My Fake ID Ch. 01

"Yeah Granddad, you told me you hitched rides. Then you took two years to just cruise around to find yourself."

"Yeah and a lot of drivers insisted on 'compensation' for the gas. A lot of them were lonely long-haul truckers. I remember the one who got me from Moorehead, MN all the way to Chicago. I only had to let him fuck me twice, and blow him three times. He was so happy with me, he returned the oral favor."

Granddad got a dreamy look on his face, and then continued. "He also passed the word to the other truckers on the road. Telling them on the CB about a fresh faced boy out of North Dakota looking for a ride to Bethel, New York. I always had a ride after that. Tre, I know you like guys. There's no shame in that. The shame these days is in hiding it. Tell me, with all of your shop classes, when you got into printing did you make a fake ID?" I nodded and handed it to him. He compared it to my North Dakota driver's license. It was an almost exact copy. "According to this it says you're nineteen why didn't you go for twenty-one?"

I laughed and said "Who would believe that I was twenty-one?" Shaking my baby face and wiggling my eyes.

He followed up, "Then why bother to make the ID at all Tre?"

I told him, "I wanted to get into the over eighteen dance clubs, buy porn..." my voice dropped to a hush, "or maybe sneak into the adult bookstore in Minot."

"So, why haven't you used it?" I dropped my eyes and blushed again. "There's that rod again. Tre, you have to start living your life. Not the life that your father wants you to live. You have to find out who YOU are. Your life can be a series of great adventures, if you just reach out and grab them."

Four days later Granddad, my hero, died. Mr. Barton, Shehék, and my trainees, accompanied me to the funeral. They were there to protect me from my father. I learned family is not just made by blood. Sometimes it's made of stronger stuff, sometimes it's made of steel.

After Granddad's funeral the guys walked me back to my truck. Mike asked if I needed someone to drive, if I'd be okay. For the first time in my life, I knew I was going to be fine. I climbed into my truck. I was on a quest. I had to drive to Minot... 100 miles away.

I parked in the lot and walked straight up to the closest adult bookstore. I presented my fake ID, bought my tokens, and at seventeen years and fifty weeks, I watched my very first gay porno. As the image flooded the screen, I smiled thinking of Granddad and the truckers. I felt fearless and ten feet tall.

When I came out I saw Michael leaning against my truck. "Mike, why did you follow me all the way out here?"

"Tre, we promised to keep you safe. I was about ready to go in and see how you were doing. What say we go get something to eat?" I nodded yes. "So did you have fun?" I dropped my head, blushed and drew my bottom lip between my teeth.

"I just watched the movie Mike. A couple of skeezy old guys propositioned me on my way to the booth." Mike laughed. "Mike, what does it mean when a guy sticks his finger through a hole in the booth wall?" Oh the education I received on the way to the diner.

We walked up the road to a 50s style Diner. That sounds more cool than it actually is. Just about every single town in North Dakota has a 50s Style Diner and a Dairy Queen. We sat and ordered. Our waiter was quite the cute stud. He was from the UK touring the United States and some great journey of his own. "And you came to North Dakota?" I shouted. We chatted a bit while we waited for our food, he was great.

We were waiting for our food and sipping our drinks when Mike started asking questions. "So what's the story between you and Shehék? Why does he call you Óoxa (Mike of course butchered the pronunciation) or Fox? Some of the guys are getting confused by the pet name 'Fox' thinking maybe you guys are fuck buddies."

I first responded with a loud, "Oh, iiiick!" Then I laughed, "Both my father's mother and my mother were Mandan. Shehék is my first cousin. My uncle Nels and I would often come out to the reservation to help out on special construction projects. It would piss my father off but he and I didn't care, it was always for a good cause or family.

During one build a small child was playing on the site. He got pinned under a pile of rebar. Nels was too heavy to climb the pile, I was not. I belted myself to a staked safety line so Nels could pull me off the pile, if needed. I climbed the pile before anyone could stop me. I used Nels' equipment and cut away the bundles.

Each bundle that was cut, I was thrown up into the air a couple feet, only to regain my footing and continue the work. Each time the pile would pop, debris would fly from the pile. A molten rebar fragment even flew through the inside of my shirt, missing my skin and embedding itself in the wood awning above.

I was urged off the pile by the men, only to waive them away. I wasn't going to give up, even if I was injured. I could see with each bundle I cut, the grip on the boy would loosen, until at last he could be pulled free.

After the rescue my face was black with soot. The elders spoke of my use of the torch to save the boy, and the fact that I did not have a tribal name. There was some debate on what to call me. No name or legend seemed to fit. One of the children pointed to the red fox that had been following me all day, watching me.

The mother of the trapped child was Lakota. She and her son hugged me thanking me for my courage and help. Then she told us the Lakota tale of the To-ka-la.

The Kit Fox warriors (Tokala), were the bravest warriors. Before battle they made themselves sacred, and painted their faces black. Then they would say to one another, that it would be a good day for a man to give his life. They wore sashes and during battle, they would stake the sashes to the ground as a sign that they would fight on that spot until victory or death.

In the culture of several other nations it's the fox who brought fire down to the people. My Uncle and Mandan family agreed it fit, but thought the name should be Mandan. From then on, my tribal name was Óoxa, red fox."

Among other Indian nations the fox and coyote are considered tricksters. Among the Mandan, they are sought for their wisdom and cunning. Have you ever seen a fox or coyote hunt? If their prey somehow eludes them, they will think about how to capture it. They rarely give up."

Mike told me of his upbringing in New Orleans, and the spirit and color of the city. He told me of its dual nature. Fun and danger all wrapped up in a vibrant multicultural package. Mike picked up the tab. I made sure to palm the waiter a $25 tip and a note "Gary D, Thank you so very much for taking care of us and sharing your story."

Mike followed me all the way back to the site and we said goodbye. He hugged me for a long time, then kissed my forehead wishing he could wave away the pain of my grandfather's passing. That was an impossible dream, but a nice gesture. I could see the deputy out on the highway. Two more weeks and they couldn't touch me.

* * * *

A couple days later Uncle Nels came out to the drill site. He asked me to stay away from town. "The lawyers told your Dad that Senior's will had been sealed. All company expenditures had to be approved by the executor. Accounts were frozen until the reading of the will, and would not be opened until August 10th."

The fact was not lost on dad that it was my birthday. The estate paid all of the bills to the nursing home, hospital, and covered the funeral expenses... and of course the taxes. "Tre, Junior is pissed, I don't want him taking it out on you. If you have to come to town bring a couple guys with you."

The next day, the man I had always known as Uncle Bert, Granddad's oldest friend, now the executor of his will, came out to the site and invited me to the reading. I told him, "I am afraid of being in the same room as my father. Maybe I should just keep my distance."

He held my cheek and asked "Lil Mag, why are you afraid of him?" I showed him the pictures of my bruises. The bruises the sheriff didn't want to investigate for fear of irritating the powerful man. "You bring whoever you need to feel safe, but you need to be there." I promised I would try.

I asked Chris if he could go with me. He smiled and rub the back of my neck. "Of course buddy." I had given him my notice after my last visit with Senior. Granddad was right, I needed to start living my life. It was time to stop dreaming and start doing.

I had enough money for gas and food that I could spend a good six months on the road. I thought about driving South for the winter. It'd be kind of cool to be warm in December.

* * * *

We gathered to hear my grandfather's will and final words. Nels was between father and I. Chris, Shehék, Mike and Charlie, were told to stay quiet, that they had no standing.

"To my youngest son Nels Curtis Haugen: I leave controlling interest in the company I started. Son it is my hope that you disband the monstrosity, only keep what you're capable of running, do what makes you happy. Sell off the rest, and start your own life. You need to stop living in your older brother shadow. If you choose to keep my company, remake it in your image.

To my son Magnus Øystein Haugen Junior: I leave my abject disappointment. I tried to show you love. What you learned was nothing but a profit sheet. You failed maintaining the heart of the business. Just as you failed at maintaining your family. You failed at being a son, a husband, and a father.

It is sad that I knew and loved your son deeper than you ever will. I hope that changes someday. The law says I must leave you something. So I leave you the first dollar that I earned. It's hanging in a frame above the register. In addition you may keep the company house and vehicle that I have allowed you to use.

To my grandson Magnus Øystein Haugen the Third: I have set up a trust fund for you. I also leave to you the Indian motorcycle, that brought me home. The executor of my will has control of the trust, until the time of your twenty first birthday. Under no circumstances is Magnus Øystein Haugen Junior to have any access to, or control over this fund.

Tre, take some time and discover yourself. Try not to be so uptight. Find your passion. Stop being a doormat. It is my hope that you use it to learn who you are. Live your life with courage. Make some mistakes for once.

It would please my heart no end for you to just blow the entire fund. I know that's not you, that's me. Tre, live your life fearlessly, like the Viking and Mandan warriors from which you come. When you find yourself, stake your ground and fight for what is yours. Know this, you are worthy to bear my name, and that I am so proud of you."

Dad started to cross the room with his clenched fists in my direction. Chris, Shehék, Mike, and Charlie swept in and blocked his path. Dad blanched and backed down, Nels smiled saying, "Junior, you are fired. I'll have one of the guys clear out your office." The executor went on at some length to the other absent grandchildren. Mostly they got the little trinkets that hadn't been sold.

When the reading was done Dad claimed he was going to vacate the will. Based on his father's diminished mental capacity. Both the attorney and the executor said good luck. He gestured menacingly at me. Then I said what would be the last words I would say to Dad, "Junior, Faen ta deg!" (May the devil take you!) He shook his fist in my direction and stomped out of the office.

Nels crossed the room and hugged me, "What are your plans Tre?"

"I owe Mr. Barton and the guys another week on my two week notice. Then I am going to hit the road for a while. Maybe for a long while. I want to see some of the things that Granddad saw. I need to find something more than just occasional visits to Minnie and Paul (Minneapolis and St. Paul a common family vacation spots). Granddad thought I needed to find me, I think I need to find something bigger."

He hugged me and wished me the best, "I'll bring Pop's Indian to you. That way you don't have to cross paths with your father. Just promise to send me a postcard every so often. I should have been a better uncle. I'll try to be a better man, the man I should have been." I promised to send him the postcards.

Uncle Bert pulled me aside saying, "Tre, more than anything Senior and I wanted to make sure your dreams come true. I want you to remember this, when Senior came back from his two-year road trip he had a cool hippie chick traveling with him named Night Wind. You knew her as Grandma."

"Thanks Uncle Bert." The lawyer presented me with Granddad's diary.

He said, "There's a note to you on the inside of the front cover." When I read the diary I found out uncle Bert was not just Granddad's friend. They had been lovers for many years.

The rest of the guys headed back to the site. Mike, requested permission to stay with me, just in case anything happened. Burt took me over to the bank. I was presented a debit card from which I could access a certain amount of money a month. I looked at my allowance in shock, I was free...

-Continued.