Albertson

We plotted murder that night

Running away from our cottages ready to fight

Eight thirteen-year olds clutching long metal pipes

What that monster did to that little boy wasn’t right

We gathered in the groves ready to strike

When Albertson popped out of the night

An off duty cop who patrolled with a big flash light

“Boys, where you going with those long metal pipes”

We surrounded Albertson ready to fight

Everyone was ready to go out with a bang that night

All for a boy we didn’t even know

We heard the story and it was go, go, go

It was not the first time… we heard that story before

After that night we wouldn’t hear it anymore

We told Albertson our thoughts and intentions

Albertson turned out to be a true rescue ranger

He rescued hikers day and night

“Boys, if that’s true, it isn’t right

Let me take up your fight

You don’t have to do this alone

Just because he’s head of the home

The decisions you make tonight are for keeps

Please go back to your cottage and go to sleep”

“Okay Albertson, we’ll do it your way”

“Don’t worry boys, if it’s true he will pay”

And pay he did

Albertson rescued all of us that night

Thank you Albertson for taking up our fight

Stand Tall

Stand tall

Stand tall my little ones

Stand tall

It’s not your fault

Stand tall

After surviving the lies

Don’t be afraid to look others in the eyes

Stand tall

Stand tall when those about you fall

Stand tall

Speak for the weak

Screaming their stories from the highest peak

Stand tall

I will listen for your call

Stand tall

Just remember

You’re not alone

Stand tall.

Desert Rose nominated ME for an award!!

Today Desert Rose nominated my blog for the “Tell Me About Yourself Award.”

The rules for this award are to thank the person who nominated you, tell seven things about yourself, and nominate seven bloggers.

Thank you, Desert Rose. Thanks for making me share. 🙂

The following statements are all true.

1. I pretty much like peanut butter on everything. Including hot dogs.

2. My first dog was killed in a stash house in Mexico.

3. As a kid, I was kidnapped by a notorious biker gang and released unharmed.

4. My dad made Sixty Minutes… and not for his good deeds.

5. I was a third-generation foster kid, coming of age mostly in boys’ home and group homes and eventually aging out of the system.

6. I have lived and worked as far west as Hawaii and as far east as England and lots of places in between.

7. I feel like I won the lottery everyday. I’m happily married and have three great kids.

8. I presently earn a living hunting bad guys. I know there were only supposed to be seven things, but I’ve always had trouble following the rules. 🙂

9. I just wanted to break the rules again. I AM Potentially Disruptive.

The seven blogs I nominate for this award are… drumroll, please.

1. Poet Jena: http://poetjena.wordpress.com/about/

2. Antonio de Simone: http://antodesimone.wordpress.com/

3. Ardun Ward: http://ardunward.com/

4. Wayward Spirit: http://waywardspirit.wordpress.com/about/

5. Ramblings From an Apothetic Adult Baby: http://justingawel.com/about/

6. Scribble it Down: http://scribbleitdown.wordpress.com/

7. Cristian Mihai: http://cristianmihai.net/

Heroes

Last night at my oldest son’s football game a retired soldier was acknowledged in the stadium.

The announcer spoke of all the battles he had endured and all the accommodations he had received.

It made me think of all the kids that made it through foster care.

Some had cushy posts but most survived a war zone surrounded by the enemy for many years.

Think of the accommodations and medals they would receive.

Most of the battles these kids survived would make any soldier weep.

My hat goes off to these heroes.

Be proud you made it through the system.

I know I am.

Crazy Eyes

It was a busy day at the mega mart.

A sharp turn off the aisle had me face to face with two tattoo-faced gangbangers.

Every cell in my body sensed trouble. They reaked of crime and suspicion.

They stared at me.

I stared at them… ready to break some collar bones. Ready for anything. That was one of the great gifts of coming of age in boys’ homes. I was about to open up a can of middle aged whoop butt.

I gave ’em my famous boys’ home crazy eyes.

The two young men stepped back and just stood there.

Images of deadly moves rushed through my mind.

Thug One said, “you alright, sir.”

Sir? I thought. I’m not worthy of your harassment? A mugging? A screwdriver in my belly?

Hmm. The crazy eyes must’ve given off a different impression.

Thug Two spoke and interrupted my thoughts. “You okay sir, do you need any help?”

Help? Do they want to help me across the aisle? Do I look that old and feeble?

Looking into their eyes I could see they were generally concerned. Somehow, this was worse than being stabbed in the neck with a pencil.

Sometimes people assume I’m my kids grandpa, but this… this is ridiculous. I told them I was okay.

“Okay sir,” one of them replied.

They called me sir again. I walked off taking a deep breath and chalked it up to having a case of the PTSD sniffles.