Part XXXIX

The first night I moved back into my Mom's was the 29th of August, 1985. It was Thursday and Mom was going out of town for the Labor Day weekend with her boyfriend, Ted. She left on Friday afternoon and late on Friday Night, I was walking by her room when I saw on her dresser the key to her estranged husband's 380z. As I have mentioned before, Bud was living in the same apartment complex, so I picked up the key, walked out to where his car was parked and drove away. Now, did I steal the car? I say no, I brought it back, Bud says I stole it and I guess technically I did. Anyway, I picked up my friend Pete and drove to the beach in Santa Cruz. I returned the car at about four int he morning with no one the wiser. It was brilliant, so I did the same the next night.

With Mom still not home and the key still in my possession, Sunday night seemed prime for a third trip out. Except this time when I went to the car, it would not start. Bud, always the engineer had disabled something in the car and was walking up when I got out of the car. He was really pissed. He said he was going to call the police and I told him to go ahead. My bluff was that I was his step-son and I had the key and would hold the position that I was allowed to drive it. Whether he bought this, or had compassion or just didn't realize that I had never received a driver's license, I don't know. What I do know is that I went home and I think I gave him the key.

The next morning, I went to work and when I got home, I was locked out. The apartment manager had received a call from Mom, who had received a call from Bud and they had changed the lock. Since I knew that they could not lock me out that way (I knew all the scammers favorite laws), I simply broke in and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, my Mom was sitting there and told me I had to get out. She didn't say it in an angry way, it was sort of with sadness. I think she figured she had lost her son to the family's way of life and now she had to let me go. I loaded up two duffle bags of things I really didn't need and walked out. My plan was to walk the 30 or so miles over a mountain range to get to the beach and live homeless there...that would teach her. I got a few blocks before I got really tired and ended up hanging with friends. I had burned many a bridge for such a young guy and there was no one to let me stay with them, so that night, I slept under a park picnic table.

In the early hours of Tuesday September 3rd, 1985, just as the sun was rising and that grayness was settling into an early morning in the Bay Area, I walked into an Army recruiter's office. Why the Army, you ask? Because they were next to the park and I did not want to spend another night there. Unfortunately a new law had been passed call Delayed Entry and you didn't walk in and get on a bus and head off to the Army. You had to wait thirty days. So after taking the ASVAB and signing about 75 papers, I went back to my Mom's with proof that I was going into the Army and she let me crash there until I went off to basic. Two days later, the recruiter took me to the Processing station in Oakland and I chose my Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). He suggested a large bonus, a higher rank and an education if I chose to be a weapons tech on Apache Helicopters. Instead, I chose to be a Medic, the second largest populated MOS in the army, next to infantry. I wanted to be Rah-Rah, but not infantry Rah-Rah. I got no bonus, no rank and no education. I still direct myself to the challenge, I really need to work on that.