I have always admitted, I’m not (a real) an expert
writer. I’m just a guy slapping words down one after the other, clearing out
space in my head and, hopefully, building a bridge to conversation.
If you’ve been one of the near-daily readers of the Still
Standing series or The Ex4mined Life… Thank you. It will always mean more
than you probably realize.
There are more stories. Some very sensitive, many not
quirky; stories that didn’t quite fit into Volumes 1–7. These tales made me stop and ask: Why am I
still here? Is there a bigger purpose? Is there a reason I’ve made it
through some of this? Part of me hopes I don’t find out anytime soon.
I do know this much: the willingness to take chances…
to be bold… to step into things… goes back to my time at Rockhurst. Jesuit college
prep education in the Midwest. They told us we were going to be
something—doctors, lawyers, captains of industry, maybe even senators. Take chances. Don't settle for mediocrity! We will not get anywhere in life if we do, Esto Vir (be a man)!
In my case, I didn’t have money. I didn’t have status.
I was lost amongst the silver spoons. But I had a spine. And when you’re young,
broke, and just a little bit dumb… You feel invincible!
Until you don’t.
I was still at Rockhurst when I came
face-to-face with that reality. Like a lot of stories by professional authors
begin with, it was a dark and stormy night. A girl I had taken to a dance, Jackie Q,
was performing at Ward Parkway Shopping Center. My younger sister wanted to go.
I had just cashed my first real paycheck—over $600 after a grocery supermarkey strike.
We had no car. So, we walked. Rain was coming down. And then—out of nowhere— two
guys stepped in front of us.
“Give us your money!”
I wasn’t handing that over easily. Not my first
paycheck. Not like that.
There was some fast talking. Some stalling. A little
resistance. And then—a gun barrel was pressed against my forehead.
“Do you think we’re joking?”
That’s the moment everything changes. Fast. Clear. Real.
Yet, somehow… I said the only thing I could think of: “I don’t… but maybe you
can tell it to the police who just pulled up.”
There were bright headlights behind them. They turned
and ran.
It wasn’t the police. Just neighbors. People who
barely knew us… stopping to see if we were okay. At that moment? We were.
I made it to the bank. We saw the performance. I don’t
think I ever spoke to Jackie again. Funny how life works like that. It was a moment where life is “literally short,” and I don’t want to spend the rest of it with you! She didn't know it, but she almost got us killed!
The money didn’t last long. About a week later, my
estranged stepfather called. Desperate. In trouble, as usual. A friend and I
drove to pick him up. The place we found him in… wasn’t great. When we got to his
floor, he was being dragged down a hallway, with a knife at his throat.
Again—no plan. No qualifications. Just stepping into
something that needed handling. That one ended differently, too. We got him
out. Safe. But something shifted in me (and in my friend, Greg A).
In that two-week span, I had a gun to my head and
watched a knife at someone else’s throat. At 15 years old… that does something
to you. The money I fought to keep? I gave it to him to get him out of our
lives. A bus ticket to St. Louis. A
chance to start over. And just like that,
a piece of whatever innocence was left… was gone.
When I look back at Volumes 1 through 7, the pranks,
the risks, the “this seems fine” moments, I see them differently today. After you’ve stared down something real and survived, you don’t experience fear the same way.
Perhaps that’s why there’s never been a moment that
felt too big! Once again, I am still
standing; my body is still tilted in multiple directions. After this last epiphany, I am still trying
to make sense of it all, but it is finally starting to add up.
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