I remember it like it was yesterday:
I was sitting in this small reception room while my dad was in the back talking to someone from the intake staff.
As I sat waiting, I made it a point to let anyone that so much as made eye contact with me know I was not happy about being there. My chest was poked out and I was talking like a tough guy—but inside I was scared sh*tless.
Eventually, my dad emerged from the back. He was accompanied by this tall, older man named Larry. Larry had long, straight, white hair. His keys were clipped to the loop of his Rustler blue jeans. He made his way over to me and said, “You can run 12 miles in any direction and you won’t find a thing. So don’t try to escape.”
As I sat waiting, I made it a point to let anyone that so much as made eye contact with me know I was not happy about being there. My chest was poked out and I was talking like a tough guy—but inside I was scared sh*tless.
Eventually, my dad emerged from the back. He was accompanied by this tall, older man named Larry. Larry had long, straight, white hair. His keys were clipped to the loop of his Rustler blue jeans. He made his way over to me and said, “You can run 12 miles in any direction and you won’t find a thing. So don’t try to escape.”
