I loved childhood with my Pitman buddies. Literally loved all of then. There was about five or six. Thought they were all the coolest. We had so much fun. As much as I kinda hate on the small town mentality, it gave me so much. A small community. A safe community. We literally could walk or bike anywhere in 15 minutes. There was nature and great sports. Everyone was pretty equal. It was a tight class. Walking or biking to school with friends.
Yea there were some crazy ass parents and administrators. But everyone cared and was pretty involved
Not a whole lot of diversity, but you know. The familiarity made everyone more comfortable.
I feel like my friends made childhood everything
My parents did their best, like all of ours did. Shit, I think about raising a family and yea it scares me. I can understand where they came from, but i gotta say, they made life hard. It sucked. The militaristic religious bullshit. Psycho. But they cared as best they could, and tried their best, despite their own histories and childhoods
But my friends made it worthwhile, memorable, and so much fun.
Florida was also amazing. But different. Also amazing though.
When I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life, after I moved to Florida, I remember seeing how much different life could be. I wished my parents put me in better schools, but in hindsight, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
I have memories and experiences and friends that so many kids only wish they had. We were tight, like a family of brothers. It was easy to take for granted because that was the only thing I knew. We went through shit. The close community and small town made the relationships tighter. In this day and age, that community is harder to get. The digital world and the expansion of suburbs leave people more disconnected. I’m glad we were born on the cusp of this technological boom. We experienced life in analog. One of the last generations, if not the last
I still can’t wrap my mind around Todd and why he killed himself, how that could possibly happen. Why?
It’s one of those experiences that just shatters your innocence in one fell swoop. Changes your perspective on life and relationships forever. The fragility and temporality of it all, the unpredictability.
Plans are great. They provide a comfort. You are confident in the way things will play out, and so you get comfortable.Then life bends you over, takes your naive little dreams, and shoves a massive dick up your ass. It’s confusing. You ask why? I never asked for this. It’s painful. Is this what life really is? Will it ever get better?
But then you learn to stop asking those questions, and do something about it. You decide to make your life, to choose your life, to define your life, and not let circumstances do the deciding for you.
I love that my childhood group has kept in touch. You were my group. My brothers. I didn’t have another group. I forged memories with each one of you. Each of us has different family situations. Crazy parents, indifferent parents, distant parents. But what we lacked in family, we had in each other, our brothers. We relied on each other, depended on each other, we fought with each other, we fucked bitches and played music and rode bikes and dominated the sports field and made art and explored and dreamed together. We supported each other, through thick and thin.
This is how I remember it.
Every so often I go back and read my journals. They’re mostly dark and depressing. Bitching out my strict parents and their efforts to fix me through god or medication or counseling and therapy. But the highlight is reading about our adventures. I’d document the parties, the girls, the drama, the mischievous fun, sneaking out, experimenting, blowing shit up or starting fires, building bongs, playing music, trips to the shore, trips to Montoloking, the pine barrens, relishing the music, incubus and Deftones and RHCP and brand new and bright eyes, catching turtles and snakes and frogs and growing marijuana, and selling marijuana, and car rides where we baked and rode around for hours.
William Dare 