Everyone wants to know, why I am the way I am. Asking such questions as:
why were you a skinhead? Where’s your mom and dad? Why are you so full of
anger? Why do you have those tattoos and piercing? What’s that you are writing
on the bottom of you shoes? Why are you sooo good looking? So I have written
this to hopefully answer some of those questions.
My mom died when I was five. She was a needle freak and analcoholic,
life just got to be too much for her I guess. One day as she stood
crying in front of the window at home, she turned to me, told me she
loved me, then put a gun to her head and, gave up on life. I’m sure it
had something to do with the fact that my dad was just a big….jerk. Drug
addict, alcoholic, thief, abuser,..you name it…he did it, which kept us
moving around quite a bit. He was always getting into trouble.
When I was 12 we were living in San Francisco. After showing up to
school one day with a gash in my forehead from where dads‘always
perfect aim’ jim beam bottle had hit me that morning for spilling my
milk…the authorities called the cops and were going to attempt to put me
in a foster home. Well, I wanted no part of that nonsense, so I took off
to the streets.
I lived on the streets for quite some time: shelters,doorways,dumpsters, old buildings, this is not something I recommend.One afternoon this guy walked by me. He was the epitome of what I thought was ‘cool’. Bright blue mohawk, earrings, a tattoo of a naked chick on his arm, torn jeans, white tee-shirt. He looked tuff.So I jumped up and began to follow him. After about 2 blocks, he turned around, grabbed me and slammed me up against the wall. “What is your
problem?” he asked…I just told him I thought he was cool, and thus
became my involvement with the skins. They kept a roof over my head and
food in my stomach. They took care of me, called me ‘brother’.This was
the first time I ever felt like I belonged anywhere. I stayed with the
skins for 13 years. I saw so many things, it would make most people
sick. I’m not going to go into them, most of you know what is involved
in being a skinhead, and if you don’t you may email me and I will tell
you all you want to know.
Last year (1997) around September/October, some of the brothers and I
were messing around downtown San Francisco, causing MUCH trouble. We
came across a gay bar and started bashing the queers. It turned into a
huge thing and one of our guys ended up getting shot and killed.The
next night, we were going out for vengeance. We had several other crews
with us from around the bay area. My crew was a little different, we
were insane. Whenever we would go on these little vengeance outings we
would play a game called Russian roulette. It’s a game where you take a
gun and put one bullet in it, spin the chamber and, lock it. No one
knows where the bullet is, you put the gun to your head and pull the
trigger, MAJOR adrenaline rush. I loved playing. So this particular
night, we were passing the gun around, it came to my turn, and my buddy
grabbed the gun out of my hand, said HE wanted to go, and I’d just have
to wait. We argued and suddenly he put the gun up and BAM, he lost. It was at this point I decided that I needed a break from all this.
One of the leaders
came up to me and told me I was going on a mission, to bring back a
stray skin, that moved to Texas and became a Christian. This ‘stray’ was
my best friend. So I packed a bag and hitched to Dallas. My friend
introduced me to the world of computers, chat rooms to be exact. He
showed me
ChurchUSA , and I dug it.
I could go in there and be myself, ask questions, give people a
hard time. I wanted to find out what the big deal was with God, why my
brother would ditch the only people that ever gave him love and follow
this Jesus weirdo.
Several months went by, I couldn’t get enough. I was
reading the bible and studying…getting to know the enemy. One night as I
awoke from my usual nightmare, (I had nightmares about
my mom, and the things I had done and seen as a skin) there was this
image, in my room. It was a demon, although I did not know it at the
time (we’ll call him Mr. Ugly). Mr Ugly came several times,always
after a nightmare. He’d sit in my room, just looking at me and laughing.
On January 18th,1998 about 1 in the morning I was chatting with some good
friends I had met in ChurchUSA. One of them had me go get a bible with
the red letters in it, ( I was still not a Christian at this
time…fighting it intensely). So as I wandered out of my room, to go get
the bible, I passed through the living room, and there was Mr.
Ugly…sitting in the chair. I ran back into my room, slammed the door,
and sat down at the comp. “he’s here!” I said to my friend……”who’s
here”……”the thingy…the demon guy…I’m scared, what do I do?”…so my friend
started praying and told me to repeat what he was typing. Mr.Ugly burst
into my room and sat down on my bed. He just laughed and laughed and
laughed. I started screaming at it. Telling it to take off in Jesus name
and stuff. Finally after what seemed to be forever, Mr. Ugly split.
After lighting a smoke while I waited for my body to stop shaking, I
began to talk to my friends again. They were pretty freaked to say the
least. They asked me if I wanted to pray now, if I wanted to become a
Christian. I was like…yea buddy, I’ve had enough! So we prayed and
WHAM..i was a Christian! It was very cool. It has only been two months
and I feel like I have aged 20 years. God has been changing me imensly
and I love every bit of it! Well…maybe love every bit of it is a bit of
an exaggeration but…I know all the crud I’m going through is going to
make me strong in Him.
*thanks sue for helping me say what i wanted to say.
** see any typo's in here? let me know
amisfit
