Vision : Not Mine.
Mission : Follow Orders.
“You’re so f!Jcked to death.” -(c) RSF
Vision : Not Mine.
Mission : Follow Orders.
“You’re so f!Jcked to death.” -(c) RSF
Vision : Not Mine.
Mission : Follow Orders.
“You’re so f!Jcked to death.” -(c) RSF
Vision : Not Mine.
Mission : Follow Orders.
“You’re so f!Jcked to death.” -(c) RSF
So, Christmas 2013 rolls around. I’m alone. I’m recently out of jail. I’m living in the basement of this dingy, rundown rooming house in one of the older neighbourhoods in Winnipeg. The eight other men that I live with are getting high. Someone’s playing music loudly. It stinks like men’s armpits.
I end up going to a Halal store on Maryland Street, and I buy Lamb meat. ( All that aside… Yes, I’m that religious. )
Naturally, I’m thinking about the truth about Christmas, pondering my faith, as I do _every_ Christmas. How I’m suffering still, and I’m “supposed” to be enjoying every crappy thing about the time of year.
And I pray.. “God. This has to actually be the worst Christmas, of my lifetime, God. Let me think… Yep. This is it. The crappiest. And I think, so how can I make someone else’s Christmas better?” I think about the Prayer of St. Francis… I pray.. “If I’m really an angel, can you put me in contact with a female, who is having just as crappy a Christmas. Like lifetime worst, God..”
So.. I end up talking to someone. A girl. On a Greyhound bus. Her plan is to travel coast to coast in Canada before she decides to end it. She says she’s 13. I find out later? She’s 6. She’s running away from her parents, for many reasons. I think things like, are you sure you don’t want to go back? I explain things about my life, like leaving your family is the toughest thing, finding people who even care about you ( from homelessness ) is impossible, etc. Exploring options, and considering alternatives and the whole time, she’s vacillating between crying spells, and “who cares” and “whatevers.” But, at the end.. She’s sure of her decision. There is no going back to that place in Edmonton. I explain why I had asked all those questions, and what I was looking for asking those questions. And I thank her for her honesty, and I explain that I can give instructions for her. But, I cannot acquire the things she needs _for_ her. That she has to reach objectives that I give, and sometimes, if there’s obstacles, she needs to get artful to reach those objectives. She understands..
So, I proceed to explain short objectives that are clearly achievable. She exits the bus in Winnipeg. Takes a transit to McDonald Youth Services. If they cannot help, get them to acquire what you need. Drop my name, over and over. My name is …..
She ends up in CFS – Winnipeg. She ends up a neighbour in my building after 2016. By that time she is about 11 and a hopeless Goth. Makeup mess, eyeliner fun, hair is _goth_. Dressing? _Goth_. Goth deviation? Never.
Fine. What’s missing? White eye contacts to hide her irises. Eventually, under my direction, eye contacts… Yes. Secretly, she acquires tattoos at 12, on her _hands_. Obvious reflection of my future parenting.. I’m _still_ proud. Goal : She becomes a future social worker. ( Not joking. )
Suddenly, neighbours are pissing her off. Housing? Useless. My problems? Just as relentless. I get a few minutes everyday, to talk to her, through prayer. Things become so stressful outside of our friendship for both of us. I lose it regularly, over a stalker. “This is _him_ true form.” ( From someone trying to top every female. Nothing new for RSF, especially when RSF isn’t even interested in the topper. But Anyhoo! )
Somehow, I approach CFS relentlessly making my case. I am _not_ a pedophile. I have credential, etc, blah, reputation, etc, blah. Response : okay we’ll indulge this ridiculousness. They test? It’s true, I’m not a pedophile. Celibate. Personal life opinion from cell phone provider professionals : This Mestizo is what “normal” is _supposed_ to be. And the truth is, he is so _unusual_ that it’s weird, that he’s _that_ normal for a man his age. CFS retort : “Ok.. this is the reality. Because you are single man, nobody will hire you as a foster parent. No matter what. No way. No how. Sorry.”
I find out now? They’ve lied. She’s given my surname. She’s encouraged to wait until she’s 18 to have contact with me. Boyfriends, any interference is deterred by adults, on my behalf.
It’s explained to me, that “she moved out, because she had a boyfriend. Now they’re living together, happily ever after. She has successfully exited CFS, welcome to rest of her life.” I’m like : Okay thank you because I put work into this girl. And that’s normalcy to me. I really appreciate the time you’ve given me, etc…
I just found her again. Welcome to my crazy dream… Slammed doors at the crossroads are pried open with a crowbar.
I might leave this music stuff.
– Mestizo. ( 26may2025 : 0858h CST )
This morning.. Private quality time with Chelsea :
I explain why I like thunder and storms.
How when I was young, I went to my Father during a storm, and he tells me this story of how my grandfather, during a ….
A gun report right over my Dad’s shoulder, near his right ear. He watches a beautiful buck drop in the distance…
And how I’ve never been scared of loud thunder since.
And then.. my personal story.. of an experience that was somewhat religious and scary.. But? We were interrupted.. blah. blah.. the usual.
Possibly lunchtime. You _might_ see me. I _might_ appear, Chelsea. Just go about your day. Have fun…
– Mestizo.