A Story about a Boy

     23 years ago, a little brat was born in Santa Maria, California. He grew up in an Air Force Family. He would spend his childhood moving around every two years.

     By the time this brat had turned into a ripe hooligan, he’d lived in Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah. In that time, he’d discovered about skateboarding and drumming. He’d also established a love for reading and puppies.

     The youngest of five children, he’d had his share of being tickled until he screamed, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!” He also had the advantage of watching four others learn and grow. This taught him how to be a good worker, to not yell back when he was grounded, and to go to college.

     10 years ago, our antagonist discovered punk rock. Soon enough he was dying his hair funny colors and asking the important question, “Why?” He learned the value of dedication as he formed and joined bands. He learned the disappointment of watching friends sell out their values for acceptance.

     Five years ago, this punker graduated high school. He was working as a janitor. He spent his days drumming and plotting out his life goals.

     Four years ago, dyed hair was traded in for a side part. Stud- covered jackets were turned in for suits, and headphones were replaced by scriptures. That’s right; our authority- questioning rude boy (look up the term) became a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- Day Saints.

     Over the next two years, this inexperienced Mormon boy learned who he wanted to be. He spent every single day, hot or cold, rain or shine, inviting the residents of Colorado to feel pure joy through faith in Jesus Christ. He was given a foundation of faith on which he’d build the rest of his life. He learned how to love in a way he didn’t know existed.

     Two years ago, our now veteran missionary returned to his home in Utah. The next day, he was in the crowd of a punk rock show. He was still the same person as when he left, he was just a better version. He had direction.  

     A little over year and a half ago, this Mormon punk rocker was working at a home for people with special needs. He was going to college. He was drumming. He was right where he wanted to be.

     
     Soon after being right where he wanted to be, he found himself somewhere he didn’t plan on being. He was in love. A stranger that had seen his band play once was now his girlfriend.

     Then she was his fiancé.

     Then she was his wife.

     A year and a half ago, our newlywed drummer transferred schools to experience married life away from home.  He became a residential manager for his job working with adults with developmental disabilities.

     During this phase of being newly married, he was on call 24/7. He hated it. He would have to leave dates with his young bride to take care of client or staff issues. Our happy little family was suddenly over- stressed and unhappy.

     The young man was so dissatisfied that he was willing to work fast food for minimum wage- that was quite a step down from where he’d worked to, but he wanted anything to get him out of his current situation.  Many prayers were said.

     Many prayers were answered.

     A job offer came from an old acquaintance to work in a men’s clothing store. A gamble was taken. Jobs were quit and schools were transferred. Somehow our little family managed to find an apartment and move in two weeks. A mohawk was again traded in for something more professional.

     Now our newly-wed drumming punk rocker found himself in a suit again. He swore he’d never have a job that required a suit and tie. But he also swore to always try his hardest to make life good for him and his family.  

     Ten minutes ago, a young brat that was born in California started a blog.

     Right now you’re reading it.

     My name is Tucker. I’ve been all over the place. I love writing, and this will be your opportunity to see what goes through my mind. I’ll try to make it worth your while.