My name is William Joseph Day Jr., although I do not claim it; I prefer the name Billy, above all else. I was born on the thirtieth day of the eighth month one thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-one years Anno Domini. I was raised Lutheran, but have chosen the title of Atheist. Religion, however, is the only thing I will never argue, or debate; as I believe that it must be a personal choice. I only desire one occupation; Aeronautical Engineer. Since I was twelve it is the only thing I have wanted to be, after seeing a special on NOVA. Currently I reside with only my mother, Anna Morrison. As if it is not obvious by my name, my fathers name is William Joseph Day.
The earliest childhood memory I can recall is of me riding my bike down Alder Street. However, I am just faintly reluctant to even call this a memory, mainly because the image in my head is someone going down the hill on a bike, and as one can not watch oneself, its probably a fake memory, or just something I saw in a movie. The street I lived on is a very steep hill, hardly a suitable area for raising a small child. It was though, tremendously close to the beach. The irony of which is that in Maine, the beach is less than desirable, in any season. But alas, that home is but one of this fortunate child. My parents have been divorced since I reached the age of two years. Some people think that because I grew up with only one parent at a time, that I lack some sort of essential skill needed in society. Another common belief is that the divorce upsets me and that I wish to talk about it; it does not. Anyway, as I was saying; my other place of residence was at my father's house, affectionately dubbed "Dad"s'. I am not aware of any differences in my fathers person between then and now, but like most things, I am told he has changed, drastically so at that. My fathers house, was not a house per se, it was a trailer of sorts. One by which was unable to be driven to a more desirable neighborhood.
I am almost positive that I utterly despised my childhood whilst I was living it, as every functioning member of society did. Another view I was sure to share with my peers was sheer hatred for school, rules, order, and any other activity executed at an instructional facility, such as learning. Yes, I was a typical child in many ways; I watched television from noon to night, cartoons of course. I adored dirt, and all the practical ways to become completely enveloped in it; even though my mother did not share the same optimism towards my practices. I can recall a time in which I decided it would be best to shower with water balloons, contrary to my belief, it was not. Across the street from our lovely cottage lived two older children, possible eight or nine at the time. They were never as fun as friends my own age, but offered mild thrills at my convenience. I can vaguely remember my first Christmas that I can remember. I got a Nintendo 64, all the rage at the time, and hundreds of dollars in Lego pieces; my favorite toy. The aforementioned older children taught me quite a few tips and tricks of truly tremendous tantalizing talent on my new console, but I much preferred a few quite hours with my Legos. I always have enjoyed making things with my hands, things to be proud of; in fact I started a mural made of mountain dew bottle caps. It is about seven feet by five feet, and remains unfinished, mocking me, in the corner of the room, but I digress. By the time I discontinued building with my collection, it had grown to fit into a container roughly the size of a bathtub.
The time I spent at my father's house is significantly less memorable. Most any memories I have at Dad's consist of more recent excursions. Dad is a very stingy man, with a horrendous temper, the typical inhabitant of a trailer. He could easily be considered an alcoholic, however he would never admit to it. Another bad habit Dad possessed was the habit of smoking; but in his defense, he quit last year, grudgingly. On one occasion when I was about six years old he thought I was making excessive noise while eating my McDonalds French Fries. Promptly, he hurled them out of the car window. In retaliation, I gracefully threw my small Coca-Cola at him, as an added effect it consequently short-circuited the dime store car radio; the trip home was not an enjoyable one. Despite the undesirable qualities previously mentioned, my father is an immensely enjoyable character on certain occasions. He is consistently a topic of conversation; frequently he is even involved in the conversation himself, without knowing. Dad surely considers himself to be of the highest authority on the suicide, or as he will tell everyone, murder of Kurt Cobain. A timeless Nirvana fan, my father's only influence on me, with the exception of genes, was my taste in music; I too, acquired an exceptional adoration for Nirvana.
