Memories of a Prophet

By Frank Bye

It is a story which traces the very first memory of a baby boy who grows up in an average middle class family. Like all of us, as we grow up, there are memories which are dear to us. Real life experiences, as you know, have many twists, and the boy becomes a man faced with a problem with the love of his life. He reaches deep within himself for answers, and the media is right there to plant the seed in his mind. As the story unfolds together, they contain the secret recipe necessary to take stepping stones, which empowers him to acquire the gift of knowledge. He becomes very bitter as he sees deception intertwined with reality. Music seduces him, and through it, he uncovers himself and the true path that he follows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496956156

Frank Bye

Hi, my name is Frank Bye. I was born in a big city in Canada. I finished high school and got into a small business, which I was involved in until I got in too deep with people I thought were helping me. I am a simple man who had the weight of the world put upon his shoulders and wrote a story about it.

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© 2014 Frank Bye. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/04/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5616-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5615-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921750

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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This book is printed on acid-free paper.

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.

CONTENTS

Memories of a prophet

Dream Overload

The Aftermath

Woodstock

The reckoning

The fantasy

The paradox

Memories of a prophet

My father when he was my age wrote a book about his life, sent it to a publisher but it was refused and sent back. He was upset but it seemed like it was something he had to do. Maybe everyone feels that way at some point in their life which to them is a most extraordinary life; maybe the fabric of life has hidden predestined cycles that can’t be broken. Anyways I feel that way now so the best way to do it is to go back to the beginning and start. I was born in a big city in Canada Jan. 11 1961 my earliest memory was standing in my playpen, the black and white TV was on and my mother became upset, she went out the front door and left it open I heard her yell to the neighbor they shot him they shot him. I didn’t know what it was about until I was older and realized what I was a witness to. It was years later when the same thing happened to his brother and again they played it over and over again on TV.

In my family I had one brother younger and two sisters. One sister was older and one was the baby of the family, I was second oldest. I have lots and lots of childhood memories first stitches, school fights, fun times, fishing, playing baseball and of coarse first romantic times. My first date was during the winter of 1971 in grade 4. It was with a class mate we had a chaperone her mother. We went for lunch; she asked questions I told her about the life I planned for me and her daughter. I guess she disagreed because it was also our last date. My first kiss was on the front steps of a house in the summer before the start of grade 6 in 1972. My first slow dance kiss was under patio lanterns in the summer of 73. My first French kiss was also in grade 6. I’ve met some of these girls again at reunions but they don’t remember but I do. I guess this phenomenon is explained by the fact that with some people time erases our memories.

My first earned money was a 2 dollar bill. I made it shoveling snow from driveways but my first job was a paper route when I was 9 in 1970 It was a big city newspaper. I was worried when they went broke. I thought I lost my job but within days another big city newspaper took over all of their routes and I was still working but delivering a different newspaper. I made 2 cent’s a paper I had about 21 houses when I started which I built up to about 34 houses by the time I gave it up. My dad would drive me during those cold winter days, he never had a father because he died fighting for our freedom. He missed out on something I had, which made him want to become my best friend while I was growing up and it hasn’t stopped yet and I’m now 48. He has always been a positive thinker. We hung out and talked all the time. During those years grade 5 to 11 my dad was very successful in his business which he owned from 1965 to 1975. It was a convenience store. He liked to gamble; he bought and owned 6 race horses the kind with the driver in a buggy behind the horse. Their called standard bred, he always had 2 on the go. We would go down to the race track at least twice a week. We hung out in the back stretch which was across the track on the other side of where the stands were. There you would find pinball machines, betting windows, horse stables, drivers, trainers, but no public except owners. When you were in the back stretch, if they liked you real life money making tips could come to you and they did. Unfortunately there was a saying back there the trainers screw the owners and the drivers screw the trainers. The trainers would see how well a horse was training; hold it back from winning thus building the odds. Then before the race check the odds and if they were good give the signal to the driver just like a baseball coach for a bunt. If the trainer felt safe with the owner he would always tell about the go. Everything would then look good but if the signal was caught by other drivers who had there own pick they would box that horse in then win with there pick. One time the drivers parted in the home stretch held back and let another driver through and as he passed they waved at him and you could hear them yell happy birthday. He won and of course got 10% of the purse which was around 2,500. Nice present from your friends.

This was also the place where I learned how to play pinball and got really good at it. I could win free games, I had people watching me, and I became a pinball wizard. Around this time I met a friend at school Brian who also had a love for the game he was in the grade ahead of me and it was rare to hang out with a senior. We would take the train to the big city and the pinball machines would start in the train station but our favorite ones were up the Street. One of the good pinball joints was a couple blocks north of the other. Here we were two guys me in grade 6 and him in 7- 1973-in the big city on our way to another pinball joint when we pass by a store as an older guy walks out. Brian asks him what the girls are like he said good. Brian looks at me and said lets go I follow but don’t know where were going. We go upstairs there a door behind it music is playing inside we go in its dark there’s an empty stage and rows of chairs we sit down. A new song starts to play its Led Zepland a women comes out on stage and starts to dance she starts to take her cloths off her top is gone now and the music is loud you know the song it’s at the part women way down inside you need.. Loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ….. Every thing is coming off now. Then suddenly a bouncer I suppose asks Brian how old he is he answers 21 the guy smirks and says lets go pointing to the door. I remember saying to Brian as we were going down the stairs that I was glad we were leaving because the guy sitting beside me was making me feel uncomfortable. He was wearing a trench coat and I could see his bare leg and he had his hand down there and kept looking at me. Anyways back to the racetrack.

I noticed through the years down at the track that there were good days and bad days for my dad. I kind of feel guilty for my dads worsening luck as it really started to happen after I got in trouble. My dad would tell me the tip then I would bet it with my money but I would line up to be paid before the race was over. This started a rumor and soon I had men looking over my little shoulder when I made the bets. He started to lose and lose. His horses also kept losing and he still had trainer and stable bills. Near the end of his addiction he bought an expensive promising horse for 30 thousand which went lame within a month. I more then once road home with him in his new 1973 Cadillac Eldorado to see him not stop for coffee like he always would because he didn’t have 20 cents left. I still remember the look on his face. He was a broken man and the fact he couldn’t stop made me decide I hated gambling and I never really did it again. He quit finally but all and all he lost about a quarter million which in the Early 70’s was about a million dollars today. I’ am not a gambling man.

Through my public school years up to grade 7 my mother used to buy my clothes and I always had clean folded school clothes laid out every morning for school. Some of those grade teacher’s would tell me that I was the best dressed student in their class which really pleased my mother. Mom always made sure I had a gift for them for Christmas and the last day of school. When my favorite pair of pants got a rip in them she used to sew them with her singer sewing machine. She did this until she taught my older sister to do it but my sisters sew jobs never lasted. I didn’t like new pants because some of my boy peers made fun of me for the styles she picked out, the old ones were already accepted.

I was 12 and it was at a Christmas party in grade 7 and my teacher Miss Smith also announced it was also a going away party for Frank which really surprised me. After the Christmas break holiday I