Feb 2009
An update to my story...
22/02/09 Filed in: Personal
To read what I have written so far,
click here...
I was told to just put my stuff in the corner of the living room. There was no bed setup for me, nor a space in any of the 3 bedrooms, so the couch became my bed. There was now 7 of us in that house; my mother, her boyfriend, 2 of my brothers, and my twin sisters. It didn't take long for my mother to be introducing me to drugs. I have a photo of me from this time, sitting on the couch holding a bong (a water pipe for smoking pot) in my hand. My mother talked about me going to school, but it wasn't to last. The emotional and physical abuse began immediately and within 3 days she locked me out of the house and told me to f*** off and don't come back. I saw her on occasion over the next 2 and half years. Once I had a job for a few weeks at a donut shop at the Charlestown Mall while I was staying at a homeless refuge in Redhead, Newcastle. My mother was shopping and saw me there, but never bothered to come and say hello.
I spent a few weeks at Redhead Refuge, but then ended up on the streets. For the next 2-3 years I travelled around the state of New South Wales, jumping trains and hanging out in the cities, but mostly hung out in Newcastle, a pretty tough industrial city. I ended up with a group of guys and earned the name "Kiwi" thanks to my New Zealand accent. Together we supported each other and caused mischief. Surviving on the streets wasn't hard. It was a fun lifestyle most of the time. No responsibility, free food at the Salvation Army, getting drunk every night. We would beg for money, and people were usually generous. I could make $20 in an hour easy, and back then that bought a lot more than today.
I became an expert at stealing. Shoplifting was my speciality and I was never caught. I could walk into a department store and just walk out with large items, and do it in such a way that no would ask questions. Sometime I would ask the security person at the door to give me some help with my "purchase". Once I "purchased" a keyboard that was nearly as big as I was. We'd then sell these to pawn shops who knew exactly that they were getting "hot" property. And then there was the alcohol. I could suck my stomach in so far that I could conceal 3-4 bottles of hard liquor, and to erase suspicion I'd always buy something and chat it up with the clerk. No one cared about asking for ID back then, and I looked older than I was, and of course the legal drinking age was only 18, not 21 as in the USA. And so off we went to a squat or a park and got smashed pretty much every day.
Having a mother who was well-known for dealing drugs was a blessing and a curse. It gave me protection at times, but at other times it made me some stranger's instant enemy. Having people come up and king hit me for no reason was no fun and it happened from time to time. Other times I was invited onto ships docked in the harbor from overseas where I was treated to some of the best marijuana in the world.
to be continued...
I was told to just put my stuff in the corner of the living room. There was no bed setup for me, nor a space in any of the 3 bedrooms, so the couch became my bed. There was now 7 of us in that house; my mother, her boyfriend, 2 of my brothers, and my twin sisters. It didn't take long for my mother to be introducing me to drugs. I have a photo of me from this time, sitting on the couch holding a bong (a water pipe for smoking pot) in my hand. My mother talked about me going to school, but it wasn't to last. The emotional and physical abuse began immediately and within 3 days she locked me out of the house and told me to f*** off and don't come back. I saw her on occasion over the next 2 and half years. Once I had a job for a few weeks at a donut shop at the Charlestown Mall while I was staying at a homeless refuge in Redhead, Newcastle. My mother was shopping and saw me there, but never bothered to come and say hello.
I spent a few weeks at Redhead Refuge, but then ended up on the streets. For the next 2-3 years I travelled around the state of New South Wales, jumping trains and hanging out in the cities, but mostly hung out in Newcastle, a pretty tough industrial city. I ended up with a group of guys and earned the name "Kiwi" thanks to my New Zealand accent. Together we supported each other and caused mischief. Surviving on the streets wasn't hard. It was a fun lifestyle most of the time. No responsibility, free food at the Salvation Army, getting drunk every night. We would beg for money, and people were usually generous. I could make $20 in an hour easy, and back then that bought a lot more than today.
I became an expert at stealing. Shoplifting was my speciality and I was never caught. I could walk into a department store and just walk out with large items, and do it in such a way that no would ask questions. Sometime I would ask the security person at the door to give me some help with my "purchase". Once I "purchased" a keyboard that was nearly as big as I was. We'd then sell these to pawn shops who knew exactly that they were getting "hot" property. And then there was the alcohol. I could suck my stomach in so far that I could conceal 3-4 bottles of hard liquor, and to erase suspicion I'd always buy something and chat it up with the clerk. No one cared about asking for ID back then, and I looked older than I was, and of course the legal drinking age was only 18, not 21 as in the USA. And so off we went to a squat or a park and got smashed pretty much every day.
Having a mother who was well-known for dealing drugs was a blessing and a curse. It gave me protection at times, but at other times it made me some stranger's instant enemy. Having people come up and king hit me for no reason was no fun and it happened from time to time. Other times I was invited onto ships docked in the harbor from overseas where I was treated to some of the best marijuana in the world.
to be continued...
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