Somewhat of an autobiography.

this is something i had to do at the end of grade 12, just a huge write up on myself. basically covers my whole life up until that point, sagas have happened since, but it's a good start.

Well, lets get one thing straight first, I’m Cameron, Cameron Ian Rendell Boyd. Actually, it’s Cameron Rendell Ian Boyd, but I sign my full name with the Ian before Rendell solely because I think it sounds better. My name means literally, “crooked nose, god forgiven, shielded, gold (or blond).” the crooked nose came from a Scottish tribe who named themselves after a seemingly hereditary facial feature. I am a son, I always feels this needs clarification whenever I’m not introducing myself to someone in person, because of the unisex properties of my name. I am the middle child of three boys, the Boyd boys. My mother is from Saskatchewan, where when she was just 13 or 14 had to raise her own mom who had come down with M.S., and raise a baby brother, sister, and brother, she was eldest of four. Her mother was from some region in England unknown to me and probably most the people in England too. Her father, I have no idea, and I really don’t care. He didn’t treat any of his kin kindly, he’s dead now, and I’ve no idea how old he was, or when he died, and I’m not asking. My father is from Vernon, born and raised, until grade 10, when he was finally kicked out of the last local school, and moved out on his own, and made his way up north to the Yukon. Both of his parents were Canadian, I don’t know where from, but before them I know that both of their families came from long lines of Irish lineage, then Scottish. So after Canadian, I’m Irish, after that, I’m Scottish. So if I ever have a bad day, where I just have a short fuse, or if I ever get into a bar fight, or dress in a green costume way too small for me, dance around and talk in a silly accent, I have an excuse. I didn’t have the honour of being born in a green bus like my older brother, however, I at least got the security of being born in Vancouver general hospital on July 11th, 1991 at precisely 1:01 in the afternoon. My first memory is of me bringing up a Nabob Coffee tin full of nails up from our construction shack, (we built shacks so we could build more shacks out of the rain… that’s just the kind of people we are.) up to our house, and tripping. I fell all over the nails and got all scraped up on what were probably horribly infectious nails, but never got any type of shot whatsoever. My second, and I swear its what it is, because I have no idea who this other baby would be otherwise, would be waiting at the hospital with my mom, (???) and then going to see Dawson, my little brother in a big crazy crib. So either he’s adopted, they took Dawson away from my mom for a little bit after being born, or I just had some crazy outer body experience. Or maybe I’m just wrong, but I really doubt it… my first word wasn’t recorded, so I have no idea what it was. I don’t know when my first steps were, my first time riding a bike, (though I do remember it, just not when…) or my first day of school. Upon mentioning that, I think I should tell you about my bike riding experience… there was an old squatter on our property, who did all of godknowswhat for money, I’d never see him work, but he always seemed to be coming back from work… and still squatting at that. Anyways, it was a bright perfect day in summer, when I was PRETENDING to ride my bike with no training wheels… then this guy comes up behind me and told me he was going to teach me to ride. Before I could object, (I was stricken with horror at the idea, so much so I couldn’t formulate coherent words, just little stuttering sounds) he grabbed my see along with the handle bars, and pushed me down my driveway! Or up, depending on your view. Anyways, it was out onto the road, so here I was, ROCKETING, (in my mind anyways) into the road with no idea what I was doing, but as soon as I got onto the pavement, I started peddling. It took no time for me to realize that the more I peddled the more control I had over the bike, however it took a little too long for me to realize that the more I peddled the faster I went, and even longer to realize no had told me how to stop. So I tried everything I could think of, which was namely putting my feet to the pavement, which did nothing. Frantically trying everything else, I get it right and peddle backwards, which sends me skidding into a ditch. Despite the cuts and bruises I got up from the ditch all smiles at my first bike ride. 
I started school when I was 5, kindergarten…. My teacher was Ms. Chartrand, and all I remember doing was running away from girls because it was fun, cutting out little flowers for a calendar, and being just pissed at Krigi for being able to count to one hundred. That darned 37 always got me… sometime into that year I had come down with what I’ve been told now was the worst strain of E-Coli, which is basically what you get when Mexicans poop in lettuce fields, and you eat it. It could have come from a number of things, but I’ve been told it was most likely from our goats. Yeah, we had goats, and chickens, rabbits, guinea pigs, cats and dogs. So I was five and a half, just a little wee one in Vancouver Children hospital, (by the way, I couldn’t say that word for a looooong time, I had a speech impediment, so I just mad ugly sounds a lot. Yep, my sounds LOOKED ugly.) which still takes the majority of my would-be Christmas money from my grandparents because it saved my life, fighting for my life like some well trained 3.5ft ninja. Both of my kidneys stopped functioning, so I was peeing ALL the time, which sucked, especially because I had to stay lying down and had to pee into a bottle which a nurse held… okay, so maybe it was actually fun, but I was 5. One day big noises were all being about their business being loud and confusing, causing panic to little boys who cant sit up and have no idea whats going on, and I was surrounded by doctors in lab coats with masks and all that jazz. I was put onto a stretcher, and rushed out of my room into what seemed to be just a big steel room in the middle of another room. Which was weird. Because it wasn’t there when I woke up……. I was rushed in listening to my mom and dad screaming at them to let them in but they weren’t allowed, then I was had bright lights shone on me, doctors leaned over me, and tubes were held in hands….. tubes…. How I loathe thee…. One minute it’s a tube in a hand, the next it’s a dagger being plunged into me below the belly button! I had no idea what was happening yet, they hadn’t drugged me, I was just in a panic and way to concerned with the fact that I thought that tube-dagger was going a little further south than I’d like it to. I don’t know if that was on purpose or not, but one doctor looked at me like… well let me just explain how this looks like it happened to me: doctor1: did you hear something? Me: AHHHHH! Doctor2: I think so, did we put him to sleep yet? Me: AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!! Doctor1: hold on a sec, ill check after I have a leisurely sip of my coffee. *sip* ouch! It’s hot, hey, careful when you drink your coffee, its still pretty hot. Doctor2: oh, okay, thanks. Me: AAHHH!!!! ACK! Doctor1: so, what was I saying? Something about how I went on strike even though I make way too much money for my own good anyways? Doctor2: mm, I don’t think so, something about the patient. Doctor1: patient? What pat- oh. Right. Yeah, ill check- me: AAAAHHHHHHH!! Doctor1: oh sh*t. 
He looked at me with some crazy wide-eyed “imsoluckythiskiddoesntknowhowtosueme” look on his face. THEN I went to sleep. And woke up to lots of flowers. Which I had to give to some girl who I never asked what her name was down the hall, who happened to have the same thing I did, but needed a kidney transplant. I hated the idea of giving my pretty flowers to her, but I had no choice in the matter. I was told that I would probably have to have the same procedure done to me too, a transplant, if things kept up. We found out later that the little girl died. Only then did I feel bad about not wanting to give a sick person flowers… I was told years later that my grandma came to see me, along with a bunch of other people all at the same time, and I wasn’t in a good mood and asked “mom, when are they leaving?” everyone kind of got the hint and started leaving, before my grandma did though, she told me, “you’re going to be alright.” And all I said back was “I know that.” Now I just have a scar from that freaking tube. 
I used to ride down my road, which is very steep, as fast as I could with my little brother on our bikes with no helmets. I used to play soccer every Tuesday, I was only put in daycare once, and I hated it… it seemed cold. I used to go to church, then I started asking too many questions. I used to think I would be a good lawyer, because with the simple logic I had it seemed I could fix everything, logically, but that’s not how it happens, so no lawyerness for me. When I was eight my mom and dad split up, they just weren’t who they used to be I guess. We went on countless way-to-much-fun-and-probably-illegal road trips with my dad, before and after the break up. Lots of these, and probably the most amazing were our trips to places like Lillooet, Kamloops, and places that way. We would pile the back of our truck with blankets and mattresses and food. We’d hide while going through the main parts of towns, and while on the road we would just have a blast. The Robbins family came along lots too, as well as the Riddingtons, since their mom was dating my dad. 
I don’t remember my first day of highschool, and nothing really stands out of elementary either, so ill just skip that. The first time I really ever met Graham was in grade eight, during lunch. It was an honest mistake really, I was thirsty, a juicebox had been left unattended for a long time and it was near the end of lunch, so I drank this juicebox… this juicebox, you see, belonged to Graham, and he was looking forward to a nice 155ml of tasty tropic juice at the end of his lunch. So I got beat with the plastic handle of a Halloween pitch fork while I was laughing as hard as I could at the hilarity of it, and trying to say ‘help!’ at the same time. Later on, Transmission Party would be born and I would be playing with Graham in a band with Eric and Arlen. Arlen was soon replaced with Jordan, and we rocked for about two and a half years. After some commitment issues we broke up. 
My dad then came down with cancer in his throat, it was operable, but not worth it. Radiation is what they said would be best, so they blasted his lower jaw and throat with crazy radiation, so crazy he can no longer grow a beard on half his face. Smoking, toking, and cedar dust is what they said was the cause of it. So that was a big scare, kyle came down every now and then to see him, dawson went over to his house nearly once or twice a week, and I rarely saw him ever, even though the school bus could drop us off at his house no problem. This made me feel pretty bad, I didn’t even call him, because I felt that if he didn’t call me, why should I call him? And im sure he felt the same way, to an extent. Well, I guess I was lucky because he made it through, he beat the cancer. So I felt pretty happy about that, but at the same time I felt like I didn’t need to see him as much because he wasn’t sick, despite the fact that I never saw him anyways. So I still kept on not seeing him. I joined dragon boat, my great grandma died, leaving my dad some money, which he elected to put into an awesome road trip with me and dawson to go up north and see kyle while he was working in the Yukon, in a motorhome! It would have been an awesome trip, if I had gone. Im sure it still was, but I stayed here because of Alcan. It was my first year, and if we came gold it would have been the teams 10th year doing that. So I had to stay, but I didn’t feel that bad, my dad said it was alright and that theres enough money to do another trip like that later. They were gone for a month, we came gold, and it was pretty wicked. But that happened in the first week they were gone, so I felt pretty stupid for the rest of the month. They came back with all these amazing stories about being caught by cops, border patrol, getting busted for a number of things, crashing the motorhome, driving the Dempster highway during a storm, eating steak on the go every day for ever meal, and suddenly I felt as though I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life not going on that trip. The rest of the summer went by, pemberton fest, quitting a job, getting a new job, break up with girlfriend, etc. so school started, grad year, yippee! It was okay, you know, lots of work, I don’t know why I took math 12 instead of my spare, but I did. I dropped art because I found out I couldn’t get credits for it twice. English and bio were alright. Biology was a little annoying, because Cipp KNEW everything, but getting YOU to know what he was talking about, well he had a problem with that. Math was tough, since grade 9 I had never achieved higher than 60% in math, and math 12 was no different. Except, I REALLY didn’t get it. As long as I had a calculator I was able to figure out most of the questions, even if it wasn’t the accepted way of doing it, I could get there. Memorizing the formulas was the hardest part for me. When Christmas rolled around it was a little weird. We got our Christmas tree at the start of December, and we decorated it that night. As soon as we finished decorating it we got a phone call from our dad. It turned out that the cancer had come back, he’d gone down for a check up that day and the doctors told him that he can come back. Since they had already blasted him with radiation they couldn’t do it again. Kemo wouldn’t do anything against it, it had developed a lot, and was pretty nasty. It was inoperable this time, because it was too close to arteries, veins, etc. the doctors gave him 6 months to live. Since he was labeled “terminal”, all his meds were free, so he could get as ripped on oxycontin as he wanted. Which he ended up doing, but not out of free will. He had to up his dosage more and more because the pain was getting worse and worse. The doctors said it was okay, and that he should just take as much as he needs to be comfortable. He ended up passing and making new records in B.C. for how much painkiller he was subscribed. He was taking 28 every 4 hours. And one of those knocked down one of his friends, I witnessed it. He tried some different experimental drips and IV’s but none of them worked well enough, so he stayed on the pills. He’s in the hospital now, he should be out in a week, but he’s going back on methadone instead of oxycontin. Its mid January now, which means that if the doctors are right, then he has three and half months left. But if they’re right, they also said it was getting worse and worse. So it might be less. He cant open his mouth that much, and he cant chew anything. And to top it all off, I really did miss the once in a life time trip with my dad to the Yukon, there’s not going to be a ‘next time’ this time. Its times like these that I wish I could rewind everything and hug him when it didn’t hurt him. So that about brings you up to speed on everything. I’m Cameron, my favorite colour is green, food is spaghetti, time is midnight, animal is a bear, smell is baked bread, thing to do is to walk, and play music. I have no job, im graduating, I havn’t applied anywhere for college or university, I’ve no money saved up for post secondary, and I don’t know what im going to do about anything at all. But I guess every grad is in the same boat as me, kinda. The only thing I know for sure is that I want to go someplace rainy, and take some psychology courses. Other than that, I’m lost. I’m somewhere around 6 feet tall, around 190lbs, brown hair, blue eyes, strong will power, and self assurance. I play the drums, I fiddle around with guitar and bass, and I like to imagine I can sing. I play warhammer, which is pretty amazing in the most geeky way possible. Take dungeons and dragons, then times it by a few hundred. Literally, rather than a few characters, you have armies. I’ve kissed two girls, and that’s it. Two. Yep, I know, and my nose isn’t actually crooked. I like walking, but preferably alone. I’m Cameron, and I’m happy about that. I am the sun.

Reviews

[LoveAlways,Kali♥]

I really enjoyed reading this. I like your writing style and I actually couldn't stop laughing at the Docter/You almost comic-style paragraph. This was great.

Interesting bio! Good to get to know you a bit better!
It's always so neat to get to know people better!

[i.am.the.sun.]

This is a link to that poem.

http://www.panhala.net/Shifting_the_Sun.html

[i.am.the.sun.]

thanks, this was for my portfolio in english during my last year of highschool. so it only really covered up to there. i should try and do something like this again and pick up where i left off haha
and thanks, "i am the sun" is something that came to me after reading "Shifting the Sun", a poem by Diana Der-Hovanessian. it's a rather moving piece about what happens after you father dies.

[Sunni Davis]

Wow, you've had quite the journey, havent you? I enjoyed reading this; you're writing style is descriptive and flows nicely through begining to end. Speaking of end, I love the declaration you made in your last sentence.