Pardon the time between these posts, Kid.
You as well, Folks.
I beg for your patience and understanding.
It's just that...well, these can get a bit emotionally heavy for me, you know?
These old thoughts and recollections, combined with those from O.J.M. Volume 01 & 02...
Having to go back and read these old writings can be very cathartic at times, and at other times, just flat-out painful.
I don't make it a habit to read ahead, you know?
I have a decent amount of weighty things, strange bits, short stories, and so much more all swirling around in this head of mine all at once and all the time...and these can be rather jarring to that delicate balance.
I imagine that time travel is often this complicated for the traveler.
Knowing things that you shouldn't know ahead of time, but before you know that you know it.
It's a bit weird writing about myself, who is talking to a Kid who -to the best of my knowledge- doesn't exist.
It's like I am inadvertently writing a second volume, you know?
Or I am just slowly slicing open a bunch of old wounds in hopes that the blood will draw in something or someone who may just not even be on this little planet of ours...
Hmm.
I am rambling again.
Slap me when I start to do that, Kid.
Yeah?
I gave you permission.
Give you permission?
...Time travel...
Sheesh.
(Flips a few switches that I hope are the right ones because my hands are a bit clammy, and I think these stupid little nobs from 2016 were really just not big eno-)
-ZAP!-
Enjoy.
-----
April 28th, 2019.
-----
Dear You.
This month has been unreal...
So much so that I feel myself getting darker.
My energy is being tainted...
So much is going on, and my patience is drained...
I find myself getting irritated far faster than I should...
I don't like it...I need to rid myself of this cloud...
I just want him to pull through.
I went to see him today with my mom, XXXXX, XXXXX, was there, and two of XXXXX's brothers.
It's always hard to see him so frail...
His brothers seem to be doing okay, just one day at a time.
For all of us.
I'll get back to you soon, kid.
P.S. My mom came to America when she was 3.
-Dad.
-----
(Time wiggles just a bit as I slip back into the crevice of 2025.)
Hmm.
-All of the names, the XXXXX's are a handful of my siblings.
-I don't think that I've ever really spoken to anyone about my Stepdad in any real detail, you know?
Outside of this...book?
I suppose I have told a handful of stories in O.J.M. Volume 01 & 02.
He was many things.
But one thing sticks out above them all, for me.
Regardless of all of the good that he may have done for me, my mom, my siblings, and even some of our close friends.
He was racist.
In my youth, I heard him say that hard N-word far too many times...
Not toward me directly, but in reference to myself, my mother, and other people of color.
I wish that I had not experienced that part of him, you know?
It sucks.
My love for him is very bittersweet.
I think of him very much like Hollywood Hogan.
I love that man, that character soooooo much as a child.
He was one of my favorite wrestlers.
But that hard N-word, you know?
It fuckin' sucks...
Listen...
And this may sound strange if you are not American:
No one cares if you are racist, IF THEY DON'T KNOW.
I'm not saying that I don't care. Hatred is wrong in all of its many forms.
But I need you to understand that if that young, six, seven, and eight-year-old me had never heard him say that word, and in that way, he would have died a hero in my eyes...
Maybe I need that?
But then again, what kind of legacy would we have had in our minds for Hollywood Hogan had we not heard what he said?
Hmm.
Nothing can take away from someone's greatness like an act of hatred, you know?
I love who my stepdad was before I knew who he was.
Sometimes that just makes sense.
Love people, Kid.
Love as if you've never been hurt...
Just love...carefully and with wide eyes.
That goes for you all as well, folks.
I will do my best to do that as well.
Till the next one: Safe travels, Kid. You as well, Folks.
Stay safe.
Stay healthy.
Stay vigilant.
-Redd.
P.S. My mom told me that she was brought to America with my grandmother when she was but three years old.
From where?
Nigeria, I believe.
Want to know something crazy?
My grandmother was literally bought by her husband when she was just 12 years old.
That is a bit more than just crazy.
My grandmother passed away at just 52 years old, and I was...16 if I recall properly.
A short, intense life.
Hmm.
More "Stories for another time." I tell ya, lol.
See you all back here soon.
-Redd.
P.S.S. The ironic part? I am wearing my stepdad's hat, and shirt, and pants for the cover photo of this book, lmaoooo.
He was dead by that point.
Cancer took him.
Less lmaoooo.