With Friends Like These

I've come to this having no idea what I'm going to talk about. Can I be blocked already - do I have nothing to share? Okay, if I'm too self-conscious then I'll get nothing written. After considering my options, I think that I'll introduce a couple of the most influential people in my life. This is of course in no order of magnitude, significance, or a complete list. It is simply who came to mind.

My best friend is Jackie W. I met her when I was 14 or 15. Oh, one of the things you will come to realize is that one of my many disabilities is not being able to accurately place chronological events. If time is like a train, and events are box cars, then my box cars don't connect to each other. They just sort of bang up against each other and will move and shift their place in line. If my brain is the locomotive, let's just say that this train moves kind of s-l-o-w-l-y. I'm just saying. I met Jackie when I was locked up. Having pretty much nothing in common, we nevertheless sort of clicked. She has her version of what attracted her to me. What I remember the most about her was a pair of white shorts she would wear. In my defense, I was a 15 year old boy and none too sophisticated. One of the things that sticks out in my brain is that the woman always told me the truth. I was always acutely aware of the lies that adults told children. Call it an adoptee's sixth sense. One of the more insidious lies I was told by my adoptive parents is that "we chose you". The implication is that my birth parents simply did not want me. I could get into how my adoptive parents were no prizes, but that would be a bit off topic; yet, I knew that I wasn't some sort of item left in the bargain bin at the adoption agency.

Jackie always tried to give me some control over my life. Not that my being in control is always a good thing, but her heart has always been in the right place. Even from the start, we had a complex relationship. By the time she met me, the Kiesons had all but given up on me. She would smoothly transfer from role to role as needed. She was a confident, a friend, and even a mother figure, even though she had 3 children of her own. Even now, she from time to time still acts in those roles. While its a bit confusing to me, it seems to work, for the most part. I can say with some sense of certainty (and a little embarrassment) that I seem to have gotten more out of this relationship than she has. Not only has she been with me in my darkest hours, she has withstood my most outrageous and chaotic behavior. I am not the easiest child/man to know. I have lied to her, stolen $7000 and shot it up my arm, been unfaithful to her, and generally been an insensitive bastard. I can't blame my misdeeds on me simply being an untrusting, unreachable, deeply flawed human. I am all of that, but sometimes I just can't stand the closeness, the intimacy of another person. Now, I am working every day to change those things and right what I can. I am repaying the money I stole, and while the truth and I have a nodding acquaintance, I try to avoid the big fat bald-faced lie. The problem with that is that, not only does she know me so well, I have discovered that I don't have a poker face. My deceptions tend to be fairly transparent to her. She will also ask the most pointed questions, that leave me no room to wiggle. She has taught me that with her, truth really is the best policy.

For example, recently I had to take a piss test that I knew I was going to fail, since I was high when I took the god-damned thing. In the past, I would not have told her that not only was I going to go to segregation, I would most likely have denied my guilt, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. It's a convict thing: You never admit anything, even if they bust you with a bag of weed and the pipe in your mouth. But the truth always does have a way of coming out - so I've learned. This time, I told her ahead of time that not only was I smoking the ganja, but I was too stupid to get away with it. (It's ridiculously easy to avoid detection in prison, unless you're careless, or in my case, too stupid.) While being far from thrilled with this news, we dealt with it pretty quickly and moved on. So while admittedly, they can train bears to ride tiny bicycles faster than teaching me that not everybody is my enemy and thus deserves to know the truth, I have proven that I can learn and change. Some things just take longer than others.

Now let me tell you about Sally. I met Sally through Jackie, who met her through an online parents of adoptees' organization. I tend to cast a jaundiced eye upon some of the people Jackie finds online. Most fall into the category of quacks and cranks. However, like I said, I'm evolving. I now give the benefit of the doubt to people. I am so glad that I did because, I then met Sally. Even though she lives in Australia, half-way around the world, she has had a large influence upon me. So often people will instantly write off people like me as beneath contempt. Being someone who would dismiss another human being without thought myself, I understood the dynamic. I like to believe that Sally looked beyond my obvious flaws as a human being, and saw the spark of good within me. I'm a far more humble man when I think that a human half way around the world finds enough value in me to include me in her life. Holy crap. I just made her sound like a saint. I know Sally is human, imperfect like everyone else, but she works hard to make the world a better place for her family. If she can do that, then I can face my own short-comings and be a better man.

That's a fairly small circle of humanity, eh? I believe that a person is pretty lucky if they can find one or two good friends in a lifetime. At least that's what I used to believe. It was fairly naive. I had surrounded myself with junkies and criminals and was somehow shocked that my life was empty. I had closed myself off from the world. I never connected with people; a legacy of being born to a woman who was ill-equipped to deal with her own losses. Her inability to attach to me as an infant resulted in me never fully attaching to others in my life. This understanding of that process shakes me to the core of my being. Since I was never able to emotionally connect with people, I never learned how to empathize. I could cause pain in others, but not feel that pain. Never once during any of my crimes did I feel the damage I was inflicting. Even today, I struggle with my past by not being as emotionally available as I want to be, as I can be. I am also overwhelmed by the trail of devastation I left behind me. I can't undo that, ignore it, or wish it away. All I can do is accept my responsibility in causing that pain, face it every day, and work to never be the same man I was then. It's a small restitution, but it's all I can do right now. Maybe tomorrow will allow me to do more.

In the beginning....

I'm not sure what I'm doing here. I'm talking more than the metaphysical; I'm talking practical. I have a forum. I'm just confused about the purpose. Considering the possibilities makes me dizzy(er). This is most certainly some sort of mid-life crisis. I seem to somehow have reached this crossroads unsure of how I got here or where to go next. So let's start with the facts because they seem to be immutable (even if we know they aren't.) I'm 42 years old, incarcerated, Native American, no children (wish I had them), essentially unattached (complicated). Those facts won't change in the near future. So I won't spend too much time talking about that. I'd rather talk about what I can affect. In no particular order, I'd like to put context to some of the following subjects:

• I want to meet normal people. I finally learned that most of my life has been spent with the crazy, the flawed, the profoundly abnormal. I was born to people who survived genocide, adopted by christian monsters. I spent most of my life with drug addicts and criminals. And, while all of this was normal to my frame of reference, I think I knew at that deep primordial level, that this really wasn't the life experience of everyone else. Now I need to change that dynamic. I've begun to evolve. I'm working hard to lay the ghosts of my messed up life to rest. I no longer desire the company of people whom I want to have nothing in common with. And yes, the irony of being in prison, and wanting to be around normal people, is not lost on me.
• I want my best friend's children to understand me. While I've given up on them actually liking me, I hope hope hope some sort of understanding is possible. These writings won't be confessional and I won't justify my life. I've lived a life no one would sanely have chosen for themselves. And I can deal with the consequences. Yet, I need to show my scars: both self-inflicted and those inflicted upon me. It's not as if I sprung up one day completed formed, in perfection, as life doesn't work that way. I'm a complex problem, formed by some weird alchemy of failed social policy, religious brain-washing, greed, and pharmaceuticals. I have been my own worst enemy, although I'm trying to change that. I know that I've done damage to their (my best friend's children's) lives, even if it was unintentional, I would like to be responsible and do no further harm.
• I have a ton of documents I want to share with the world. As a child I was taken by the State of WI Department of Health and Social Services, given to the Lutheran Social Services, and sold to monsters. My experiences might be nothing more than a cautionary tale of what not to do with adopted children. I'm grateful to have met a wonderful group of people who are trying a new way of healing the wounds of the process of adoption. So I invite everyone to look at my life on paper.
• This is also a place to display my art. I'm neither a trained artist nor am I all that good. Yet, what I create I like. I do pin-up art mostly because it's what sells in prison, not to mention that drawing beautiful women isn't a bad way to spend a few hours. I work exclusively in pencil; color mystifies me - I can't work it. I'm also aware that there are people who would psychoanalyze me through my art. To those I say: Have at it. I can take it. However, like the man said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
• I also want to share the prison experience. I've seen one episode of Oz and was kind of shocked to see a maximum security prison depicted falsely. Maybe years ago, or in another state, prisons were/are like that. However, for the most part, Wisconsin prisons are deadly dull. The officers are professional, and while there are staff who will lie and go out of their way to screw a convict over, they are in the minority. So I won't spend a lot of time or effort talking about people trying to learn an honest living. What I will talk about is what I do from day to day and some insight into my thought processes.

My Name is Legion

So this is it. Not so much a beginning as a re-imagining. I won't address that which has already been written about Scott Kieson. There's nothing more to be said about that. I want to talk about my other incarnations.


The name on my birth certificate is Ben Chosa Jr. I like its brevity; no middle name or even an initial. The "Jr." is misleading as I am actually the third in my family with that name. I kept that name for the first few years of my life. Like so many Native Americans from northern Wisconsin, destiny would soon drag me far from my family, reservation, and culture. Destiny took the form of social policy and christianity. I then became Scott Carl Kieson, the stolen child of Gary and Barbara Kieson, unwilling brother to Cindy and Tammy Kieson. I never really fit in with them. I was a dark, short boy in the land of tall, willowy, blond Germans. I was chosen to be the standard-bearer for the Kiesons who to that point were unable to produce a natural male heir. And while that plan didn't really work out for them, I find myself stuck with this name. I call this name my "government" name, thrust upon me when I was adopted. More on that to come.

I'm fond of the saying, "all things by the will of the Creator." Not that I'm always in agreement with the Creator. But then again, he saw fit to bring me home to my people even if it was 30 years later, addicted, convicted, filled with confusion and anger, but at least metaphorically home if not physically. One of the first things I asked my father for was a name. I wanted a name I could use when I was at ceremonies. I'm not sure the ancestors knew who the hell Scott Kieson was. So my newly re-found father made arrangements with a medicine man who drove from the White Earth reservation to hold a naming ceremony. The medicine man prayed for many days for the Spirits to send a name, but nothing came to him. As he left Minnesota for the long drive to my rez in Lac du Flambeau, a storm began to form behind him and would follow him as he drove East. The storm was all black clouds, thunder, and lightening and would chase the medicine man to the borders of my reservation where it broke up and dissipated. I guess a medicine man's main quality is being observant because he then knew my spirit name: Animikiigiizhig (Thunderbird Sky). A thunderbird sky occurs during a thunderstorm where lightening arcs from cloud to cloud as opposed to striking the ground. The lightning is said to take the form of a thunderbird. It's a good name, a name of power, a name I have my doubts that I can live up to. But if it's all the same to you, I think I'll try.

So this brings me to the last name I have which is the diminutive of Animikiigiizhig. Admittedly, Animikiigiizhig is a big old Ojibwe mouthful, not only for thick white tongues, but for most natives too. Thus, all my friends and loved ones call me Ani. Just like my enemies, and the white people who run these iron houses, know me as Scott Kieson, just like my family knows me as Ben Chosa Jr., just like my ancestors know me as Animikiigiizhig, whatever you choose to call me is your choice, but I hope you would call me Ani.