Starbuck wrote:Nightlion wrote:I am one prophet with a book filled with empirical proofs.
In all your wanderings, did you ever experiment with lsd or magic mushrooms? Have you been checked for a brain tumor? My father thinks Mohammed had a brain tumor, but his own vision are legit, cause child brides, and no way can Mohammed be a prophet because god would never allow child brides.
Whose visions are legit? Your dad's or Mohammed's?
(The Apocalrock has 'what' to say against Islam, by the way.)
No, only social drinking in High School. Even though I played in Rock Bands back in the sixties and watched a friend shoot up heroin, I never smoked pot. Just a couple of tokes at Mile High Stadium at a Rock Festival in 1969. (Jimi Hendrix's last concert with his band, The Experience.)
My mom wanted me to know, (figures) that she once threw me against the cement wall when I was a toddler. We lived in a basement on Butler Hill off 7200 South in Salt Lake Valley. We were just going up the stairs and she noticed I had peed my pants.
Oh, yea, when I was younger than eight I stepped up behind a friend who was hitting rocks with a baseball bat and got hit in the forehead. Got a big goose egg, but I do not think I was knocked unconscious. My dad backhanded me to the face out of my chair at the dinner table three times over the years when I was still younger than twelve. I must have said something.
I played Little League baseball for four years because a neighbor was the coach. Neither one of the 'parents' came to one of my games, ever. Mom was always home and dad was self employed as a home builder who almost always worked no more than a half hour from home. And it was not enough that they prove to me how much they hated me. They both wanted everyone to hate me. My dad would suddenly begin to verbally abuse me when anyone showed up on a job site. The assault would come out of nowhere and emotionally hit you like a baseball bat. Cuz, he was happily whistling 'O My Father' all the time and then just shamed in front of men I respected.
I heard how one brick mason hated my dad so much for the way he treated me that he told my relative who lived near him and a neighbor to my dad's mom that he could not go to her funeral and shake my dad's hand because of the way he treated me.
But the church members loved both my 'parents' because they were workhorses for a ward filled with the intellectual elites. President Hinckley (our Stake President at the time) sent my dad home from a ward house building project, wagging his finger I bet, telling Brother Muir that the Lord will not have men swearing while building a church house. What a dick.
I have a memory of being visited as an infant by a beautiful woman who would gaze down at me with love in her eyes. (It was either an angel or could have just been my aunt Afton, whom I was told cared for me at times and lived nearby. From that I learned to give myself to some degree of comfort by gazing up at women in the ward for some eye contact. And I would stand around in the kitchens of my friends long enough to get some eye contact from their moms. True story.
I was clever at giving people nicknames. I called my mom, Momma Meanie. I never called my dad anything. He was 6'4" and over 250 lbs. Kids will invent every reason to love and keep it against all odds. And believing that you deserve abuse is better than accepting that you are not loved. Even after I had five kids of my own my dad once busted open a door and hit me full on in the face knocking me on my ass. I never lifted a finger against him. Just before dementia kicked in and while observing my own children he openly admitted to me that he was a terrible father. I resisted telling him that he was no father at all. He did teach me how to shovel with my knees and how to turn a transit both ways to level it.
OH, and it must have been the Lord that actually got him to have a conversation with me once, telling me he didn't want me to smoke. I had just bought my first pack of cigarettes and he could smell that my friends and I were smoking down in the gully behind his house. I never wanted to smoke anyway but my friends just kept insisting. I never smoked again. I was shocked. God moves in mysterious ways. His wonders to perform. I think that was very important for me and can see why the Lord motivated him. Two of my brothers still smoke today.
So when I was a senior in High School I had to admit how taken apart I was and decided to deal with it. First I fasted for three days in December 1968. By the end of January of 1970 I finished my quest having been drawn by Heavenly Father to take upon me the name of Jesus Christ with full purpose of heart. And that made me the man I am today. Thanks for asking.
