Born again Stoner From 🔥Hell🔥

The first day of a life of lies

      When I was only 4 years old I idolized my adopted dad since he adopted me when I was only 3yrs old. His name was Timothy Allen Hoenshell, and he was the funniest and most hardworking person I ever knew. I always respected him for never keeping my adoption a secret. He would also be patient and or willing to keep our personal and deep conversations I'd start and not tell my mom anything I told him in confidence. In response I did the same thing for him... (nothing bad like affairs)... Lol. Just things about stress from work or if he was depressed he knew he could talk to me since I was willing and still today battles severe Bi-polar depression and could relate to almost anything that could be bumming him out. At the age of 13, after he was kicked out after a brutal fist fight with his father, he built up his own construction company from nothing after moving from Stow Massachusetts to Ellijay Georgia, 1900 miles from home, going from yankey territory to redneck nation, lol, where I currently live and reside in Coosawatte River Resort off of Legion Road. It's a private gated community off of Legion Road I moved to after I became homeless at 17.
      I used to love to work with my dad after school and on the weekends I wanted to tag along for.Starting out for the learning period, he paid me either 5,10, or $20 a day for cleaning job sites and digging post holes and I lived for it... To be the hard working man with money in his pocket all the time. To grow up owning a company worth over Two point Five million dollars in company value if he ever decided to sell.
       At the age of 8, I started getting paid ten dollars an hour for my dad stripping down houses, sanding various wood built products, staining, painting and wiring houses and later on mostly just day labor toating wood on my shoulders or digging. Seems hard to believe but ten dollars an hour has to be earned, even at 8 or 9 years old. Hot, cold, rain, snow, or cold ass days I was up by six in the morning and started working around eight-thirty to nine in the morning to four in the afternoon on weekends, school Holliday's, sick days from school, and also after school for an hour or two.
     My dad's company was called T.D construction and my dad was partnered with my uncle peanut who's real name was David before the official name and business cards. Hints the name, T(Tim).D(David), construction. It consisted of my dad and Uncle peanut handling the company transactions (temporarily)... (Potential spoiler alert), and  my dad primarily handled payroll unless there were extenuating circumstances.       
    Myself personally and solely as my Dad's apprentice and day labor with hopes of inheriting his company at 18, (didn't happen obviously), working fourty plus hours on a good week and no less than 25 on a slow week due to weather conditions on certain jobs that rely on clear outside weather and a lack of interior related jobs replacing cabinets or renovating.
     Fast forwarding to 2010, after me being a physically fit kid with a six pack of abs from both construction and constantly working out as a kid since 5yrs old, by choice, trying to be as strong as I thought my dad was... Life just decided to kick me in the balls after a long ass illusion of a good life outside school to hide the years of  getting bullied at school and occasionally getting hit by my mom when I was home alone with her. Because of this tragedy no kid should have to experience, I became less motivated, gained a large amount of weight, and locked myself in my room playing video games when I wasn't seeking a secret refuge by staying the night with fellow outcasts, nerds, Emos, and one school Jock I grew up with since Pre-K who was also a family friend. I had a truly wonderful time outside of home until the beatings stopped around age 13 when I hardly ever stayed at home and practically lived with my girlfriend at the time.
       I got to provide happily and smoke pot with the Jock, Michael Robinson, for his first time while he stayed the night at my place where he and I both knew was safe but it still took some persuasion.   
      After I convinced him by inviting my former hot friend with benefits that later became a sister type friend, who's still a ten on the hot scale, to the house back when we smoked together everyday, and luckily... he brought a new gasmask bong he bought on the way over for the mask alone for $25 at the local smoke shop that later shut down in a scandal.
     So I put it all together, showing him how for future knowledge, and him, my (now but not then) sister Kristen, (No actual blood or family adopted relation), and myself smoked some super strong and dank weed out of his bong. (Gas mask included). I remember it being the medical grade strain, Absolute Best OG Kush, my Chiropractor got me from Iraq. (True Fact believe it or not).
     My buddy, (Michael Robinson), was nervous I could tell, he had never really tried it despite being around it most of his life, His mom (Alexis(or Lexi- Robinson)) is... or at least was a Jailor at Gilmer County Jail until shortly after my second incarceration in November 2019, when she took a training course and ride alongs to be a road cop. So he was never tempted to try since he was a cops kid. The three of us started smoking after my flawless gas mask bong demonstration to show him the ropes on a piece of beginners OG smokers tool. I was proud to introduce him to the stoner life full fledged with my favorite smoking tool being the gas mask of death, (our nickname for the gasmask bong; not actual name).
        He looked like a much happier person since he too has depression as bad as mine but full time and not Bi-polar. He remembered repressed memories, cried a little, and made peace with himself causing him to evolve from a depressed goofball to a stoner nutcase and an even closer friend who I consider the brother I always wanted.