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I have often thought back many times over the years, wishing that that little old wooden house still stood, it was there for many years, till it met it demise, some where in the nineties, possibly around 95, my mother had saved the article for many years, so i can't be sure about the time frame, nor the date, somewhere bout there. But i do remember there was always people over there visiting, aunts, uncles cousins, my mother came from a lot of 15 kids, they had kids and so on i came in the third generation, my mom being the second generation, and last i heard they were somewhere around 7 or 8 generations, but outta that huge lot of children only 3 remain 3 sisters, but as i stated as a kid someone was always around Friday night there were great board games and lots of gossip. It coulda always have been worse, we hadn't much, but we never went without. I loved that old wooden house, chickens in the back yard and some rabbits, couple dogs and few cats. Those were good times, what i wouldn't do, if only it was possible to go back in time, i have traveled back many times, for the first 5 years we would find our way there, and have a family barbecue, cousins, and maybe a few babies that were born to late to know the love that house gave, my tia still owned the land, so we would just set up and relive a time long lost, after my nana  passed on it was never the same, now it was just an abandoned old lot, as i said before i have gone back in time many times, thru my memories that till today i hold dearly to my heart, the woman that raised me, and always showed me unconditional love was now gone basically i was on my own now, don't misunderstand me i still have my mother she's getting on in her years but she's healthy, what more could i ask for. While my mother worked My nana raised me, then as i got a bit older we moved over to Whittier, where i was taken care of by my aunt, my mothers sister. there were many but we never went without.

The Memoirs Of A Rider

chapter 1

Back when i grew up we were taught from an early age, that we weren't supposed to cry, if you were a boy that's just how it was my mother always worked, and we lived just a few houses down from my Nana, in a Varrio that still stands to this day, a neighborhood that is Alta Vista in Northern Orange County not more than a few miles, from the Los Angeles La Habra border line. Back when it wasn't so violent, and you really never had to worry about letting your children out to play, on any given evening before the lights turned on, i remember all the kids scrambling, bikes going every direction, that was kinda like an  unwritten law, peddling your ass off , because if you didn't get home in time, chances are you were gonna do some time, sometimes it would be wino time, maybe sitting in the corner, sometimes Nana would pull a switch down from her favorite tree, and whip our ass, an equivalent of a short stint in the pinta. You know that even if i got the switch, it always followed with a few minutes of no talking then a hug, And that i remember like it was yesterday, i saw my Nana cry, it has always remained so vivid in my memory, it broke my heart seeing her cry, but even though she had just whipped my ass, she always said she was sorry and just how much she loved me, there were 5 of us in that tiny wooden house, including my Nana, i don't ever remember my grandfather living there, by the time i came around he had long been gone for many years, same old story, My Nana left with the children, he had left for his childhood sweet heart, i guess it was easier that way it never hurt, you can't miss what you've never known.

The memoirs of a rider

I want to be completely honest here, as a child, no one ever say's they wanna become a junkie when they grow up, coming from a addictive family, i hated the real fact that my father was absent, and never gave a fuck about me, he wandered in when i was little and left just as quiet as he walked in, i saw him briefly when i was about 7 for the last time, he just showed up at my aunt's house like it was the thing to do, asking how my grandmother and mother were, and asking if i knew who he was, i have very vague memories of him, but answered yes, partly being hopeful that he would come back and be what most other kids had, a father that was active in their lives, and mostly a father that really loved them. As he left he gave me $ 5 and promised he'd return the very next week, and we'd work on really being a family, deep down i hoped he'd honor his promise he never did i cried myself to sleep for months following that short visit. I always questioned myself that maybe i had done something to push me away, or never love me like i deserved, all i truly knew was i did deserve something a father that truly did love me, i remember that on my 10 th Christmas i wrote Santa a letter and attached was a very short, in fact 1 item for my wish list all i asked for was him to come back and give me a chance to make up for my mistake that i had caused him, truthfully it wasn't a mistake that i did, it was his love for heroin that ruined my life and my family's life. i remember crying myself to sleep at night, and promising myself that i would never be anything like him and that i would be better than him at whatever i ever did, i was 10 that was the year i started smoking weed, and the rest would start becoming a reality, i went to dr's and anger management counselors, weekly for a while, then i guess my mother figured nothing was working, and i stopped going to see my counselor. All that really helped was reading and drawing, in my books i could escape and be the lucky kid that had a real family, a rich artist that could do whatever he wanted, and had it all.The only thing he ever gave me was a lifetime of tears, and a destiny to meet up with the addiction, that he offered. and it came true, this is my story from broken to addicted, and all the damage that it caused . The memoirs of a rider.

I owe nobody an explanation , truth is i couldn't explain just why, but i think i just proved to myself that drinking like a gentleman is a total myth, i'm not regretting anything things happen, one step back, and now one step forward, day 1