I figured it was time to start the Retro-Diary
Two of my earliest memories...
Now, if you saw my initial introduction to this series I like to call “The Retro Diary of a Hippy-Gangster Kid,” you probably realized there would likely be some crazy stories coming out of this one… Well, you were right!
Let’s kick it off!
If you look on that map, you’ll see a town called “Lismore.” That’s where it all started—February 26, 1991, Lismore Base Hospital.
Here’s what the town looks like now—pretty average… but a wild and dangerous place at night… as you’ll see in my later recountings…
But, I actually grew up in, and spent most of my time in a nearby town which is much more famous, and a lot more exciting as far as countryside, fame, and wildlife—the pople as well as the kangaroos…
This was the town of Nimbin—the weed capital of Australia where people thought weed was legal—before weed was legal…
For some reason, even though my parents, my friends, and their parents kind of got into the drug scene, I never could… No judgments there, but I just never took to it. Perhaps it was some innate preference—or perhaps it was from my personal experiences with the industry.
Which brings me to two of my earliest memories…
The first was when I was about two months old—believe it or not—and I’d been keeping my poor 22-year-old, withdrawing parents up every night until they were at the point of breaking…
I don’t know why, I just recall lying there, not being able to move, and being incredibly terrified of the dark, as if it were a rushing void of chaos just waiting to suck me back in…
Well, I made sure to let my parents know what I thought about this…
After a while, my father finally showed up and told me what he thought about it too.
He picked me up from my cradle, put his red angry face close to mine, and screamed, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!”
Well… I made sure they didn’t get any sleep that night.
Then there was the home invasion when I was about four years old—this also stands out in my recall…
I was living in a house in Tuntable with my mother and my younger brother’s father (my dad had left when I was one year old).
Tuntable is a small town near Nimbin, which looks like this:
Anyway, I recall going to sleep one night in my room on my small flat bed on the floor with my sister (who was three at the time). Our room had no door.
I awoke to the terrible sound of my mother screaming and crying.
I have a foggy memory of creeping slowly toward the lit hallway and peeking out from my darkened room.
There, in the hallway, were my mother and my brother’s dad, on their knees with their hands behind their backs.
Standing over them were two men in ski masks—one with a raised machete, and one with a sawn-off shotgun.
The one with the shotgun caught sight of me and turned the barrels in my direction. Somehow, even at that age, I knew the chilling danger of those col steel pipes, and I quickly ducked back out of sight.
I ran to my bed ony my shaky 4-year-old legs lay back down.
Just when I thought I could hide in peace, my sister woke up and started screaming…
Fearing the men would come in and punish us for the racket, I pretended to be asleep, ignoring my sisters shoves and nudges as she tried to get my attention…
Now watching through partially closed eyelids, I saw my sister run crying toward the hallway. I recall worrying about her, worrying she would get hurt—or worse—but being too paralyzed with fear to act…
She had needed my help, yet I pretended to be asleep. Even though I was four, I always felt guilty for this act of cowardice...
Strange how that sense of responsibility sticks with you all your life.
Luckily, they didn’t do anything to her.
They were searching the house for weed and stole everything that they could get their hands on…
If we hadn’t been involved in that sort of life, it never would have happened…
Maybe this is why I could never get into the drug scene—I already knew exactly how it ends.
Thankfully, we all survived that night with no more injuries than a bit of trauma.
Maybe this is also why, as a young teenager, I liked getting out into the wilderness—away from people…
Here are some of my favorite hang spots in the wilderness around Nimbin:
(Hanging Rock Falls)
(The Natural Arch)
(Spot near Byron Bay)
***
Good old Nimbin—it's a paradise, and for some, a warzone…
I hope this sheds light for anyone considering such a life, or resonates with those who have survived worse.
Until next time,
Alucard
Love the storytelling. That's a chilling encounter. Also felt it prudent to point out the misspelling in your title. I thought perhaps this would be a post about raising cows the old-fashioned way.
woah crazy stories man. I had a similar incident in early childhood actually that I've never been able to come out and talk about openly. It's actually my earliest memory in life, as well. I had to hide it, in one of my books disguised as fiction. I applaud you for talking about yours candidly here in this manner. brave brother.