people tell me i should write a book, part one.

I "realized" who my biological father was when i was fourteen. I say "realized" because i technically knew the man my entire life, except that i knew him as nothing more than a family friend. To his credit, he didn't know that i was his either, and if he had, my life would have been different. This is the story that i collected surrounding my conception, and it begins with information that was divulged from my father's other child. "if you got coke in the eighties, anywhere between maryland and pennsylvania, you got it from our dad." Nice. The next peice of the story, i inadvertantly recieved by eavesdropping on an argument between my mom and one of her boyfriends. Apparently, my dad moved a lot of coke across state lines weekly and sold large and small amounts, when he was caught, he had a small fortune. Upon being released from jail, he invested his money in alcohol, drugs, and a trailer to party in. Yano, the things that redneck dreams are made of. It was during thus "partying period" that he impregmated two girls, two months apart. Both girls were a few years his junior, both were high school seniors from the same school, and (here's where it gets kind of Jerry Springer-esque), the two were best friends. My mom was the second girl to be graced with my dad's lovechild and the shame and complexity of the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy would be the reason she refused to have my paternity tested until i was almost entering high school.