After I ran away from the Mitchell family, I was briefly put in a juvenile detention facility in Reno until a new home was found for me. My social worker had seemed to think I was some sort of flight risk, despite the fact that I was in regular contact with her.
Nothing particularly exciting happened while I was in the lockup. I didn't get assaulted or anything, it was however closer to being in prison then I ever want to be again.
Each time I was returned to my cell I would have to strop down to a t-shirt and a pair of briefs. The standard issue, bluejeans and black Pro-Keds would be left outside my cell door.
Due to my behavior, and the fact that I wasn't some sort of delinquent (of which there were several) I eventually got the librarian to let me bring books back to my cell after 'class'. This was how I read 'The Odyssey' for the first time. I was in the lockup for a little over a week before I was moved to the Northern
Nevada Children's home in Cason City.
The NNCH was my final stop before returning to my father. It was a collection of six or so small group homes called 'Cottages' Each cottage had a number, and a set of 'parents' assigned to it. For example, I believe I was in cottage 6, with Mom and Dad Gay. There were three girls cottages and three boys cottages, along with a commissary and a large administrative building (pictured above) which used to part of the old orphanage.
As it turned out this was the ideal environment for me at the time. Despite the fact that we called each of the cottage parents 'Mom' and 'Dad', I didn't feel like anyone was trying to replace my father. It was just a title, and as such I was able to go along with it without a problem.
I do remember my first day at the home. I had been ordered to undertake a psychiatric evaluation upon admittance. The woman who was administering the test had never met me before, and seemed to know nothing about the specifics of my situation... anyhooo at some point she had called my father a criminal and a drug addict in a very cold and matter of fact way.
I threw an ashtray at her.
My social worker made sure I never had to deal with her again.
Dad Gay was a Navy man. Tall, at least 6'2" and covered in old school Navy ink. He had chains tattooed on his wrists, "One link for each trip around the world" Both his wrists were covered. He was hard, but fair. He was a good man. Mom Gay was a big woman, very sweet and loving. She collected signed celebrity headshots, and had them framed and adorning the walls of the cottage. They owned a beautiful blue Chow chow named 'Princess Joy Chow Lee'... I can't believe I remember her name.
The Gays I'm sure are at least in part responsible for my love of Rockabilly, Country, and old school tattoos. They came into my life at a time where I desperately needed guidance, and stability in a way that didn't seem a threat. I'm very grateful that I had you in my life. I wish I had managed to tell you.
I was in the home for just about two years before, without much fanfare I was told I could return to my father, who was living in Oakland at the time. He was living with his wife Vida off of High street. The first day I returned home she traded my stereo for drugs.
Welcome home kid.
