re: Share a random memory from your childhood.

Sat on OJ's lap at the '84 World's Fair

Was around 5-6, family out to eat at some restaurant. Being the restless shite I was, I wanted to go walk around, and being the late 70s, they said okay. I walked around and came upon a big pile of sand in the back of the place. Stuck my hands in to play with it except it wasn't sand, IT WAS HOT COALS AND ASHES. Burnt the frick out of my hands. I remember the instant thing and then crying for days. My parents were incredible overall but that was one of just a few fails they had.

Had a very vivid nightmare when I was about 8. Got out of bed and headed to my parents bedroom. Right as I got to the door I heard my mom say "I've got a lot of shite to do tomorrow at school (teacher) so no we are not fricking tonight." I immediately retreated back to my bedroom and sucked it up because the nightmare didn't seem as scary anymore.

On my eighth birthday my father brought me a bulldog, a fat, little bulldog. I named him Prince Henry Stout. He was strong. He would chase my pet turkey; he would chase a squirrel up the tree. I raised him, I trained him, I fed him, I grew him, I took care of him, I loved that dog. I loved that dog more anything in the world I loved that dog. My father gave me a handful of cherry bombs and M-80s and said: "You're gonna train this dog to be a protector". So every Saturday afternoon I got behind a little dummy that my dad built and tossed cherry bombs and M-80s at the dog - Boom! Boom! The dog was scared at first but after awhile he got on the dummy. He got the dummy ripping it apart. The head was off. Shirt was gone. So thirteen years old birthday time came and I got me a twelve guage shotgun. We're going hunting. I was so excited. We went out to the clearing in the woods, my dad laid his gun down, took my gun and laid it down and said: "Son, today you're gonna learn to control your emotions. You're gonna do things that some men are not able and are unwilling to do. Follow me". I followed my dad, we were running this clap of trees, there was a corral built and there was Prince Henry Stout chained in the middle of the corral. My dad took out of pocket full cherry bombs, put them in my hand and said: "Get in the corral, here's a lighter; I want you to light those cherry bombs and throw them at the Prince. You're gonna face manhood. You're gonna fight that dog to the death. He's gonna kill you or you're gonna kill him. Now." He was on me. He was on me like flies on shite. I had no chance. I got my arm up in between his teeth and my neck. Wop! We're down in the mud, rolled over, rolled over, the dog is fighting, biting, scratching, kicking and I'm screaming, crying, grabbing trying to run. I stand up and fall with my elbow on him. I hear his neck break. He's dead. He's not breathing, he's not biting. I'm covered up with blood. I stand up, wipe the blood off. I licked it. And my dad said: "Welcome to manhood!"

Awful story. That's how you create a sociopath.

The Tale of Prince Henry Stout