I have thought about writing a book. However, my life has been rather lucky and free flowing with few snags or other conflicts.
A good told story needs a few nasty conflicts to tell about, though, and I've not had all that many interesting adventures.
When I was 26 years old, my Long Beach, California apartment room mate, and ex-convict "Red" (rape once, armed robbery twice) accused me once,
"Jeff, you've lead a sheltered life!" (I was two years too young for Viet Nam. Red was there for 1 Tour in 1966)
"Yeah. Something wrong with that? Not going to let you fakk it up for me either."
A few weeks later two of his San Quentin prison buddies came into the apartment. Recently released Lifers that would never last a month before doing something bad
to get back into prison, because they could never survive in the outside world.
These two cons brought a white woman with them whom scared me more than the men. She kept staring at me with unsmiling eyes.
Two days later, a knock on the door. Open.. FBI! Two agents start questioning "Red" about our recent visitors, and the Aryan Brotherhood prison gang.
They never asked me for anything, but my Driver's License I.D. card. (I wonder where the FBI got our address? That unsmiling woman and probable heroin whore?)
When they left, Red apologized for the intrusive discomfort and explained to my innocent young soul the ways of the California State prison system.
"If you're white you got one choice of gang to belong to for protection. The black Crips or Bloods gangs will have your young sweet white ass! The Mexicans and Asians gangs will not accept you either."
Red followed me around like a an old abandoned whipped dog. I was his young and innocent life preserver to keep him away from all his ex-con prison buddies, and future incarceration.
OK for me. He knew Long Beach, and where to get some good Columbian marijuana and decently refined LSD.
He was the one that introduced me to my one and only wife. An Ilocano woman from the Philippines, newly arrived from Saudi Arabia, where she was working as a maid and nanny for a rich Saudi family in Riyadh.
Until Abdurahkman's son started to try and fakk her.
"Sir, I love your family, but I cannot stay here anymore."
Abdurahkman gave her a big expensive ($13,000 US dollars at today's gold prices based on the other small trinkets she sold recently for $9,000)
24 carat gold necklace with small emeralds and an airline ticket to port of choice. She chose Hawai'i.
"Sorry for my son's behavior, Elizabeth."
This was when AIDS first burst into the fakking scene. I was sleeping around with shady ladies at the time. Never found a good woman whom could be trusted either.
I like wild women, they are a lot of fun! But AIDS..
I've heard that South Africa had/has a worse AIDS problem, that most US Americans never cared about.
So I saw Elizabeth, and there she was, not very pretty, and she had a flat butt, but everybody loved her. So I married her after we knew each other for only 2 weeks!
She for a Green Card to USA
Me for a good clean woman.
30 years later, we are still together. I've raised 3 good children (frown at my son's marijuana smoking, but that was my apple too that I snatched off the tree of forbidden fruit)
and right now I am looking at Olivia Lindsey, my youngest grand-daughter of
English-Frank-German-Scottish-Swiss > Filipino-Chinese >> Hawai'ian, Irish, and the goddess only knows what else of descent.
Unfortunately, my wife is watching the damned Filipino Channel on TV, which I detest!
I curse at her for that, but she just yells back at me "Fakk off!" in Ilocono.
Truly we are at peace.
What I would also like to know, is how come you got such good literary education - I thought Wyoming Idaho and Montana are / were edcucationally challenged. Did you read a lot, Shakespeare etc ?- reading was the modern base of knowledge presently being atrified by the internet.
I grew up in Malta, Montana, a small cow-town of only 2,000 souls (not counting the cattle ranchers and wheat farmers far flung out of "town" 30 or 40 miles away.)
Whom had their children schooled in little prairie school houses, not much bigger than a poor man's living room, like a shack!
Only two schools in Malta, and the main one was a Public (State tax paid for) School. There was also a private Catholic School.
My mother was an English teacher in town. My father worked for the US Government, Bureau of Land Management, protecting the US Public Lands
from ignorant, greedy, and rapacious, private ranchers, miners, and other scum bags that believe in raping the Public Land for quick personal profit,
rather than keeping and preserving all of the USA Public Lands in Trust for the entire American Nation, and for generations to come.
Both my parents were college educated. I chose a different path (when I got my Draft Card during the Viet Nam war) and enlisted Navy
before the Army could get their hands on me to go forth and kill Commie Viets and maybe step on a booby trap!
After I came home, I never got college educated. Just went to work as a maintenance Instrumentation & Electrical Mechanic. Paid well enough to raise a good family in peace.
I am a voracious reader of books. Being a poor worker scum mechanic, with damn few dollars to spare for frivolous things like self education,
only history books shall I actually pay money for.
Lucky for me, my hotel maid wife (whom only has an 8th Grade education from Laoag City, Ilocos del Norte.. poor peasant girl!)
finds lots of books left by tourists in the hotel rooms, in their haste to get to the airport on time, and over-stuffed suitcases.
These books Elizabeth picks up and brings home to me.
"Jeff, you like these books?"
I toss all the crappy Romance novels into the trash. Although I do confess to reading some of them, when her pickings are poor for better books.
Hey! I love to read words. Prefer the company of women to that of stinking men, anyway.
Most books that Beth gives me are new good novels, just bought from the Store. Sometimes an airline ticket is tucked into it for a bookmark!
Elizabeth takes these leftovers from the rooms that she is supposed to be cleaning up for the next occupant, as proper cleaning.
Sometimes Beth takes un-drunk and unopened beer from the left over rooms to give me. Hilton Hotels frowns on this practice,
and, indeed, may be a firing offense. Beth is not afraid of smuggling some beer out of hotel to delivery to her (not very good, I confess) husband.
She does this only when the Corporate Diksukkers piss her off.
Her little way to fight back against the slave masters................