A True Story
My parents were fairly wealthy people. They made a killing in the alfalfa farming boom of the early 80’s and that gave them more than enough capital to send me clear across the country to Yale a scant two weeks after graduating high school.
New Haven was a beautiful town, teeming with life and and ripe with opportunity, but I was struggling with severe self esteem issues and was referred by my Sports ministry professor to a psychologist. The doctor gave me a three month prescription of Zoloft, and told me to take my mind off of things and get some fresh air every now and then, so I took his advice, secretly yanked the rest of my tuition and bought a one way ticket to Samoa, where the air is the cleanest in the world.
Taro root was a huge cash crop in that tiny corner of the world. Because of my deep agricultural background, I figured it would come naturally to me. I poured every last dollar I had into working those sun-kissed fields but despite my best efforts, the taro crop was wiped out that year due to a massive fungal outbreak. With nothing left to my name, I was reduced to working as a back-alley tattoo artist, drinking far too much whiskey and creating crude designs on the backs of these giant men with a needle fashioned out of the razor edge of a can of tuna.
Life was tough during those dark years. With nothing left to live for I paddled a small canoe blindly out into the Pacific as a last resort, having very little concern whether I lived or died. Miraculously I washed up on a little known island named Niulakita, where they have not seen a white man in over 70 years. I was instantly revered as a god and fed a feast of wild pig and untainted taro paste. I grew fat and healthy on that tiny island, teaching the locals how to surf and marrying five of their most beautiful women.
With all of my wild adventures, I never forgot about mom and dad. I kept a weathered picture of them in my wallet and always teared up when looking at it. Finally, one day I couldn’t take it anymore, I bid adieu to my lovely wives, hopped in my ragged canoe and set sail once more, poised with steady determination to make it home…
To Be Continued?
