Detective Stan Watson

Stan watson

(Stan watson introduction)

Just when Stan thought his week was over the call came in. Another victim. This one eerily familiar to the girl that disapeared south of town by the college. You would think that a serial killer operating next a local community college would stand out, but at this point there seemed to be only one detail that made this seem to be the work of the same person. Sure, there were a few clues, but in over 25 years as an Orange County sheriff he had never encountered anything like this. Towns like Mission Viejo had a reputation of safety and community. Even ranking in the top of the country as far as safety. But that was a few years ago. Since then, a shooting at the Mission Viejo Mall and a few murder suicides had damaged that reputation. That was nothing compared to what was happening now. South county had never experienced this kind of fear; nobody felt safe and the lack of clues gave people plenty of reason to be on edge. Never before had a killer failed to leave any physical clues. Or more importantly a body. In fact there was really no way to prove that this was even a murder. There was always a chance that all of the missing people were still alive. But Stan Watson knew better. Outside of some items that were left and random blood spatters. Most people missing just seemed to vanish. this was the work of someone highly intelligent. He had to be a master at blending in. He assumed it was a he because it couldn't be possible that this was the work of a woman or more than one individual right? At least he hoped that would not be fathomable. Truly there had to be some civility left in this world. Long ago Stan had lost hope in humanity. In over a quarter century on the job he thought he had seen it all. It seemed as though there was no limit to what humans were capable of. But that didn't matter at this point. He was starting to feel desperate for any kind of break in this case.

It was no surprise to anyone in Stan's life that he lived alone. His dedication to his work caused him to be very unreliable in his personal life. Too many times to count he had cancelled plans or failed to attend events. Even missing the birth of his first child. He knew people didn't understand him. It mattered to him deeply what his loved ones felt, but he believed they would eventually understand if he could somehow make a difference. If he could make up for the mistakes he had made and make up for his failures both as a law man and as a human being. during his free time it was no secret that Stan spent many nights alone at the end of the bar Santoras. It was hard to keep to yourself there but somehow Stan had made it clear he preferred his solitude. He had no need for relationships, he had that chance already. There was a reason why he was divorced and unable to relate to his family. Long ago they gave up hope that Stan would once again be that person he was. He knew they still loved him but they knew part of him died when he failed to prevent the disappearance of what he believed was the very first victim. He could still hear her voice and her smile haunted him daily. Did he miss a clue? Not notice an important detail in what happened that day? Had he crossed paths with this monster without realizing it. Stan considered himself to be a very good judge of character. He had thought back thousands of times and nothing. No sixth sense or tingling feeling. He wondered what happened to that young girl he had a chance encounter with.

Child Of California

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As I'm visiting my aunt Debbie for what's probably the last time, I can't help but get overwhelmed with emotion. My mother's sister Debbie is on the 8th floor of Sentanilla hospital in Inglewood, CA. She has an advanced stage of mouth cancer and is in her last days. I have always loved her. But, why did her and my mother both disappear from my life and each other's lives in 1989? Why does my family suck so bad?! I love them, but if I'm flawed they are borderline broken individuals. Before you say I'm being harsh or too critical let me explain myself.

It's 2017 and this is the first time I've seen my aunt since 1989 or 1990. I can't remember the date, just what happened. We were hanging out with neighbors and my aunt and uncle that raised me, Shirley and Dennis Jones. My aunt and uncle Christine and Robert were also there. My aunt Debbie showed up and wanted my aunt Sandy's car. You see, my aunt Sandy was in a psychiatric facility on and off for my entire childhood. When my grandmother Dotty died my uncle Dennis brought it to our house. Not because he wanted it but because it was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Sandy was in a hospital and it sat in our yard. It was an eighty something Ford Pinto which is probably one of the ugliest piece of junk cars ever made. You'll probably only see one or two on the road because they were so crappy. Debbie shows up at our house in Phelan, CA and wanted to take Sandy's car. Well, when my grandma died my uncle Dennis handled all of the funeral arrangements and selling her house. Even though my mother, aunt Sandy, and aunt Debbie did nothing to help they still harassed my uncle Dennis because they wanted money. Outside of a couple trips to have pizza and paying for things related to funeral he split the proceeds of selling grandma's house four ways. If i remember correctly it sold for about 160,000 and they each got about 40,000. My uncle Dennis and aunt Shirley bought a car, tv, stereo, wood burning stove and a few other things. My mother Lenora, aunt Debbie, and aunt Sandy all took their share and disappeared. The last time I saw my aunt Debbie until I visited her in the hospital was when she showed up at our house. So, she tells her brother my uncle Dennis that she wanted their sister Sandy's car. Well, my uncle was a little bitter with my aunt Debbie. She had stolen and written checks against my grandma's bank account. They totaled thousands of dollars yet he still gave her a full share from the sell of the house. So when she showed up for the car it pissed him off. He told her to get the fuck off his property. When she refused he told her he was going to get his gun. When she insisted on staying he calmly walked into the house and grabbed his 22 rifle. As he walked out of the house with it she jumped in her car with her friend and started driving away. My uncle Dennis proceeded to walk towards a spot to take a shot. My uncle Robert puts his arms around him to stop him. Dennis then begins to elbow Robert because you can see in his eyes he wants to shoot Debbie. Well by the time Robert lets go Debbie is far enough away to where he doesn't have a shot, thank God!

You see, this type of situation was a constant occurrence in the Jones family. It wasn't often that my mother, aunts, or uncle would discuss their childhood. Yes, I have some old black and white home videos of them during happy times. But, for the most part they avoided the topic. I only know that bad things had to have happened for all of them to have so much turmoil within them.

A few years before the twenty two incident we were hanging out at my aunt Debbie and uncle Ken's house. I was still living with my mother Lenora and her boyfriend Paul Amado. Since my brother Michael, sister Michelle, and I only lived with them from second grade to fourth grade it had to have occurred during that time. Looking back, even though it was only three short years to a child between seven and ten years old it seemed like much longer than that. I remember the incident vividly like it was yesterday. My mother, Paul, Debbie, Ken, Dennis, and Shirley were sitting at the table drinking beer. My mother tended to get mouthy when she drank and did other drugs and that would often spark violent fights between her and Paul. This night was no different. My mother said something and Paul hit her. Dennis, got that look in his eyes and instantly went after Paul. Paul was a strong man but even he was scared to death of my uncle Dennis who stood about six foot three and about 280 pounds. I don't know how but Paul managed to get out the front door and into his toyota car like a bear was chasing him. As he locked the car door and attempted to back out of the driveway Dennis put his fist through the driver's side window and grabbed him by the shirt and neck. I saw the whites of his eyes even though he had been drinking and smoking pot all night. Everyone just watched in amazement as Paul put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. I can't say I didn't smile at the sight, Since Paul many times had beaten my brother, sister, and I. Although Paul did take care of us at times and did pay the bills he was a mean man and even border line evil at times. The only problem was we still lived with him at the time and would have to return to the house we shared after this incident.

When my mom and Paul would drink it would often start out as a fun night. But generally as they drank heavily and also dabbled in coke and meth along with marijuana the night almost always ended in violence. So much violence that I grew up with my own anger issues that I would eventually have to confront. More on that later. I still have to give the background and tell the story of the Jonses and the life of gypsies. 

Life was always crazy in my family. From the very beginning the Jonses were not healthy, mentally. I never met my grandfather on my mother's side. He died three years before I was born. Before my mother would proceed to have what she called the "United Nations babies". Which in reality meant that her oldest son was white, I'm half brown, and my sister half black. My grandfather was extremely racist and I believe this was my mother's way of getting back at him. On top of having to deal with a mother that was self destructive and dated violent men we also had to deal with people treating us differently because all three of us were different colors.

Before my mother met Paul all four of us lived with my grandmother. Even then I remember chaos and being introduced to things that I should have never witnessed or experienced, at any age. There were good times. Each Easter we would wake up to the Easter bunny bringing us a chocolate bunny in an Easter basket and five dollars. This and going through the drive through of McDonalds were highlights of my time at my grandmas house. I remember pre-school, kindergarten, and first grade in Hacienda Heights at my grandmas house. During that time my mom would often leave for stretches at a time. As a 4-6 year old kid this was devastating. Not understanding where my mother was going confused, upset, and disappointed me. While my mother was a nice person and did thoughtful things for us, she was incredibly unstable. When she returned from her time away she would often sleep for hours and days after returning. We would never know where she would go or when she would return. This I believe was the start of my insecurity and abandonment issues that in ways still hamper and affect me to this day. I vividly remember checking her room and finding her sleeping attempted to wake her up after not seeing her for what felt like forever at the time, but was probably only a few days or weeks. She wouldn't wake up and my grandma eventually came in and tried to calm me down because I was crying because my mother would not wake up.

One of the most scarring incidents that I can remember I'm actually ashamed to share. But, I tend to not dwell on the past so I share these things with very little emotions and pain. Please don't feel sorry for me as I don't feel sorry for myself. I believe it has made me the person I am today, and I actually like the person I am now. Although I have had to experience many lows and trouble to get here. It never killed me, only made me stronger. This particular incident is one of the most embarrassing moments of my entire life. I do find it hard to tell this story because it's very inappropriate and sad. But, if you don't get things off your chest and move past them they'll haunt you forever. We were at a park. Just being kids. At the time we still lived with my grandmother and my mom had taken my brother, sister, and I to the park. We're playing on the slide and swings just doing what a 7 year old, 6 year old, and 3 year old do. We turn around and my mother is talking to a group of men in the park. Pretty soon she's on her way to the parking lot and getting inside a van. My brother, sister, and I walk to the parking lot and we're standing outside the van as it starts rocking and bouncing up and down. One guy gets out of the van and urinates on the tire of the van and then gets back inside the van. As he gets back in we try to see what's going on. I can't remember if I couldn't see what was going on or if I've just blocked the image out of my head. Either way, three little kids should never experience witnessing their mother have sex with a group of men in the parking lot of a public park. The image haunted me for many years. Remembering how embarrassing it was watching these men all take turns urinating on the tire of the van and laughing at us three each time. I believe it was at that time that I began to actually resent my mother. I felt like she had no respect for us, and furthermore why have children if that is how you're going to treat them.

I think back to when she first met Paul Amado. I didn't know why but he would park down the street in his old 50's pick up truck. My mom would walk down the street to meet him. Bringing us three with her to introduce us to him. He seemed nice enough, but even back then something wasn't right about the man. We later realized he was married and had I believe kids with his wife. He would leave his wife and kids to be with my mother. All five of us would move shortly there after to live in San Bernardino. So began our life on Porter street. First, we lived at 1942 Porter street. It was an old house. With an additional living area behind the main house. Us three kids would use that as our hang out. Often acting inappropriately. Behind that was a large yard including about 100 cages for laying hens. For second and third grade we lived there. At times it was great, plenty of yard to play in. We'd dig holes and make forts. Paul and my mom would buy pigs, geese, ducks, chickens, and grew corn. I have to admit Paul was a talented guy. He was a glacier by trade but could work on vehicles, raise and butcher animals, and drink like a champ.

Peace would only last for a short amount of time before violence would become the norm in our lives. At first it was minor incidents until my mom made a mistake butchering a pig. You see, when butchering a pig that has testicles you have to avoid cutting the pigs bladder. Because of the pig not being castrated it can ruin the meat and cause it to have a foul taste. Well, you guessed it. My mom sliced the bladder and urine started spilling into the inside of the pig. This infuriated Paul who had a violent temper. When butchering the pig they would gut it and then split it in half and hang it from meat hooks. Paul grabbed one of the meat hooks and hooked my mother in the mouth with it. She fell to the ground and Paul simply walked away. As blood was rushing from my mom's mouth my sister started crying as did my brother and I. My brother and I bent over and helped take the meat hook out of her mouth. One of us called 911 and the police and an ambulance came. I'll never forget what happened next and am thankful that these days the state prosecutes domestic violence offenders even if the victim does not cooperate. I'll get more into this later because I would be destined to experience my own anger issues.But in 1984 a victim could decide not to file charges and the cops could not even arrest the offender. I will never forget my mother telling the police that she didn't want to press charges. As soon as they stitched up her cheek the police simply left. And we were left to continue living with someone who could with no problem put a meat hook through his girlfriends mouth. And a woman who would allow a man to put a meat hook through her mouth and continue to subject herself to the treatment. As if somewhere inside she felt S if she deserved it. This became our normal for the next few years that felt like eternity.

The police would visit this house and our next house at 1977 Porter street numerous times over the next couple of years. Each situation bringing us closer to what would eventually be the end of our life with our mother.

Life went on at 1942 Porter street. In the spring we would plant corn and my mom also had a garden behind the living area that was behind the house. She had tomatoes, carrots, squash, zuchini, and pot! At the time I didn't know what weed was nor did I care. But i knew that she cared about it. She would trim it and actually it was the only time I remembered my mom looking content. She would trim it and then dry it out up in the closet. As a curious 8 year old i'd climb up into the closet when my mom and Paul were gone and try to see what it was. My mom would drop us off at the public pool called The Center and on the way she would hand out bags of marijuana to black guys on corners and they would give her cash. I remember hearing terms like dime, nickel, twenty. Because I was already turning into a kid that was insecure I cared about being cool and image. So to me my mom was cool. She'd drop us off at the pool and we'd walk home. I was starting to be fascinated with my mom's lifestyle. From an early age I loved my mom. Although I resented her for the times she abandoned us and mistreated herself I lived her so much. When she was around she would laugh, sing, and was a very good artist. I would convince myself that the violence would stop and we'd all find peace and love. Little did I know that I wouldnt know peace or love for a long time. Not until I endured pain, loneliness, and suicidal thoughts that I would find the path to peace.

My mom would continue growing weed in her garden until the next violent encounter at 1942 Porter street. Paul had some friends and all of them were troubled. I guess you attract the energy you put out. One day we're watching tv in the living room and Paul's friend Bill runs into our backyard. We see him run up the driveway and then into the backyard by where we had just piled the remainder of corn husks and such. Less than 5 minutes later a bunch of police cars pull up in front of our house and a helicopter is flying low above our house. Well, the police helicopter lands in our backyard and like 10 cops run into our backyard. A few minutes later the cops come back towards the front of the house with a cop on both sides holding Bill up. He had blood pouring from his head and they're still hitting him with billy clubs. As they put him in the police car they hit his head on the top of the police car. When I watched the Rodney King beating years later it was my belief that it didn't matter what color King was. They would have beat him like they did Bill anyways. Being black may have just earned him a few extra kicks to the ribs. The police left and we were in shock with what we had just witnessed. After having a bunch of police in our backyard my mom cut down the rest of her marijuana plants.

I realized my mom was not done disappearing. She had this tendency to leave with any man that asked her. During these times we'd stay with Paul. And to be honest he was nicer and more easy going when she was gone. Paul had a soft side. He would make us dinner after he got off work. I remember hamburgers and french fries and then he would sing and play his guitar. I had no idea what was going to happen in less than two years.

It's 1985 and we move up the same street in San Bernardino to 1977 Porter street. It was a newer house than 1942 was and it also meant we went to a different school. I now went to Muscoy elementary school at this point. I still remember 4th grade so well. This was the year my life changed completely. I would only see my mother two more times after 5th grade. Once in 1989 at my grandma's funeral and once in 1990 after we had already gone to live with our uncle and his wife Shirley. As I started fourth grade I was in Mr. Mack's class. He would often use chloreseptic because his throat would get dry from lecturing. I was often being sent to the principals office because I was and still am a motor mouth. I would not and could not shut up. Until one day in fifth grade. More on that story later. In fourth grade is when I became a thug and wannabe gangster. I started a gang and recruited kids from our school. A seventh grade kid came to our school and I jumped him. Got on top of him and started punching him. I was pulled off by teachers and once again sent to the principal's office. The seventh grader didn't even do anything to me. I started hitting him because there was a lot of people around and I wanted to show people that I didn't care. Well, it worked. People at our school were scared. I even threatened one of the kids in my gang and made him give me his black Michael Jackson jacket. Then I broke the zipper on the sleeve and didn't want it anymore. Him and I also fought and my mom's boyfriend broke that fight up. As I was on top of him punching him in the face. I had found my anger and violence that seemed to run in the men in the family. My brother was also out of control. Him and I would wait until my mom and her boyfriend Paul would pass out and we would sneak weed, cigarettes, and Budweiser into the garage. The beer tasted horrible but we drank it anyways. We also didn't know how to inhale. It was routine. We'd eat dinner and my mom would drink too much and too much other drugs. Then, she would say something to Paul and he'd snap and hit her. Then, they would go into their bedroom and have sex with the door open. Once again, it was not healthy. Once they passed out my brother and I would go out to the garage. We started inviting neighbor kids over. I now thought I was running the show. Pretty soon im trying chewing tobacco and leaving at all hours of the night. One time we decided to try and make fire and little bombs. Good thing we didn't have the internet because we could not figure out how to get them to explode. Instead we poured gasoline on the ground and lit it. We wanted to make it bigger so we tried to pour more gasoline on the fire. The fire worked its way to the gas can and I dropped it. Then, the house caught on fire. We freaked out and grabbed the water hose and dirt and were able to put it out. Unfortunately, it left blackness on the house that we couldn't get rid of. We got a beating from Paul. All that did is give me more anger and frustration.

Then came the time my brother would move to my grandma's house. It started because my brother recorded over my Jackson 5 tape. When I went to play it i heard his voice instead. I was yelling at him and we started fighting as usual. Paul came in with his belt snd started hitting us with it. I escaped between the bunk bed and got out the front door. The police were called again and Paul broke a window out of our room and was yelling at me to get my ass back in the house. Well, in my mind Paul was the scariest person imaginable when he was angry. He locked the gates and didn't let the police in. Once again my mother refused to press charges. A few days later my mom and Paul got into another fight because they were drinking again. He went to bed and she poured a gallon of milk on his face. He went nuts. He got a butcher knife and started chasing her. She hid behind the couch and he threw the knife and it stuck in the floor. He chased her out of the house and once again the police came. This time my brother had to leave because Paul threw a beer bottle at my mom and she ducked. It hit my brother Michael in the mouth and it broke it front tooth. He was no longer allowed to live with Paul. Instead of choosing my brother she decided to send my brother to live with my grandma so that she could stay with Paul. Leaving just me and my sister to live with my mom and Paul.

After my brother went to live with our grandma I thought i was going to love it. But i missed my brother. Although we fought he was my beat friend and partner in crime. Once he left I really started to get into trouble. We'd visit my brother and he would have brand new clothes and was well fed. My grandma and aunt Sandy would show him attention. I would get jealous and didnt even want to go to my grandmas anymore. I believed she loved my brother more than her brown grandson and black granddaughter. I started hanging with other kids who didn't have good parents. I continued the violence at school as well. Picking fights with people and driving Mr. Mack nuts! Something was going to have to change. One night we come home from christmas shopping and i wanted my christmas present. My mom told me it was too dark and to wait for morning. Of course I couldn't just listen. Instead, i grabbed a kerosene lamp and went out to the car. I knocked my fishing weights over and they fell on the floor. I sat the kerosene lamp on the backseat and looked on the floor bed. I didn't realize but i had knocked over the lamp and it quickly started the backseat on fire. I ran to get the hose but by the time i came back the entire car was on fire. Scared i ran to the house and yelled that the car was on fire. Well, the windows blow out and the fire department comes. The neighbor kid and i come up with a story that a black kid threw a lighter in the car. My naive mind didn't realize that they would find the kerosene lamp and that My face told that i was guilty. My mom loved that car and even named it Betsy. I didn't get in as much trouble as i thought i would for that.

It's March 1985 and i go to spend the night at a friends house. I ride my bike to his house after school and the next day i rode to my house but nobody was home. I went back to my friends house and would never live in that house again. 2 weeks later my friend's mom asked if i had any relatives i could call. Well, the only number i knew was my grandma's. When I called my grandma answered and said that my mom and Paul had left and didn't want us anymore. My mom had dropped my sister off with my aunt Debbie and that they would come and pick me up. To a 9 year old kid being told your mom has left you is a tough thing to hear. Already angry and bottling up emotions this just made me believe I was cursed. My aunt Debbie picked me up from my friends house and I can even remember where they lived. We were only there a short time. My aunt Debbie and her husband uncle Ken also liked to drink and do other drugs. I do remember my uncle Ken taking me to work with him in Huntington beach. I would fish off of the pier while he built homes close by. I caught a halibut and a Croker and fishing was the only sensible thing i enjoyed. One night i walk in on mu aunt and uncle doing cocaine or something that looked like it. They called my grandma the next day and said that she couldn't keep us. To this day my uncle Ken won't even talk to me. He tells my cousin Nichole who is the child of him and aunt Debbie that he prefers not talking to my brother, sister, and I. Says he doesnt want to be reminded of the past. He's clean and sober and shortly after my grandma died my aunt Debbie left him to go live the life my mom also chose.

April 1985 and my sister and I join my brother who had already begun living with Dennis and shirley a few months earlier. At first he didnt want my sister and i to come live with them. I still remember the car ride to their apartment in Whittier. They had this brown and white station wagon. The third row of seats faced the opposite direction of the other two rows of seats. My sister and I sat in the far back and looked each of the drivers behind us in the eyes. Whittier would turn into a fun place. It was the first time I would see a vcr. It Beta max so the tapes were a little smaller than VHS. We would watch movies like Karate kid, goonies, commando,breakfast club. We'd play games like tag with all the kids from the apartment complex. But the apartment was not big enough for seven of us so we moved that summer to Pomona.

Leaving was similar to the first scene of karate kid. In the movie Daniel laruso and his mom move and they drive away in a station wagon while friends wave goodbye. When we arrived in Pomona at 2219 Las Vegas street. For the most part we had fun with Shirley and Dennis Jones. Especially in the beginning, but soon I would continue to get in trouble at school. Dennis and Shirley ran a different home than Paul and Lenora.

We didn't enroll in school until the following school year. I was fine to start fifth grade but my sister was way behind. My aunt Shirley would spend countless hours tutoring her just to get them to let her start second grade. During our first summer in Pomona, which is actually the same city I was born in was fun. We lived close to everything. We would go to the LA fairgrounds and watch race cars and the fair. We could see the fireworks from the car wash behind our house too. We'd sit on the trash can at the car wash and watch them. We'd play marbles with the neighbor Jesus. And ride our skateboards to the Stater brothers across Garey avenue close to our house. My aunt and uncle would even take us to eat pizza at Rocky's new york pizza in the same shopping center as stater bros.

It wasn't long before I found trouble again. Or is it trouble that finds me. Most of my trouble was similar to what other kids get into. Not cleaning my room, making my bed, folding the clothes in my drawer. Other times it was like my mind operated differently than others.

Dennis and Shirley took in three additional mouths to feed, and that wasn't always easy. There were nights when we didn't eat enough and we'd go to bed hungry. So one time while at Stater bros. i stole a candy bar and got away with it. Soon, we were putting holes in our jacket pockets and shoving as many candy bars as we could into our pockets. My naive childhood mind thought I'd get away with it I guess. Well, we got caught. Stater Bros. Managers and security stooped us as we left the store. They took us to this back room and sat us on a bench while handcuffing us to a pipe. They took our picture with a polaroid camera and told us they called the cops and that our parents could pick us up at the police station. I had only recently gone to live with my aunt and uncle but already knew you did not want to get into trouble with them. They gave us two choices. Never come back to the store again and they would let us go or call our parents and figure it out. Of course we agreed to never return. Unfortunately, this store was the only one around and Shirley was constantly sending us to pick things up. My cousin Joe and I were the ones that got caught so my brother Michael was the only one allowed to shop. Other times the entire family would go to Staters and we'd have to walk through the store with he same people that caught us watching our family. Hoping to God they wouldn't say anything to our parents. Well, after about 6 months Joe and I spoke to the store manager and begged him to let us back in the store.

Pomona was an interesting city. Some decent neighborhoods surrounded by bad ones. My brother and I had paper routes for the Progress Bulletin and would have to go to a couple of the bad neighborhoods. I'd have to wear neutral colors in the gang neighborhoods but would still be chased out of neighborhoods by crips and bloods. Especially this one high school kid. He just didnt like me or my brother. If I was alone id have to run home or away from this kid. Luckily i was fast or i would have been beaten because some of these black kids were huge. They were incredible athletes with abs. I loved to play basketball at this time and could hold my own until we went to Palomares junior high school. By then the other kids had grown so much faster than I did that it became a challenge. But i loved a challenge.

But before I move onto junior high i wanted to further discuss my anger that consumed me for many years. I already mentioned how i was a motor mouth and just could not shut up. Well, one time I was talking to this girl Alma i had a crush on and the teacher gave me a detention. The rule in our house was be home right after school or get a beating. With a combination of being scared of a beating and anger at myself and i snapped. I threw a chair at my teacher and got sent to the principals office. The principal called my parents and they calmly came in and asked if they could use his paddle to handle this. He agreed and left his office so they could proceed. My uncle Dennis beat me with that paddle foe quite a while. Then, he walked me to my class and made me apologize to the entire class. I remember this as being the turning point of my troubles in school. I was either going to be slick and not get caught doing something bad or i was going to behave. I had enjoyed school before this but was often distracted. I had trouble focusing and sitting still. But, with the fear of a beating from my uncle i did my best to keep quiet. Soon there after i started finding out that I was actually kind of smart. I won our class spelling bee in 5th and 6th grade. representing our class in school spelling bee. I lost in 5th grade because I spelled the word peace instead of piece. I was so nervous and caught up with all the people watching that I didn't listen to the definition. I also represented our school in something called Chalk Talk. It's where you give a presentation on the different tyoes of triangles. Somehow i won the competition for our school and went to face the district. I had no idea what i was doing and lost the district. I felt like i let my school down but started to feel competitive. Soon, i was auditioning for parts in school plays. I played one of the two main roles in a christmas story about a boy and his sister. The sister happened to be the girl Alma that i had a crush on. I was so nervous that i didnt want to hold her hand because my hand would get sweaty. Instead of saying that I told her she was gross and i didnt want to hold her hand. Ahh, the things kids say and do. Well my 5th grade teacher Mrs. Barbee who i actually threw the chair at, ended up being one of the biggest hearted teachers i ever had. She was the one who first showed me that i was capable of something besides violence and crime. In 6th grade i hd mrs. Scales as a teacher. She was cool but nothing compared to barbee.

It was about this time that we started to attend church. I had never heard of church before living with my aunt and uncle. It turned into one of my sanctuary's. No pun intended. I started to live a double life. One part of me being the person that i believed everyone wanted me to be and the other the troubled child i actually was. Much of church was boring! On Sundays we'd start in sunday school with kids our age and then at 10:30 we'd all go to the big church for the main service. Pastor Swanson. I will admit that even as a kid this man was special. Everyone loved him and the size of the congregation reflected it. But for a 10 year old kid it was the longest two hours on the planet. Every once in a while i would hear something i could relate to, but for the most part is was a bunch of lessons from scriptures in the bible way over my head. It would always start off the same. Pastor swanson would start the service by praying and then we'd all sing hymnals and i would just move my lips because i couldn't sing. We'd pray again and then "you may be seated". He'd give the days sermon and then singing again. Well, every few weeks it would be a powerful message and people would get emotional. Numerous times I felt people overdid their joy. Like sometimes people would speak in tongues. All these strange things being said and i was left out. Id sit there amongst many people thinking, does God not speak through me?

Once again competition helped me excel. We were in the Assembly of God on Arrow highway's version of Boy Scouts. It was called Royal Rangers. We'd go camping and got uniforms. I also enjoyed the youth group. We'd go to the beach and the leader of the group was Andy Foster and he became one of my mentors. I would audition for plays which was always fun for me because it was a challenge to memorize lines and deliver them in a way that impressed people. I would also tey to achieve things others didnt. I was given an award because i memorized all the books in the bible and a bunch of bible verses. But deep down I believe i was doing it because of the attention and the competition, not because I was actually talking to God. Deep down i was still troubled and would go through some dark times.

To be continued