Growing up the youngest of five, it seems sometimes my mother forgot I was alive.
Ignoring me for the most part, while still trying to control my life with cruelty intimidation and manipulation, was her little twist.
Her genes dominating my personality, and her icy blood coursing through my veins,
I knew how to get the attention, that I felt she owed me.
Not with a method of my own invention but an inherited strategy I call simply, being the same.
I would become the proverbial thorn in her side.
Using her own flawed and passed down traits, that she couldn't hide.
Ignoring her rules, and being a problem for her in any way I could, being the bully from hell, (my little twist) would be my game.
And how quickly, the MVP (most violent person) I became.
In trouble at school and in trouble with the law, was probably not the best plan at all.
But things are not always as they seem, constant phone calls and letters from the principal might be easy to ignore but let's see you try that with the parents of my victims and the police knocking on the door.
Not the best plan, I confess, but after all she was the one who created this mess.
I was just an apple that fell close to the tree.
Right wrong or indifferent, she was (by her own doing) no longer able to simply ignore me.
This was obviously me crying out for the attention that I craved.
I didn't want to be the bad son or the mean kid who always misbehaved.
I wasn't doing this because I enjoyed it, I wasn't doing it just for fun.
But now this story will reveal its own little twist. Because you're reading something written by my mother's favorite son.