Introduction
It was John Wilde's forty-fifth birthday. He wanted a small celebration with his band mates and with Grace and her aunt and uncle, whom he considered his family. John said, "I can't believe I'm forty-five." Allen said, "I know. What's nice is your life is so different now than what it was in the beginning." John said, "Yeah." Grace said, "I know u went through some rough times, but how different was it?" John was hesitant to tell her. He never shared things like that with his fans. Peter said, "John, Grace is part of your family now. I think you're veilig with her, mate." Allen said, "I think she should hear the story." John said, "Well, I don't know." Stan said, "Come on, John. Tell her about it." It was one of the rare occasions where Stan looked like the youngest member of the band. John couldn't say no. "All right, Grace," he said, "here it goes." He began to tell his story.
The Beginning
I was born on June 19, 1971, the first of three children and the only boy. I was born in Devil's Garden, North Carolina. It is located in what is know as the Bible riem of the United States. It's filled with bible-thumping, puritanical bastards. I was never really close with my mother. She spent meer time with my sisters, especially since they liked to go shopping with her. I always hated shopping, even if it was for myself. I was close to my father. He was a hard worker, he was honest, and he was dependable. He was clean shaven and had short hair, shorter than mine ever was. It was a little bit lighter than mine. His eyes were a blue/green sort of color. When he wasn't working, he spent quite a bit of time with me. When it was 1975, I started kindergarten. That was the jaar such a grade was introduced to the United States. Anyway, I was nervous about it. My father would say, "I want u to go to school to learn and grow and make friends." So much for making friends. I was always a clumsy sort of person. I would fall down all the time, and the other kids made fun of me. As I got a little older, my father decided to have me play sports, hoping I could have a little fun and make some friends. That didn't happen. In every sport I tried, I'd just end up getting hurt. Still, my father was never ashamed of me. He said, "If all you're doing is getting hurt, it's not worth it." I always made pretty good grades. Every day, my father would say, "I'm proud of you, John." Sometimes he had to discipline me. I didn't like it, but it made me feel secure to know that someone was consistent and really loved me. Still, I wished that I had some friends.
To be continued...
It was John Wilde's forty-fifth birthday. He wanted a small celebration with his band mates and with Grace and her aunt and uncle, whom he considered his family. John said, "I can't believe I'm forty-five." Allen said, "I know. What's nice is your life is so different now than what it was in the beginning." John said, "Yeah." Grace said, "I know u went through some rough times, but how different was it?" John was hesitant to tell her. He never shared things like that with his fans. Peter said, "John, Grace is part of your family now. I think you're veilig with her, mate." Allen said, "I think she should hear the story." John said, "Well, I don't know." Stan said, "Come on, John. Tell her about it." It was one of the rare occasions where Stan looked like the youngest member of the band. John couldn't say no. "All right, Grace," he said, "here it goes." He began to tell his story.
The Beginning
I was born on June 19, 1971, the first of three children and the only boy. I was born in Devil's Garden, North Carolina. It is located in what is know as the Bible riem of the United States. It's filled with bible-thumping, puritanical bastards. I was never really close with my mother. She spent meer time with my sisters, especially since they liked to go shopping with her. I always hated shopping, even if it was for myself. I was close to my father. He was a hard worker, he was honest, and he was dependable. He was clean shaven and had short hair, shorter than mine ever was. It was a little bit lighter than mine. His eyes were a blue/green sort of color. When he wasn't working, he spent quite a bit of time with me. When it was 1975, I started kindergarten. That was the jaar such a grade was introduced to the United States. Anyway, I was nervous about it. My father would say, "I want u to go to school to learn and grow and make friends." So much for making friends. I was always a clumsy sort of person. I would fall down all the time, and the other kids made fun of me. As I got a little older, my father decided to have me play sports, hoping I could have a little fun and make some friends. That didn't happen. In every sport I tried, I'd just end up getting hurt. Still, my father was never ashamed of me. He said, "If all you're doing is getting hurt, it's not worth it." I always made pretty good grades. Every day, my father would say, "I'm proud of you, John." Sometimes he had to discipline me. I didn't like it, but it made me feel secure to know that someone was consistent and really loved me. Still, I wished that I had some friends.
To be continued...
When I had entered the fifth grade, I was dreading it. I had heard rumors that the teacher was really mean. When I met her before school started, she seemed really nice. On the first dag of school, I was wearing one of my Beatles t-shirts. She noticed it, and she said, "Darling, I love u already!" I said, "Okay, then." She would take up for me all the time. The other kids often called me glasses. She heard them and said, "She has a name, guys. Her name is not glasses. It's Winter." There was one dag when another girl kept picking on me. I finally had enough and said, "I might look sweet and innocent, but that shit is for suckers, and I'm no lollipop." I looked at the teacher. She winked and said, "I heard nothing." I would have had her for the sixth grade, too, but unfortunately, I moved to Tennessee as soon as the school jaar was over. We both cried. We promised to keep in touch with each other, and we've kept in touch to this day.
