My father's name was George. He had a good life. As George, Junior, I could have had a good life. My mother started calling me Little Richie before I was born. She still does. She was a big fan of the Dick Van Dyke show. Mary Tyler Moore's kid was named Richie.

I was fine until the 4th grade. The year my classmates discovered what they could do with my name. High school was hell. Four high schools. The last was the best until graffiti began to appear on the restroom walls. Then on walls outside. I was expelled, accused of doing it to attract attention. Without evidence, they kicked me out for being a "disruptive influence".

Years later, the promise of ridding myself of some of the pain led me to Scientology. The ability to clear bad memories, "engrams", through auditing seemed like a godsend. I will delve in subsequent posts.