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| My birth mom Maria (the only picture I have of her) she died when I was 19...I met her once |
Dakota finished his pro tools certification exam first the other day, and submitted it online for his grade. Immediately it came back that he had passed (which was no surprise to me), at 18 he is a whiz. I on the other hand was knee deep in multiple guessing. Nothing I studied was on the exam except a whole bunch of trick questions about their software's plug in capabilities so I said a prayer...my famous bullet prayer...Help God Help! _________________________________________________________________________________
I was rescued from a crib by my Uncle Henry as an infant. Maria, my birth mom was barely 15 years old when she had me in El Paso Texas. She left me alone for days on end with nothing but canned condensed milk in a bottle to drink. She loved me...but was too wild and young to take care of me.
Maria's new step dad (Joseph Romero Sr) had 2 younger half brothers from Celia Montoya's 2nd family. Uncle Henry was the youngest male. I was given his name as my middle name. Uncle Henry already had a house full of kids and I was just an extra mouth to feed.
Manuel Montoya the oldest male (who worked his way through college in a mine in Colorado) had a family of his own, Polly and 2 daughters. He was successful and wanted a son. I doubt the last thing he wanted was a gay son...but I didn't choose to be gay. Manny is a man's man...could build or fix anything and because of him I never once have wondered or cared who my birth father could be.
Once in West Virginia (age 9), some wild dogs had killed our sheep and my dad (Manuel) jumped in his jeep and tore across the mountain chasing them. After almost flipping the jeep (he is a daredevil...met Polly sky diving) he found a good spot in a field and stopped. Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed his rifle, stood up with the jeep still running...and shot one of those wild dogs. I was mortified!!!!!
I watched as it flipped in the air, heard it yelp and die. It had to be done, the wild dog could have killed more sheep or even us kids, but when I saw it flip in the air...I burst out crying. Being the man that he is...my dad actually comforted me by taking me back home and building me the best tree house an engineer could build that very afternoon.
It was then, in West Virginia around age 9 or 10 when I was first called a faggot by our preacher's son. I didn't know what it meant but it hurt and it was at church. I was a cry baby, sissy, musical kind of a kid who played Wonder Woman and Charlie's Angels when other guys my age went hunting with their fathers. I even put on fake bracelets and spun around like Lynda Carter did on the tv show.
I guess that's the reason I was called a c*cksucker though I had never sucked a c*ck.
When being called gay and faggot (at a young age at a Southern Baptist Church) became too much for me to handle...I cried to God one afternoon in the mountains by myself. He gave me the courage to tell my parents. My dad took care of it...like he always does. He is a fantastic father!
I wish I could explain to my dad that being gay is not a choice...and that I am sorry for being such a disappointment. We have been around this mountain many times and I am never going to be the son he wants me to be. If I could have jumped out of my skin into a straight person's skin...I would have back then. The torment of being different (and teased) didn't affect me after West Virginia though.
This is why:
I asked Christ in my heart at age 5...long long long before I knew how my body responds to touch. In those years between 5 and 10 (in the mountains) I spent a lot of alone time singing to God. I don't care how weird it sounds...I know God was with me in the mountains...I could feel His presence in the wind...I could sense him laughing when I danced...and all I did was just sing church hymns and songs I made up about how good He is.
I guess it was easier to believe in Him because I was adopted and never knew who my biological family was. I often think about the story when God led me down the mountain (age 10) after I fell out of a tree and landed on a nail. I could have died in more ways than one that day...but when I cried out to God...He answered. Not by some voice out of the sky...but by the voice inside my heart.
He let me have my fit....then after I wore myself out screaming....He gave me detailed instruction on how to make a crutch I could lean on and how I could bandage my wound so the smell of blood wouldn't bring the pack of wild dogs to kill me.
I was frequently bullied at this time being called faggot and gay and queer but that didn't matter to God even though it happened at church. He loves me. So he had me stand up and face the direction and miles I had to walk to get home. Bleeding, with no shoes and it getting dark, He whispered in my heart, "Don't look ahead at how far you have to go....I am with you." As I took my first step I heard God say one final instruction to me in my heart "Sing to me Jamie...sing!!!."
So I sang my heart out, though crippled by pain from my injury. In a weak voice it came out...."Jesus Loves Me this I...I"...I fell down. Standing back up...I continued "this I know...for the bible tells tells" I fell again. Help God Help!!!! And he stood me back up again...and I continued singing "tells me so, little ones to Him belong...they are weak but He is strong".
I sang every song I knew especially "There is power in the Blood" (because I had just learned to play it on the piano) as I walked down the side of that mountain that day to my rescue. God had pickled and preserved me in His love during my childhood and taught me to sing His praises while hurting...(something I leaned heavily on during December of last year while being mistreated).
No one, I mean no devil in hell, no doctor or preacher or reverend or teacher or parent or instructor...I mean no one on this planet or in this galaxy...can tell me that God does not love me and all His gay children!!! I am willing to die for this belief...because I know I am going to heaven. NO ONE CAN SEPARATE ME FROM THE LOVE OF GOD...NO ONE!!!!
Call me crazy...but I have read the end of the book and I know who wins. Jesus said it better than I ever could about those who say they believe but are judgmental hateful people. He called them a bunch of white washed tombs full of dead men's bones and I dealt with a few of those kind of people last December as they snickered and talked about me behind my back...but that's a different story for another day.
Besides, I forgave them as they did it because I am not perfect and God forgives me. GOD is my vindicator. I am not interested in tearing anyone down...but only lifting up the radical, wreckless, raging fury that is called the Love of God (paraphrased from Rich Mullins song "The Love of God).
It aches and pains me to know that scripture has been so misinterpreted, that people today (in the name of God)...persecute, discriminate, ridicule, even slaughter gay people all because of the Levitical code.
I could visit the Levitical Code and explain to you how "Man shall not lay with mankind as with woman" had to do with child molestation and prostitution in the Baal Temple at the time the Israelites were migrating to the promised land. Yes child molestation is an abomination...I testified against a molester who had the audacity to brag to me once 20 years ago....and I would do it again...that is sick sick sick!!!!
The Levitical code had nothing to do with gay people. One interpretation calls Satan the evil genius and he was able to twist scripture around so that to this day, gay people are dieing and going to hell thinking God hates them....nothing could be further from the truth.
But I am not going to visit the Levitical code just yet. My blog, my life...is littered with so many miracles...I am a walking testimony that God loves gay people.
Yesterday I was watching Showtime on Demand, and there was a Lindsey Lohan movie on, that she produced. Since I am a sound designer and studying to compose for film....I started watching....I like her, I am a wild card like her. But I tell you...the moment her bra came off and I saw those breasticles nude....ugghhhh...I mean gross...I mean I got nauseous. Females are gorgeous wonderful creatures but to see one naked gives me the willies!
One thing I know for sure...God knew what He was doing when Manny and Polly adopted me. I was given a life that exceeded anything Maria could have even wished for me.
The big rumor was that I was retarded when I was an infant. I would go into little seizures and put my hands behind my head and shake. My parents took me anyway knowing they may have a special needs child.
After a few days with my adopted parents, Polly noticed I hadn't taken a crap. So she got a little enema and administered it. One little squirt is all it took. All that canned condensed milk had me constipated. The enema worked. Lo and behold I wasn't retarded after all...I was just full of shit!
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The certification exam was timed and I still had 30 minutes to go. You only get 2 chances to take the exam and then you fail out of the program. Yes I had some distraction this last quarter with my song on the radio and my blog being read in Germany, China, the Netherlands and America. But this is where the rubber meets the road, and I went over each question one last time before submitting it.
I held my breath, said my bullet prayer again, Help God Help, and submitted it,.
Congratulations! You have passed the certification exam popped up my screen.
I did a cartwheel on my way to the car!
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| Manny Jamie Polly |
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| Manny and Polly my mom and dad |
