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U-Turn

The Honey Clock

I was walking down West Cliff today with Dude, the ocean breeze freezing my balls off, when a truck driving the opposite way started honking. The driver leaned out the window, yelling something I didn't care enough to decipher. I shrugged it off and kept walking, figuring it was meant for someone else. But a couple of minutes later, the same truck pulled up beside me. The driver pointed at me, his face lit up with excitement.

Confused, I asked, “Can I help you?”

The kid—yelled out, “Adam! It’s Sam. Do you remember me?”

And just like that, it clicked. “Of course I do, Sam! You’re graduating this year, right? I’ll be there.” We shared a quick catch-up, and then he drove off, leaving me standing there with a grin on my face. It’s moments like these that remind me how small the world can feel, and how big an impact we can have on someone’s life in such a small amount of time. This kid had flipped a U-turn on West Cliff just to say hi and get a moment of recognition from me. It felt humbling.

The story doesn’t start here. It starts when I was 19 or 20, living in a little neighborhood called Mount Hermon, just outside Felton. Back then, I was still processing a childhood that- to most- is unimaginable. During the day, I went to school at Cabrillo and worked at a preschool, but at night, I was part of a group of kids (we were all 17 to 21) who were just as lost as I was. We came from broken homes/ troubled backgrounds, and we used those scars as excuses for the chaos we caused. We’d party, raise hell, and then stumble back to my tiny studio in Mount Hermon.

One night though, changed everything. It was one of those moments where the universe—or maybe God, or the devil, or both—reaches down and slaps you across the face and make your choose a path. I was driving up Lockwood Lane, when I got the urge to break into a truck parked in a cul-de-sac. I don’t know why I chose that particular truck, but I did. It was in fact my destiny written in the stars. Inside, I found a tactical retractable baton and a black Maglite. It was strange, but not enough to stop me. Until I opened the glove box.

The name on the car’s registration hit me. It was a name I knew enough for my heart to raced as I realized I’d just broken into a sheriff’s personal vehicle. I grabbed everything I’d touched, shoving it into my pockets, and bolted home with my mind spinning.

The next day, I called the group of kids together. “We need to get our shit together,” I told them. “Or we’re going to prison.” I explained what had happened—how I’d broken into a cop’s truck, and how the universe had given me a choice: end up behind bars, or keep working with kids, giving them the guidance and support I didn’t really have (other a few gems I’ve been blessed to know)…

One of my friends started to laugh at me. Telling me that I was paranoid, how we weren’t gonna get in trouble and, that- that kind of luck could only happen to me, which is probably true…

I stopped hanging out with those kids after that day.

That moment was a fork in the road, and I chose the right path. I kicked ass at school, and became the teacher. I’m the dude who minds his own business out in the world, but the second your kid is front of me, that kid becomes mine. I will pump them with my ideas on love and heart break, about following their own moral compass instead of bullshit politics. Stoke them out on skateboarding, hiphop and punk rock. I’ll talk shit to them, and with them. AND do it in a way that it authentic and family orientated.

Today, when Sam pulled up in his truck, yelling my name with a smile on his face, it felt like a reminder that I am so much fucking better then circumstances in which I was raised… and even though some days I feel so far from where I want be- I’ve made some amazing choices to be where I am.

Last year, I called the officer and left a message telling him that I wanted to make amends. He never called me back, but ever since that day, I have felt a karmic shift.

Sometimes, the universe gives you a fork in the road. Sometimes, it gives you a U-turn on West Cliff. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it gives you both…


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