Metal Reigns Supreme

We sat in the Dodge Caravan rolling about 65mph down Interstate 59 toward Slidell. Slidell being the closest city to Picayune that had a mall. Mike and I were listening to some tapes we had. One was some goofy rock from the 80s, I wasn’t sure and don’t remember what it was. Mike’ mother was driving us toward the mall. We turned toward Interstate 12 which would carry us the remaining distance and Mike’s Mom asked, "Why are you kids listening to this crap?" I didn’t think much of this at this point, but Mike retorted, "Shut up, this is cool." He then turned it back up. I at this point realized Mike was definitely cool. We rode along listening to whatever rock it was, not anything more, nor less, but just rock.

We arrived at the mall and went scouring about losing Mike’s mother in the mall. We told her we’d be back at the car in about 30 minutes. We headed with our pittance of cash toward the music store. There we started looking for some singles to get. We wanted more of this rock and roll. What we really wanted was something with the heavy guitar sounds. We wanted to experiment and really see what was out there. We found a new single, sadly, called "New Kids on The Block". We didn’t know who these guys were. The album looked like rock, so we bought it, but the other single that we saw was something more amazing. The other single, which we didn’t know what it was either, was something from a band called "Skid Row". Mike said, "I heard this song called 18 and a Life". It was pretty good. I asked, "Is it hard?" His response was something like, "Kind of, it’s just kind of cool." So we bought it.

We both went back to the Dodge Caravan to take a listen to our cassete singles. At first we put in the New Kids on the Block. We were shocked by the lameness and took it out after about 15 seconds. I was bummed that half of our purchase was officially a waste. We put in the Skid Row with hopes of a bit more rock, a bit more roll. We started by listening to "18 and a Life". I thought, with a bit of ansgt, "I sure hope this is good." We sat in silence as the tape started to roll. I spouted, "This better be better." The beginning of "18 and a Life" began. It started with a gentleness but an overhanging sadness.
I looked out the window of the van and still to this day remember the words. "Ricky was a young boy, he had a heart of stone" I was thinking in those few seconds that this was a sappy song, there isn’t any good guitar or anything, and Sebastian Bach the lead singer continued, "Lived in Soux Valley". That’s when it happened. My first big hair band guitar screeching, snare drum slapping, lyrical twists of the hair metal. My gateway of metal had just been stepped into, and I walked right in. The lyrics continued;

Ricky was a young boy, He had a heart of stone.
Lived 9 to 5 and worked his fingers to the bone.
Just barely got out of school, came from the edge of town.
Fought like a switchblade so no one could take him down.
He had no money, oooh no good at home.
He walked the streets a soldier and he fought the world alone
And now it’s
18 and life You got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time and it’s
18 and life to go
Tequila in his heartbeat, His veins burned gasoline.
It kept his motor running but it never kept him clean.
They say he loved adventure, "Ricky’s the wild one."
He married trouble and had a courtship with a gun.
Bang Bang Shoot ’em up, The party never ends.
You can’t think of dying when the bottle’s your best friend
And now it’s
chorus 18 and life You got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time and it’s
18 and life to go
Accidents will happen" they all heard Ricky say
He fired his six-shot to the wind that blew a child away.
18 and life You got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time and it’s
18 and life to go

With one mere song I had gone from a naive teenager learning about things I never wanted to experience such as brash cops and injustices to a teenager that realized he wasn’t alone in the world of brash cops, injustice, and frustration. I just realized that there were people that had issues that made mine pale, and others that lived much harsher than I. I felt for them and I wanted to stop these wrongs. I wanted the switchblade, I wanted the gun. I wanted the right, screw the law, I wanted the justice. Above all though, I wanted to not care.

With all these new thoughts and ideas Mike and I fast forwarded the tape. The player had automatic repeat so when we heard the click we knew the next side was playing. We waited again, impatient this time to see if this Skid Row song would be better, worse, would it be even heavier? Badump, Badump! The song started with a bang, it seemed, quit literally. The lyrics poured into our heads, "Since I was born they couldn’t hold me down, another misfit kid, another burned-out town", we were sold. We were hooked, we had found what we’d been looking for. The words went on, the guitar was played and the solo shred was heard. That night my life, and I’m sure Mike’s life, changed. Nothing would ever be the same again, nothing was going to be. At that very moment I knew this, and strangely enough in some odd way I knew it was what I wanted and oddly, I was ready.

Since I was born they couldn’t hold me down
Another misfit kid, another burned-out town
Never played by the rules I never really cared
My nasty reputation takes me everywhere
I look and see it’s not only me
So many others have stood where I stand
We are the young so raise your hands
They call us problem child
We spend our lives on trial
We walk an endless mile
We are the youth gone wild
We stand and we won’t fall
We’re the one and one for all
The writing’s on the wall
We are the youth gone wild
Boss screamin’ in my ear about who I’m supposed to be
Getcha a 3-piece Wall Street smile and son you’ll look just like me
I said "Hey man, there’s something that you oughta know.
I tell ya Park Avenue leads to Skid Row."
I look and see it’s not only me
We’re standin’ tall ain’t never a doubt
We are the young, so shout it out
They call us problem child
We spend our lives on trial
We walk an endless mile
We are the youth gone wild
We stand and we won’t fall
We’re the one and one for all
The writing’s on the wall
We are the youth gone wild
They call us problem child
We spend our lives on trial
We walk an endless mile
We are the youth gone wild
We stand and we won’t fall
We’re the one and one for all
The writing’s on the wall
We are the youth gone wild
We are the youth gone wild

This of course, was just the begining. The serious steps, the crazy nights, the screaming guitars, the things learned and lived were to come. This was merely the first defining moments of what was about to go down in my life, this was the beginning of what would make me a man.

Chapter 1 – Virginia and The Things I Knew Not

Posted by Adron in My Life on July 1, 2010

A Small Worthless Coin

I’m going to start right from the beginning. On April 21st in 1977 I was born in Alexandria, Virginia to Victoria Joan Brooks Hall and Adron Franklin Hall. My father at the time a Biologist for the Navy and my mother a Registered Nurse. There I lived with them for about a year before their move to the deep dark dirty south would occur. I don’t know much about Alexandria, but I know when I saw the city in subsequent years, namely during the mid-90’s, it was one of the more beautiful areas of the country.

In 1978 my parent’s moved from Alexandria, Virginia to Picayune, Mississippi. My father’s job, in wonderful Government fashion, had moved from a place they were close to their work to a place they were even further from their work. This area the job moved to was Stennis Space Center in southern Mississippi. Mind you, it was called Stennis Space Center but had a majority of employees working were my father did at NAVOCEANO, also known as the Naval Oceanographic Office.

Most of Picayune was nothing more than suburban neighborhoods built from the demand that Stennis Space Center had artificially created in the middle of nowhere. Of the 9,000 people, probably a 1,000 were there for the sole purpose of the center.

Picayune was a small town at the time, from what I know. It still is in relative terms. The population was arguably about 9,000 people in the city limits of Picayune, with maybe a few thousand more in the surrounding rural areas. The town had a few bars, a Murphy’s Mart, TG & Y, Delchamps, and I believe at the time a Winn Dixie. Over the years the town would grow a bit, ending up with a Wal-Mart and even two Winn Dixie’s. The town had the other normal array of places too, schools, a library, a hospital, and other general establishments one would expect in a town.

There were two major roads going east and west through town, one in the north part and one in the southern part of town. Both were called Highway 43 because they split off of that highway. Going north and south was Interstate 59, Highway 11, and the railroad. At the time, the railroad was still 100% privately operated by the Southern Railway. The Crescent, a beautiful passenger train had avoided the onslaught of Amtrak and managed to still be running through the town. I honestly don’t know if the train even stopped in Picayune then, but I know it went through the town.

There was one major high school, and I believe 6 or 7 elementary schools. One public library existed in town that was called Crosby Memorial Library. You see, the Crosby’s had basically built this town during the early twentieth and late nineteenth century. Almost everything was named after them that had some semblance of importance. Even the hospital was the Crosby Memorial Hospital.

This town, Picayune, was were I grew up. Many times I’m thankful I grew up there and often I wonder what I missed out on because of it. I however know I never missed much because of my wonderful parents. They worked diligently during my childhood to make sure I learned, explored, and safely grew up without being overbearing, growth stunning, or brash. They were a major reason why I survived the south to escape in the first place. I do have to give myself some credit, but they definitely played a very large part in my success.

So this town, Picayune, was named by the Crosby’s that I mentioned before. They named the town this after the Spanish coin called the picayune. The picayune was a small and worthless coin, and at this time in history, Picayune lived up to their expectations.

My First Memories of Picayune

My first clear memories are that of playing at home. My mother was mostly a stay at home parent. I remember playing with Hot Wheels, other toys of various sorts, and Legos, lots and lots of Legos. I had my own room, and even when my brother came along I had my own room.

Our house was located at 2411 Shady Lane and sat against a suburban dead end. Behind the house was a fenced yard and behind that was about 5 acres of woodland. To the side of the house was the driveway that exited into the street that turned from the front of the house. The dead end was literally black top, that had weeds and gravel grown up at the end of the street. Across this part of the street there was more woods that I believe was several hundred acres. "These woods are a billion miles", I could have sworn as a child. These areas offered me all sorts of outlets for everything from getting me time to playing guns or hide and seek in the woods. Up the street from the house was another cul-de-sac with just about 1-2 houses when we moved in, but by the time I left had many more, totalling I believe

Legos

I must admit, it is a wonderful thing to have one’s own room, one’s own things, and one’s own pride in keeping their room and toys in order. Now when I say in order, I don’t mean neat and tidy like mother wanted, but were I knew things were. I’d keep my Legos sorted a particular way, and often when I could get new ones they would sit on the floor for several days as I figured out new things to build. I often just built whatever I wanted; star ships, strange cars, boats, or any other thing I could think of. My mind ran wild when I built Lego things. Sometimes I’d stage entire space wars or castle battles. Sometimes I’d try to create things with Legos that I could store other things in.

I often would create spaceships and imagine the Lego People were characters I’d make up in my own head. They’d have adventures, from space struggles to landing on alien lands. My Legos ended up muddy, sometimes broken, and often scared from play. We had plenty of dirt, mud, grass, trees, and sand for my Lego Space Ship fleet to investigate and sometimes crash into. Because you know, space ships aren’t all perfect, sometimes they crash into planets and all.

TV Begins Corrupting my Mind, Yes!

I don’t remember when, but one day something came on TV. I’m not sure were the star ship idea or any of that came from in my earlier years, but I know they existed and the rest of what I played out was mostly of my own making. It was probably Buck Rogers or something of that sort. But this show wasn’t that. This show that came on had my mind running wild within a few seconds of it starting. My mind’s creativity and thoughts started working in many new ways and all of a sudden, I had my first TV Show obsession. That first episode of Transformers officially made me a Transformer’s Fan!

After that I immediately started out finding ways I could earn money to buy and add to my collection. I wanted to have the whole Autobot and Decepticon armies because I wanted to have new Transformer Adventures, wage new wars against the Decepticons, and blast it I was going to figure out every "what if" scenario I could.

This is what I remember of my early years in Picayune. At least up to the age of about 4 or 5. After these ages, the play became more serious, my mind ran truly wild, and I started becoming me in every way.

Just a Thought or Three…

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