I have a lot to say about Wild Bill and the fact that he’s being threatened with a lawsuit now. Almost too much. It’s taken me a while to figure out what needed most to be said, and I finally reached that point. I found the minimal amount that I can say and still make my point.

In my year and a half of blogging, I have given my phone number to three people that I have met through blogging. Three. Wild Bill is one of those people. Wild Bill is my friend, and that’s all that matters to me in this whole mess.

I have thousands of words to say about this detail, and that opinion, but none of it matters. What does matter is that Bill is my friend. I may get around to saying more at some point, and I may not, but I state to you today, William Kerr is my friend.

The only thing that will change that is if he does something to me personally to betray that.

I support my friends, and I stand by them. I hope you will help Wild Bill too and offer your support.

Thatisall.

Hell on Earth, and a ray of hope.

Firefighters Raise the American Flag at Ground Zero

Growing up, I didn’t have a great relationship with my dad. It ranged from virtually no relationship, to very bad relationship. He was a bit of a workaholic, and didn’t get home until 7PM or later most nights. Sometimes he even brought his work home with him.

He did coach my soccer team, and he was the starter for my swim team, so he did do things to be involved. I remember that he started coaching soccer because my first year playing, he thought the coach was terrible, and didn’t seem to have a grasp on anything with respect to the fundamentals of the game.

I can only guess, but I bet he was one of those “Everybody’s a winner” types. Don’t tell the children, but losing every single game sucks. And trust me, the kids know the score. So the next year, he was my coach. We had a moderately good season.

Dad was my soccer coach all the way through to 8th grade. After a few seasons, it was a travel team that I was on and he coached. Most years we were either undefeated, or darn near it. At any rate, under my dad, the team never sucked. Never.

So there was definitley some good, and I’m sure he taught me a lot of things that I just don’t even realize, or consciously remember. I do remember entering my teen years, and my bipolar disorder reared it’s very ugly head. No one understood what was wrong. Dad thought I just needed an attitude adjustment. That perception continued even after I had be (somewhat mis)diagnosed with Clinical Depression (it’s bipolar). I would think it’s safe to say that strained our relationship quite some bit.

It took years to figure out that my depression was actually Bipolar. In fact, it wasn’t until after I wound up in the looney bin. I still didn’t have much of a relationship with Dad at that point, even though I lived under his roof.

There came a point where we got into a fight (over the dumbest of things), an actual physical fight, the fist throwing portion initiated by me. In fact that part was only me. I would like to emphasise that. Well, the next day was the first day I didn’t live there anymore.

We went to a few counseling sessions together, and since then, we’ve had the closest of relationships. I love my Dad. He helps out a lot too. I couldn’t do it without Dad’s help. I don’t know how anyone could.

I think I have something in my eye. I hate that.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!