You can read about it when we're gone.

I've been cleaning my room, as in, throwing shit from my childhood away. I'm growing up, and that is why I've been stockpiling things that aren't worth anything, other than memories. Except now, I dunno. I've captured all that I want to of my childhood, and finally accepted the fact that I'm not a kid anymore. I mean, I am a kid, in the sense that I'm a minor and still lust for life, but I'm not the kid I was ten years ago.

There are some things that I sort of hid from myself, that I'm now more proud of than ever. I used to think that the whole custom car thing was really lame. I mean, I loved it and really dug it, but it was passe. Why embrace something that A. no one will ever understand and B. that never really existed in the first place.

I was a smart kid.

Well, I found a framed picture of Bob Hirohota's 1951 Mercury, that as far as I know, I've had it since birth (I think my dad had them before hand, and just gave them to me at one point, regardless, its before I can remember, I've always had them). As it turns out, something that I hid in my room, I would jump for joy for a decade later. Its weird how the world works. I've stopped caring, and honestly love old cars for a million different reasons, and I really don't care that the majority of people I run across won't understand what a piece of shit old car means to me, but I've know a few folks that do get it, and feel the same way.

Connecting to the past, by going forward, is a weird and only human thing.

Anyway, if I ever have a kid, they'll probably have, be ashamed of, then hopefully love the picture that my father gave me. And maybe read some of the stuff I did. I dunno.

Growing up is weird,
Wesley