Re: Open Letter Regarding My Charges Of Incompetence- Principal Terrence Yarborough
Date: May 31, 2012 11:16AM
Stop diagnosing me folks....
Just read, please.
Okay… THIS one will be long. It will be crass. And if you’re letting your children read this without keeping any tabs at all, then you’ve signed off on them reading it. Of course, if it happened that way, I don’t care if you forgive me for saying: “I think you’re a lousy parent.”
Psychologists and parents will spend FOREVER poring over my words, if the world makes any sense at all.
I hope the people with a “civil rights nut” next door take heed, too.
I’m smart. I know that. I’ve been trying to prove it to you. So you’d listen. Read. If you’d pulled my records, done ANY homework, you’ll know: I was shuttled around from school to school following the GT program. I got out halfway through 6th. I’d been begging for a while, actually. It’s tough when you come home to your own neighborhood, and you’re the “outsider.” For me, a year ahead in school (graduated at 16, and only needed a couple of credits my senior year), and smaller than EVERYONE, the world’s often a scary place. But halfway through 6th, they finally requested my removal. I went back to “normal” public schools.
The world is especially scary when you live with my Dad. And you’re smaller than him, and you haven’t yet been frightened to the point of fighting back. You can take the beatings. It’s expected. I hear he was much different, before Nam. He makes it sound like he barely did anything, but he still has the piece of shrapnel they took out of his leg. He’s never spoken to me about what he saw. But he was more than happy to see me go in. I didn’t fare so well in the military. I realized I had “issues” that made me unsuitable. I worry a lot. It was eating me up, I was smoking weed to self-medicate, and living in fear that they’d call for a urine screen at any time. I mean, I’d die for my country, in a heartbeat. At least, back when I thought the leaders knew which wars were important. But finally, I did what my “integrity” required. I went AWOL. Didn’t show up for drill, went to the FCPD and turned myself in instead. They were making calls for days, trying to figure out what to do with me. The recruiter had coached my Mom to lie… if this kid was willing to make a stink, someone might get embarrassed.
I did what I had to, and held my head up about it. They switched me to Inactive Ready status, and I put it out my head until I got the notice. Standard reminder of the expectation that I’d be ready to go with 24 hours notice. Yes, I was ready. Scared, excited, ready to defend my country, and save Kuwait, whatever the fuck that was. Believe it or not, I had a lot more trust in authority back then. But in the buildup, they’re talking about Iraq’s 50 bajillion tanks, and I’m anti-armor. Not because I wanted to be, but because I’m color-blind. Otherwise, my first three picks would’ve been Pilot, Electronics, or Medic. Yeah, I cared about people, even then, I guess.
I’ll write more about my parents, about the paddle, some day. But my Dad once spent a weekend making one, taped it with duct tape when he broke it on my ass, and then kept it in the dining room. Yeah… I lived most of my childhood under the threat constant threat of physical violence. Then there’s the time he announced he was an alcoholic, and I was shipped to a halfway house in response. That was over 25 years ago. He’s still trying to figure out his priorities today.
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FOREVER, I will hear the words “I’m guessing that this isn’t a typical Thursday morning for you, Mr. Lehman….”
REALLY. I will NEVER get rid of that. It scares the shit out of me.
I’d just been at gunpoint (from a bit of a distance), while being afraid that a bunch of stupid punks on the internet had actually grown some balls.
The 911 tape will come out, now. The response WILL be reviewed. By someone. I even shouted to the Governor for help! I skipped Ken Cucinelli (sp? I’m offline). I’m convinced he’s a dangerous sociopath, and I sure as hell would not let that man in my house. Even if the cops were watching him. I wouldn’t let him near my kids, either. If I had my choice – and there was no freedom of speech – I wouldn’t let him even talk in their direction. He’s worried about the nipple, but enamored with the corpse. WTF? And I’m sick?
FCPD bungled the approach so badly that I thought I was being tricked by one of you assholes. When that clicked, I was standing in an open doorway, hands held out, hoping not to get shot. I saw no one. I waited, and saw no one.
So I call 911 trying to get confirmation that police are supposed to be here, or for them to come. I’m nearly pissing myself.
I was this freaked out before they almost shot my dog. Well, guns were already out, I think. Really, it just got worse and worse.
So, in the end, whether I’m proven right, or crazy, I’m pretty sure that someone is going to hear me. TERRIFIED.
Will anyone understand? I’m not sure. I think that depends on whether I HAVE actually cracked.
But if you entertain that possibility, even for a moment… well, my Parents did that to me. I’ve forgiven them, they didn’t know any better. I blame Mike.
Not Mike Ricker, like this time. Just “Mike.” 30-ish and doing some weird shit with facial hair so that he can seem god-like to troubled teens for just one more year. Mike isn’t even a Doctor. Man… did that piss him off, when I asked. I DID NOT MEAN OFFENSE, MIKE. I was really trying to “gauge” the situation. How worried was Fairfax? Could this guy medicate me?
Remember, before he even showed up, I’d been terrified for my life for I’m not even sure how long.
Well crap, I won’t prattle here. I think if people look around, they’ll find out what Mike did this time. Or what I suspect he did. I have to talk to a lawyer, and frankly, I’m not going to look for one right now. I need someone that believes in me so much that they will reach out to me. That’s the only way this can work.
Cathy (my Wife’s Sister) worked out some sort of deal with Mike, under threat that I’d be hauled away for 72 hours, no lawyer, no call to the Wife.
She wouldn’t clarify any details: “could I leave at 12:01 on Saturday, or was I required to stay until my Wife was home?”
“Well Scott, I don’t understand why you can’t wait until she’s home.”
“Because, after everything, it’s more important than ever that I be a man, and pick my Wife and kids up at the airport.”
“Well Scott, I didn’t sign on to be your personal cop.” And this was the woman that (I think) could place a call at any second, and they’d come get me. She’s a Mother with two adult children. One is too high-strung to go to school. He ballooned quite a bit in a couple of semesters – nervous eating, I think. And Cathy is the provisional guardian of my kids. And has the ability to haul me away. Holy fuck. The terror was subtle, the frustration mounting, and yes, my head started to run away with some crazy crap because I knew that my Wife only knew what Cathy was telling her. Think that through. Please.
It was this kind of shit for two days. Two stressful, scary, hot, lonely days, separated from EVERYTHING, especially my Wife – the thing I needed most in the world. Why didn’t they ship me to Iowa?
I wanted to talk to a lawyer too. Cathy knew that. I told her. I felt I’d been wronged. I told her. I felt things were getting worse as I did nothing. I told her. Our dog was dealing with acute separation anxiety. I told her. I needed to figure out where I’d left off… close off loose ends. I told her. Really, I feel like my personal liberty, and even my right to defend myself, or keep my sanity, was at stake.
In the meanwhile, I didn’t know what the loose threads were. Yes, Cathy effectively forced me to make every aspect of the situation worse. Including risking my career, and maybe having brought undue attention to my children, because I couldn’t finish what I’d started. I’d even forgotten the “redirect” Thursday morning, at 5:30.
ACTUALLY, FUCK THIS.
Nobody is reading. If they are, I’ve said enough. The story gets much weirder… really, it does.
I’ll scan the top for possible libel, then I’m throwing it out.
If nobody can understand why I have no choice but to keep going, I’ll point out that Gordon helped me with that decision. I thought I had some people to contact. I was going to try it. It was Gordon that said I shouldn’t expect it to work. WTF?
Anyway… I feel safe. The kids are safe. The kids will be watched as they come home from the bus (I’m not leaving the property if I can avoid it today). The people that are threatening me aren’t real, or I’m not. Whichever is fine.
People are trying to “help” me by cutting me off from the net, and my phone. (VoIP) That’s fine. The house is quiet. I’ll take a nap for a bit while the dominos keep tumbling. Push the paranoid guy over the edge. Really, my family is lucky that I’m stable. And that I have them. And that I have a handful of TRUSTED friends now. Actually, they’re part of my “self-group therapy”. And you guys cut me off from everything at the most stressful time of my life.
In all of this, the most stunning thing that was said to me? “We knew Cinthy was gone. We were reading this stuff and worried. We knew we should’ve called. We didn’t. I’m sorry.” I think I started crying. A real friend tells you when your zipper is down.
But for the sake of the empathy and common sense that you all seem to lack: If I’ve made up one fucking word of this, then please, prove it, and my Wife & I will go see a counselor tonight. Because if I’m lying, then I don’t know what’s real anymore.
One final word about Cathy: I suspected she’d been duped into being an accomplice by Mike. I asked her to call her lawyer, check. Get behind her Sister and I, and all would be forgiven. Instead of giving any kind of support… helping to fix what she helped to destroy… she thinks she did the right thing. As I’d told her in my first email: the only think I REQUIRED was a promise that they’d never allow my Family to be separated again. She thinks I’m a dolt. She said it in her confession letter. Call a lawyer now, Cathy. Jeff might need one too.
Anyway, do you see what I mean? If you have a triple-digit IQ, I’m guessing you might. And if not, then fuck you too.
I’ll continue to learn, adapt, regroup. But somehow, I don’t think I NEED to do anything more. If I’m right. And if I’m wrong, it’s all over, anyway. No… not a threat. I’m not retreating into the hills while I still think you folks might get the right answer, someday. Part of our “survival strategy” for the coming economic collapse was to become part of the community. It’s not working out so well. But, I’m not done trying. When you ARE the only person in the world that has the chance to fix something before someone gets hurt, and you don’t, then it’s your fault.
My little children, brilliant, both… they got it. You folks don’t. So you tell me: what’s real? And what’s important?