My life

Well This s is the first time I have actually sat down to write a story of my life, so please bear with me. In the beginning it's going to be a little jumpy but my memories are as such. Prepare for a journey in to the life of the Red Devil, Paul Jones.1

I was born on July 29th, 1981 in Prince Georges County Medical Center in P.G. County, Maryland. I can't recall where I lived until I was about 2 or 3. I remember my dad (actually step dad but he was a father to me). I remember going to parks with him, watching G.I. Joe with him, I even remember going fishing with him. My mom, dad, and I lived in a trailer park somewhere in MD. I still don't know where it was to this day. I can still see the trailer, see the road, see the park that was down the street from us, and I remember the 7-11 I walked to with dad, I just can't find the place. I know I was in kindergarten when things started getting rough between mom and dad. I don't mean physically, but emotionally. My dad ended up leaving at some time around when I was 4 or 5. I remember I was in first grade, just beginning 1st grade if my memory serves me correctly. I came home one time from school and mom wasn't there. Missy, my dog, greeted me as usual, jumping up and licking me half to death. But mom wasn't there. I went through the trailer looking but she wasn't there. Some people came and took me to a foster family for a day or two I think. Grand mom and granddad came and got me though and I went to live with them. Time flew by then. I made friends with a kid down the street, Josh. We became best friends fairly quickly. I remember Robby and his sometimes annoying little brother Danny. Brian and his brother Derek. Thomas who is still my friend to this day. Chris, still a crazy dude. those were my friends I had growing up. oh, I can't forget Buchari (I think I fucked up spelling his name). I had many good times playing war with my friends, hiking though the woods, making forts in the woods, just being a kid. I went to Allenwood elementary School for 1st-4th grades. Always far above everyone reading, never came across a word I couldn't pronounce. Math sucked ass though. I knew how to do addition, subtraction, and multiplying and all that, but it took awhile to get the multiplying done. 7x3= 7+7+7. That kinda thing. I was better off in reading, science, and spelling. Well, I was average in spelling. Penmanship was always kinda bad cause I loved to read and if not that, stick me outside! My Granddad, Lt. Col. Leo L Jones, was a career pilot for The Air Force. Flew b-24 Bombers in WW2, Fighters in Korea, and C-123 cargo planes in 'Nam. My granddad was a genius though. Helped develop the F-111, was in R&D for the SR-71 Blackbird, and put a satellite into space. He had a wall filled with certificates and degrees, a couple of letters from the president, and there were more that he didn't even put up. He was the person I always wanted to be. The military ended up being a part of who I was, and who I was going to be. My grand mom was part of the USO during WW2 and met my granddad soon after WW2. She is an extraordinary musician. She plays the piano with ease, even "Flight of the Bumblebee", an incredibly fast paced piano piece. Music was her life and her job through her entire life has been teaching piano. I started playing piano early in life, cause I wanted to. I mainly stuck to singing though. I sang along with country, and even Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, even opera pieces from Nelson Eddie. I was always a tad bit timid as a kid, I mean I was always skinny, not alot of muscles on my upper body. Had some strong legs from hiking, bike riding, and what not, but my arms and chest weren't built. And I was always a little shorter than all the other kids my age. When I got to 4th grade I went to Saint Mary's of Piscataway School. It's a Catholic school, Granddad was Catholic, and I was following in Granddads shoes. Grand mom was a Protestant but they don't kneel as much, so the difference is slim. Oh yeah and they don't have a snack in the middle of mass every Sunday (communion). Anyway when I went to Saint Mary's I got bullied, ridiculed, and had hmmmmm....no friends. There were a couple of people that talked to me but when it came down to it, they were not my friends. Granddad was battling cancer that he got from that fucking Agent Orange that was sprayed in 'Nam. He was in and out of the hospital. I excelled in sports, but in school the "dorks" never get picked. But when P.E. came around I could shine! But I was still picked on so much. I never stood up for myself. I just stood there and took it all. I backed away from fights and wished I could just beat the hell out of them. It got really bad in 6th grade when my Granddad was in the hospital most of the time. I never did my homework, I just went around Malcolm Grow Medical Center, playing cards with some of the nurses, reading, and putting puzzles together. Going home, sleeping, and then getting up and going to school with no homework done. Got me sent to the office so many times, the principle, and the priests became friends with my grandparents. My granddad kept getting worse through the end of 6th grade. I passed 6th by one point. I think that one point was a pity point. I started becoming fed up with all the ridicule and hurled insults back at alot of the students. Half white and half black kids hate being called mixed breeds by the way. I didn't mean it as a racial slur, I meant it as half guy/ half girl thing but I didn't make that to clear when I put the insult together. Summer came and went. Then when 7th grade started I started carrying a .45 semi-automatic in the front of my pants, .38 special Smith&Wesson revolver in my inside jacket pocket, and a 9mm Kurtz Back-up semi-automatic in my book bag. I really had enough of people fucking with me. I really planned on killing someone. I think while I was out one day the teachers told everyone to lay off me, cause the ridicule lightened up a little bit, and I started leaving the guns at home. One of the priests suggested I go to Boys Town in Omaha, NE. I didn't want to go but my granddad thought it might help me get my school work together. The priest was a good fucking liar. At least for me it was a lie. On Oct. 17th, 1993, my granddad finally died. I think I was in shock. I never cried, I don't remember much of what happened. I know that I fell when the 21 gun salute went off. I got close to crying during Taps. But after that I don't remember much. Grand mom gave the o.k. for me to go to Boys Town and at the ass crack of dawn on Jan. 1st, 1994, I caught a flight out to NE with Father Irvin. I would rather have gone with Father Hart or Shadwell cause they were cool, but Irvine knew the guy who was head of Boys Town, Father Val J Peter. He was pretty cool. When I first got there all I had was a tape player and two cassettes of Garth Brooks. I listened to him all the time. Then I really started hating it there. I told the "family-teachers" in the house I was in to fuck off and I ran away. Now Boys Town was pretty self sufficient. It had it's own F.D.,P.D, Post office, hospital, etc. It didn't have a grocery store though. Well, when someone runs away, their police department goes and looks for the person(s). Now I'm running away during a Nebraska winter. Let me tell you, IT'S FUCKING COLD!!!! Most of the time I didn't get too far due to the cold. I think the furthest I got was 5 miles from Iowa, and that was on a warm night. Anyway, I hated the...I think director or coordinator of the neighborhood I was in. She was a major bitch. I think her name was Julie Swain. Oh how I hated her. Don't ask me why, 'cause I forget. I soon got moved out of that house and into the Specialized Treatment Program (STP, The Farm were nicknames). It was much better up there. It was not in the main part of the campus, around all the other houses. This one was up by the farm. Smelled like cow shit at first and then I got used to it. There were only 4 kids per house, and of course the 2 F.T's (Family teachers). and occasionally an assistant family teacher. Basically his day job was at B.T. but he went back to his own house at the end of the day. There were only 3 houses up there. I loved it. It's supposed to be more individualised attention. I loved it cause I had my own room at first. My school work got much better, I didn't blow up any more, I was in every sport I could sign up for in school, I loved it. I think I still remember some of the names of the people in the house. Mark and Jackie Willis were the F.T.'s and Eric was the A.F.T., Mike Parr was another kid there, and then there was Phillip. Here's where the plot thickens. I got moved to the room that had a bunk bed with Phillip. Mike had just moved in and he got my single room. I didn't mind until Phillip came up with some weird requests after bedtime. I mean really weird requests of shit I had previously never heard of. I kept saying no until he got tired of asking. He choked me until I passed out. Then he had his way with me until I came to and started felling the pain. He clamped his hand over my mouth and completely muffled my screams. No body had heard anything, so nobody came running to stop him from raping me. After he got done having his fun, and he was sure I wasn't going to scream, he let go of my mouth and told me not to say a word to anyone. I could only nod ok cause I was sobbing to hard to say anything. Every night for 2 months I had to dig my head into my pillow so no one heard me scream. I had to do things to him every night. When I finally got back into my old room I could sleep a little easier cause he didn't come into my room. Soon after I got my own room again he was moved back onto the regular campus again. I think it was because he just graduated 8th grade, and he needed to be closer to the high-school. I had just graduated 7th grade, so I was able to stay on The Farm. I never told the F.T.'s what happened. I didn't want to have phillip see me in B.T. sometime and Choke me to death or whatever else hi sick mind could come up with. So I went about 4 months without telling anyone. I think I should mention that I was on Ritalin at this time too. I had been on this drug for roughly 7 years. From age 5 Doctors had me on Ritalin. What 5 year old isn't hyper? I was hyper, very creative, and school subjects that didn't interest me didn't seem to hold my attention. I believe that condition is known as BEING NORMAL! You stick a book on WW2 in front of me I'll be there 2 hours later still reading the book. Anyway, I went to see a shrink for a evaluation. It turned out that the shrink I was seeing was the same one Phillip went to. So I thought it would be a good idea if I told him what Phillip did to me. Well he listened and let my F.T.'s know and told them he thought I was lying. How the fuck can I, a 12 year old kid when it happened, 13 when I told the shrink, make that up? Just because I'm in a place for troubled kids, I'm automatically a lier? That shink is supposed to help people, not hurt people. That shit-head only helped hurt me.2