Revelation

Ranch

REVELATION ROAD

MIKE UTTERBACK

Copyright © 2015 Mike Utterback.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3192-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3191-8 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 05/18/2015

Contents

Chapter 1   Out Of The Ocean

Chapter 2   Negative Attention

Chapter 3   The High School Years

Chapter 4   In And Out Of The Abyss

Chapter 5   The Bluff Of Despair And Hope

Chapter 6   Redefining My Flawed Definition Of Christianity

Chapter 7   The Swamps

Chapter 8   Awakening To Real Surroundings

Chapter 9   Internal Faith

Chapter 10   Working Cows With Bob The Bopper

Chapter 11   Disillusionment

Chapter 12   Questioning The Voices Of Uncertainty

Chapter 13   An Unconscious Awakening

Chapter 14   Drifting Toward LovE

CHAPTER 1

OUT OF THE OCEAN

I was born the same day Muhammad Ali defended his heavy weight belt against Jan Pierre Coopman. I possessed the resilience of the champ and the artistic mind of his opponent, a sculptor and accomplished painter whose legend continues on today. Like his adversary, I was the underdog who had to take a few punches before I could fulfill my dream of becoming a writer who could escape the trap of poverty via an action plan. In my experience, reality and fiction can be blended into a literary plot that captures the voice of the downtrodden. My story is a novel about hope, determination, and perseverance. Most of all, hope defeats poverty of the mind, body and soul within three environments in America—suburban, rural, and urban—all of which dictate the storyline’s reality.

I came into the world Friday February 20, 1976 at a local hospital in Northern California. My mother was a caretaker by nature, a nurse, while my father was an emotionally distant academic. If he wasn’t away at the college he worked at, he was certainly away in his head.

By the time I came along, my parents had already settled in a middle class suburb, Aptos, which consisted of working class residents, commuters, and local professionals. They figured that they could prosper there. They were both divorced with three children. Each family had their own dysfunction, and this was hastened each year of marriage. When I came along, this added one more character to the circus. I was always center stage. I was their golden trophy to show off! I had no boundaries, except meal time, bath time, and bed time.

They were the spectators and I was the actor. I was the architect who built a replica of Noah’s Ark—a cord of wood I nailed together with a bucket of nails in the backyard. I was the young explorer, adventurer who sought out the hidden treasures in the backyard, and the hyperactive marathon runner that snuck out the door early each morning with my best friend Patty, the family dog. I developed a vivid imagination due to being read to each evening before bed by my mother. After my goodnight kiss, my jungle room of dinosaurs, cavemen, and exotic lands came alive in my dreams.

Sometimes I awoke early in the morning and ran out the door, only to sit underneath the trees behind our house as if I was Lewis and Clark exploring the great unknown. My hunting gear consisted of my yellow foot pajamas, my dad’s leather belt doubled around my waist, stuffed with a wooden spoon, a butter knife, a play hammer, and a screw driver. One time around Thanksgiving I was on the lookout for a turkey for the dinner table, but all I saw were Seagulls, and I knew the family would not go for that.

My mother parented her step kids and her own kids, prepared meals, scrubbed dishes, and filled the emotional void in the air. These arduous tasks prolonged her day until twelve or one in the evening. In addition, she juggled working full time at the local hospital as a nurse from seven am until three thirty pm.

I have some memories of my father as well. He had thin wavy brown hair, a medium build, and towered over me at 6’0’’. As a child, he seemed aloof, emotionally distant, and socially nonexistent, but I do have some distinct memories of him which still permeate with me. He would do gardening in the backyard while drinking a beer. His most impressive legacy at the beach house: building the concrete slab patio we would watch Fourth of July celebrations from every year. It contained chunks of concrete from dump sites and construction sites we would both load into his red Mazda truck. He would take me crabbing at the local wharf. I remember the talkative fisherman who would have their poles hanging over the pier and the conversations my dad would have with them; the sea otters swimming on their backs; the conversations the sea lions would have with each other; and the beauty of the orange and blue horizon when the sun set. He could talk to strangers but not his own family. He did teach me to appreciate nature and to observe the external world; unconsciously he molded me into an analytical person. I realize that he did the best he could; he repeated the cycle of dysfunction he had learned in his family. He provided for me financially but not emotionally. My dad was never fond of conversation, warmth, and acceptance.

After ten years, my parents divorced because they were not suited for each other. It was better for everyone that it ended this way. The divorce hit me hard in more ways than one. I found it hard to devote myself to schoolwork, emotions, and the reality of my new kind of life…

CHAPTER 2

NEGATIVE ATTENTION

F ollowing the divorce, I utilized negative behavior instead of positive behavior. I acted out and assumed variety of roles. I smarted off to teachers and smoked candy cigarettes, played the handicap kid who would fall out of his seat in order to have fake seizures, the class clown, and tuned out the teacher.

The fake act was not that convincing, though. In fifth grade, I tested out of special education. Everyone knew I was very intelligent, but I just didn’t know how to apply myself or find the proper outlet which would utilize my abundance of energy. Again I underwent academic testing in eighth grade. I scored at grade level in Math and above grade level in all other academic subjects. As for English, I tested at a college freshman level. I had the ability but I didn’t have the motivation or direction to channel my intelligence into any productive outlet. My idle mind was going haywire. My behavior was slowly working its way into the spotlight. Professionals attributed my behavior to poor impulse control, a lack of self-esteem, and extreme anxiety…

CHAPTER 3

THE HIGH SCHOOL YEARS

I attended 6 th , 7 th and 8 th grade in other towns in California, and I returned home for high school to Santa Cruz to live in my father’s house for 9 th grade. That year I took steps to fit in. I went out for the track team and ran cross country. An unwillingness to commit to the ground rules my father and stepmother had laid out prevented me from getting along with them. Their paradigm sought order and structure while my prerogative was to rebel. I felt that my dad didn’t love me when in fact he and his wife put a lot of effort into me. She was unwilling to accept my negativity and hostility towards her. I felt that she had taken my dad away from me; that is, I wanted more attention and emotional support from him. They knew that I needed structure and order. My misbehavior resulted in an ultimatum which I failed to adhere to: remedy my behavior or move out. When I moved out the next year, my father sent me to private school in an attempt to regulate my unruly behavior…

10th grade came with a new set of rules: bed at ten, fitting in with different social circles, vegetarianism, learning to coexist peacefully with others, and the acceptance of Eastern thought, philosophy, and religion. I was allowed to complete the school year, but I was not invited back for 11th grade due to my unruly behavior. For summer vacation, I ended up in Hawaii where I helped my brother run his retail shop. After summer vacation ended, I was in for a shock.

Because I had been kicked out of private school, my father rented a studio apartment for me in a trailer park during eleventh and twelfth grade. He had emancipated me. I felt betrayed and this fueled personal resentment towards him. Also, I felt a supportive parent did not have the right to give up on their offspring for what I perceived to be minor behavioral issues. It was as if he wanted to wash his hands clean of me. In reality, he called me on my act and would not tolerate it. Life continued on. I got a job at Burger King and worked the drive thru.

In 12th grade I dabbled in religion and experimented with drugs. I went to a Christian convention and searched for God. I did not find Christian morality appealing, though in Florida it would safe me. I wandered away from my faith and turned to drugs because I thought it would make me a more creative and sociable person. I dropped acid a few times and smoked pot regularly my senior year in high school. I thought drugs would expand my consciousness. Therefore, I explored the mentality of the Baby Boomer generation, got into the poetry and music of Jim Morrison, and explored the music of the 60’s. My sister attempted to alter the destructive path my life was taking. Because of her, I took the SAT’s and decided to move to Silicon Valley and attend college…

CHAPTER 4

IN AND OUT OF THE