That's the truth
But it's boring
So people hear it and they're like--
Well, you must just be traumatized
No, I'm not traumatized
I don't even remember it
And it's not like an I-blacked-it-out kinda thing
I legitimately don't remember it
I was three-years-old for Chrissake
How much do you remember about being three-years-old?
To be truthful, I have one honest memory of the whole thing
And it's my mom hugging me
That's it
So I guess I'm lucky
Because as far as memories go
There are worse ones I could have
I could remember being taken
I could remember being held at that squatter's hut they kept me in
The one I've had to look at pictures of
My entire life
Because for some odd reason
My parents were fascinated
Utterly fascinated
By the entire incident
By the...publicity it got
I could remember all sorts of things
But I don't
The truth is
If everybody had decided
To never tell me about what happened
I could have lived
A perfectly normal life
Free of baggage
And unwanted attention
But instead
Everybody wanted to--
It seemed like they wanted to burden me
My parents
With the same burden they'd been given
They wanted to go through my whole life
With the same fear
And paranoia
That they have
They wanted me to have the same nightmares
The same delusions
They wanted to believe
That I was going to be the first kid in America
To be kidnapped
Twice
It almost seemed like they were hoping for it
So those nice reporters would come back
So Barbara Walters would cut them another check
For a deep, personal interview
And every couple of years someone did pop by
To ask how I was doing
And take a 'Where Are They Now?' shot
You wanna know the truth
About my kidnapping?
The kidnapping left nothing
Not a mark
Not a scar
No buried psychological wounds
Lurking beneath my surface
It happened
It was awful for people who can remember it
And then it was over
Because the morons who took me
Left me in a playpen out in the front yard
While they shot up
And some guy across the street
Was watching the news
And remembered there was a reward
For whoever found me
And he needed the cash to get a new tattoo
Yes, my story is just full
Of stirring
Romantic details
The truth is
The kidnappers were drug addicts
And yes, not very nice people
But what would you call the people
Who ruin the life of a human being
Because they refuse to shield him from something
Simply because they can't accept the fact
That the worst thing that ever happened to them
Is just a blip on the grander, wider, universal radar?
What would you call my parents?
You know why I don't talk about my kidnapping?
Because when I talk about it
I only say things
Nobody wants to hear
So I keep my mouth shut
Except when I tell them
How good it felt
To have my mom hug me
Truthfully though
There are times
When I think
If given the choice
I'd have taken my chances
With the junkies
Isn't that awful?
Like I said
Nobody wants to hear that
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