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| Castor & Ryan Hetfield tell it how it is; A slant on the Hetfield Family. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 5, 2008, 5:06 pm (12,016 Views) | |
| Lady Hammett | May 5, 2008, 5:06 pm Post #1 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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I began to post this story two years ago on the old Metallichicks forum. This is told partly by a fictional character, Ryan Hetfield, James's son from a relationship that took place in the late eighties. The other parts, in italic, are told by Castor Hetfield himself. Remember, this is a fictional characterization of Castor and obviously not really Castor himself! Or James, Francesca, Marcella or Cali. Or any character. But it's still a fun story with lots of comedy and drama, so enjoy! |
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| Lady Hammett | May 5, 2008, 5:07 pm Post #2 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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CASTOR'S TURN FIRST! I dabbed at my bloody nose, but the blood would not stop flowing. I glared in the mirror at Cali, who wasn't paying attention to me. She had gotten her way and gained control of the Xbox 360 - just like usual. It wasn't fair. It was her way or the highway, and if you tried to stop her, she got really bloodthirsty. This time my nose had taken the punch. I figured, who cared. We always had the Nintendo Wii, and at least Marcella, my little sister, was nice enough to share. I think I'd better stop and introduce myself. My name is Castor Hetfield, and as you've figured out by now, I have two sisters - one nice and one not so nice. Unfortunately the not so nice one, Cali, is Mom and Dad's favorite. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because she looked a lot like Dad when she was born. She doesn't anymore, now she looks more like Mom. Anyway, Cali started playing guitar last year and Dad was thrilled. She says she wants to follow in his footsteps, so as you could imagine, she scored an awful lot of brownie points. I started playing bass but Dad wasn't thrilled about it like he was about Cali. Mom thought it was cool. She told me that Ryan was a bass player . . . Let me explain Ryan. He is my half-brother from my dad's earlier relationship. But I have never met him before. He and Dad apparently fought a long time ago and now he lives in Australia. It sucks, because he is sort of famous since he is in a band called Plate Tectonics. I think he is awesome. But Dad gets mad whenever I ask questions about him. So yeah, all I know are my two sisters. Marcella doesn't play anything but she's only little so it makes sense. She likes to sing sometimes though. Later on after dinner, I wolfed down my food and hurried over to the Xbox 360 console. But before I knew it, a beefy arm wrapped around my shoulder, and my lips hit the floor. I looked up to see Cali flick the console on and start playing again. |
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| Lady Hammett | May 5, 2008, 5:14 pm Post #3 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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RYAN'S TURN: As soon as my day at Sunrise Elementary School ended, I just stood there and watched the bus pull away again. Then, when nobody was looking, I made my way to Ashley Park, sat down on a bench, and started crying. This may sound unusual to you. But trust me, I've been doing it since I was old enough to do it. Once again, my teacher had called me a failure. Why? Because I was eight years old, and I still could not read. Dad and my stepmother, Francesca, seemed to agree with the school staff. I remember when Dad and I got called into the principal's office. Ms. Jacobs said that I would never amount to anything, and Dad seemed to believe it. He was furious. When we got home, he told me to "go to my room until I could figure out where my damn brains were". Whatever that was supposed to mean. Every time shit like this happened, I would go to my room and pound on my bass, loud enough to drown out my misery. My real mom played bass . . . I was born on July 5, 1989, to James Hetfield and Alex Chase. They were not married. The situation was rather complicated, actually. You see, Mom was a bass player in a band called the Creeps. There were three Australian guys in the band and they ended up receiving more publicity in Australia than America. So it made more sense for them to move there. Of course, they couldn't settle things civilly. Dad didn't want me going back and forth from Australia to here ("I'm not going to be a part-time parent"). Dad had the better lawyer, and he gained full custody of me. My mom didn't have a choice but to move on with her life, because the breakup was nasty and Dad ordered her out of our lives. But a good thing did come out of that, I'll admit. Dad's being possessive meant that I got to go on tour with him because "I'm not having some fucking stranger raise my son while I'm on the road". As a result, I got to see the world, and of course, get a taste of the music industry. No matter how much Dad and I have fought I must give him credit for that. Anyway, I sat there on the park bench, crying. Then, sure enough, the three people that had been picking on me at school all year showed up and started to give me hell. "Hey HETFEID!" It was Barbara Reid and Terry Taylor, two of the biggest creeps I'd ever met in my life. They called me Hetfeid because I couldn't even spell my last name. That's right. I was that bad at reading and writing. I tried to spell Hetfield and that was what I got. After that I never tried to spell it again. Still, the bullies remembered it and they used it to harrass me. I stood up. That was usually enough to get them running. Why? Because I have always been tall for my age. I was only eight years old and in the third grade, but I was taller than most of the sixth graders. That is because my Dad is six foot one, and my mom was at least an inch or two taller than him. Terry, Barbara, and their posse were all talk. They'd never try to fight me - at least, I hoped not. I already had enough crap going on at home with Dad and Francesca thinking I was stupid. |
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| kellyismetal | May 5, 2008, 8:56 pm Post #4 |
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Blackened
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are you going to post more?
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| Lady Hammett | May 5, 2008, 9:13 pm Post #5 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Castor's Turn: At school, Cali and I completely ignored each other. Except when I got picked on, of course. She would laugh loud and clear with her large group of friends as she watched me get humiliated. Cali was the one who started the denial of siblinghood. When someone asked her if I was her brother once, she cried, "Hell no, man!" So I did the same. Once someone asked me if I had a sister, and I replied, "Yes. Her name is Marcella." It was the truth, wasn't it? We went to Livingston Elementary School. It was fairly new, or at least, it got built in 2004. Sunrise Elementary was the old school and it looked like crap now. Cali was two grades ahead of me. I was in third and she in fifth, so that meant next year I wouldn't have to put up with her. She'd be moving up to Fairland Middle School. Marcella was in first grade, and I was hoping she would have the same lunch as me so we could sit together. But she didn't. The lunches at Livingston Elementary were divided into Lunch A, B and C. She had C lunch and I had A Lunch - with CALI out of all people. Ugh! Class sucked. Why? Because I had trouble reading. They almost put me in SLD (Slow Learning Disabilities), but Dad wouldn't have it. He almost went nuts when they suggested that. "Castor, listen to me. You are not slow," he told me the night that my teacher had sent a note home suggesting it. I could see the redness on his face. He was trying not to look angry, but I could tell he was bothered by the thought of me being in the "boom-boom" class. That night Dad tried to teach me how to read. But I just didn't get it. The letters kept getting mixed up in front of my face and I couldn't do what I was supposed to do. Dad's face was getting redder and redder. Finally, he snapped, "You are just like your brother, you know that?" and walked out of my room. |
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| Wishful | May 6, 2008, 11:28 am Post #6 |
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Cliff and Lars Lover
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Ooooo are we going to get more of this? cos i like very much what i've read so far! |
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| Lady Hammett | May 6, 2008, 12:36 pm Post #7 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Ryan again: I had three "uncles" - Dad's bandmates, Kirk, Jason, and Lars. I was close to Uncle Kirk because my personality was similar to his - introverted and quiet. I bonded with Uncle Jason over playing bass, and he gave me lessons every now and then. But Jason was all business - I wouldn't say there was a huge emotional attachment. I considered Uncle Kirk to be more of a friend. Uncle Lars was probably closest to Dad, since they had known each other since 1981 and all. I didn't NOT get along with Lars, but at the same time, we weren't ever close. If I got into an argument with Dad at any given time, Lars immediately sided with him and told me not to argue with my father. I loved eating at Uncle Kirk's house. He was a vegetarian and taught me how to cook. His food tasted so good that I nearly considered going vegetarian myself. But I knew Dad would never allow that! I spent most of my time in my room whenever I was home, pounding away on the Sadowsky bass guitar that Uncle Jason had given me on my eighth birthday. At eight I was already over five feet tall, almost five foot two, and could hold a regular sized bass. Dad started cracking down on how much time I spent playing bass after a particular incident happened at school. Mr. Sherry, who helped me in class with my reading (which wasn't getting anywhere), had suggested that I be placed in SLD. SLD is for people who have slow learning disabilities, so Dad freaked out when he received that phone call. When he hung up, he screamed at the top of his lungs, "RYAN! GET DOWN HERE!" I was on my computer instead of playing bass at the time, so I heard him loud and clear. I rushed downstairs, hating his tone of voice. "What the hell is this, about this guy wanting you to go into SLD?" he asked me once I reached the living room. He motioned me to take a seat, and I did. "Um, because he wants me to learn how to read, and then I might be able to go into the regular class again," I replied. Dad shook his head. "No. No way. No son of mine is going to be in the retard class." "Dad!" I cried. "It's not about that-" "Shush!" he snapped. "I know exactly what's going on here. You're not trying hard enough. You're spending too much time up there playing bass, or milling around at Uncle Kirk's house, or taking hour and a half long lessons at your uncle Jason's. We will be cutting down on all those activities." I didn't understand. He had never been proud or thrilled about me playing bass. I thought he'd have been proud that I was getting into music. It also meant that I wouldn't get to hang out with my uncles anymore, and had to stay around at the house. I didn't like this at all. The next day, Dad picked me up from school. That meant I couldn't escape to Ashley Park and be alone. Great! I sat there dismally, watching the long line of cars go by, one by one. My dad's Dodge Ram pulled to the front, and one of the teachers called my name. With a groan, I hoisted my backpack up and got into the truck. Dad didn't bother saying hi. He always got straight to the point. "Do you have homework?" he questioned. "No," I lied. "Yes you do!" he roared, and pulled out of the line onto the main road. I said nothing the whole drive home. When we got back to the house, he snatched my backpack off my shoulders and took it upstairs to my room. He separated the zipper in one quick motion and dumped the contents out onto my bed. "Get out your homework!" he snapped at me. I did as I was told. It was a reading assignment. Why couldn't it be math? I could read numbers. It was just letters that I got mixed up. I pulled out the assignment and set it down on my desk. I tried really hard to read it, I swear. I tried to break it down letter by letter. But no matter how hard I tried, just ended up sounding like a two-year-old. Dad was furious. He was convinced that I wasn't trying hard enough. Then the words that I feared came. "If you don't do this homework right, you're getting the belt," he threatened me. Then he stormed out of the room. I spent three hours trying to figure out the homework. In my tears, I struggled, trying to make sense of the gibberish in front of me. It still wasn't clicking. Dad came back and told me it was dinnertime. During the meal, he ranted to Francesca about how I wasn't trying hard enough. Francesca just rolled her eyes. I couldn't stand either one of them. When we were done eating, Dad asked whether I had done my homework or not. I burst into tears. "Is that a no?" he hollered. He grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs. I braced myself as the hard leather broke my skin, over and over again. When it was all over, I slammed the door to my room shut and hugged my bass tight. My fingers were shaking too hard to play it. ********************************************* I didn't get to see Uncle Kirk for two weeks. The only reason why I got to see him was because Dad and Francesca were going to Tahoe for a friend's birthday celebration and it was adults only. So I got to spend the night at Uncle Kirk's. I was thrilled. Dad didn't jam with me much, but Kirk and I loved to. I brought my bass guitar over, of course. He had gotten me into blues and jazz playing. We jammed that night and for the first time in at least a month, I smiled and relaxed. When we got done jamming we decided to start dinner. As we cooked together, Uncle Kirk said, "Ryan, you have an awful lot of talent, you know that? I think you have a bright future ahead of you." I wasn't used to getting compliments, and it warmed my heart like butter. But then I told him about how I was doing terribly at school, and was having trouble reading. I confessed that people at my school didn't think I was going to amount to anything. I didn't dare tell him that Dad and Francesca thought that too. Uncle Kirk was shocked that anybody would think that. "Ryan, you are so talented and smart. There are very few kids your age that can play bass at all, let alone so well." I wanted to cry, this time in happiness. He was always so nice to me. I turned and threw my arms around his chest. I wasn't too much shorter than him now! He embraced me back. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I didn't want to look him in the eye. But I was upset that this night was coming to a close, and I wanted to stay here at his house forever and forever. "I'm fine," I forced out, and we continued cooking. When it was time to go to bed, I realized that I had forgotten my pajamas. "Damn! My pajamas are at home," I told Kirk. "Oh, well. Just use an old T-shirt of mine," he replied. "Mind you, I have a pair that shrunk a little in the dryer. I haven't thrown them away yet." We walked over to the laundry room and he fished through his clothes. He found the pair he was talking about and tossed them to me. I thanked him and went into the guest room to change. "Toss me your clothes and we'll get them washed tonight!" Kirk called. I tossed him my shirt after pulling it off. But just as that happened, his dog, Darla, came running into the room and grabbed the pajama top in her mouth! Then she ran out of the room with it! "Darla-" I hissed, reaching for her. But I missed and toppled to the floor out in the hallway. I looked up and Uncle Kirk was staring at me in shock. Oh, shit! The cuts on my back from the belt! We just stayed in those positions, me on the floor and him staring in horror at my back. In the end I jumped to my feet, raced after Darla, and seized the pajama top from her mouth. I put it on and returned to the guest room, changing into the bottoms. When I left the room Uncle Kirk was still standing there. "I'm going to bed now," I told him softly. He tucked me into bed. Dad used to do that a long time ago, but didn't anymore. It was weird that he didn't but Kirk still did, but that was when I realized that I respected my uncle more than my own father. "Goodnight, Ryan," Kirk croaked. I could tell he wasn't sure what to say. Darla came to sleep with me. I cuddled up against her and fell into a restless sleep. |
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| Lucifer's Angel | May 6, 2008, 12:57 pm Post #8 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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I just started reading this, this is very good. I don't like James in this story at all, poor Ryan In a way, this hits home because my younger brother is autistic. He's thirteen, but has the speech capacity of a two year old and the reading ability of someone in kindergarten. It's hard to be patient with him, but we try
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| Wishful | May 6, 2008, 1:04 pm Post #9 |
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Cliff and Lars Lover
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Fuck! James that is fucking harsh. I hope Kirk confronts him over Ryan's treatment poor little lamb! |
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| Lady Hammett | May 6, 2008, 1:56 pm Post #10 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Yeah. James is kind of a "bad guy" in this with Lars being his follower and then Jason and Kirk as the "good guys" . . . just an alternative slant. So here is Castor again: I wasn't allowed to have any pictures of Ryan or his band, Plate Tectonics, in my posession, but I did anyway. I had a small stash in a lock box in the corner of my closet. Inside the box were posters, cutouts from magazines, etc of Ryan and Plate Tectonics. Whenever I was absolutely sure that nobody was around, I would open the box and look at Ryan. Sometimes I would compare him to me in the mirror. He didn't look like Dad. He looked more like his mom, Alex, than any of us Hetfields. But then again, I didn't look much like a Hetfield - I looked more like my mom, Francesca. So I figured we at least had that in common! Cali took ballet, and I wanted to try it. It looked like fun, gracefully dancing across the floor like that. I had also seen the movie Billy Elliot at a friend's house and was deeply inspired. Speaking of my friends, Cali always found a way to break us apart. I had seen the movie I was referring to at my friend Tracy's house. Since Tracy was a girl, Cali decided to spread a rumor around school that she was my girlfriend. Even if we insisted to people that we were only friends, the strain of the rumors upon us tore us apart. That made me mad, because Tracy had been one of my best friends. Anyway, I'm getting off subject, aren't I? I was talking about ballet, and knew that boys could be good at it too. Once Cali's dance team was having a "fun class" where friends and family could join in if they wanted to. Of course Cali didn't want me to, but Mom was there watching, and she didn't dare force me to leave in front of Mom. Marcella was with Dad, otherwise I would have asked her to come to. But I didn't care if I was alone. I stepped out onto the dance floor and began to copy the other dancers. I was rusty since it was my first time, and I didn't think I was any good. But then the teacher, Mrs. Creston, pulled me aside and said, "That's a really good job you're doing there, young man. You are very talented and I was wondering whether you would like to join?" I glanced over at Cali. She hadn't heard any of the conversation, thank God. Then I turned to Mom, who was sitting several feet away and watching Cali. She hadn't even bothered to see what I was doing. "Um, I should ask my mom," I said. I took Mrs. Creston over to where Mom was sitting. Mrs. Creston told Mom about how I had a flare for dancing. "Really?" Mom sounded surprised. But when she and Mrs. Creston got talking about it, she seemed to be open to the idea. "Can I join, Mom? Please?" I looked out onto the floor. There were three other boys there, and even if we would be outnumbered by the girls, I didn't care. "I'll have to discuss it with your father," she replied. I groaned. That probably meant a no. When we got home, Dad and Marcella weren't back yet. I made a beeline to my room and locked the door so Cali couldn't bully me. Then I played bass unamplified, waiting for them to get home. When I heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway, I looked out the window. There they were. I squatted down next to the air conditioning vent in my room. You can hear people in the kitchen through that vent when the air conditioning and heat are off, you see. Dad and Marcella came into the house. I strained my ears as Mom started talking about what happened at dance today. "Wait a minute - Castor? Dancing?" I heard Dad question. "Dancing isn't for boys." My face flushed red in anger. He had to ruin everything, didn't he? "There are three other boys there. Michael, Josh, and Kenneth-" "Then they're probably gay," Dad said. I gasped. How could he say that? Cali had already been cruel enough to tell her friends that I was gay. I had had a guy friend named Danny once, and Cali told everyone we were "going together". Of course you can imagine that we didn't last long as friends. As I eavesdropped on the conversation between Dad and Mom, I knew that my hopes were shot. Dad was getting in the way of my dreams again, just like when I'd wanted to go to the Plate Tectonics concert a few months ago. I hated him. Of course, Cali was downstairs and had overheard their conversation. Right away she said, "Don't you guys worry about Castor? What if he's-" "DON'T YOU DARE!" Dad screamed. Wow, was he really that much against me being gay? He must have been if he yelled at Cali, his favorite child! Dad's outburst did not stop Cali from spreading more rumors around the school that I was a flaming faggot because I wanted to be a dancer. That turned any friends I had against me. This was supposed to be the San Francisco area, for God's sake. It was bad enough that they believed it, but even if it were true, did it matter? Well it wasn't, that was what the worst thing was. But then something wonderful happened. Somebody stood up to Cali when she was running her mouth about what a queer I was. It happened during lunch, while I was sitting all alone under a tree because Cali had lost me all my friends. A girl that was one grade ahead of me - and therefore one grade behind Cali - stood up and said, "Cali, you're a real bitch, you know that? Don't you have anything better to do than spread rumors? He's your freakin' brother, for God's sake." Cali's face flamed red. Nobody ever stood up against her. She drew back her fist and slugged the girl in the face. The girl happened to be standing by a flight of steps and went hurtling down them. I gasped and rushed down to the bottom of the stairs. "Are you okay?" I exclaimed. She was cute, actually. She was an African-American girl with dreadlocks and dimples when she smiled. I extended my hand and helped her up. "Um, thanks for sticking up for me," I told her. "Somebody had to. I sympathize over the fact that you have to live with her." She sounded really smart, almost like a grown-up or something. I couldn't believe she was only nine, maybe ten depending on her birthday. "Castor, right?" she asked. Wow! She knew my name! I blushed. "Yeah." "Mindy Serruca," she said, shaking my hand. "See you around." "Yeah, see ya." The bell rang, and I watched her as she disappeared into the crowd to go back to class. |
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| Lucifer's Angel | May 6, 2008, 2:24 pm Post #11 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Wow, James is really being a jerk here He's even mean to Cali, but she's a little bitch too. He's a lousy dad
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| Lady Hammett | May 6, 2008, 2:46 pm Post #12 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Well, Cali is actually the favorite in this story. James just had a snappy reply to her at that given moment lol. |
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| Lady Hammett | May 6, 2008, 2:49 pm Post #13 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Ryan's turn: I woke up after barely getting any sleep. I couldn't stop worrying about having to go home again. It was already nine in the morning, and I braced myself for the phone call as I took a shower. The phone call did come - but according to Uncle Kirk, Dad and Francesca would not be able to pick me up until late afternoon. I knew damn well what that meant - they'd gotten drunk the night before and were too toasted to drive back early! "Adults only" indeed! "Good - I don't want to go back anyway," my lips uttered before I could stop them. Kirk looked dead serious. His eyes were bloodshot, and I could tell that he hadn't gotten much sleep either. Then he turned to face me. "Ryan, I want you to be honest with me," he said softly. "It's been bothering me all night. I want you to tell me what happened to your back, and I want you to tell me the truth." Oh, shit. How could I do that? I may have only been eight, but I knew too well that if I told my uncle the truth, it might side him against Dad, and end up breaking up Metallica. "I told you, I can't do my homework right," I repeated myself from the night before. "What happened to your back?" Kirk's brown eyes bore into mine. He looked sad. I couldn't help but wonder if somebody had ever hurt him - he seemed so wise about the situation. I couldn't stand it any longer. Nobody had cared until him, and I burst into tears. "I-I can't," I stuttered. Kirk rushed over to hug me. I cried into his shoulder for what seemed like forever. "Uncle Kirk, I wish I could live with you forever. But then Dad would get mad and Metallica would break up," I moaned. "Why don't you want to live with your dad? What happened?" he questioned. But we were interrupted by the phone. Kirk answered it. "Oh, hi James . . . yeah, Ryan's doing fine. Oh, you want him to go home? Oh, I see. Okay. I'll see you later, then." He hung up. "Your dad wants me to take you back to your house. Apparently you have homework that you haven't finished." Damn! I was hoping he'd forget about that. But he hadn't. Uncle Kirk drove me home. When we got there, I pulled out my homework, and Kirk looked over it with me. It was math. "I'm not very good at math. I mean, I know this is third grade long division, but it's been years since I've had to do that!" he laughed. "I'm okay at math," I told him. I solved the problems without the need for his help. "I don't understand why they're telling you that you're not good with school," he said. "You did great with that homework." I didn't reply because I wasn't sure what to say. The homework was done by twelve noon, so we went out for lunch. We ate at a vegetarian cafe, which made me happy. I figured that I should run away from Dad forever, and then I could choose to become a vegetarian. When we got back to the house, Dad and Francesca were home already. To my surprise, Uncle Lars's car was sitting on the driveway, too. What on earth was he doing here? Uncle Lars, Dad and Francesca all put together were an evil too many, so I had no choice but to hug Kirk goodbye, thank him for everything quickly, and scurry up to my room. Then I pressed my ear against the air conditioning vent. I could eavesdrop through the vent as long as people were in the kitchen or living room. They were all sitting down in the living room . . . "I just don't know what to do with him," Dad was saying. "He's just plain dumb. He just doesn't get any of his schoolwork." "Um, but he does," Kirk softly interjected. "He was excellent with his math homework today." "His problem is reading," Dad said at once. "He'll be nine in July for crying out loud. He can't read the smallest of words. I'm afraid that he will never get anywhere in life, cos all he can do is play bass. What if he doesn't make it famous? Then what?" "I think you're worrying too much," Kirk replied. I was glad he was sticking up for me, but Kirk wasn't one to argue, especially not against Dad. Of course Uncle Lars had a mountain of advice that didn't make any sense. He often flapped his gums without saying anything meaningful. Francesca ended the conversation with, "Well, I just think he isn't that bright. He can't help that. Did any of you guys see the Raiders game last week?" And the subject changed - just like that. |
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| Lucifer's Angel | May 6, 2008, 3:09 pm Post #14 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Wow, James and Fran are lousy parents. Poor Ryan and Castor
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| Lady Hammett | May 6, 2008, 3:11 pm Post #15 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Castor: As Cali grew stronger in her dominance, my reputation at school only got worse. Any friends that I ever had would be torn down by her. If I had guy friends, Cali said I was gay and had a crush on them. If I had girls as friends, Cali would tell them horrible things, like I had molested younger girls, shit like that. I already got made fun of from time to time because of my name. People called me "Castor Oil" all the freakin' time, and it drove me nuts! I once told Marcella at the bus stop that she was lucky that, out of all us Hetfield kids, she didn't have a stupid name. Cali overheard me. "My name's not stupid! You're stupid!" she shouted from where she was standing with her friends. I gave her the finger and turned back to my conversation with Marcella. At least she'd always be my friend, but I guess she only was because she was my sister. Then again Cali was my sister and she was always my biggest enemy. Soon the whole school seemed to be my enemy. It only got worse when they went from calling me "Castor Oil" to just straight out calling me a faggot. The worst person was one of the boys in Cali's gang, Carl Rodgers. He must have whispered "faggot" into my ear at least five times a day. He was a year older than me but was held back to my grade. Even if I couldn't read, at least I wasn't so retarded that I got held back! Carl had gym, art, and language arts with me. It figured. One day when we were in line during gym class, waiting to hit a tennis ball that shot out of a machine, Carl was first. I was in the middle of the line. He hit the ball, then turned and started walking to the back of the line. On his way back, he stared me down. I knew he was going to whisper "faggot" into my ear. Then I had an idea. When he turned his face to whisper into my ear, I immediately whipped my cheek around so that I was facing him. His lips brushed my cheek before he could get the word out. "Coach Figg!" I shouted at the gym teacher. "Carl just kissed me on the cheek!" Carl's face flushed red. "I did not!" he exclaimed. But the kids were already starting to talk. "That means that Carl's the one who's really a homo," I heard Celeste Jarmon hiss to her friends behind me. I smiled to myself as the new rumor unraveled itself around the school. And that was only the first step of my fighting to victory, trust me. |
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In a way, this hits home because my younger brother is autistic. He's thirteen, but has the speech capacity of a two year old and the reading ability of someone in kindergarten. It's hard to be patient with him, but we try

8:49 PM Jul 10