Well it has been a bit since I was able to sit down and write.  I had a story come out (as I am sure you all know) this past week or so with the Dallas Morning News.  It was great.  I very much want to thank Wendy Hundley for a wonderful interview. 

As many of you may know the horrors of trying to put together a perfect proposal; I am up to my eyes in it.  I found myself struggling over the best presentation, proper paper to use and multiple visits to Pac Mail.  Should I go directly to publishing houses or find an agent?  Not to mention I am a student at the University of Oklahoma . Norman (Online) and trying to run a Non Profit. 

My wife (I love you) has been a huge help and constant reminder why I do what I do.  Again, I love Baby!  She works long and hard hours as a Regional Human Resources Manger.  Always that beautiful smile when she wakes up and comes home from work.  A little kiss and quickly asks how I have done today.  Did I get a contract, agent or write some more. 

I myself am semi retired U.S. Army.  I had a severe accident back in 1993 that over the years became very debilitating.  I received a V.A. retirement and my first spinal surgery. I wanted to teach, make a difference in someone's life.  I had been given a wonderful opportunity to work with juveniles at a boot program. 

Those kids really got to me.  I was there coach, their teacher, their officer and their rock.  Slowly my legs got worse.  The numbing would last for hours and days.  Still, in them I saw something, someone.  I saw myself, a little boy frightened of the world, trying to stand against a raging storm, fists full of white knuckled flesh.

So what was it in them that got to the innermost part of me?  I fought it.  Then it hit me.  I had spent my entire life running.  Running from my childhood, my parents, my fear and most of all, myself. 

I spent my entire life saying I was sorry to everyone, especially my parents.  In their eyes I was always wrong.  I needed to forgive and forget.  When they lied or used me again and again somehow it had been my fault.  I was always to blame.  Even while I write this I have been put to blame for my parents mistakes.  Told through letter, I have no business talking about my childhood.  It was "normal" and I was being a vicious child.  Oh well.  

So a little over a year ago while recovering from spinal fusion surgery I was approached about my abduction as a child.  The twenty fifth anniversaries had come.  I wanted to bury my head.  It wasn't me.  It was another person.  I had a normal childhood.  Oh how I begged and pleaded with my inner self. 

Why did I really want to be a teacher?  Why did I always cower at my parents?  Why did I have such trust issues?  I knew the answers; I just spent my life refusing to accept them.  Then I met my wife. My wife is a miracle.  I diamond in the rough.  A great pearl of love and perfection. 

I learned what a family was and how that true family love was not set by making my parents happy no matter what they did.  It was not earned by letting those "close" use me and then blame me for their crime.  I started to see the truth.

Spending hours talking with my mother n law about my life. Opening up to my wife and her family.  I could be weak, fail and even make mistakes.  I was loved for being me.  What a Nirvana. 

This was how I felt about my children.  I loved them no matter what they did.  I could give my life for their mistakes.  To see my daughter grown and one day find that man who would love her the way she would deserve. 

My son, to see him grow and be that leader. To hear him speak softly to his wife and children.  To see him be a man of character.  I was seeing and feeling this myself.  I was someone's child that truly loved me.  What a blessing. 

I found myself recovering from Methadone and Lortabs.  I had been placed on them for a year after surgery.  They had taken away the pain but at a price.  I had become numb to the world.  Inside I cried out, help me again. 

I spent three months slowly and painfully dropping each dose till I was clean.  The pain had increased but I was alive.  My doctors disagreed.  It was my life.  I had to make the best decision for me and my family.  I was firm. 

Soon I had started a new non profit organization.  I was like any Cavalry Scout, in the fight!  I would make my story of abuse, kidnapping and self preservation known.  No other child would experience what I did.  No child would ever wonder why while cutting their wrists or cutting their body. 

I knew why I wanted to teach.  I knew why I needed to help those kids.  I was that kid but I had made it.  My life meant something.  It was meant to make change.  I began to put my thoughts to pen and screen.

I wrote and wrote.  Getting up at 3 AM, unable to sleep.  I had to put more to written word.  I was being healed.  God was slowly healing me.  Chapter after chapter, my life rolled out.  This would be my war cry. The unconditional victory for children's rights. 

The doors were flung open.  The sun's rays filled my soul.  I would cower no more.  I would run no more.  I would not hide who I am.  I would stand and be proud that I had become whole.  I will pass this on to others.

Some where in this world there was and is an agent or market for me.  I know this.  I feel it.  This story will be told.  Millions will know.  Millions will be changed.  We will see our children and our neighbors differently.  Not as property, religious, trash or by color.  We will see the whole of humanity.  A sea of life and individual personalities.  Abuse is abuse.  Abuse begets abuse.  It reaches beyond spiritual boarders.  Language and gender have no peace.  Maybe as others have cried out before.  This is my story, one in a sea of seven billion.

KC