Anonymous asked: why do people hate nickellback?
Did I ever tell you that the first word I ever spoke was “why”? In most aspects of my development as a child (walking, reading, etc.) I was a late bloomer but I spoke my very first word at just three months and didn’t speak another word until I was nearly four years old. Just “why” at everything, always questioning.
Most people, when hearing this, assume that I was just a very inquisitive child, but that’s not the case. You see, while I was in my mother’s womb the word I heard more than any other word was the word “why”. She would whisper it, late at night, through tears while sitting in her old rocking chair, staring at the fire.
My father was an oil man, like his father, and my mother a kindergarten teacher. They were the best of friends since they were 18 and got married shortly after my mother graduated from school. Despite the fact that she knew my father would be more than able to support a family financially she still wanted to be a teacher, to help others. She felt it was her calling to help others and, in the end, it would prove to be her undoing.
You see, my parents were both very active in the community and organized several events and get togethers through the church to create a better sense of kinship throughout the town, especially towards those who were less fortunate than my parents were. They became especially interested in the plight of a group of young men who looked as if it had been a long time since they had caught a break. At my mother’s behest my father brought them into his business and eventually allowed them to become partners in his oil ventures. Now, as much as my mother felt compelled to help others, that is how much my father felt the need to trust others. When the young men would give my father documents to sign he often would without even giving them a second glance, trusting in these men who were his partners and who had by then become his friends. One of these documents that my father signed had given the men his share of the company, another had given the men my father’s savings. After talking with our family lawyer and realizing that there was no way to undo what had been done my father, devastated and driven with a desire to protect the financial security that he had built up for his family, decided to go after the men in person.
Now, my father was far away from his young fighting years but he could still scrap with the best of them, however, he was no match for five men several years younger than he. The police would describe the beating as a level of brutality that man wasn’t meant to achieve. He died while I was still 6 months from being born, never getting to see his face.
The men fled town, my family’s fortune in tow, but left an envelope in our mail box that contained a coin and a note for my mother, it read “Your husband came to retrieve his money and we could not oblige. However, we are not monsters, we appreciate all that you’ve done for us. You can have this nickel back.”
The men used a portion of the fortune to fund a band, buy instruments, etc.
Anyway, I don’t wanna speak for anyone else… but that’s why I hate them.
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