[Continued from Previous Chapter, Please read that first]

Dealing with the female police officers was another aggravation and it really reaffirmed to me they made the weakest cops.  This political correctness with them was driving me crazy.  I asked the most common female police visitor, “Do you really think that having to take into account everything the Katie says, knowing she is a chronic liar is really helping us here?”

“Well it’s like this.  This is the way we now have to handle things and your right, the emphasis is on the juvenile. In the past, we always took the parents at their word and there were times we shouldn’t have.”

“Well does your feeling of how Katie’s situation feel seem right to you?”

“It handled the way we are supposed to.”

“Shouldn’t there be a common sense element about how you handle things.  You’re letting the lunatics run the asylum.”

“You’re right, but that is how we have to do things.  Most of us want to be promoted and if we buck the system, we will be passed up.”

“My father worked juvie in the city for twenty-five years and always bucked that failed system.  You’re right he never got promoted and was treated like crap, but he felt he was more accountable to the citizens he was supposed to protect and the children he was supposed to supervise.  Personally I think he was a real son-of-a-bitch because he wished this to happen to me on his death bed.”  No sense talking any further about things with her.

It wasn’t long before the police stopped bringing her back home and had Rita pick her up at one police station or another.  Then they stopped looking for her.  One reason was they were tired of looking, but the other was, Katie was making fools out of them and offering exciting reckless chases that if something went wrong, could get them into trouble.

One time Rita tracked Katie down to a house known to use drugs.  The police showed up and knocked on the door and were refused entry, but Rita insisted that Katie was in the house.  That was when Rita was informed of the criminal’s rights.  Right after the officer left, Katie and her friends ran past Rita and taunted her to try to catch them.  Rita immediately called the police back and the officers refused not only to look, they told her they are considering arresting Rita for being a stupid bitch ... Or something of the sort, later toned down finally to disturbing the peace.

At work I got a call and contacted the shift commander of the Essex precinct.  Right off the bat he had a lippy attitude and I shot it right back, along with things I knew would penetrate the bullshit.  Rita then made it to the Essex police station, and she was on the phone crying about what happened there.

I felt like a bit like Frank Furillo from the show Hill Street Blues dealing with his ex-wife Fay.  While there was nothing funny about the precincts actions, there was a certain humor presented with Rita’s interpretation, not to mention a bit of justice.  But what the station did to her was wrong, so that baby had to be reported to Internal Affairs.

I called up Internal Affairs and got one of their investigators on the line and he immediately and dispassionately asked, “OK, give me the name or number of the officer.”

“I’m giving you the fucking precinct, Number 11, Essex.”

He got a bit huffy, “Which officer?”

“All of them were involved.”

“What?”

I relayed the story from the start, “Rita found Katie and the initial officers did nothing, but knocked on the door and asked, and since the occupants refused entry or to cooperate he then drove off.  Katie popped out and ran away to a car, and with the second call the officers was belligerent and threatened to arrest my wife.  Then the trip to the precinct...”

“The desk Sergeant was at the back of the front room which was separated by glass, and kept telling my wife to yell louder and refused to come to the glass.  After she was screaming her lungs out, he walked up to the glass and told her to shut up before he arrests her and then gave her any hard time that he could.”

“She talked to the commander and when she went out, the police parked her in, giving her only inches to maneuver in, which took her twenty minutes to do.”

The investigator asked me the same question that I asked Rita, “Why didn’t you go back in and tell them to move the cars?”

I imitated my wife’s answer, somewhat hysterically, “They were all standing at the windows watching me.  Daring me to hit their vehicles or come back inside.  I was scared to do anything but get the hell out of there!”

“Well Maple Leaf Court is a dangerous area and police have been shot there.”

“All the more reason to leave my wife there to fend for her-self, unarmed.”

“OK, I don’t know what you want me to do about this.  It doesn’t sound to me like you want to make a formal complaint so why are you calling me.”

“I am giving you a heads up so things will get fixed, because if I do make a complaint against an officer or precinct, there will be video to accompany for everyone to see.  It will be shoved so far up the police chief’s ass, he’ll be looking for somebody to pass it on, and changes will be made.”

It wasn’t long before she had to go back to the Essex precinct to pick up Katie.  The experience that Rita transmitted to me was one of hugs and kisses from them and she was happy to have a bit of respect.

There was to be a normal day in Katie’s life, though out of school she was to attend the prom being held at Parkville Senior High School.  I asked who she was going with and it was Christina, but not as a date.  Needless to say, Katie didn’t come home and had to be tracked down.

She and Christina had been found at a Farm Store in the Essex/ Middle River Area and Rita wanted me along for the ride.  They were sitting inside when I walked in on them and simply told the worker there that the girls were reported run-away’s and if he had a problem with calling the police. He simply picked up the phone and put the call in.

I looked at both Katie and Christina and was amazed at how much of a slutty prom dress one could find.  It was hard for me not to laugh at the whole scene.  I point blank told them not to attempt to run away because I chase then down and neither would be able to handle the tackle.

Rita started talking to the two of them and Christina let out, “Shut up you fucking bitch!”

I stood up and put my finger in Christina’s face and yelled, “Say it again.”  While I was afraid that I would have to hit her, Christina got the gist and immediately sat down and harbored a slow brewing resentment toward me.  The police came and it seems that I had a reputation with them.

He was hoping that we would take home both girls, but I wanted him to take Christina to the station so her parents would have to pick her up.  While I wasn’t happy with Christina, I didn’t harbor bad feelings for her mom or step-dad as they were in the same boat as us, and worse.  It was an aggravation to me that Christina’s mom stopped working with Rita, but at least followed my advice and filed run away reports.  Like our situation it didn’t do any good and now Christina had it in for me and joined the list of people threatening me.

One Sunday, Rita was ecstatic saying that Katie wants to be normal and have a family Sunday dinner like we used to have.  That meant I picked up the fixings and did the cooking, as Rita set the table.  What I didn’t like about the whole affair was, Katie was not only sitting with a certain smug smile about her, and every time I looked at her I heard the pin to a hand grenade being played with.  The thoughts that I perceived coming from her was, Do I, or don’t I... Do I, or don’t I.... Oh what the hell!

Then my mental imaginary pin got pulled and the spoon flew, “Mom ... Dad ... I’m letting niggers fuck me!”

That will make one choke on your chicken.  Rita stood up and started screaming the most ignorant and racially divisive epithets I had ever heard, not to mention total irrational tone that was spewing them.  I just sat there and watched, being amused at Rita’s performance yet irritated at Katie’s appearance as if she was taking it all in and sunning herself.  I resented the fact that Katie had more control and understanding then Rita.

Finally Rita concluded, “Mike, I have been screaming my head off for a half an hour.  You’re still her step-dad, what do you have to say about this.”

I had the composure of the Shaolin priest and like the mild mannered Little Grasshopper simply stated, “Katie, I thought they were black people, but I will treat them like anybody else.  If you’re dating, I expect you to bring them to me and I will let you know about how I feel about them.”

Katie had a bit of a disgruntled look about her and I simply couldn’t resist, “Damn Katie, niggers?  You’re stepping up in this world!”  She ran away for three days and I got blamed for it!  Katie never had life so lucky!

She wasn’t back long at all when I came home from work, opened the door and smelt that a couple of things had been smoked besides cigarettes.  I walked in and saw Katie, Christina, and four black guys sitting around.  What pissed me off was everyone was looking at me like, “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“I looked at them all and said, “I’ll tell you all something right now, I’m not only Katie’s step-dad, I’m also the property owner... Get the hell out now!”

The biggest black boy immediately stood up and faced me, and I walked right up to him with a smile on my face and he decided to sit back down.  We went back to looking at each other.  Not liking this situation, I immediately started walking away to go to Jimmy’s room, which had the gun locker with no guns in it but my tomahawk and Bowie.

Another black boy coyly said, “Awe, is pussy calling the police?”

I curtly responded, “Nope!”

Katie yipped, “Shit he’s getting his gun!”  You suddenly saw the four nicest black boys you could meet walk right past me and out of the house.

They congregated outside the kitchen by the window and started shaking their fists and yelling. “Motherfucker this, motherfucker that.  Who does that mother fucking asshole think he is!

Then one turned to the other and said, “You were going to do something about him, why didn’t you!”

“Shit man! He had crazy white man’s eyes! Fuck that!”

I looked at things with a certain stoic humor.  It dawned on me that to get in good with the black boys; they made me out to be a racist.  I thought to myself, Hell I take it, that’s as good a weapon as any other and perhaps their fear of me might prevent problems.

Rita was good at figuring out how to track Katie down, and while the cell phones had a GPS element to them, the cell phone companies would only provide information with a court order.  But they did shut down Katie’s cell phone.  Yet, Katie somehow always got the upper hand.

Once again Katie ran away and Rita would call and have Katie’s cell phone shut down, but for whatever reason, Rita’s cell phone would stop working.  The cell company said not only was Rita’s cell phone working very well, it is racking up the cell bill quite a bit.  Then the cell operator got an idea and had Rita give the number of the SIM Card and it turned out that Katie swapped them. Yet, the police refused to write Katie up for theft, saying, it would be Katie’s word against her Mom’s and the courts would let her off anyway.

In one sense, I had to admire Katie and her ingenuity at causing trouble and wreaking havoc on the household, but what had concerned me was her sheer lack of common sense and lack of any sense of limits. Not to mention that no one is holding her accountable and she had no fear of the of the authorities or us.

One talent that Rita had in this was the ability to track down Katie and once Rita got your number with either helping Katie run away or if you hung with her, the next time  Katie ran, Rita would start calling then.  I got a kick out of this, as there was a bit of justice in it and amusement for me.  Not many of the people that Rita called liked it very much, so add them to the list of people threatening me, though I wasn’t directly involved.

Two of Katie’s friends were black, but his buddy was purported to be Indian or Pakistani.  Rita was out and chasing around Katie, when I noticed there was a message on the phone and the only number that called was from the black guy.  No one is expecting to check a message and getting this baby.

“I’m going to tell you something right now, you get your bitch wife off of my back, or I will fuck you up!  Got it!  I’ll fuck you up and I don’t care if you’re the Grand Wizard of the KKK... I will fuck you up.”

If that won’t take the breath out of you!  I pretty much knew the kid’s cell phone habits and when they all would be charging them, and wanted his message box anyway, but if he picked up the phone I would have given him the same message directly. Like I wanted, I got his message box.

“Hey, you think you got something for me, bring it on!  I’m tired of the bullshit and want a good fight.  Just keep it in mind that it will be until the other can’t get up anymore.”

I thought the KKK comment was hilarious and was chomping at the bit to play the part, “What I am in that organization is none of your damn business boy!  Buy the way, its Grand Dragon, not Grand Wizard.  Don’t piss me off and force me to get the chains out of the trunk!”

It took about forty minutes for his number to come up on the caller ID and when I answered it was a woman’s voice requesting, “I think I need to speak to the Grand Wizard.”

“I’m him.”

She busted out laughing, which left me totally flabbergasted and shocked at the response so I had to ask, “Oh, come on, I just identified myself with a major racist organization... What’s funny about that?”

“Well, as far as I am concerned, anything that sends my boy running to me, scared, has to be a good thing.  I know he is acting like a bad ass lately.”

What a wonderful woman and we spent the next forty minutes talking about Katie and her son.  We exchanged valuable information on the other, shared insights and had a really pleasant time.  I was totally amazed at the woman and her education and had to inquire about it.  She gave a typical African response, ‘Well, I not really that well educated, I made it to six (or eighth) grade and had to quit so I could help my family out.”

Almost every person from Africa had a similar response, which wasn’t uncommon with people like my grandfather who came over from Germany.  A lot of African education is based off of European models and the Catholic Church, it was my observation that sixth grade is like an AA degree here and eighth, like a Bachelor’s degree, not to mention they bring with them a hell of a lot of common sense and an appreciation for what this country provides for them.

It is proof positive that African Americans are capable of the exact same thing, provided they had the proper attitudes.  What many civil rights leaders mean by Africanizing the education system to be better geared for black inner city youth is simply making the requirements easier and more fun, to compensate for poorly functioning families.

“Self esteem,” means burdening the higher achievers and showing that you are willing totally disregards any sense of accomplishment by eliminating competition.  I also saw it as allowing teachers to become lazy and uncaring, not to mention the foolishness because kids are naturally competitive and want to be recognized and have personal challenges put in their way.

The lady concluded the conversation with expressing admiration for me and my aims in raising Katie and by saying, “Do you want me make my boy apologize to you?”

“No, that’s not necessary and I wouldn’t be able to accept it unless he apologized on his own anyway.  If he sees the need, he will come to me and apologize.”

Work wise, Katie’s running away was an imposition on me and it concerned me when I had to leave the shop and chase after Katie.  Even with the telephone calls, Katie’s recklessness and the danger Rita put herself in, took my mind away from the press machinery that my fingers were always around.

Not to mention the total aggravation of the constant arguments. “Do you know where I am?”  In regards to Katie, I knew it wasn’t that good.

Often times, I was blamed for being the cause of Katie’s problems.  My usual replies were, “How, I haven’t been around the house?” or, “How, I expressly forbid Katie to run away.  Oh, none of this could be Katie’s fault or how you raised her.”

While there were those times Rita called seeking sympathy and moral support, there were others she simply yelled at me and cussed me out, or burst into tears out of frustration, then hung up.”

On occasional times, I felt lousy as I had to leave Vic at the shop alone and go with Rita for a Katie retrieval mission.  Vic was OK about it, but I had this image of his hand getting caught in the press and no one to be there to help him out.

One time, I was out taking the Beagle on a short walk and when I turned the corner, I saw Katie jump out the window of her bed room and a grey van pulled up.  I knew it was Elizabeth’s mom because her finger in front of her face.  When I went in Rita was happy because Katie decided and promised not to run away anymore, I busted out laughing, and totally enjoyed Rita opening Katie’s door to wind billowing curtains.

Later that night, Rita picked me up as she had a handle on Katie’s where-a-bouts.  I was told that I was only along for the ride as Rita needed my moral support.  Rita point blank said that and added, “When I go out, you are to stay in the car and keep your mouth shut.  I don’t want you saying anything to fuck things up more than you normally do?”

Fuck things up more than they are?  She told me to stop laughing.  It was easy to sit in the car and watch Rita yelling at all of the kids.  In this case it was an area of apartment buildings, and I had a lot of enjoyment and satisfaction at watching Rita drive the kids crazy.  Yet, with the boys hanging around, Rita went inside with the girls; I noticed violent body language with the boys.  One of them turned to follow Rita in with his hand on his hip, so I got out of the car and approached.

This introduced me the type of black boy I couldn’t stand, nor tolerate; the white kid who wanted to be black.  This one surprised me as he looked to be more of a skin head.  He lifted his shirt and revealed a sheath knife, put his hand on it and stated jumping up and down and yelling in urban black vernacular, “Want some of this motherfucker?  Huh, want some of this! I’ll give it to you motherfucker.  I’ll kill your ass.”

I had no problems envisioning him, running at me with a knife, and to be honest knew that would be a problem from me.  I very quickly put my hands half in the air, and glided up to him.  I was much more comfortable with closing the gap to his draw, intercepting that draw, gaining control of his weapon and slicing him from his throat to his groin.

I could tell about his jerkiness he was headed that way, but maintained the calm composure while keeping an eye on his hand and weapon.  “Son, put the knife away.  Come son, put the knife away.”

“Not even the black boys act like that.  You see, they fear me and have respect for me because they really know how it is... You’re picking that shit up from black TV shows, and I’ll tell you the black people that actually act like that are dead or in jail.  The ones with a brain last a bit longer in the real world.  Now, get your hand off that knife before you find out the hard way that your blood will be running long after the director yells, ‘Cut!’”

While he maintained his aggressive stance, his hand was off the knife and he had his shirt back over it.  Despite me being outnumbered, I felt I was now in a comfortable standoff.  Back in the car I couldn’t only mutter to myself, “Damn, you’re going to have to be like Dirty Harry.”

That was when I actually heard Jean’s voice in my head.  “No Mike, you’re not Dirty Harry.  Remember you sold that gun of his.  Only one person would to have to see that profile with his gun out and you wouldn’t have a problem again,”

“Instead, you’re going to have to be the unarmed Dirty Harry for quite some time!”

 Call it a delusion or imagination; I didn’t like the smart-alecky nature and I was certainly fearful that was the way things would work out for me.  Rita came out and said that Katie and Christina had moved on.  That meant that it would be a day or two before Katie called and asked to be picked up.

Rita did that willingly at first, but it got to be a pain, then Katie would call up crying to saying that she was in danger or scared that she is going to be raped.  I had to admire Katie, for her ability to totally run the household a muck.  I felt she really learned from mom well.

I was beginning to feel sorry and guilty about Jimmy, now that poor boy glued to the couch and playing video games.   With night shift work and his school, there wasn’t even much time to devote to Jimmy, though it never stopped me from checking in and greeting him.  He’d very quickly look at me and then his eyes went right back to the TV screen playing with his videos.

On weekends, Jimmy either had friends over, also glued to the games, or he went over to their houses.  As a group, they had no use for me except occasional meals or snacks.  Every time there was a few moments to spend, I was taken away to deal with the ongoing saga of Katie’s adventures.

I got Jimmy to me more interested in scouts so I took of a couple of Wednesdays to go to Troop 26’s meetings.  In so many ways it reminded me of Troop 112 activity wise, but it had a completely different emotional feel.

Unlike the cracker barrels, where all was seemingly welcome, it seemed they weren’t necessarily willing for me to jump in and participate.  First I was told that they didn’t know me and suggested that I take Scouting’s, Youth Protection Program.  I showed them the card that I had from Troop 112 and mentioned that I took the Catholic Church’s course.  Despite there was no expiration date on mine, they still recommended that I take it again.

Then when I told them my strengths of scouting, they told me there is no place for high adventure in their troop and perhaps I should join the church sponsored Varsity Scouting (explorer) post.  Then there were the comments that they felt as the Baltimore Area Council did, troop 112 were mavericks.

I decided that all things considered, that it really wasn’t worth taking off time to be at troop meetings, but I decided to start camping with them, whether Jimmy came or not.  But I think that Jimmy saw the opportunity to be with me and go camping as well. The troop thought this would be fine, but added since we wouldn’t have transportation, they would fit us in the best they could.

The first camp was at Camp Conowingo, a Girl Scout camp not far away from the Congowingo Damn along Route 1.  I was happy to be out with Jimmy and the troop, but being very tired, I set my tarp up on some soft rotting vegetable matter for a touch of warmth.  A few adults inquired why I am not in a cabin and a little put off that I liked it better outside.

I no sooner laid my head down, when someone woke me up and said that the scoutmaster got a call from Rita.  I hooked up with Rita and she was in near tears, after a sarcastic barb, she said, “Mike the police think they found Katie and a detective is picking me up to make sure.  I think she’s been killed.”

All the life ran out of me, but my ire was up because of the extra comments.  Apparently a girl matching Katie’s description was murdered and found in a swampy area.  I told her that she has to go with the detective to find out, and if it is Katie, to call back and the scoutmaster will bring us home.

With the comment, “You should be here with me,” I blew up and reminded that most of the time, she doesn’t want me to be around; most likely because I would put a stop to this crap.

Then I added, “We are so distracted with Katie, that we usually forget about Jimmy and for once, I am glad that I am doing something with him.  It’s about time a little good is celebrated instead of the bad given attention.”  Immediately, I was seeing the visual distortions that come along with the migraine headaches.

Rita eventually called again and informed me that it wasn’t Katie.  As Rita put it, “It was a horror to go up to the body and yet a relief that it wasn’t her.”  But while she was happy about that, she knew it was another daughter to another family. Rita was relieved but still sad and fearful that it would become Katie’s end.

Jimmy seemed to have a good time at the camping trip, but the comments by the other adults were a bit of an agitation to me.  I understood the Scouting Handbook completely, but never seen it applied to the adults of the troop in such a disrespectful and dictatorial manner.

I was informed with my first light up of a cigarette that tobacco products are prohibited, which meant that I had to hide to smoke, and discovered other adults just as pissed off as me.  I wanted to go hiking alone, but they insisted on the buddy system; and they relented when I couldn’t find another adult.  They also weren’t happy about the hike I lead the troop on, I thought to myself, at least the kids did.

I was informed to be careful of what I say and how I say it because the female assistant scoutmaster was in camp.  She was in her fifties and I knew of her from mention in Troop 112.  She was very active on the area council level, while I didn’t have a problem with her at camp, it did seem to damper things and only reinforced my belief that the most valued women in the troop are the moms that help out with everything but camping.

I was playing Duck, Duck, Goose with my migraines for the rest of the trip and felt the outsider adult.  I had the campfire song and when it was the adults turn, “I have a song that I brought over from my other troop, it’s called, ‘Pink Pajamas!”

“Mike, we’re a Catholic Scout troop and don’t sing songs like that here.”  They stepped in with one of their acceptable, approved for campfire songs.  It really made me take a look at the troop and they weren’t at all like 112.  They didn’t laugh, they didn’t joke around and not only the adults, but the kids as well seemed to be muted in spirit.  Perhaps they didn’t have the problems that cropped up with 112’s kids, but they didn’t enjoy scouting or life like we did either.

It was obvious that Katie was either oblivious to or wanted an increasing suicidal aspect to her life, as her danger threshold just kept on rising.  When I was a teen, that’s exactly what I lived for, yet wanting it to continue I tried to keep my parents unwise to my thrills and activities.

But to Katie, I think it was more for the attention and the fact that Katie knew she could run Mom’s show and control her emotions.  In regards to me, she could take stock in knowing that she made my life a living hell.  I did have a sense of humor over it; Katie became like Rita, as it became, “All about me.”  This also prevented Rita from being all about her, because she had to chase Katie around all the time.

I resented Katie having her fun, and I was stuck with all tears and frustrations that Rita had over the entire situation.  I figured it was time to become like my father, the way he always got in trouble with Juvenile Justice, telling them the truth.

“Katie, I want to talk to you for a minute.”

“Get the fuck off of my case.”

“I haven’t talked to you for two weeks.”

“That’s the way I like it and that’s the way it’s gonna be.  You’re not my father and I don’t accept you as my step father.”

“Well I am going to have my ....”

She put her hands over her ears and started yelling, “La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

The second she stopped, I made sure I yelled it so she could feel it, “SAY!”

... And I was too; in fact I liked this latest challenge since I studied both instinct shooting and defending yourself against a knife fight when you are unarmed. I knew my words would register because the human reaction had a built in delay.

“I want you...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

A little while later, “... to consider your...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... Responsibilities to your mother...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... and yourself ...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“I’m telling you...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... You are so...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... irresponsible ...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... You are not ...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... Going to be happy ...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“ ... Till you get yourself ...”

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la!”

“... Raped or murdered!...”

To that she screamed with a cry, “Wa, wa, wa, wa.”  Totally upset she ran out of the house. I made a lunge and brief pursuit, but it was engineered to fail.  I wanted her to have a little time to herself in her desired element to think about things.  I inwardly laughed as she took a thirty second conversation and stretched it out to three hours.

This time I saw the police had brought her back home, so I went outside to greet the officer and Katie.  “Thank you for bringing her back officer.  I’ll be honest, I am beginning not to care about the running away aspect, but hope she starts getting a good head about her because we only have enough money left to get her cremated.  I don’t think she would like she would like to know that if it happens, I will be there drinking a beer while she burns.”

With that Katie ran into the house demanding, “Mom!”

The officer looked at me and disgustingly said, “You know she’s going to be running away over what you just said.”

Now I was disgusted, “Haven’t you figured it out yet, she’s going to be immediately running away anyway; she gets off on the effect it has on her mother. Right now, she is so reckless, I am just trying to keep her alive and make her think a little.”

We went through the sagas of Mom finding the condoms in her room and the dealing with, “Mom, I am sexually active and want to go on the pill.”  I was told by Rita to stay out of it and much enjoyed this as it took me back to my adolescent days of wishful thinking and trying to figure out how to appear a man with absolutely no horse sense.  My attempting to be revered as a manly stud got me nicknamed, “Fuck foam man.”

Despite what I was hearing, which I took as another way for Katie to garner more attention; I still felt that she was a virgin and had the feeling that she wasn’t as reckless in the sexual area as she was with the running away and partying.

I kept to my mantra of, “Try dating, have fun and learn what love is about; which is best done by maintaining limits;” which just got Katie to stick her tongue out at me.  I did doubt that Katie would remain a virgin, but hoped that moment at least had the illusion of love with it.  All I had to do was remember my first time at age 30 to see the truth to that one.

My worst fears were with Katie’s recklessness, which I viewed would put her in a situation that would bring about a rape. I tried to stay out of things, but when I saw the danger signs, I felt to handle my responsibility and say something about it.