BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 13
idea. That may tip you off to the fact I was evidently wearing black wool when I was
born. I‟m apparently the black sheep of the family.
My brother, David, lived across the street from Grandma on that glorious day in
1990 when I saw one of the most spectacular vistas I‟ve ever witnessed. It was a sign in
my rearview mirror telling people heading the other way, Welcome To Michigan. A
fantastic location to “be from”, Michigan. Not to “go to”. Bad idea, but “be from” is a
real nice feeling. Seeing that glorious sign meant I was leaving what had become in my
life synonymous with Hell. While I readily accept almost all the blame for putting my
life in the toilet, I doubt I‟ll ever find any joy in revisiting the scene of the crime.
I haven‟t spoken with David since Mom died in December, 1999, six months after
my final divorce, but that‟s also a matter for later on. Most of what I‟ll share with you
about the “early years” is what I was told by Mom. Of course, being an “All-American
boy” at heart, if you even dare imply my Mom would tell a lie, I‟ll come to your house
and beat you up. Nobody says that kinda crap about a guy‟s Mom. Nobody.
It seems romance got started early for me. There was a girl who lived across the
street named Susie Summers. I can attest she was virtually drop-dead beautiful, based on
the fact I hit on her. Susie was my first one. Girl. After Mom, I mean.
See, I‟ve also figured out the Pavlovian aspects of what women do to guys. As
you saw in Chapter One, there was nothing any more important, the instant I was born,
than a woman‟s breasts. They get us started early, say, at the age of two or three minutes.
They keep us coming back for more until we‟re so old and frazzled we can barely take a
leak with the damned thing.
If you ladies stop to think about it, that‟s the same slimy ruse drug dealers use on
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