Letter 21

I,m okay... i am home... they say i am  gravaly ill .. may be , may be not....  they say i should have  2  transplants .. liver and kidney... may be so ...  i just cant believe i,ll die with such a  whimper ...  i must kill myself ...  i can.t be such an invalid...   it,s the only proud thing to do...  but  not  now ...  i was thinking with  all those tubes  and needles in me ...  i reflect  on my  mortality and my childhood... i wonder  how  i got to this place ...  it was a very  lonely and  violent childhood...  i was loved by my grandparents ... but it was a hush love .. and my mom was distant and my dad was unknown.. when i,d go up  north to be with my mom  it was the worst ...  my stepfather  would  beat her and us kids...  me and Kindra still  laff  when  we talk  of his  death ...  we hated him ...  my mom never ever met my teacher or  ever went  to my  school  when i was  in the  early grades ...  not even on parent,s day ...  i wouldn.t even  dare  mention  it to her ...  sometimes   our teacher  would tell  us tp watch  a certain  show on TV  like a speach  by our president .. no way ..  or if  it was   your birthday it was customary to bring  treats  for  the whole calss .. like  cupcakes...  cookies.. etc.    i,d rather skip school  than even mention  it to my mom ...  i was always the worst dressed  kid...  so was the Kindra ...  it was more important for Kindra .. she was the girl ... in school out of school ...  on the bus...  on the train...  Kindra just say fuck school and went to  prison ... i could,t see...  and i kept hanging on ... i was  considered retarded ... i took speech lessons  after  school...  mom didn,t know because  i didn,t  have ever  to be at home  at any time ...  then i got glasses ...  i was suddenlt the smartest  asshole  in the  world ...  by then i was  with my real dad ...  he was a mess too ...  but i  learned to perservere ...to work ... may be to keep busy and keep  my mind  off  of my family ... i was  in athletics  in school...  and was spending a lot of time  in practical houres  playing  in the band ...  i worked  at the drive in  theatre and weekeds i worked  at the iron works  too ...  in the summer i worked both jobs every day ...  i always  got  by on my brains...  i am not a great   thinker  but i  was   blessed  and cursed  with my brain ... but now my my point is this .. i, ve been all over   done so many things  and no i must reflect on my life  and i think it is this ... bomber pilot has no problems ...  artllery men  cAn  fire  with  ease.. but an infantryman has a hard time  pulling the  trigger when he  can look  in the face ofhis  enemy .. i DIDN,T