It was all a blur and kind of reddish, with
yellow lights smoothly flowing over my head. Suddenly,
like a cat striking, someone grabbed my ankles, pulled
me out of utro, and smacked my ass: “Ta-da, world
Mike, Mike world!”
My first day of kindergarten: Glue, scissors
and paper: all tools used to hurt, abuse, and torment
kids, but most of all to get you in the "chair."
The glue bottle wasn’t new to most kids, but in
my case it was a foreign object. I got a hold of the glue
bottle and gave a gentle pinch (to me that meant squishing
the bottle as hard as possible), and no glue came out.
I tried once again, this time thinking I was a super genius:
I stomped on the glue bottle as hard as possible, which
lead to glue spraying on the new clothes of everyone within
two meters.
"Michael, go and sit in ‘the chair’
and think about what you've done!" screamed the teacher.
I still thought it was pretty bright of me to think up
that one.
My family and I used to go out to our Cluculz Lake lot
as much as possible before we sold our property. My dad
likes to build all kinds of things, such as a Tarzan swing
for us to jump off of into the water. At age 12, I was
like a monkey on the swing, until one day a friend of
mine came out to the lake with my family and me. We went
down to the swing, so I could show him how to use it.
I got on and swung out as I normally would. When I came
back, I told him he could jump off or come back to land
on the platform. He jumped off the platform and started
swinging back and forth. After he was done, it was my
turn. I went to grab the swing, but at that moment, my
leg fell through a weak spot in the boards of the platform.
A giant twig cut open the whole inner part of my right
thigh, which led to a trip to the hospital in Prince George
traveling at a comfortable 150 km.
The first days of grade eight, there is no better way
to phrase it than hell. Grade eights seemed to be surrounded
by people who hated them before they even know our hair
color. After the first week, a grade eight gets used to
the pushing and shoving, but there is always the person
who ticks them off way too much. I was on crutches which
didn’t help matters when some "big kid"
came by and pushed me down the stairs. His plan backfired
when I tripped over him, throwing him down the stairs.
I ended up stabbing him with the ice pick on the end of
my crutches. None the less, this made my mark in high
school.
My teenage summers were spent enjoying a brand new Polaris
Scrambler four-wheeler, the crème de la crème
of fourwheelers. My friend Erik and I decided to make
a jump for us to race my four-wheeler over; however, we
were not the best carpenters. Our jump consisted of two
concrete blocks and one piece of 4x8 plywood. Erik took
the first jump, and he came out unscathed. I then mounted
my beastly four-wheeler and took off faster than a Jet
Li fight scene, overshooting the jump by twenty-two feet.
I thought my daredevil stunt was quite impressive; I never
took that jump again.
Fall 2002, I joined boxing at a local club, “Inner
City Boxing.” This was a very positive experience
for me, and I hope to continue with it after things calm
down after grade 12. Boxing has given me a way to vent
anger without hurting people. When I go into the club,
I’m mad and frustrated. I get on my gear and take
everything out on the bags, pads, and others. This leaves
me way too lazy to even think about anything but water.
I get home, eat supper, have a shower, and I feel like
I shed a skin; I’m starting out fresh.
The latest Monumental Event in my life is my long-term
relationship with Amber-Dawn Metz. She has given rise
to a hybrid mellow person more focused on the important
things in life. She has also kept me from falling into
what I call my hate binges. Sometimes I would get depressed
and do nothing but fight and sleep; when I felt better,
I would hang out with friends and party. Amber-Dawn has
made me strive to impress her. I love her, and she has
helped to set the most prominent goal in life, to be a
high school English teacher.
In summary, my life has not been as extravagant as I
had hoped it would be. I wanted to be original, but I
turned out to be a cliché and a part of the social
collective. If I ever tried to stick out, I was branded
as a "loser" or a "geek." I found
out that the only way to be original was to partake in
the creation of music. I write what I feel at a certain
time, and I play just to relieve stress. I have learned
that being original is creating something that gets everybody
reflecting about their own meaning. By formulating this
reflection I stay out of the redundant lifestyle of the
self-proclaimed “popular people," as well as
somebody else’s version of society.
For my inspiration I would like to thank-
Amber-Dawn Metz
My Parents
Dessimus - my band
Carson
And all my other friends
