CHAPTER 1
I was always the little one, the small naïve one who was far too smart for his own good. I was a punk. At the age of sixteen, I still hadn’t reached puberty yet, which seemed to bother everyone except me. I studied calculus alone, walked to school alone, and even ate in the cafeteria alone.
Truth be told I loathed existing within the social construct of the differing opinions, the manipulative lying and the constant need to be heard or liked. I hated the social aspects of being in a group environment. I didn’t talk to anyone unless I needed to, I didn’t converse on benign topics just to talk. I did not have any outer dislike toward anyone, I just found them all to be incredibly annoying.
I was very much into music, and I studied the classics in my music classes. I knew who Mozart, Chopin, and Eddie Van Halen were. At that age, my adventures on the reservation were simple yet complicated. My father was a preacher now, and along with that came a social commitment that garnered negative attention from the clan ranks. Forsaking the clan-old religious practices for the whiteman’s religion was nearly unforgivable. It was forgivable only if the offending party would then revolt from their newly found ways and revert to the traditional ways of being.
The grayed, blurred lines sepa
