Complete The Story: 27 of 200

 I awoke to sights I had never seen, sounds I had never heard, and smells I had never smelled.  I laid in a hospital bed, as the temperature kept adjusting until it felt a perfection of warmth.  The bed softened and the pillow firmed, to a bliss of comfort, I can only describe as heavenly.  A man stood in front of me.  As my eyes adjusted to the light, he began to speak. At first, a heavy accent, in Spanish.

"Doc-tor. Hofteizer?" He said to me. 

"Yes," I answered him. 

"My name is Dr. Sergio Oviedo," he said. His accent had disappeared, as he spoke perfect English.  "I'm a descendant of Dr. Javier Oviedo. You are at the University of Boubin, in the hospital wing." 

I went to take the covers off of my body, so I could sit up. They were surprisingly heavy.  Not from a weakness of injury or illness. Not from a weakness of being elderly and frail. It was weakness of strength not yet developed.  Dr. Oviedo reached over and helped me remove the covers. I was horrified at what I saw. 

My arms and hands were tiny. My legs and feet equally as small.  I stared at my hands, feeling one with the other. Smooth, soft and unwrinkled. I took a deep breath, the most oxygen I had gotten in years. No deviated septum. No phlegm or mucus blocking my air ways. 

"Feel new?" Dr. Oviedo smiled at me as he held out his hand. "Come, it'll soon all make sense." 

The floor was only about two foot down, but considering I was three foot tall at the most, I appreciated Dr. Oviedo's help getting off the bed. 

We began walking down the hall.  I noticed my reflection in the mirror.  Mentally and emotionally, I was a grown man.  A 68-year-old scientist named Justin Hofteizer.  Physically I looked like a toddler. 

We came to a room, as Dr. Oviedo hoisted me up and sat me on a chair, in front of a monitor screen.  He sat in a chair beside me and began to explain my situation. 

"How do I go about this?" He said with a laugh. "Where to begin?" 

"What year is it?" I figured we'd start there. 

"The year is 162,026," Dr. Oviedo answered. 

He had to be lying.  There's no way that could be possible. I had gotten sick in 2026. There's no way I was 160,000 years into the future. 

"Technically you're 160,068 years old," He laughed again. "You have the 68-year-old mind you died with 2026, and physically you're around three years old." 

I lifted my tiny hands to my tiny head and rubbed my eyes.  I had to be dreaming.  None of this added up. None of it made sense. 

"Please," Dr. Oviedo said. "Watch the screen visuals. They will help you to understand." 

I sat and watched the screen, as Dr. Oviedo narrated. 

"Interstellar travel," He began. "We knew it was something that we'd never be able to do for a variety of reasons.  It was too far; it took too long.  We'd never be able to get from point A to point B within our lifetime.  Even has we discovered ways to travel faster and faster, closer and closer to the speed of light, we still had to deal with relativity.  We figured out a way to reach Alpha Centauri in 4 and half years, but the problem was, over 80,000 years would pass on Earth." 

The visuals were the best I'd ever seen.  Almost as if they were specifically designed for me.  Explained in a way that best suited for how I learned best. 

"At first we worked on the aging gene," Dr. Oviedo continued. "We tried to see how long we could make the human body last. We worked and worked, even getting a few up to 225 years old. The average age 150.  I mean people born in 2025, living to see their great grandchildren's, great grandchildren." 

"Remarkable," I said with great interest. 

"Yes," Dr. Oviedo continued. "But not anywhere near enough for the greatest minds to be able to travel throughout space and answer the questions that mystified humanity for 1,000's of years. We had to do something else."

"What?" My curiosity was at its peak. 

"At first we tried to slumber the body," Dr. Oviedo answered. "We induced comas. The more we discovered, the longer we could keep people alive.  This worked to a degree.  Better than where we had got with the aging gene. We brought people back up to 2,000 years after they had been placed in a coma. It's all the longer we could though.  Remarkable for many reasons, but still not what we needed." 

Dr. Oviedo took a breath and then turned to look me in the eye. 

"We call it the soulit," He said as he turned his attention back to the screen. "It was discovered shortly after you died.  It's an area of the brain where everything about you, that makes you, you is stored.  Dr. Ruth Cynthia discovered it, claiming it was our soul. Dr. Tohtu Bigbear figured out how to extract it. He called it a spirit.  Hence, why it was named the soulit. That's why you're here, Dr. Hofteizer." 


"Abortion was a huge political issue back in your day, wasn't it?" Dr. Oviedo asked. "University of Kentucky professor Don Marquis argued that what made abortion immoral, was that you were robbing someone of their potential. Someone that would otherwise get to exist & experience, as we exist & experience.  Abortion is no longer an issue. It hasn't been for well over 100,000 years." 

I was beginning to understand but I wasn't quite there yet.  I continued to listen to Dr. Oviedo. 

"The moral issue of our time are the left over soulits," Dr. Oviedo explained. "A woman doesn't want a baby? We now can extract it from her body and grow it in our labs.  Once it is large enough, we remove its soulit and replace it with a soulit that society has deemed worthy.  Scientists, physicists, astrophysicists, geologists, chemists...I mean you name it; we have kept some of the most profound and remarkable thinkers of our time alive for over 100,000 years." 

I sat and wrestled with the moral dilemma that was now going to battle in my head.  Dr. Oviedo continued with the positives of this research, as the thought of "left over soulits" kept repeating itself in my brain. 

"Think," Dr. Oviedo said, "What if we had been able to keep Newton alive.  What if Albert Einstein could've kept coming back? As far as we are, imagine if those two minds were still around, how far we'd be." 

"The left over soulits?" I asked him. 

"Yes," He frowned. "They're stored. We keep them in a large collection.  That's the only down fall of this project."

"The only way to be able to put my soulit," I said. "Or anyone else's for that matter alive, and beneficial to society, is by removing someone else's and taking over their body?" 

"We've experimented putting them into other animals," Dr. Oviedo explained. "That's been interesting.  Chimps, bonobos, gorillas. At first the general public believed that these animals were simply getting smarter.  That their ability to read and write, type, all sorts of things was simply a matter of advancements in technology.  Then they discovered that the soulit of the animal had actually been removed and been replaced by what was originally supposed to be the soulit of a human being. Boy, did that open up a can of worms that the politicians ran with.  People protesting about soulits being removed from the body that was supposed to belong to them.  People protesting about the Apes and what became of their soulits. The whole things been going on for centuries upon centuries." 

"So, your body isn't your own then, I take it?" I asked. 

"No," He answered. "Neither is your's.  I haven't been in my original body for well over 1,000 years.  This is my 7th body overall, including my original." 

"Have I been through this before?" I ask. "Do I simply not remember it?"

"No," Dr. Oviedo answers. "Your brain was kept preserved post your death for 750 years.  When the soulit was discovered, we extracted it.  It was then stolen and we had thought that it was lost forever." 

"And nearly 100,000 years later," I laughed. "You discover it?" 

"We still have many questions left unanswered," Dr. Oviedo said. "Perhaps we always will, I'm a believer that there is no question without an answer.  There has to be an answer. I believe you can help us." 

Help with what? This was a society 100,000 years beyond anything I had ever known in 2026. 100,000 years more advanced than any technology that I had ever worked with.  As the day progressed, I came to find out that Dr. Oviedo had been speaking Spanish to me the entire time.  All human beings were now programmed with a device that allowed them to automatically translate anything someone said.  When I said, "Hello, my name is Jason Hofteizer," Dr. Oviedo heard, "Hola, mi nombre Jason Hofteizer." 

Pain was a thing of the past, unless you cared to experience it.  Humans were now programed with an ability to stop pain.  Pain from an accident. Pain from an illness. You got bit by a venomous snake, the anti-venom was already stored and being put to use the second the venom entered the bloodstream. 

"Real" sports and "real" movies still existed.  Yet if you wanted to watch the Chicago Cubs hammer the St. Louis Cardinals in a ball game 10-0, you could program to see such a game.  You could program it down to every last play.  

You could go into a movie theatre. Submit a treatment, name actors to roles, answer a series of questions and then watch the film unfold before your eyes on the big screen. 

For those that wanted the "real", to experience life as it "was meant to be" the option still existed in many ways.  Yet for the majority of people, artificial intelligence, pretty made all of life artificial, or so it seemed to me the more I got to know of this new world I was in. 

We discovered life on Proxima Centauri B.  Way primitive to the life we had here on earth.  Scientists were calling their stage of life similar to the Mesozoic era here on Earth.  

Dr. Oviedo gave me some time to adjust to life. To have the body of a 3-year-old and the mind of a 68 year old. Then he came to me one day with what it was they were hoping I could figure out. 

"We're essentially wanting you to play God," Dr. Oviedo said.

While people were alive, we could program messages, images and information into their brains. Make them not only have the perfect dream, but make them believe they were actually there, experiencing what was going on.  I suppose similar to TOTAL RECALL.   Yet not everyone wanted to live on Earth forever.  Not everyone was allowed to either.  Some wanted to die.  To experience death. They had no desire to keep coming back again and again in new bodies.  Then there was also the issue of the soulits that had been removed, so that scientist like Dr. Oviedo and myself could take over their bodies. 

They wanted me to figure out a way to give these soulits their Heaven, there paradise if you will. Create a utopia of bliss, happiness and reward.  Once I figured out how this could be done, if it could be done, it'd be easier for those that had been around.  If Fred Jones had lived for 136 years, loved his wife, loved to fish, then it'd be easy.  I'd put him in a gorgeous home by a lake, give him a boat and have him spending eternity fishing in the sun.  For the soulits that were extracted, like the one that had been extracted from the body I currently occupied? Well, that would be a tougher challenge. These people never got to exist, so coming up with their Heaven would have to be a guess. 

Why I Stopped Talking To My Dad

 I graduated college and moved out on my own in August of 2009. I lived in Tiffin for three weeks, and then I lived in Iowa City for about a year. I moved to Coralville for 11 months & then spent my the remaining amount of time back in Iowa City.  Collectively between living with Dennis, then Dennis & Ratko, then with Carl, then owning my own place, I was in the Iowa City area from August of 2009, until May of 2013.  

During this not quite four year stretch, my Dad visited me exactly one time. We went to the Western Wrestling Conference championships in Cedar Falls. He picked me up at my trailer, letting me know that he wasn't happy about the way I was dressed.  My blue jeans were worn & faded.  I needed a haircut & he wasn't too impressed with owning a trailer.  I told him that I didn't have a lot of $$ to go out buying new clothes all the time.  I was putting about $500 a month towards student loans & $400 a month towards my trailer.  Bills & food, I didn't have much $$ for anything else. 

In four different areas that I lived in, he only saw one. It was the only time he came up to see me.  My sister lived about a 10 minute drive from the trailer I owned.  He was up to see her about 12 times per year. 

How often did I see him when I came back to Sigourney?  Every single time.  He wasn't always home, but if he was I'd stop to see him.  Most of our visits were very negative.  I had a college degree, why wasn't I making $70K a year or more.  He always had plenty to say, he never had much time to listen. 

I once brought my friend Chief over to meet my Dad.  After a 20 minute conversation, Chief looked over at me when we got into the car. 

"Jesus Christ," He said to me. "He does NOT like you, does he?" 

I moved to Des Moines in May of 2013. I lived their until April of 2020.  The entire time I was there, my Dad visited me once. He never saw the home I owned. He only came up once to help me shop for a new car. 

My Grandpa said it all had to do with how big Des Moines was.  It was too big of a city & it was further away than Iowa City.  He said that's why my Dad always turned down offers to come see me.  I find that difficult to believe for many reasons. 

1 - I don't think living in Des Moines had anything to do with it.  Des Moines is an hour & a half, Vs Iowa City an hour from Sigourney.  I lived in Iowa City area for nearly 4 years, he never came to see me then either 

2 - size? My Dad goes to Omaha, Minneapolis & Kansas City quite frequently. All three are way larger & more difficult to drive in than is Des Moines 

3 - Every Thanksgiving my Dad would drive to Jefferson for family get togethers at his girlfriend's family.  I know the exact route.  They came within 7.2 miles of my home.  7 in a row, I asked my Dad to stop by for a minute, either on his way there or on his way back, he turned me down each time.  A 300 mile round trip, and an extra 15 miles in total was just too much wear and tear to add to his vehicle. 

During that 7+ years, I still stopped and saw him every time I came back to Sigourney. Always to be met with negativity. 

I remember introducing him to Ashley the first time. I remember the drive home afterwards.

"He doesn't have anything good to say about you, does he?" She asked me. 

Well kinda...

According to my cousin Stacey, he has a lot of good things to say about me in certain pretences. 

Nearly anything positive my Dad has to say about me involves the words would, could & should. 

He loves the idea of who he thinks I could've been 

He loves the idea of who he thinks I should've been 

He does like a lot of versions of me.  The only version he dislikes with great passion is the actual me. 

My Dad built a new home, right around the time I was planning a move to Florida. 

He called me up one day and let me know that he was going to be moving soon. If I wanted my stuff that he had of mine, I needed to come get it.  It wasn't much stuff.  Just enough to fill half of a small closet.  I found it peculiar that he was building a much larger home, but he'd have no room for that stuff. 

His house was finished and moved in to about a week before I was to take off for Florida. I stopped by for what would ultimately be my first and last time in that house. 

When I arrived, I asked him if I could take a tour of the house. He told me he didn't give a shit what I did.  Starting in the garage, I walked every inch of that house, twice.  The walls were full of pictures of my sister and her family.  Pictures of my Dad's girlfriend and of her family were everywhere. Not a single photo of me or anything of me to be found anywhere. 

"Good luck," He said to me. "You're gonna need it." 

And with those words I walked out of that house knowing I'd never go back again. If he's that ashamed of me and sees me as that much of a disappointment, then I came to the conclusion I needed to accept that. 

A short time later Ashley & I were watching a documentary on serial killer Jeffery Dahmer. His father, Lionel Dahmer was being interviewed at his home.  As he answered questions regarding Jeffery, a portrait of Jeffery next to some other family photographs stood out on the wall.  It occured to me that Lionel Dahmer, thought more of his son Jeffery, a mass murderer, than Randy Stonebraker thought of Stephen Stonebraker. 

He has certain expectations for me post getting a college degree. I didn't live up to those expectations.  I've heard the "yeah buts" and I've contemplated them a long time.  I know the $24,000 my Dad feels he was cheated out on sending me to college. My mom & Barry lost out on $24,000 too. I lost out on a lot. I spent 11 years of my life paying back $48,000 of my share for that college education that has brought me very, very little good, and brought me a whole lot of grief.  He knows what it cost him. He never stops to think what it cost me. 

It's not about anger. I can get over being angry. It's not about forgiveness, at least not on my end.  I don't think he'll ever forgive me for not becoming the success that he wanted me to become after graduating college.  

Some have said that it's not so much a matter of him not liking me as much as it is him not understanding me.  I don't buy that either.  He knows me. If anyone knew my hopes, my dreams, my goals and my desires, it was my father.  I think he understands me fine. What he doesn't do is accept me. 

I can't give him what he needs from me. There was a time when I thought maybe one day I would, but that isn't going to happen. 

The job I'm at now will be the same job I'm at in 25 years.  I like it.  It pays well in my estimation, has good benefits & good retirement plan.  But in the realm of comparison it is right dab in the middle of the road. Mediocre. A C+ or so on the grading scale. Far from the B+ to A- range my Dad expected out of a college degree. 

I drive a used car, probably always will from here on out. I don't have the brand new Lexus that a college grad should be driving. 

I live in a very modest home. Aunt Peg ain't bragging to nobody about the size of my house, the huge pool in the back yard or the uppity scale of the neighborhood. It's nice and it suites me just fine, but it ain't the $500,000 piece of property that a college grad should own. 

I'm an agnostic.  Thoughts crossed my mind to pretend I believe otherwise. To put my theatre skills to use and become a charlatan trying to fool everyone.  if my Dad really knew his Bible, then he would know that is the greatest offense one can take against Yahweh. As damned as I might be for admitting my agnosticism, a fate far worse awaits a false prophet. 

What it really comes down to is that I don't want anymore bad memories.  

When I sit and think of my Dad, I have a lot of positive, good memories of him.  From the time I was real little, up through 8th grade are the best memories.  I still have good memories of my Dad from 8th grade up through my early 20s, but it was in 8th grade his strong dislike for me began. 

From my early 20s through 35, a period of about 13 years, my memories of him are mostly negative.  A few good ones here and there, but very few.  

My Dad was a very powerful influencer. When he wanted to, he could make you believe you could do anything.  I think back on the most successful and rewarding moments of my life.  They were often because I had him in my corner, believing in me and motivating me. 

My Dad could also do the exact opposite. He could make you feel like you weren't capable of anything. As if you were the worst of the worst and it couldn't get any worse than you. I think back at some of the most disappointing moments of my life. Him breaking me down, always a huge part. 

I'll never understand that about my Dad. I'll never get that. Why if he had the power to build me up and motivate me, why he so often chose to do the exact opposite instead. 

This life is challenging enough as it is. When I'm going about it & doing my best, I don't need someone constantly reminding me that I suck at it and that I'm not good. 

I love my Dad and I know that he loves me.  He doesn't like me though, and I came to peace with that 5 years ago. 

Not a good of explanation for you? Good, I'm quite used to being not good enough for someone.  I've had plenty of experience. 

You're going to be an uncle!

 Christmas break 1999.  I was in the 8th grade and enjoying my break from school. After spending some time at a friend's, I walked into my Dad's house and took my shoes off at the door. Hearing my arrival, my Dad popped his head out of the living room and said, "get in here." 

By the tone of his voice, I knew this meant get in here as quickly as possible. I walked into the living room confused and scared. He was obviously angry about something.  I started thinking about what it could possibly be. I had been doing well in school. I hadn't done anything that I thought would constitute such a reaction. 

"Sit down!"

Now I was really worried.  I watched him pace back and forth on the living room floor.  One end of the room to the other. When he did that, you knew you had really messed up. You were about to get it.  I still had no idea what I had done, but I knew even without knowing what it was, I already regretted it. 

"I'm going to ask you a question, and you better not lie to me," he said. 

"Ok," I responded. 

"You better not lie to me when I ask you this question," he repeated. "I'm telling you right now, Jack, you do NOT want to lie to me about this." 

If Dad was calling you Jack, you knew he meant business. It was his way of letting you know that on a scale of 1-10 on how much trouble you were in, you were sitting at a 15. What could this possibly be about? What was this horrible thing that I had done? 

"Did you know your sister was pregnant?" 

That was not the question I was expecting from him. 

"No," I answered. 

"You better pray that you didn't know anything about it." 

He sat down in his blue recliner and began rocking back in forth. I didn't know anything about it. My sister had graduated high school early and moved out of the house. The first time I heard anything about her being pregnant was my Dad asking me about it. I wasn't even sure if my mom and my stepdad were aware of it. 

He continued rocking back and forth for a while.  He'd shake his head, mumble something to himself and smirk. That was the pouring of the gasoline. The collecting of the grenades.  It was only a matter of time before the match was lit and the pens were pulled. 

"I found out from guys at work," He said. "Can you believe that? My coworkers knew before I did." 

His fist came down fast and hard on the night stand next to his chair. He stood up and as I froze in fear, inches from my face he began screaming at me at the top of his lungs. 

"I told you!" He screamed. "I told you!  I f'n told you, Jack!" 

He grabbed some magazines that sat on a coffee table, ripped them in half and then threw them against the wall. 

"I told you!!" His voice was at a shriek by this point. "I told you that your sister would end up dead, in jail or pregnant! I told you! Didn't I tell you!" 

At this point you never knew what your best response was going to be.  Sometimes responding to him pissed him off. He saw it as a sign of disrespect, as if you were mouthing off to him. Yet sometimes being silent pissed him off even more. He sat back down in his chair, taking a quick breather from his rant.  

All I could think of was how thankful I was that my sister was pregnant, all things considered. If the only other two options were either death or prison, it was the best of the three. As much as I hated sitting on that couch getting screamed at by my father, for my sister's actions, it sure beat the Hell out of the alternatives. 

The next three hours I got hear all about an assortment of fun topics. How this all came about as a result of my mom and stepdad's shitty parenting. How if I had any brains in my head and if I didn't want to end up like my sister, I'd move in with him and have nothing to do with them. My sister had it made and now her life was going to be nothing but challenge and struggle till the day she died. This was going to prevent her from getting a four-year college degree, and without that, your life has no choice but to amount to didly shit. I better not F up. If my Dad knew anything, his daughter f'd up and his son wasn't going to. 

9 months later, one of the greatest things to ever happen in my family's life took place on August 12th, 2000.  My nephew Garrett Steven Rosenow was born. (For clarification his middle name has nothing to do with me. His Dad's middle name is Steven.)  His birth truly was a blessing in so many ways.  While my sister will always remain bitter and jealous over not getting to chase her dreams of becoming a fashion designer, Garrett truly is the best thing that ever happened in her life. She was an outstanding mother (as she also is to her two daughters) to him and raised him to become an outstanding person, that I couldn't be more proud of.  My mom was still sore from having lost my other sister 2 and a half years earlier, and Garrett coming into her life was a windfall.  Before Garrett was born, my Grandpa had talked about getting a dog to cope with loneliness. Instead, he got a great grandson, and if anything kept him happy, healthy and young, that was it.  Garrett's Dad hadn't spoken to his Dad in many years, and Garrett was the one that reconstructed what seemed to be an unrepairable bridge.  I don't know if Garrett is aware of it or not, but he was the why of many good things happening in the lives of those around him. Including me. 

It wasn't long after Garrett's birth that my first year of high school was about to begin. My friend Clint had his mom drive him into town so we could walk to the first football game of the season together.  We'd drive him home after the game.  As Clint and I prepared to walk to the game, my Dad came up to us and asked Clint if he'd wait outside for me for a minute. 

"Sit down," he said to me. 

I sat. 

"You're a freshman in high school now," he said. "You're going to have a lot of temptations." 

He paused a moment and smiled. 

"You know," he began again. "I'm not even sure if I really need to say this to you or not, but I'm going to. You're gonna be tempted. Girls...all sorts of stuff." 

For a moment I thought the birds and the bees talk, which I'd already been through with my mom and stepdad was coming on. Instead, we were going to have a very clear understanding. 

"Hear me now," He said to me. "If I ever catch you drinking...If I ever catch you at a party...If I ever catch you doing anything sexual with a girl... That's it.  You'll never step on to a wrestling mat again.  You'll never step onto a stage again.  Wrestling, theatre, done.  You understand me?" 

I nodded. At that time in my life wrestling and theatre were the two most important things in the world to me. I wasn't going to get caught up in alcohol.  All the goals I had as a wrestler, I wasn't going to risk that.  As awkward and goofy looking as I was, I couldn't even remotely fathom any girls letting me within 5 feet of them. So, I wasn't too worried about that.  Besides after going through what I went through after my Dad found out my sister was pregnant, I didn't want to even imagine what it would've been like had it ever been me. I loved being an uncle to Garrett, but I was in no hurry to become a dad. 

I wonder sometimes if I had knocked up a girl while in high school if my Dad would've sat and screamed at my sister for hours about it.  I doubt it. I don't think he ever took out his anger over my actions on her.  He rarely ever took out his anger of her actions on her.  That was all saved for me.  Lucky me. 

No Tell, No Yell

 I was sleeping sound in my bed, when I heard the slam of our heavy wooden front door.  The slurred whispers of my sister and the neighbor girl, as they drunkenly stumbled through our front room.  I got out of bed, threw on a t-shirt and went downstairs to see what was happening. 

By the time I arrived, my mother and Stepfather were already up. Before I could be briefed on the situation, my mom looked at me and ordered me back upstairs.  To her, none of this was any of my concern and I could go back to bed. 

I took a good look at my sister and her friend before begrudgingly going back up the stairs. They both had cuts on their faces and arms. Bruises on the bodies. I listened as best I could to my mom scold my sister on how lucky she was that her injuries weren't worse. How she or her friend could've been killed. How she was lucky this happened so close to home and how the authorities would not be notified. 

Then I heard the tractor start up. We lived on about 7 acres, right on the edge of town.  My stepdad would often bring a tractor into town and hookup a huge lawnmower to it.  Luckily for my sister, the tractor was at our house that day. 

Here it was about 3 in the morning and my stepdad was taking the tractor down the road to pull our now totaled Chevy Celebrity out of the ditch.  One of the many times in our lives he saved us from further consequence or humiliation. 

I continued to listen to my mother scold my sister, even angrier that she now had to take the two girls over to the neighbors house and explain to her parents all that had transpired. 

I went back to bed having a hell of a time trying to get back to sleep.  This was the second time my sister had been in a drunk driving incident and I was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last either.  The first one had happened out in the middle of nowhere where on a gravel road.  There were no real consequences for that one either.  

By the time I finally did fall asleep my mom was in my room waking me up. 

"There's no need to go and tell your father about this," She said to me. "That'll just make things worse. Your sister is going through a lot right now, she doesn't need to deal with your Dad on top of it." 

I wasn't 100% sure why my sister was doing the things she was doing. According to her, it was because unlike her weird younger brother, she actually cared about being well liked and popular among her classmates. Partying and getting hammered was how you fit in. A loser like me wouldn't know anything about it. 

My mom's explanation for it contradicted what my sister said. My mom thought her rebellious nature was a combination of two things. For one, my sister's class was very clicky. When my sister was younger, up through JR High, she had always been among the female jocks.  She did dance, softball, volleyball and track. Then a series of injuries, kept her from those activities when she got older. She first had to have a giant cyst cut out of her hand. This meant no hitting a volleyball and no catching a softball. She even had to give up playing the trumpet in the band. As a result, many of those friends stopped including her in activities. Their get togethers excluded my sister. Soon thereafter she began to hang with a more rebellious crowd. I'm not convinced that she wouldn't have still turned to drinking and partying. Plenty of jocks still did plenty of both. 

As to the other reason? Mom thought it was also a result on how hard and critical my Dad was of my sister. At that time in our lives, I was doing very well in both wrestling and baseball. It'd be a while before I broke my back and all of those hopes died their slow, torturous death. At the time I was projected to have a very solid and respectable high school Wrestling career. 

My Dad was always bragging about me and talking me up to others. Not my sister, not at that time. If he wasn't ragging on her for her mediocre grades, then he was hounding her for something else. 

Were those the answers? I don't know. Looking back now, I wonder if my other sister's death had something to do with it. When my other sister died, it severely effected me. I mean it completely changed who I was and how I looked at life.  I went from a carefree little boy, into a take everything way to serious teenager overnight.  My sister on the surface seemed to only grieve as you would a normal death. You cry, you bury, and then you move on with life.  Looking back now, I wonder if a part of her turning to drinking, getting behind the wheel of a car drunk, as if she had no concern at all of the "what ifs". I wonder if it might have been her way of dealing with our other sister's death. 

I didn't end up telling my Dad about the incident and it wasn't to protect my sister. It was to protect me. At the time I was in a Oskaloosa Community Play and I was having the time of my life. It was such a fun and rewarding experience.  I knew that if my Dad found out about my sister's drunk driving incident, that it would put him in a sour mood. She wouldn't be around for him to yell and scream at, but I would be.  Even though a part of me wanted to see my sister come to terms with actions having consequences, I knew the real sufferer would end up being me if I talked. I kept my mouth shut and the play turned out to be a memory nearly 27 years later I still cherish. 

I don't miss being put in these types of predicaments. They weren't everyday occurrences, but they weren't exactly rarities either. They happened more often than I would've liked them to have.  I enjoy being an adult more than I did being a kid. Paying taxes is a drag, as are some of the other responsibilities.  That's a fact. No longer getting yelled and screamed at for someone else's mess ups? That's a fact too. 

CENTRAL EMPIRE WRESTLING NEWSLETTER

 

Central Empire Wrestling is about to embark on it's 19th Anniversary show!  Starting off small in a pole barn out in the middle nowhere in between Keota & Wellman, Iowa, Austin Bayliss had a dream.  A vision of one day running a successful independent professional wrestling organization.  Here he is nearly two decades later, that dream now a reality. 

A lot of talent comes and goes in twenty years.  New stars emerge, while old stars seem to fade into wind. Today we take a look at 9 former CEW superstars and what they are up to today. 

CEW MOURNS THE LOSS OF "THE UNDERDOGG"

MAJOR PAYNE MAKES MAJOR BUCKS SELLING BEAUTY PRODUCTS! 

CHIEF HONORS HIMSELF WITH WRESTLER OF THE YEAR AWARD

ACE IS WILD IN VEGAS

GET OUT OF SHAPE WITH SAM MOON!

FORMER TAG TEAM CHAMPS OPEN ANIMAL RESCUE

THE KING FINALLY FINDS HIS QUEEN

JT1Wrestle's Final ACC Predictions

 NCAA DI QUALIFIER 

125
1. Eddie Ventresca Virginia Tech
2. Vince Robinson North Carolina State
3. Nico Provo Stanford
4. Kysen Terukina North Carolina
5. Tyler Chappell Pittsburgh
6. Keyveon Roller Virginia 

133
1. Aaron Seidel Virginia Tech
2. Tyler Knox Stanford
3. Ethan Oakley North Carolina
4. Zach Redding North Carolina State 

141
1. Ryan Jack North Carolina State
2. Jack Consiglio Stanford
3. Tom Crook Virginia Tech
4. Luke Simcox North Carolina
5. Briar Priest Pittsburgh
6. Gable Porter Virginia 

149
1. Collin Gaj Virginia Tech
2. Koy Buesgens North Carolina State
3. Anthony Valencia Stanford
4. Kade Brown Pittsburgh
5. Wynton Denkins Virginia 

157
1. Daniel Cardenas Stanford
2. Ethen Miller Virginia Tech
3. Dylan Evans Pittsburgh
4. Laird Root North Carolina 
5. Colton Washleski Virginia 

165
1. Bryce Hepner North Carolina
2. E.J. Parco Stanford
3. Will Denny North Carolina State
4. Mac Church Virginia Tech
5. Jared Keslar Pittsburgh

174
1. Luca Augustine Pittsburgh
2. Matty Singleton North Carolina State
3. Aidan Wallace Duke
4. Sergio DeSiante Virginia Tech
5. Nick Hamilton Virginia 

184
1. Jaden Bullock Virginia Tech
2. Chase Kranitz Pittsburgh
3. Abraham Wojcikiewicz Stanford
4. Jake Dailey North Carolina 
5. Don Cates North Carolina State 

197
1. Mac Stout Pittsburgh
2. Angelo Posada Stanford
3. Sammy Sasso Virginia Tech
4. Patrick Brophy North Carolina State 

HWT
1. Isaac Trumble North Carolina State
2. Dayton Pitzer Pittsburgh
3. Jimmy Mullen Virginia Tech
4. Connor Barket Duke
5. Brenan Morgan Virginia 

Stephen Stonebraker's 2026 Baseball Schedule

 
SUN MARCH 29th - UCLA @ Iowa 11 a.m. 
SAT APRIL 4th - Indian Hills @ Kirkwood 1:00 p.m. & 3:30 p.m. 
SUN APRIL 19th - Ellsworth @ Kirkwood 1:00 p.m. 
SUN APRIL 26th - Iowa Central @ Kirkwood - Noon
SUN MAY 3rd - Illinois @ Iowa 1:00 p.m. 

Stephen Stonebraker's Fall Schedule

 

SUNDAY AUG 31st 1:00 p.m. - Iowa Field Hockey Vs North Carolina 

SATURDAY SEPT 6th 1:00 p.m. & 3:30 p.m. - Coe Soccer (M&W) Vs Crown 


SATURDAY SEPT 13th 8:00 pm. Iowa Theater = Drag'daLore 

SATURDAY SEPT 20th 2:00 p.m Mount Mercy Volleyball Vs Mid American Nazarene
SATURDAY SEPT 20th 8:00 p.m. Iowa Theatre = 2006 

SATURDAY SEPT 27th 12 p.m.  Kirkwood Volleyball Vs Prairie State
SATURDAY SEPT 27th 8:00 p.m.  Iowa Theatre = A Starry Knight 

SATURDAY OCT 4th 12 p.m. Mount Mercy Volleyball Vs Central Methodist 12 p.m. 
SATURDAY OCT 4th Iowa Theatre = Earthus Terminus 

SATURDAY OCT 11th Coe Swimming & Diving Vs Illinois College 2 p.m. 

How Does an Agnostic End Up At One Of Iowa's Most Religious Colleges?

 There's no denying it.  I am an anomaly. Since day one, my life hasn't made much sense. There are a lot of things about me people find peculiar.  Things about who I am and my past that puzzle people. One of which, is how I, an agnostic, ended up at Northwestern College, one of Iowa's most religious institutions. It even dumbfounds me at times.  Who I am now. The way I think about things. The philosophies and perspectives I have. The soon to be 40 year old Stephen Stonebraker never would have ended up at a place like Northwestern College. So how did the 18 year old me end up there? 

I Was a Different Person at the Time

There was a time in my life where I was deeply religious.  A time in my life where I went to Church every Sunday, prayed every night and encompassed a lot of my life around the Christian faith.  I was never very vocal about it.  I wasn't one of these people that constantly had to reassure everyone around me that I was a Christian. I wore a St. Christopher necklace every day and if you really want to have your mind blown, I even considered going to seminary at one point.  That's a story for another day, but it is true. 

I Was Very Depressed and Suicidal at the Time Too 

I did my best to hide it and keep it from others, but during high school I was severely depressed.  I was suicidal as well. Once even standing on a bridge, on a cold February day, nearly all of the day, contemplating jumping. A lot of things weren't going right in my life. I had a lot of guilt over my sister Sydney's death and I had failed at my goals as a high school wrestler. There were many nights when I'd sit up at night and wonder why I felt the way I did.  Why did I feel so horrible? Why did I hate myself and hate my life? 

We'll come back to this in a bit.

Northwestern Had a Reputable Theatre Program

I made up my mind when I was very young that what I wanted to do with my life was be a screenplay writer.  Since about seven years old, I loved the idea of seeing characters and scenarios that came out of my head on the movie screen or the television.  When I got a little older, I'd even write my own episodes of some of my favorite TV shows.  Treatments, scripts, you name it, I daydreamed all the time.

Screenplay writing was a graduate degree though. Something you did post your undergrad.  That left me with a dilemma. What would I get my undergrad in? I looked into creative writing, but it too was a graduate degree.  So, what in the world would a guy who wanted to eventually get a degree in screenplay writing, study?  I thought the answer was theatre.  

We looked all around Iowa, as well as nearby Missouri and nearby Illinois for good theatre programs.  We narrowed it down to four institutions.  Northern Iowa, Northwestern, Luther and Simpson.  Northern Iowa was immediately eliminated because I was fearful of going to a larger college. I didn't know if I could perform well in a lecture hall setting.  

Why Northwestern over Luther and Simpson? 

This is a bit more complicated.  

I knew I wanted to focus on theatre and put my heart and work ethic into it.  On the same hand though, I love wrestling too much to completely stay away from it.  

At Luther, the head of the theatre seemed to have no interest in me at all.  I'd find out many years later in a long discussion with Professor Larson, that I misread him. He was trying to give me very valuable information, and I took it as an insult. I loved the wrestling coach, Coach Mitchell. He and I saw eye to eye.  He even talked to me about traveling with the wrestling team and being the media guy for the team. He knew my enthusiasm and passion for the sport.  He saw value in me, even if I weren't going to be an all star, All American for him.  

Ironically enough, Simpson was the exact opposite. I can't remember the head of the theatre's name, but he was extremely welcoming and seemed like he couldn't wait to get me aboard as a member of the theatre.  Coach Ron Peterson was an interested in me as is a shark in a piece of lettuce.  I had never gone to state; I had never accomplished anything in wrestling. I was a waste of his time. Feel free to buy a ticket and watch us wrestle if you want but keep your distance. I don't need your suckage potentially leaking on to my team. 

Northwestern on the surface seemed the goldilocks. Karen and Jeff Barker, the heads of Northwestern Theatre were very welcoming people.  I still think pretty highly of the Barkers, especially Karen.  I don't want to get too far ahead of myself, but I will say she tried really hard to get the other kids to accept me, and take in someone who didn't fit the mold. I will always appreciate that about her. 

As to the wrestling coach, I don't think I could have found a better fit to the awkward situation I was in.  Coach Paul Barteltt got it.  As complicated and nonsensical as it was, I could not have asked for someone to be better to me than what Coach Bartlett was.  I was a messed up individual, and I needed someone like him in my life at the time.  He wanted me to be a part of his wrestling program.  To my surprise, he even wanted me on the team, as a wrestler.  Even offering me a partial scholarship. He made it clear I was welcome in the wrestling room anytime I wanted to be there. Covering the team, helping recruit, being at the matches.  He wanted me a part of Northwestern Red Raider wrestling.  I wish mentally I would have been in a place at the time to have done so.  Again, another story for another day. 

Back to the Depressed and Suicidal Part

Yes, Northwestern College having a reputable theatre department, along with the Barkers and Coach Bartlett were pieces of the puzzle that lead me to Northwestern College, but in essence there was one reason why Northwestern got the nod over everywhere else. 

I asked myself a couple of questions.  Why do I feel the way I feel?  Why have all of these horrible things happened to me?  The answer I came up with?  Obviously, I'm not a good person. I try and be, but obviously I'm not. Why else would these horrible things happen to me?  Why else would I feel as I do? 

What's wrong with me?  At the time I thought it has to be the fact that I'm not a good enough Christian.  I must not be doing enough to please God and make him happy with me.  What can I do to be a better Christian? 

Going to a Christian College!  That has to be the answer!  I want to get closer to God? I want to be a better Christian?  Be and do as God wants?  Northwestern College is the answer! 

Camp Okoboji 

I don't think I'll ever have a situation in my life where expectation and reality are further apart, than what they were at Northwestern.  I get asked sometimes, what was I expecting?  I can tell you exactly what I expected. 

Even today, as an agnostic, I can look you in the eye and tell you that one of my fondest memories in life was going to Church camp in sixth grade.  It was a week-long camp where I had the time of my life.  I wish I remembered my camp counselor's name.  I think it was something like Jason Jakes, or Jacks, or Jaacks or something like that.  I've tried looking him up many times over the years, but I've never been able to find him. Cool guy. Really enjoyed him. The overall experience of that camp was very rewarding. So rewarding in fact, that nearly 30 years later, I still have vivid memories. 

That's what I thought Northwestern College was going to be like. If being wrong were measured in distance, I thought I was in Ushuaia, Argentina. I was actually in Ellesmere Island, Northern Canada. 


And that's the story of how I ended up at Northwestern College. 

Stephen Stonebraker's 2025 College Baseball Schedule

 

Saturday April 5th - 3:30 pm- Mid-American Nazarene @ Mount Mercy (Cedar Rapids, Iowa)

Saturday April 12th - 3:30 pm - Culver Stockton @ Clarke (Dubuque, Iowa) 

Saturday April 19th - 12 p.m. - NECC @ Kirkwood (Cedar Rapids, Iowa) 

Saturday April 26th - 4 p.m. - Indiana @ Iowa 

Saturday May 3rd - 12 p.m. - Kirkwood @ Iowa Central (Fort Dodge, Iowa) 

Saturday May 10th - 3:30 p.m. - Oregon State @ Iowa

Saturday May 17th - 1:00 p.m. - Oregon @ Iowa 

Wooly Bully

 Life puts you in compromising positions sometimes. The line between right & wrong can often be difficult to distinguish. The blacks & whites become shades of grey, and what to do or what not to do becomes more a reflection of perspective & philosophy than it does anything else. I try and live my life in a just and fair manner. I want to be kind, considerate & friendly, but not at the cost of justice.  I feel life at times can be vicarious, putting us not in win/lose situations, but instead in lose/lose situations where we have to make the most of two evils. 

Now in my life, I have been an outright bully at times. I can think of times as a kid when without merit, I unsubstantially bullied someone. There weren't many times, as for the most part I was a good kid, but there were a handful of times.  There were times when there was no question, I was a little jackass and I own those particular times. 

In my adult life though, I have tried hard to never come across as a bully. However there have been a few times where I was put into a position where I felt & for that matter still feel that threatening someone was the best of the options I had put in front of me. 

This was one of those times....


Professional wrestling was a world unto itself. I've met a lot of strange & interesting characters in my life, but abnormal was the normal in pro wrestling. One of the guys I befriended for a while during my six years in the whacky business was a guy named Kevin. Kevin despite his flaws, had a good heart & would often do anything for anyone.  One of his good friends, also a pro wrestler was a guy named Alan. 

I never knew whether Alan was just plain stupid or if he was malicious. It was hard to tell with him if he honestly didn't realize how shitty of a person he could be at times or if he was aware of it. His inconsideration for others & his ungratefulness did more than annoy me. It outright angered me. What angered me even more was Kevin allowing him to do this to him. Kevin constantly making excuses for him and justifying his actions.  I let it go most of the time, but there was once when I couldn't let it go. 

We were on our way back to Des Moines from a wrestling show.  Kevin was driving, I was in the backseat and Alan was riding shotgun.  A police officer got behind us and put on his lights. Kevin pulled over.  We were all really curious about why we were being pulled over.  Kevin never sped & as far as we knew all of the lights on the vehicle were working properly.

Much to our surprise, the officer wasn't interested in Kevin. He wanted Alan to get out of the car.  I had never seen anything like this. I asked Kevin what in the Hell was going on. He didn't know anything more than I did.  Next thing we know, Alan is being handcuffed & put into the back of the squad car.  The officer comes back up to Kevin's car & informs us that we are allowed to leave. 

Kevin couldn't have been more polite asking the officer to explain what was going on, but the officer's only response was that it was not of our concern and we were free to go. 

Kevin was an outright mess. Hyperventilating and crying, he was in no shape to drive. I got into the driver's seat as we still had a good 70 miles or so to go before we reached our destination. 

I tried to tell Kevin not to worry about it. I said that Alan had probably done something stupid & got himself into trouble. I said he'd be fine. 

"Stephen I'm worried about him!  I don't know what's going happen to him!" 

I had to listen to Kevin's concerns for the next hour or so.  

When we got back, Kevin shared the news with a few others as we tried to get to the bottom of what exactly was going on. If you know the pro wrestling community, it's not really much on sympathy. Instead they wanted to see if they could rile Kevin up more by suggesting to him that Alan might get beat up or have certain things happen to him in the shower.  This made it even worse. 

There was no Kevin going up to his room and me crashing on his couch.  Instead we had to call around until we found out the real story. 

Alan had apparently gotten into a physical domestic dispute with his wife Heather. As a result he was told that he couldn't leave Polk County.  He left Polk County anyway, thinking he wouldn't get caught. Someone told the authorities where he was, who he was with and gave them the make, model & license plate of Kevin's vehicle.  Now he was being held at the Polk County Jail. 

It was like 2 a.m. or so when Kevin & I drove down to the jail.  I waited in the car while Kevin went in.  He came back out a few minutes later. 

I don't remember the exact number but it was a fairly high bail.  $300+ if memory serves me correct but shy of $400.  I'm almost certain of that.  It was not money that Kevin had to spend. 

I tried talking him out of it. I told him that Alan put himself in this position & a day or two, or whatever it was gonna be would do the guy some good.  Kevin refused to let it happen.  He went to the ATM & took out the money.  He bailed Alan out of jail that night. 

Alan's words said he was grateful, but I knew his actions would prove soon enough that he wasn't. 

It wasn't too long after that  when the bank foreclosed on Kevin's house.  He hadn't been able to keep up with his mortgage payments & as a result, the bank took his home.  He had something like 72 hours or something to get all of his stuff out. 

He found an apartment & he called up as many people as he knew to come help him move.  Most everyone he called was from Des Moines or from the Des Moines area.  The only guy who wasn't, was me.  He wanted us all to meet up at his place at 2 p.m. to help him move.  

I made the 90+ mile drive to Des Moines from Sigourney to help him move.  Arriving at about 1:50 p.m. I waited with Kevin until 2:00 p.m. for the others to show up.  No one was there at 2:00.  No one was there at 2:15 either. By 2:30 I realized that this moving job was gonna be me and Kevin. 

"Did you ask Alan to help?" I questioned Kevin. 

He had, but Alan had informed him that he had something very important going on today & he couldn't help.  Kevin wanted me to drive the Uhaul he had rented.  I told him before we did anything else, we were going to go over to Alan's. 

"I don't know why you insist on going over to Alan's," Kevin kept saying to me. "I already told you, he said he had something really important going on. I doubt he's even home." 

Much to Kevin's objections, I made him give me directions & when I parked the Uhaul next to Alan's house, I told Kevin to wait in the vehicle.  

I walked right up to Alan's front door.  It was open with only the screen door.  I could look right into his living room. There he was sitting comfortably on his couch playing video games. This was the "more important" thing he had to do instead of helping Kevin. 

I didn't knock. I didn't ask if I could come in. I opened up that door walked right into his living room and sat down right beside him on the couch. 

He was very surprised to see me and I think he could tell I wasn't happy. 

We made small talk for a while.  I asked him about the game he was playing. He told me all about it.  I then stood up from the couch & put it to him very simply. 

"I gotta take a leak," I said to him as I eyed where the bathroom was. "When I come out, you're gonna be one of two places. You're gonna be outside in the Uhaul truck with Kevin, ready to help us move him or you're gonna still be sitting here on the couch playing this game.  You don't wanna be on the couch." 

He could've called the Police
He might have had a weapon to defend himself

Yeah, yeah, yeah...I didn't care.  Kevin had bailed him out of jail.  Using money that he didn't have. Lawd knows how many times Kevin had spent money helping him out. Money that he could have used to pay his bills.  Money that might have kept him from losing his house. Kevin did all this for Alan and he couldn't take a few hours to help him move a few things from his house to his apartment? 

It wasn't an issue because when I came out of the bathroom, pumped and ready for a fight, Alan was no longer on the couch.  I prepared for a sneak attack, but when I looked outside, Alan was sitting right beside Kevin in the Uhaul.  The rest of the day went great & to Alan's credit he was very helpful in lifting things & carrying them. We got along fine & Kevin treated us both to a Chinese buffet.  

Did Alan come to his senses & realize that he owed this to Kevin? Or did he only do what he did because he knew that if he didn't, I was gonna beat his ass?  I don't know.  I think sometimes the mistake we make with people in life, is that we assume everyone has a conscious. That everyone will feel a sense of guilt. That isn't true for sociopaths. The only way to get them to understand something is fear. 

Now was I a bully?  Yeah, maybe I was, but I don't regret it.  I'd handle this situation the same way.  There's nothing about it I would change.  I'm glad that I didn't have to do anything, but I would have.  Alan needed to help Kevin or he needed to have a consequence for not helping Kevin.  If someone else thinks the right thing would have been for me to have let it go, I don't agree.  I did what I felt was right & if this marks a time in my life where I was a bully, then good. In this particular instance I wear the badge with honor. 

Dirty Laundry

 The other day my sister Sara called me up on the phone accusing me of harassing her ex-husband & supposedly trying to pry into her life.  That's not at all what happened, but I knew better than to try and explain it to her. She had her mind made up, so I just let her say what she had to say & then used some colorful language of my own & hung up the phone on her before she could say anymore. 

At this point in my life, I don't care anymore if I'm made out to be the bad guy in our situation. 

Here's what actually did happen...

Back in May of 2018, I attended my nephews graduation party. His father, Sara's ex-husband Eric was there. I always liked Eric. If you're curious to know, I've always liked Steve too. Like I said to Eric not too long ago, I don't like Sara, but I've always thought she had good taste in men.  I told Eric at the graduation party I was glad to see him & that I always thought a lot of him.  He gave me his phone number & then added me to facebook.  We talked about getting together sometime. 

Over the past few years, I've always meant to go down to Moline & have a beer with Eric.  Just because he divorced my sister didn't mean that I had to dislike him.  That's one thing I really wanted him to know.  So many in my family are so critical & judgmental.  I'm not sure what he thought everyone else felt about him, but I wanted to let him know that he didn't need to feel any animosity from me. 

I messaged him a couple of months ago, just to see how he was doing. It took him quite a while to get back to me, but when he did, he said that he still saw a lot of Garrett & that he talked to Sara quite a bit too.  I didn't quite know how to take that.  It really surprised me.  He said that he had a near death experience, had to be air lifted & have a blood transfusion.  I told him that I was really sorry to hear all of that & then he told me that Sara had come to visit him during this tough time in his life.  That really shocked me.  Of all things Eric could have told me, I don't know if there's anything else he could have said that would have thrown me more off guard.   Then he told me that my sister was the best thing that ever happened to him & that his biggest regret in life was letting that marriage fall apart. 

See I never knew why Sara & Eric got divorced. All I knew is that I sorta started to notice that Eric wasn't around at family get togethers & when we'd visit Sara, Eric never seemed to be there anymore. They had already been divorced for quite sometime when Grandpa Harry informed me that they were no longer together. 

With Eric now opening up to me about all of this, I couldn't help but wonder if pressure from my mother might have lead to their divorce. My mom never liked Eric.  She always thought Sara could do better than Eric & that Sara deserved better than Eric. It's not all that much different than my relationship with Ashley. My mom does nice things for Ashley & she would tell you that I'm wrong, but my mom has never liked Ashley.  My mom thinks I can do better than Ashley & that I deserve better than Ashley.  She's been very persuasive & manipulative in trying at different times to get me to breakup with Ashley. 

So my curiosity got the best of me & I asked Eric if my mom had anything to do with their divorce. 

I guess Eric must have taken it as me having some sort of an agenda or something. Like I was trying to get information out of him to use against Sara. That wasn't at all what I was doing.  I was just wanting to see if my mom had anything to do with their splitting apart, because if it did, I wanted to console in someone who had gone through the same something difficult that I was going through right now. 

Eric told Sara all of this & that's when she called me. 

My anger over the situation is more geared at Eric than it is anyone. I was so pissed off at him that I felt like driving down to Moline & beating his scrawny ass.  Here I was trying to be a friend to him, and he was taking it as me trying to pry information out of him for some sort of a agenda.  It's everyday, nothing new news with my sister, but I wasn't expecting that from him.  I sent him a message saying that if he didn't want to talk to me, then he shouldn't have.  If he would have asked me to not bother him, I wouldn't have bothered him.  "F you" "F you" it isn't complicated. I gave him my word I'd never bother him again & I won't. 

This is always how it is with Sara though. I'd be lying if I said it's been that way our entire lives, because we've had a few good times, but not many.  Throughout most of our lives we haven't liked one another. 

I think it all started with our parents. Especially my Dad. He made the two of us so competitive with one another. I can't remember a time when he ever liked both of us at the same time.  I can remember times when he didn't like either one of us. I can remember a lot of times when he liked me & he didn't like Sara. I can remember times when he liked Sara & he didn't like me.  But a time when he liked both of us?  Maybe when we were really, really little but that'd be it. 

Notice how I was specific to use the word like & not love. I hate it when I tell someone that my Dad doesn't like me & they fire back, "your dad loves you very much."  I didn't say a gawd damn word about love. I said like. I know my father loves me. I've never doubted that in my entire life.  I also know he doesn't like me. 

When we were in junior high & high school I was the one Dad liked & Sara was the one Dad disliked.  I was the B honor roll, liked well by my teachers, three time hardest worker of the year Captain of the wrestling team. It's not to say that my Dad wasn't exceptionally hard on me & still rather critical, but at least at the time he liked me. I was the one that was gonna go off to college & become a somebody in life.  He would brag about me all the time. Even to the point to where other people didn't like me & thought of me as being arrogant and cocky, because of how much my Dad would talk me up. 

His feelings on Sara at the time were completely different. Sara was a wild child. From his view, a fuck up.  I know & I'll say it because I was there. I had to listen to it every night.  Sara partied, Sara drank, she hung out with hoodlums. "You just watch. Sara will end up dead, on dope, in jail or pregnant. You just watch."  I can still hear him talking about it now. 

Considering Sara got in three drunk driving accidents, I feel fortunate that dead wasn't what we ended up with. I don't like my sister. I want nothing to do with her & I want her out of my life the rest of my life.  That doesn't mean I wanted anything bad to happen to her though.  I am glad that with the options my Dad laid out in front of me that pregnant is what she ended up.  It's the best of all the options. 

He was pissed about it though, and I mean PISSED. Sara wasn't around for him to yell out when he found out, but I was. He sat and shook in his chair & screamed at me all night until his voice finally gave out.  "She ruined her life!"  "She won't amount to jack shit!"  

I remember my wrestling coach telling us that whatever was going on in our lives outside of wrestling practice & competing, we had to leave outside of wrestling practice & competing. There were so many nights like this when I'd be kept up till 1 a.m. listening to my father's anger & then be expected to not have it effect me at all when I had to step out on the mat the next day for a dual or a tournament. Just another failure of the long list of failures I have in my life, cause I wasn't able to do that. 

I guess this is where a lot of Sara & I's inability to get along stems from. 

In reality, Sara had to completely change her path in life. The dreams she had, were now replaced with being a mom & taking care of a son. And I have to commend her on it. She did a great job with raising Garret & she's done a great job with Addison & Norah too.  I'll always say that Sara is an excellent mother, because she is. 

Our lives turned out the complete opposite of what my Dad thought they would.  Sara was the one that ended up the major bread winner. The one with the brand new vehicles & the one that ended up with the $500,000 house.  I've been the one who has lived in cheap apartments, done jobs my Dad doesn't respect & the one that has struggled. 

And again that's where Sara & I have an inability to get along. 

In Sara's estimation we both my mistakes & we both suffered for those mistakes. I don't see it that way.  Yes, choosing to go to Northwestern College was one of the worst decisions I've ever made in my life, but I didn't know that going in. There's no way I could have known going in the horrific experience it was going to be for me. There's no way I could have known that I was gonna have a girl cheat on me & then when people made her feel bad about it she was going to make up a story that I had been beating her.  You can't equate that with getting plastered drunk & getting into three drinking and driving accidents.  You know that when you are inebriated that you shouldn't operate a vehicle. You know going into it that it's the wrong thing to do & that it will most likely result in dire consequences. You know this.  So no, the mistakes Sara made in High School were a lot different than the ones I made in college.  They were a Hell of a lot different.  For Sara and my Dad to not grasp that, is frankly bullshit in my opinion.  Absolute bullshit. 

Sara likes to talk all the time about how she went out and got a real job, while I did the kind of jobs I did while still chasing a dream.  Yeah, when you do something practical, something safe & concrete, you're gonna get somewhere a lot faster.  Chasing you dreams is a risky proposition. I can admit that. It's why they call it, "struggling".  Struggling writer, struggling pro wrestler, struggling actor, struggling.  

You see when Sara was younger she wanted to be a fashion designer. How good was she? How realistic was this dream? I don't know. I saw some of Sara's designs for clothing & I always felt she had talent. I always felt that her ideas were as good as Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfiger. It wouldn't have surprised me any if Sara had gotten on somewhere as a fashion designer & helped design clothes for a major designing company.  

That was the plan. She wanted to attend Black Hawk community college to get a degree in fashion design.  That was her dream & getting knocked up in December of 1999 but an end to all of that.  

Sara never got to chase her dream & she has held a vendetta against me ever since because I've gotten to chase mine.  

When I was going after my dream of one day going out to Hollywood & really trying to make a go for it as a screenplay writer/actor, she would get infuriated.  I'd talk about learning the craft of screenplay writing to one of my relatives & she'd respond with something nasty like, "sure wish I could waste my time taking courses like that instead of having to actually work for a living." 

I'm supposed to feel bad for Sara & have empathy for her that her choices to screw around in high school, barely get by with C's & go out getting hammered every weekend, led to her not being able to go after being a fashion designer.  I'm supposed to be understanding and sympathetic to that. But when it comes to me not being able to make a real go at Hollywood, because my student loans financially crippled me, the response is, "Hey buddy, you made poor choices." 

It was even worse when I was trying to make it as a pro wrestler.  The six years I traveled all around Iowa & other parts of the Midwest performing as a pro wrestler, Sara hated it with a passion. Watching me chase this dream was absolute torture for her. Absolute torture. 

It's not any different with my goal of being a writer. It's worse. She hates that I'm still trying to make as a writer & it bugs her even more because writing doesn't have a window.  The window of time to make it as a pro wrestler is very, very small.  You have a a few short years while you're in your twenties, maybe your early thirties and then it's over. Hollywood ain't a whole heck of a lot different. I think the window is a tad bit bigger for an actor than it is for a pro wrestler, but the fact of the matter is the ship sails fast & once it's sailed, that's it. It's done. It's over. 

I'm never going to perform in a WWE or AEW ring. I'll never have a run in New Japan.  I'm never going to head out to L.A.   My dreams of being a big time pro wrestler are over. My dreams of trying to make it in some capacity in Hollywood, are dead.  This makes Sara happy & she wishes it were like this for my writing too. 

For those that side with Sara, I'm supposed to see where she's coming from.  I gotta understand that she didn't have a choice. She had a baby when she was young. She wasn't able to be exploratory. She didn't even get to try at her dreams. 

Look, I wish Sara had gotten a real shot to make it as a fashion designer. I wish things had been different for her, but here's where & why those that side with Sara on this can kiss my ass. 

There's nothing more that Sara would rather see for me than to either fail or give up on my dream as a writer & if there shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn't be that way.  I wouldn't be jealous, envious or angry. I might be bitter about my situation, but my attitude wouldn't be, "I didn't get to chase my dream, so she shouldn't be able to chase her's either."

Let's put the shoe on the other foot.  If I had fucked around in high school, been a screw off, & spent all my time partying & drinking, while she studied hard, got good grades & worked her ass off at sports/theatre/ect, I think I'd be upright about it. I know I would be because fairness is more important to me than anything.  

If I had knocked up a girl & suddenly there wasn't going to be pro wrestling, or acting, or writing, I'd accept my fate because I would feel that I deserved it. I didn't do that though & I don't feel that I've done anything in my life to where I should feel a need to where I should have to give up on myself as a writer.  If I had knocked up a girl when I was 17 & Sara had been the one to go off to college & she was out there trying to make it as a fashion designed, I guarantee you that I wouldn't be wanting her to fail or give up.  I'd be happy for her.  I'd want her to succeed. 

And that's what it comes down to for me.  We don't get along anyway & we have a million other things we can't stand about one another but that's the number one thing for me. That's why I won't talk to Sara anymore. It's why I want nothing to do with her.  Being a a writer and making it as a writer is a very important thing to me.  She made it clear as day to me on April 4th, 2020 that she didn't want me to succeed. That's all I'll ever need to know about Sara again.  

There are those of you that don't believe that, & think I'm full of shit. I know Sara would roll her eyes and try and convince you she doesn't feel that way either. Try and gaslight me as if I'm crazy.  I'm not.  I've been dealing with this for nearly 20 years.  If Sara were to find out that I closed my microsoft word & I threw away my notebooks, it'd make her happy.  While when in a state of depression my first hope is that no one I care about ever feels the pain I do, Sara wallows in her misery wanting the rest of the world to feel as shitty as she does. 

This hasn't been going on for a few months, or even a few years. That's why when people say to me, "have you tried talking to her about this?"  or "have you tried to fix it?"  I just can't help but grit my teeth and laugh.  Of course I've tried to fix this. I can't tell you the number of times I've tried to fix this. It's the same with my Dad too. I don't like not liking my sister. I wish we could get along. I can't tell you how many times since I was in the 7th grade I've tried to make peace with her.  I'm 38 years old. Damn near 40.  I've been at this for a long time.  Way to damn long & I don't owe it to anyone to keep trying. 

Sara and my Dad are exactly the same in this aspect. They only give you one of two options. 

A - They will sit there and tell you everything wrong with you and your life. How much of a fuck up you are. All the things you did wrong in your life. All of the things you're currently doing wrong in you life. How much you suck at life. How much you'll continue to suck at life. How much of a loser you are.  Just putdown after putdown after putdown. Nothing but negativity and you just sit there and you take it. 

Well I'm not going to just sit there and take it. This life is challenging enough as it is.  I don't need someone telling me how shitty of a job I'm doing or trying to convince me how terrible of a person I am.  

One of the last things Sara ever said to me was, "you sure do think a lot of yourself."   And that's when it dawned on me. That was the real issue that both her and my Dad had with me. They thought so lowly of me. So negatively of me and that was their problem with me.  They wanted me to feel the same way they did. To see me in the same light that they see me.  I don't.  There's a lot about me to improve. A lot about me I want to fix & make better. But I like me. Me's ok. 

The other option with my Dad and my sister is...

B - you dish it right back to them. I opened up about some of my sister's mishaps in life, but honestly I really don't like doing this.  I have to admit sometimes when my Dad or my sister is laying into me, doing all they can to make me feel like shit, it does feel kinda go to fire back at them. I have plenty of ammunition to where I could literally tear either one of them apart. But I don't wanna do that. I don't wanna make them feel like shit. This isn't a life I wanna lead. 

So I can't do A & I can't do B.  So what am I left with?

Well in the minds of those who don't know the situation & don't know the longevity of how long it has lasted, I guess there's an imaginary C.   The C that I've tried so many times to find, that just plain and simple doesn't exist.  The whole, "how bout you all get along & no body bashes anybody."  

There is No C    I wish there was.  The 17 year old me wished there was. The 18 year old me wished there was.  I looked for it, worked for it, pleaded for it, begged for it, I an agnostic even prayed for it up until I was 35 years old.  There is no C.

So what does that leave me with? 

D as in DON'T talk to them. DON'T have anything to do with them. 

Guilt trips. Trying to make me feel like I'm a bad son.  Like I don't appreciate anything & everything my Dad did for me when I was younger.  I appreciate all that, but I don't owe it to him to think so lowly of me anymore. I don't owe it to him for him to have such a negative image of me anymore. 

He found a way to forgive Sara for everything she did, but not me.  I went to college, I got a degree & I didn't become a huge success afterwards. He'll never forgive me for that. Ever.  

I was watching a documentary on Jeff Dahmer a few years back. It dawned on me that Lionel Dahmer thought more of his son than my Dad thought of me. Lionel Dahmer, the Dad of a serial killer, liked his son more than my Dad like me. 

I've had various friends over the years that I've introduced my Dad to. Girlfriends. They all get the same impression. I remember the first time I took Ashley over to meet my Dad. We sat and talked for about 20 minutes and the first thing Ashley said to me when we got into the car.... "Sheesh, he doesn't like you does he?" 

I love the guilt trips people try and lay on me.  I wanna say that my Dad began to dislike me when I broke my back in 8th grade & it led to my athletic career going down the drain. I'd say that's where it all started, but I know my Dad hasn't liked me since 2007.  

He'd criticize me and degrade me every time I came to visit him. Yet every time I came back to Sigourney, I'd stop over at his house anyway.  It was always how I didn't have a good job, I wasn't driving a new enough car, I didn't have a house.  Every time I'd visit him, I'd drive away feeling like shit. Yet, I'd go back anyway. Every time. 

I did this from April of 2007 until March of 2020.  I think that's long enough. 

When I moved out of my mom's house & began life on my own in August of 2009.  Between Iowa City & Des Moines I lived in 7 different places until March of 2020.  You know how many times my Dad visited me?  Twice.   Two times in 11 years.  You wanna know how many times I visited him? Every time I went back to Sigourney.  Every single time.  How many times has he visited Sara over the years?  I don't know. I guarantee you it's been a Hell of a lot more than two times in 11 years though. 


Sometime in late 2019 or early 2020 my Dad called me up on the phone and told me that he was selling his house, building a new house and that if I wanted my stuff to come and get it.  "Hey, I'm getting a bigger place, with plenty of room to store the small closet full of belongings that have a lot of meaning to you, but if you don't want me to pitch it, come over and get your shit."  No, my Dad didn't say it this harshly, but it sure did feel like that's what he was saying. 

After his house was complete I went over to see it & to let him know that I was leaving to head to Florida.  Wanting to see his new place, I walked all through it.  The entire thing. Every room. Twice. You know what I saw all over the walls? Pictures of my Sister & her family.  Photos of my Dad's girlfriends kids & their significant others.  There wasn't one picture of me anywhere in that house. Not a single one. 

"Good luck, you'll need it." A tone that said you'll most likely fail. You don't have what it takes to make it down in Florida.  These were the final words my Dad spoke to me. 

And this is really where I get bitter. Where I get angry.  Where I wanna go toe to toe with someone. Let's knock out some teeth. Let's lose an eye. Let's see some blood.  I didn't deserve to go through what Jason did to me. My Dad, my sister, anyone can believe what they want to believe. Believe that it served me right. That I deserved to go through What Jason Janes did to me. That there's a price for chasing a dream.  

My Dad has the satisfaction of knowing it all blew up in my face just the way he thought it would. My sister does too.  But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let them rub it in my face.  This isn't experimenting with drugs. This isn't getting plastered every weekend. This isn't driving while severely intoxicated. This was knowing a guy, trusting a guy, thinking of this guy a a good friend, as a brother for 10 years & having the guy turn out to be a con artist. I can't stop you from thinking what you think anymore than I can stop my Dad or my Sister. I can choose to ignore though. 

2007....2007....2020. 

It's never gonna end. It's never going to be different.  My sister will only be happy with me if I fail or give up on my writing & figure out a way to be as negative, bitter and unhappy as she is.  My Dad? I honestly don't know what the Hell he wants, and I'm finally done trying to figure it out. From the time I was real little all the way through my mid 30's, the only time he ever seemed to be happy with me was when I was doing well as wrestling or bringing home really good grades. Other than that, nothing I did was ever good enough for him. I could never please him.  Sara never tried.  She never worried about pleasing him.  If she knew what would upset him and piss him off, that's what she did. 

It's like he and those who look at it strictly from his vantage point always want to point out all of the sacrifices he made for me & all he did for me while I was growing up.  They want me to only look at the positives he did for me.  

Nobody ever wants to stop and think of the sacrifices I made for him. How hard I tried to satisfy him and be what he wanted me to be. 

My senior year there was this girl I liked named Kelly. I asked her out. She said yes.  A friend of mine told his Dad about it & his Dad told my Dad.  How did my Dad respond? He responded by yelling at me about it. He said some pretty choice words about Kelly, letting me know he didn't think to much of her and her reputation for being "friendly."  Just sat and bashed her.  What did I do?  I worried about upsetting my Dad.  So I completely ignored Kelly, made an ass of myself & when I tried to talk to her about it later, she did what she should have done.  

Faggot, queer, gay, I got called a lot of these names. I heard the rumors.  When someone like Ben Hammes calls you a faggot, you don't think much of it. He didn't like me. He never liked me. So obviously him calling me a fag was simply him expressing that he didn't like me. No big deal.  But it was different when people who didn't have anything against me wondered if I was gay.  My Dad never stops to think about this or how much it hurt me during high school.  I wanted to please him. Make him happy.  I knew that getting sexually involved with a girl, even simple kissing would upset him, so I didn't do it.  I had one girlfriend during high school & we made out one night in my car. The windows fogged up.  Was my Dad pissed about that.  It reminded him of Sara getting pregnant two years prior & I got to hear another 3 hour lecture till midnight.  I broke up with Shelly a short time after that & that's all fine and dandy.  I just wish my Dad would realize I made a few sacrifices too.  Shelly wasn't the only attractive girl who liked me.  I could've gotten lucky a time or two.  I didn't though because I wanted to please him.  Probably sucks a lot more to spend a small fortune sending you kid to college only to see him not amount to jack shit.  Right? No use seeing or thinking of anything else other than that, even if it did suck to not be homosexual, but have others, even some of your friends wonder if you were. 


It's 2:30 a.m.   I started working on this about 10 till midnight.  There's so much more I could say and so much more I could elaborate on, but is it really worth it?  This wasn't rhetoric.  You went into this the exact way you're gonna come out.  Perhaps you've gained a little perspective & perhaps it has enhanced or lightened it one way or the other but it hasn't changed it.  If you came into this understanding & respecting my decision, you left understanding and respecting my decision.  If you came into this not understanding and thinking I'm wrong  & that I should continue to have my sister & Dad in my life, then you still think that.  If you went into this indifferent, you came out of it indifferent. 

To Those who get it, no explanation is necessary. To those who don't, no explanation will do.

I could have just said that too, but anyway...

Finish the Story: 24 of 200

 
"Ha ha ha!" Mason laughed. "Is that really your Dad?" 

"Ha!" Jordan laughed. "Yeah, it is!"

"Holy cow! He was skinny!" 

"What are you boys looking at?" Scott asked as he walked into the garage. 

"We found your old yearbook," Mason answered. "You used to be thin!"

"Thanks," Scott smirked. "Where did you find that old thing?"

"It was wedged behind some old newspapers & magazines on the shelf." Jordan answered. 

"Hand it over to me," Scott said.  He took it in his hands as he held it. Jackson High School, home of the Beavers. Class of 1999.  It had been at least twenty years since he had looked through his senior year book. 

"You boys continue working on cleaning this garage," He said to the boys. "I'm gonna go take a look at this thing."

Scott walked back into the house & sat down on the sofa. He began to thumb through the pages. Memories flooded his mind as he found himself overcome with emotion. Pretty girls he had forgotten he had once had crushes on. Friends he thought were lifelong that he hadn't spoke to in over a decade. The class jerks he was glad he'd never see again. He laughed hard when he saw a photo of the class skit they had done for homecoming. He gleamed with pride when he saw the track photo of him and the other three members of the conference and district 4x4 relay team that took second in the state of Alabama. It felt good to look through the yearbook, until he came to page 37. 

Suddenly a sense of guilt and remorse hit him like a solid right hook to the body as if it were delivered by Marvelous Marvin Hagler. He choked for air as his eyes swelled up & a pain tingled throughout his whole body. Page 37 was the school staff and there the picture stood out as clear as day.  Mr. Lanny Stockart, Chemistry.

42 year old Scott Wulff was suddenly 18 again.

Scott had never been that good at Chemistry.  He appreciated science and found it interesting, but it might as well have been a foreign language once math was added to it. He needed the class to graduate and he needed to pass in order to be eligible for the track team. Track was his life at the time. Nothing deemed more important. 

Upon his first test, he slumped in his chair starring at the 27% F that seemed to only grow a brighter shade of red the more he looked at it.  Mr. Stockart, who walked with a limp and had a difficult time turning around tapped on the chalk board to get everyone's attention. 

"I realize some of you may not be happy with your test results," He said. "Realize this is only the first test. We'll have other test, as well as projects and assignments to get your grade up." 

Scott got up to leave for his next class as he noticed Mr. Stockart looking at him.  Not casually glancing at him but starring at him as if he were the only kid in the Chemistry room. 

"Mr. Wulff," He said to Scott. 

"Mr. Stockart," Scott said in return. 

"Got your first big race on Friday night at Allman?" Mr. Stockart took off his glasses that seemed to have lenses that were two inches thick.  He cleaned them with a tissue. 

"Yeah, if I can even run," Scott answered. "I cannot believe how poorly I did on this test." 

"What's the issue?" Mr. Stockart asked. 

"I don't know." Scott answered. "I swear to you I'm paying attention. I'm taking notes. I'm reading the material. I'm studying it. I'm not bullshi....crapping you Mr. Stockart." 

"I know you aren't," Mr. Stockart continued cleaning his glasses. 

"I just don't get it. I don't know if I can get it. This is material that is above my head." 

"Nonsense," Mr. Stockart put his glasses on. "You are correct that there is a problem. Where you fail, is to see that there is a solution." 

"What is the solution?" Scott asked. 

"Tell me something Mr. Wulff. Do you only go to track practice and call it good?" 

"You mean like going to practice and giving it my all rather than just showing up?" 

"Yes, but I also mean that you do much more to be good at track than just work hard at practice. I see you in the weight room lifting weights. I see you running out on your own time.  You know it takes more to be good at track. Chemistry is no different." 

"What do you suggest?"

"I can get here an hour earlier in the morning if you can.  That way you don't have to miss track practice and we can get it done and over with so you can concentrate on other things.  Deal?"

"Deal." 

For the next three weeks Scott met with Mr. Stockart every morning in the Chemistry room. They would go over concepts and equations again and again. Scott wasn't sure if he understood Chemistry any better than he had, but what he did know is that he was putting in the effort. 

Come the next test, Scott waited anxiously as Mr. Stockart handed them back to see how everyone did.  As he waddled up to Scott's desk he gave Scott a stern look. Scott held his breath as Mr. Stockart laid it down on his desk.  79% C+.  Scott held the paper in his hand. Mr. Stockart winked. 

"I told you when there's a problem, there's a solution." Mr. Stockart smiled. "I think you're better than a C+ too." 

The conference track meet was that weekend, held at Jackson High. The 4x4 Relay team that consisted of Scott, Chase Adams, Noah Wehr & Luke Knowler not only won the event but did so in record time. Among the Beaver fans who cheered from the stands, hunched over leaning up against the chain link fence was Mr. Stockart.  As skinny as he was and as off balance as he always seemed to be, Scott thought the wind might pick him up and carry him away. He stood firm though, clapping as he watched the team celebrate their victory. 

The next Chemistry test came back and this time it was a 85%, a B. A grade Scott never thought that he'd see on anything that had anything to do with Chemistry.  Things were going great for him. He was doing well in school. Track couldn't be going any better than what it was and both Auburn and Troy State had already sent scouts wanting to talk to him about running in college. Life was good for Scott Wulff. 

That all changed on a Monday afternoon. 

Both the boy's and the girl's track team had missed Chemistry on Friday, because they had to leave school early for the district meet that was held in Montgomery two hours away. In order to make up what they had missed on Friday, Mr. Stockart had them watch a video in the back of the classroom, while the other kids who had not missed class worked on a lab. 

With Mr. Stockart distracted up at the front of the room, Luke Knowler pulled out a video from under his shirt. 

"What is that?" Chase asked him. 

"Just shut up," Luke snapped at him. He then took out the video they were supposed to be watching and put in his video. 

When he pushed play, it was obviously the kind of video it was. A pornographic film. 

"Dude, turn that shit off," Scott snapped his fingers at Luke. 

"Will you relax?" Luke fired back. "Stockart can't hear it all the way up there. He's so damn slow he couldn't make it back here in time anyway." 

"Probably the first time Scott's ever seen a pair of those anyway," Michelle Banks laughed. 

Luke laughed as the others laughed along with him. 

"Better not make him mad or he might go and tell on us." Chase put his arm around Scott. It wasn't meant as an insult but simply a gesture to suggest that Scott take it easy and not get so wound up. 

"Ok, Ok." Scott said. "I'm sorry. All right." 

Scott knew that what he was doing was wrong but the peer pressure was too much for him to resist. These were his track teammates. The ones that he had worked so hard with day in and day out to win both the conference and district team titles. Michelle Banks was the most popular and the best looking girl in his class. These weren't people he wanted to upset. These weren't people he wanted to look weak in front of. 

The fun lasted for two more days. Luke kept bringing the video to school and they kept finding reasons to go to the back of the room to watch it.  With the TV turned away from Mr. Stockart, there was no way he was going to see it. 

"Oh! Oh!" Suddenly the screams of a woman claim blaring from the T.V. 

"Chase you idiot!" Luke yelled. 

While messing around with the remote control trying to rewind a part that he had wanted to see again, Chase had accidently turned the volume up as high as it would go. 

"What's going on back there?" Mr. Stockart asked. 

"Sorry Mr. Stockart, " Luke said. "I just got mad at Chase. That's all." 

"What was that screaming noise?" Mr. Stockart asked. 

"Oh that was me, " Michelle answered. 

"It didn't sound like you at all." 

"It was," Michelle continued to lie. "I hit my knee on the table." 

Mr. Stockart had been a high school chemistry teacher for 10 years. He had a degree from the University of Alabama. There's no way that a pretty little face from Jackson High was going to fool him with what anyone could tell was pure manure. 

It took him a good two minutes, but he waddled back to where a good third of his students were. He studied the area around him. Scott prayed that he would not go towards the TV that thankfully Chase had managed to shut off.  Mr. Stockart looked about the room, trying to figure out the actuality of the situation. It seemed as if he wasn't going to find out and as if he were going to give up. That's when he noticed the chemistry video tape, the one that was supposed to be in the VCR lying on the the counter. 

That's when Scott knew the gig was up. He knew what Mr. Stockart was going to do. He was going to walk over to the TV, push the eject button on the VCR and discover the porno. All Scott could do was picture how much trouble he was going to get it. How disappointed his parents would be in him. How this might cost them the opportunity to compete at the state championships in two weeks.  What other consequences could await? All Scott could do was wait. 

Mr. Stockart held the video tape in his hand. He held it like it were a dead puppy or a dead kitten. Scott hated seeing the look of anguish and disappointment on Mr. Stockart's face. Knowing that a man who had done so much for him, he had let down. 

"Anyone who was a part of this," Mr. Stockart said as he squeezed the VHS in his hands, "Stay after class.  I'll write you a pass to your next class." 

The bell rang as Scott, Luke, Chase, Noah and Michelle sat quietly at their desk, while the rest of the class got up and left. 

"This type of behavior is an automatic suspension from school and an F for the course," Mr. Stockart said. 

"You can't do that to us!" Luke yelled. "We have state coming up!"

"Yeah," Michelle shrieked. "If I fail Chemistry, I won't graduate. None of us will. We'll have to all take summer school or repeat the semester next year." 

"It's not my personal decision," Mr. Stockart said. "It's school policy. Written clearly in your student handbook. If I report this to the principal these will be the actions took." 

They all sat in their desk, as if prisoners awaiting execution. A silence so loud that they could hear their own hearts beat. 

"Wait...wait...wait..." Chase held up his hand. "You said 'if' you tell the principal. 'If'....does this mean you might not?" 

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," Mr. Stockart answered. "You guys put me in a horrible situation. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You are better than this." 

Scott knew Mr. Stockart was addressing all of them, but he couldn't help but feel singled out. As if Mr. Stockart were talking to him and only him. 

They knew that there was no trying to persuade Mr. Stockart into his decision. He was going to do what he was going to do and that was it. All they could do was sit it out until he had.  They got up out of their desk and headed to their next class. 

"Mr. Wulff..." Scott heard the faint sound of Mr. Stockart's voice. He turned around. 

"Yeah?" Scott responded. 

"Did you know about this?" He asked. 

"It wasn't mine," Scott answered. "I didn't bring it in."

"I already know that," Mr. Stockart answered. "but you watched it the past couple of days and you were a part of it." 

"Yes sir," Scott said. "Yes, I was." 

Nothing more was said as Scott went to class. That night track practice was a blur. It went by quickly and he soon found himself at home. Luckily both his mom and dad had to work late that night, so he didn't even have to see them before he went to bed.  That night he dreamed of Mr. Stockart and the other kids. The dream had nothing to do with track. It had nothing to do with chemistry and it sure didn't have anything to do with the stupid porno film that they had watched. Instead it was Mr. Stockart moving about as freely as were the rest of them. Him running and jumping. No hump in his back, no slouch. He didn't limp or waddle. He didn't have to lean up against anything for support. He was like the rest of them, not one physical ailment. 

The next day in Chemistry, Mr. Stockart stood in front of the entire class holding the video in his hands. It wasn't labeled, so only those who knew what it was, had any idea that it was a porno.  To the rest of the kids in the class, it was just a black video tape. They had no idea what was on it. 

Mr. Stockart laid the video down on the table and then put on a pair of thick rubber gloves as he put on a pair of goggles. Already in a protective jacket, he reached down on the floor and picked up a container of liquid. He put the container on the table. 

"This is dichloromethane," He said as he picked up the VHS tape. "Also known as methylene chloride. It can dissolve many types of plastics. Like the plastics that make up this video tape." 

He put the VHS tape into the solution as they all watched it eat away at that tape. 

"Dichloromethane is a very powerful substance, " Mr. Stockart said. "You don't want to breathe it in or get it in your eyes or on your skin. As you can tell by looking at what used to be a VHS tape, it makes short work out of what it touches." 

He destroyed the tape. That was a good thing. After all he hadn't told the principal yet. He couldn't have. There's no way that this much time would have gone by without them getting in trouble if the principal had known. If Mr. Stockart had decided to tell the principal, why would he have destroyed the evidence? He wouldn't have. It was clear to Scott that Mr. Stockart wasn't going to turn them in. 

"Thank you, " Chase spoke for all of them as they had another quick meeting before their next class. They were all indebted to Mr. Stockart. 

"Your thank you means nothing to me," Mr. Stockart spoke slowly and deliberately. "What I want from you is to realize you were given a second chance.  To make the most out of this second chance and to do good with your lives. Make better decisions." 

They all agreed to Mr. Stockart's deal, but Scott felt that he might be the only one who actually meant it. 

What a relief it was. They were going to get to compete in the state championships, they were all going to graduation and they were all going to go on to college. Mr. Stockart was right. This could have all ended horribly for them and they would have had no one to blame but themselves. Instead he gave them a second shot and who was he but to do anything with that second shot other than what Mr. Stockart had asked of him? 

They ran at the state meet and being handed a huge silver trophy that read Alabama High School State championships, state runner-ups was the greatest feeling Scott had ever felt in his life. A feeling so great that he knew as he felt it, he might never feel a feeling as good ever again.  Mr. Stockart could have taken that feeling away from him. Could have robbed him of what was up to that point the greatest moment of his life.  Instead he decided not to. He decided to let Scott and the other guys have their moment of glory. 

The weeks went by and soon it was time to graduate.  Scott had taken his final Chemistry test and some how or another managed an A. A grade of B overall.  A 3.2 GPA, headed to Troy State on a partial track scholarship.  His senior year was almost over, only three days left of what had turned out to be a near perfect year. 

"Attention students," the announcements came over the loudspeaker as they sat eating lunch in the cafeteria. "Would Luke Knowler, Chase Adams, Michelle Banks, Noah Wehr, Scott Wulff & Mr. Stockart please come to the principal's office." 

They never did find out who ratted them out. It had to be someone in the Chemistry class room or maybe it had been one of the custodians. Scott didn't know.  He didn't think Luke had left the video in the room, but maybe he had.  They had thought they were going to get away with this, in fact, they thought they already had.  Now the five of them, along with Mr. Stockart sat in the Principal's room. 

Not much was said to the students. Most of what the principal had to say was directed at Mr. Stockart. Scott wondered what all he was feeling.  Perhaps ashamed? He never hung his head. Perhaps regret? Maybe anger towards them?  He didn't glare.  He just sat there looking the principal in the eye as he was chastised and ridiculed for his decisions. 

"Please," Mr. Stockart said once the principal had finished. "They all graduate in two days. Let them have their diplomas. One mistake shouldn't cost them so much." 

The principal folded his arms and took a deep breath. 

"All five of you are very lucky." He said. "I should take that state trophy and throw it in the trash. That's what I should do. I should make all of you go to summer school or redo the semester. I won't though. Get out of my sight now. I don't care to look at any of you." 

Once again they all thought it was over as they left the office. It was close to over, there was only one more part to be played. 

The next morning there was an assembly held. The entire school gathered in the gym as the Principal made his way up to the podium. 

"We have gathered here because we have some recent happenings we want all of you to be aware of." 

Scott sat in the bleachers wondering if he and the other students would be ousted for watching the porno film. Be humiliated in front of the whole school. 

Instead Mr. Stockart came walking from a dark hallway out into the light. As he walked towards the podium he seemed weaker. More fragile. Brittle and frail.  He trembled as he put the microphone closer to his face. 

"Students of Jackson High," A man who had always spoken with such diction, struggled to get the words out. "I have been teaching here for over a decade. I want you all to know how much I have enjoyed educating you. Teaching you. That you too have educated and taught me. I value all of you. With that said, I also want you to know that I recently made a decision that was not in your best interest. I owe you all an apology. As a result I have decided to resign from my position as a Chemistry teacher. I wish nothing but the very best life has to offer." 

He walked back to the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness.  Maybe the wind really did come along and carry him away. That's all Scott could figure. No one ever knew what happened to him. All they knew was that he had packed up and left town. His house was put up for sale and not even the realtor working it had any idea where he had went.  The summer came and gone and they were all at different colleges continuing the courses of their lives. 

Scott tried to look Mr. Stockart multiple times throughout his college years. Internet searches, he couldn't find anything under Lanny Stockart. He asked around, discovering he was originally from Mississippi. A three hour drive one day, people in the small little community of Dry Water remembered him, but hadn't seen him in many years.  Scott was always hoping that he'd pop up again someday. Somehow even though Scott knew it wasn't possible under the circumstances, as a teacher somewhere. 

Upon graduating and life hitting him with 1,000,000 other things, Mr. Stockart got placed in the area of Scott's brain that collected other forgotten thoughts.  It wasn't until he saw Mr. Stockart's photo on page 37 of the yearbook that he remembered everything that had happened.  How he wished somehow he could find Mr. Stockart. How he wished there was a way to locate him.  Was he even still alive? He would have been in his 50's back then, so he'd be at least 70 something now if not close to 80. 

Scott had never gotten the chance to tell Mr. Stockart how sorry he was for what had happened. That if he could go back in time, he would have turned himself in right away. How he would have sacrificed one of his most glorifying moments, if he knew it meant Mr. Stockart would have gotten to have kept his job. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted the opportunity to thank Mr. Stockart.  There's so much he wanted to say to the man, but the man was no where to be found.  Scott knew that as he sat down at the computer, but he searched the internet for hours anyway. 

Mr. Stockart had said that all problems have solutions. That was something he instilled into Scott's mind and even though he didn't always remember where it had originated from, it was a philosophy he lived be. A problem would come up and even if it looked like there was no way of dealing with it, Scott knew it had a solution. 

Yet what was the solution here? Scott hadn't seen Mr. Stockart in 25 years. All attempts to try and find him during his college years turned up nothing. The attempts to try and find him now, same result.  God if there were a solution, what was it? What was it Mr. Stockart? What was it?