This is a long story that happened a very long time ago in the late 80s. It is a story that some might find troubling, I myself have mixed feelings about the relationship. But with time comes clarity and with that clarity of time, I have come to accept that much of what transpired was very much by my own design.
I grew up in a pretty fucked up home environment. My parents were both drug addicts, cocaine mostly with some heroine mixed in just for kicks, and there was a lot of abuse and neglect during my formative years. Growing up in such an environment can have serious negative impacts on a person and I was no different. I was pretty much heading down the same path as my parents until I discovered the sport of wrestling in 8th grade.
I was a natural at grappling. I’m naturally athletic and I had a mean streak a mile long (a direct result of my Father’s approach to parenting). So wrestling gave me an outlet and a focus that I desperately needed. When I got to high school I went out for the team. I was the only freshman wrestling varsity at my weight class and before long I became one of the leaders on our team and earned a reputation regionally as a formidable wrestler.