Preface: The Awakening

Alright, picture this!

So there I am, it's stupid early—like before the crack of dawn, and I'm out there by Niagara Falls. Now, you ever been to Niagara Falls? It's like... nature’s way of sayin', "Hey, don't get too close or I'll mess you up!" It's loud as hell, water crashing everywhere, like the universe is tryna wake you up with its version of an alarm clock that just won’t shut up. And I'm standing there, right at the edge, feelin’ like, Damn... this feels deep. Like something's supposed to happen here—some life-altering epiphany, right?

But here’s the thing: I’m not just staring at some waterfall—I’m staring at my life, man! All these voices in my head tellin' me what I "should" be, what I "must" do. You know how it is, everyone's got an opinion about your life except you! And I was out there chasin’ all these expectations, like they were handing out free validation or something. I was running around tryin’ to be who everyone else wanted me to be, and somewhere along the line, the real me? That dude was MIA—just gone. Like I got photoshopped outta my own damn life.

But lemme tell ya somethin’—one day, outta nowhere, this little spark of courage showed up, like, "Yo, bro, wake up! You don’t even know who the hell you are anymore." And it scared me, man! ‘Cause getting to know yourself? That's scarier than dealing with TSA when you got a joint in your pocket. I knew I had to dive into all this fear and uncertainty, and trust me, that stuff is uncomfortable. It's like takin’ off your coat in the middle of a snowstorm just ‘cause someone told you the sun might come out later.

But now, here I am, standing on the edge, looking at this big ol’ unknown like, "Aight, I’m ready." Because even though it’s terrifying, I know that behind all that fear? There’s something real waiting for me. And lemme tell you, folks... I’m about to jump.

Chapter One: The Call of the Tenth Child

So, my foster dad, Ed, wasn’t the chatty type. Dude barely said a word, just these annoyed grunts, like he was constantly pissed off at the universe. His communication was like... "Boiii," and that was his way of tellin' you to mow the lawn. Every morning—4:30 AM sharp—this man would be up watchin’ the news like he was about to save the world. And baseball? Oh, man, that was his religion. Every. Single. Evening. No matter what else was going on, it was just Ed, the TV, and the game. He didn’t even need to explain it—you could just feel that strictness oozing outta him. You either did what was expected or you got the grunt.

Now, lemme tell you about Martha, my foster mom. See, Martha was like a paradox wrapped in a mystery—strict as hell but somehow the softest person you’d ever meet. Picture this: she’d be in your face, poppin’ you on the head if you messed up, throwin' those evil stares that could cut right through you, and if that didn’t get the point across? She’d give you one of those legendary pinches. You know the kind—the ones that grab you out of nowhere and make you rethink every decision in life. And trust me, she was a master of lectures. You’d be standin' there, wishing for it to end, but deep down you knew she was right.

But here’s the thing—despite all that strictness, Martha had a way about her. She was soft. She had this real lady-like quality—she carried herself with grace, even when she was layin’ down the law. And her house? It was always full of people, full of life. Martha could bring folks together like nobody else, her spirit just radiated warmth. It was like a hug you didn’t even know you needed.

She wore red, and man, that color fit her perfectly—it was bold, just like her. And no, she didn’t need tattoos or any of that. Her whole spirit was tattooed with the stories and experiences of everyone who walked into her life. People loved her, but they knew better than to cross her—she’d straighten you out real quick if she had to.

So there was this balance with Martha. She was strict and sharp, but also soft and free. A woman who knew how to handle her business, raise a household, and still make you feel like you were the most important person in the room—right after she’d finish pinching you, of course.

So there I was, navigating between Ed’s silence and Martha’s strict love. Ed barely said a word, just those grunts to let me know I had work to do—shoveling snow, mowing the lawn, and lugging cans to Tops Friendly Market for that $21. That was his way of teaching me the hustle without ever sayin' it. Martha, on the other hand, kept us all in line with her pinches, pops on the head, and those cold stares that made you stand up straight. But beneath all that strictness, she was the heart of the house—strict but warm, a woman who could pull anyone in and make them feel at home.

And then there were my sisters. They were my roots, my connection, and I was so happy to have them around. But man, they didn’t always feel the same. They wanted their privacy. They wanted their space. And me? I was always tryin’ to be close to them because I just didn’t wanna be alone. But when they pushed me away, it hurt. I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I found myself out in the streets every day, lookin’ for something—something that would make sense, something that would fill that emptiness I felt whenever I wasn’t around them.

I was out there, searching, hustling, figuring out how to survive in a world where I felt both rooted and disconnected. The streets became my escape, but deep down, I was just a kid tryin' to figure out where I fit in between Ed’s silence, Martha’s rules, and the distance I felt from my sisters.

And that’s where my story started to really take shape—a kid from Niagara Falls, raised by two forces that shaped me in their own way, and a heart that was always searching for more.