Ted's release day

Ted was released at a little after 10 a.m. on Friday the 13th. He immediately went to the local sheriff’s office to register as a convicted felon. Afterward, Ted celebrated at a local restaurant with his mother, stepfather, father, and father’s girlfriend.

Ted’s mom did finally manage to clean out his room (which had been piled high with boxes and used for storage for the last two years). He received a welcome home present of an inflatable video-gaming chair which also converted to a recliner, lounger and bed.

Ted next went to the mall with his father on his first day out and bought some sunglasses and a new ballcap with part of his paycheck. He spent the Friday and Saturday at a new friend’s house that he met on the bus going to and from his job.

Photos (click to enlarge): Finally released from the Largo Residential Reentry Center, registering at the Pinellas County Sheriff's Office, Ted smiling while eating lunch with his family, Ted's cleaned-out room, Ted's dog Cocoa watches for him out the window, welcome-home balloons, three photos of the LoungAir.

Ted's home visit

Ted had his first (and last) home visit on Saturday, August 7, 2010 from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Minus the transportation time, he was able to spend three hours at home.


The following video shows Ted greeting his dog Cocoa, his stepfather Doug and his grandmother Joyce, who is 100% disabled.


Ted watched the movie 2012 with his family and ate pizza and ice cream cake before having to return to the work release center.


Ted will not get another home visit as he is scheduled to be released this coming Friday the 13th. Ted says he will not go out of the house on that day (because of the date!)

Visitation at Largo Residential Re-entry Center

Visitation at the Largo Residential Release Center takes place on weekends from 9 a.m. until 3 p.m. Just like at the regular prisons, visitors must successfully pass a background check.

Visitors must bring a picture ID. They can bring up to $50 to purchase food, car keys, decks of cards, cigarettes and a lighter. Cell phones are not permitted and purses and other items must be left in cars. Both visitors and the residents have a metal detecting wand run over them. They are not patted down like at the prisons. Visitors with children are allowed to also bring in diaper bags, bottles and toys.

Visitors park in an adjoining fenced-in, wood chip-covered parking lot. When it rains, visitors must wade through water (with floating wood chips) that is often ankle deep. If it rains hard, the water comes up to the knees.

Visitors meet with their loved ones in an L-shaped, high-walled outdoor courtyard. During the summer, the temperature reached 98 degrees and upward. Up until last week, there were three awnings that shaded approximately six round tables. The rest of the tables were in the sun. Last weekend, they added three more awnings. A number of tables remain in the sun.

When it rains, visitors are allowed to sit inside the air-conditioned cafeteria after the Center's residents have eaten lunch. Before the summer heat became unbearable, elderly relatives visited, but they haven’t been seen for awhile - undoubtably from the intense heat. There are approximately 15 round tables and three picnic tables crowded into the visitation area. Most of the tables are placed on crushed white shells. A concrete-floored section contains a small smoking area, two water fountains and a Coke machine. Two security cameras are mounted on the sides of the adjoining building.

Ted's mom and dad used to stay and visit with him at the Center for three hours or more, but the extreme temperature now makes it impossible to stay for more than an hour and a half at the most.

After 1:30 p.m., the last residents have finished eating lunch and the cafeteria is opened for visitors to purchase food. The food is actually very good and usually baked chicken, two types of pizza, and hamburgers are offered with sides of French fries, vegetables and potatoes. Sometimes they have other specialty items such as steak or Mexican dishes. Desserts consist of gourmet pieces of banana cream cheesecake, chocolate cream cake and baked cookies. The food is quite inexpensive and an entire meal can be purchased for $3.50. Bottled and can drinks are sold, as well as packaged ice cream. A long counter holds microwaves and free condiments such as ketchup, salt and pepper. (Prison inmates have to purchase condiments in small packets.) Some of the residents work permanently in the food preparation and service area instead of holding outside jobs.

The visitor line to purchase food is usually quite long. Once visitors have bought their food, they must proceed outdoors to eat in the stifling heat - unless it rains. Then they can stay inside the cafeteria (air conditioning!) to eat at long tables. A rec room adjoins the cafeteria and residents can relax on couches to watch the selected DVD-of-the-day or sit at one of four square tables to play games. Supervisors can oversee both the cafeteria and rec room through two glass-windowed observation rooms.

Even so, cell phones have been smuggled into LRRC. Two weeks ago, a resident was taken out in shackles during visitation in full view of the visitors. He had smuggled a cell phone into the facility and was being escorted back to prison.

Ted’s classification officer initially received his home visit paperwork on June 1st. (The paperwork was mailed out on May 24th.) Today he was approved to get a home visit to his mother’s house, but not his father’s. A reason for denying his father wasn’t provided. Ted will not be able to come home this weekend, as he must submit a form a week in advance once the paperwork has been approved by the classification officer, warden and the release center. It took 51 days for the home visit paperwork to be approved by all three. (From the time the paperwork was mailed until the home visit will be 67 days.)

Ted will get his first home visit less than two weeks before his release on August 13th. The first home visit is four hours, the second home visit is six hours and additional home visits are eight hours. Home visits are either on Saturday or Sunday and begin at 10 a.m. The family member must have a land line (not cell phone) so that the facility supervisors can call to check to see if the LRRC residents are indeed at home and haven't gone anywhere else.

I'm sorry

There are a lot of people I’ve hurt that I may never see again, so this is for you.

I’ve hurt too many people to list. Heck, I can’t even remember them all. That’s sad but true.

Everyone that ever knew me I’ve hurt at some point. I’ve stolen from family and friends. I’ve sold drugs that could kill you to my friends and people I barely knew – not even considering the consequences. I was in two high-speed police chases for stupid reasons and I never once thought of the people I could have killed if I hit another car. Also, I’ve broken into houses only out of pure greed. There’s so much more I could mention, but that’s not really important. I just feel guilty about so much. I was reckless – never caring about anybody but myself. The thing that kills me the most is how I’ve disappointed my parents over and over just to go right back out to do the same things.

Well to all those who I’ve hurt, I’m truly and sincerely sorry. I hate myself for the things I’ve done. I understand if you don’t forgive me, but I at least want you to know how I feel.

Hard Times

They call it “Hard Times”. Well it’s true I guess. Being incarcerated gets depressing. I’d rather be in any other situation than this. Well almost. There’re those Korean labor camps I heard about. That would suck way more than this.

Actually this is one of the easiest camps I’ve ever been to. I haven’t seen nearly as many fights at this camp as I’ve seen elsewhere. Although it’s strict, that’s probably why.

All in all, though, it still gets depressing. Visitation is the worst. Sure you get to see your family, but it always come to an abrupt end and you’re forced to say good-bye. Whenever you give your family the last hug, you never want to let go. Then finally you let go and think about how nice it would’ve been if you could’ve gone home with them. To me that’s “Hard Times.” It’s not something I would wish on my worst enemies.

Work release

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I’ve been approved for work release [camp]. Now that I’m approved, I can’t wait. Every week I hope they’ll come and get me so I can go back to my county and be near my family.

It’s so hard being far away from the ones that love me. Plus, once I get to work release, I can get a job and start making money for when I’m released. That will help so much, considering I have nothing when I get out and I have to start over from scratch.

I can use the money to pay off my fines ($2,000) so I can get my driver’s license back and put some of it toward a cheap car. Even if I don’t make enough money at work release for a car, it’s all right. The little bit of money I do make can still make all the difference.

At a work release camp, inmates leave the camp and work at a regular job for eight hours, returning to the camp after work. I’ve heard that 45% of their pay goes toward the cost of housing and food, and if they owe restitution (which Ted does), 10% of their paycheck goes toward paying that off.

I did talk to Ted tonight. He saw a dentist. In addition to the wisdom tooth pain, he has a huge hole in another tooth and the nerve is exposed. He is given Ibuprofen (500 mg) at 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. It doesn’t help, he says. He mentioned he would see a dentist to fix the hole on Tuesday hopefully.

Darren

A man named Darren read the Teen in Jail blog and left a comment under the blog entry titled "Oh grow up" on January 22nd. He wrote:

"A friend sent me this link, my name is Darren 45, I was just like Ted. I was locked up at 12 and did not stop until I was 40. But like you my family stuck by me for all those 24 years of lockup. It was a long haul. But in the end I found my voice, myself and life. I began to write inside and now am a very accomplished poet. I have a five year old son and now a daughter that is going to come and live with me. I have divested parole long ago. And am going to school. Doing the right thing all the time has its rewards, not the huge payoff of an armed robbery or drug deal, but I find that when something good does transpire however small, like a green light, or getting the bills paid, these are rewards that make me smile, I still hope for success as a writer, or to be rich, but now common sense rules that. I love that stories like Teds are getting out there, so many people think building more prisons is the answer. What I do think is that they need more education, and people like Ted or I involved to help the kids slipping between the cracks, like Ted or I. Just recently here a play was put on by a bunch of cons. And I go read my poetry out loud. Tell Ted that life is beautiful, that living among sane people is much better, most of all tell him to like himself. I wish my mom would have had the same devotion. Ted is lucky to have his mom. I hope he know this. Darren"

I asked Darren to email me some poems and I would post one. He wrote back:

"I sent a few that were about being locked up, and ones about the only friends I ever made that are never leaving that place, I sent some that have been written since I have been out. A person can change, and become happy with who he is. The prison enrollment seems to be the thing for so many young, I fight for my son Aiden's future now. Darren"

Here is his poem:

From my little hole on this planet,
I can’t see just where I am
There is a world out there.
I can still hear its calls,
Just can’t envision it anymore.
Lost in this bottomless pit,
I breathe the same air as the people out there.
But like some delirious dog, I am kept at bay.
An electric fence keeps me inside,
A side of society’s face they must hide.
Only when I lay my head down at night
Do I leave this darkness behind.
I then wake here again.
Oh my God, back in the land of the damned.
I wish I could find a bridge to nowhere
Because with all my heart and soul I would be there.
But I am locked in this penitentiary
A madman’s sanctuary
Faced daily with anguish
And myself made slavery.
I only that hope one day
The screams in my head will take over.
Then the inescapable chore of living here
I'd no longer have to fear.

Photos: Darren and his son Aiden

My grandma and I

When I was six years old, my mom, dad and I moved from Connecticut to Florida to live with my grandma. My grandma had M.S., but she could get around in her electric scooter.

After my parents got divorced, I had to start helping my grandma out with just about everything. I went to the store for her, cleaned for her, walked her dog, mowed the yard every now and then, etc… I could go on forever.

My mom and I continued to live with my grandma because she needed so much help and it wouldn’t have been right to make her live alone.

As the years passed, her M.S. got worse – to the point where she couldn’t get out of her bed at all. It was hard on me and my mom because she could no longer get up to do the things that she needed to do like eat. Even though she hired a home health aide to come in for a few hours each day, I had to help her the rest of the time.

It’s not that I don’t love my grandmother, but it was hard on me because she needed so much. I know she can’t help her condition and I regret holding it against her.

Now as I sit in prison, I think about when I helped her and how I should’ve done more. When I’m released, I’m going to move back in with her and show her how I’ve really changed.

Black sheep?

I have an aunt up north. If you ever met her, she would seem like a really nice person and she probably believes that she is. She keeps telling my mom and the rest of her family all these stories about how all my other cousins are doing so well and how they’ve accomplished so much. Well that’s all great, but she refuses to mention me and how I’m trying to help others in my same position.

I really never thought anything of it until recently when my mom talked to relatives she hasn’t seen in awhile. As it turns out, my aunt won’t talk about me because I'm a family embarrassment and she thinks my mom is glorifying me. Maybe in a sense she is, but why not? If I can use my past to better my future and also help others as well, what’s wrong with that? I know the things I’ve done are wrong, but when did I ever brag about my past? When has my mom every glorified the things I’ve done? She only glorifies the things I’m doing to better myself. I think that people who have been where I’ve been are in the best position to help those that need it the most.

If somebody sees any problem with that, please tell me. I suppose it's impossible not to step on some toes at times, especially people who have never met me. It just makes me sad when a relative doesn't support me. It shows me how lucky I am to have the support of those close to me and who haven't given up on me.

Really she can try to ignore me all she wants, but it doesn’t change a thing.

Why I did what I did

People always want to know why I did some of the things I did and to be honest, I’m not sure I can fully answer that. The best answer I can come up with is because I could.

Once I turned 13, my mom started traveling a lot because of her job, so she wasn’t around much to know what I was really doing. That’s about the same time I joined a gang and started doing drugs. It’s not her fault I started getting into trouble. It was all mine and I don’t blame anybody but myself.

I always knew right from wrong, but I figured that if I just didn’t get caught, I would be alright. Of course it didn’t turn out to be okay, but this is obviously where God wants me to be and to be honest, I think I should be here too. I needed something to stop what I was doing before I killed somebody or myself.

I really don’t think anything would have stopped me from doing the things I did. I liked that lifestyle I was living too much. Now as I think back, though, I realize I was so stupid. I’m just so surprised I didn’t get caught a long time ago. I only got caught doing petty stuff, but for some reason, I always got away with the more serious stuff.

So yes, I deserve to be here, I blame nobody buy myself, and I’m learning from my mistakes.

And who knows? Maybe I can help some people along the way.

The head in the head

Even with Ted gone for 15 months, he still causes an occasional stir around the house!

Ted was arrested on October 30, 2008 (after just getting out of jail three days earlier from a four-month stay at the same jail). Ted’s stepfather, Doug, moved in on December 15, 2008.

Recently Doug noticed the fence in the backyard behind our shed was leaning outward due to a lot of junk pressing against it. He began to clean things out to keep the fence from falling down, one such object being an old toilet.

Doug dragged the toilet toward him and suddenly jumped back in utter horror. He spotted the skull of a human head jutting out of the bowl!

“Oh no!” he thought to himself. “Don’t tell me Ted and his friends off’ed somebody.” He began to contemplate all the horrific ramifications to come.

Using a long-handled hoe to cautiously pull the toilet into greater view, Doug breathed a sigh of relief and then laughed. Turns out the scalp was part of a plastic monster’s head that Ted and I rigged up a couple of years ago for a Halloween haunted house prop.

Luckily Doug still hasn’t encountered the accompanying fake body limbs of the monster stuffed in a bag in the shed. Unless he reads this blog, I can’t wait until the day he flips out again when he comes across that bag.

You've got to want to change

I’m trying harder than I ever have before to change my life because prison is not a place I ever want to return to. I actually want to do something with my life, but something that I noticed (and it’s a sad truth) is that a lot of people that I’m locked up with don’t seem like they want to change their lives. They write letters to their families saying they’re sorry, they’ll do better, and right after they’re done writing the letter, they’re talking about selling dope or robbing people. I just don’t understand how people in prison can plan to do stuff or talk about doing stuff that will put them right back in here.

I’m willing to do anything to not come back. I disappointed my family too many times and I don’t ever want to see that look on their faces again.

Why don’t other people feel this way? It seems like they just don’t care. They’re just gonna do what they want – no matter what anyone else says. It’s sad that they won’t ever change. I wish I could do something, but I’m helpless. They have to want to change and like I said before, it seems like they don’t want to.

A day to remember with my dad

Today is a day I’ll remember forever. Today is the first time in 15 months that I saw my dad in person.

For the last month, all I’ve been looking forward to is getting a visit from him and when he finally walked into the visitation room today, I was filled with so much excitement.

One thing that really hurt me though – I noticed that since the last time I saw my dad, he looked like he got older and it really made me realize how much I’m really missing while I’m here in prison. Other than that though, I had a great visit.

For some reason, I’m always really quiet around him, but I hope he knows that I was really happy to see him. He always has the corniest jokes that I can’t help but laugh at. Even when he’s not telling jokes, he has this funny mannerism about him.

I really love spending time with him. I just wish I knew how to tell him. Even though I can’t express my feelings like I want to, I still had a great time today. We played cards, ate food and talked about the old times when I was younger.

I just can’t wait until the next time he comes to see me. Better yet, I can’t wait ‘til I get out so I can spend time with him without looking at razor wire fences and correctional officers watching us at all times.

Ted’s dad, Bill Braden, visited him occasionally in the county jail from October 31, 2008 until September 8, 2009, but the visitations were over a video monitor telephone. Inmates at the jail were in a separate building from visitors. It makes all the difference in the world to kiss and hug your child for the first time in over a year. See a video of Teddy with his daddy in 1992 here.

Photo: Ted Braden and Bill Braden on January 3, 2009 in the visitation room at Lancaster work camp. Click photo to enlarge.

An uncertain future

Now that 2010 is here and with all the holidays coming and going, my head is a mess.

Sometimes for weeks at a time I’m excited and happy my time is flying by, but out of nowhere, it’s like I hit a brick wall and fall into a depression that seems like it will never end. Also at times, I’m so sure about what I want to do when I get out and then the next day, I have no idea. I can’t keep my thoughts and emotions straight. It kills me to think that I could very easily spend the rest of my life going to and from prison without even trying.

I’m reminded daily of the odds stacked against me - sometimes that’s what keeps me working toward a better future, but other times it just makes me want to give up. It’s so easy to give up. I could tell you about it just as much as the next guy because I’ve done it all my life. I gave up school, good friends, and even my family at times. I just can’t seem to hold on.

I hate to admit this, but from time to time, I can’t help but cry, knowing I might never be able to stop being who I was. I want nothing more than to live a normal life. I don’t care if I’m dirt poor, working at a minimum wage job – just as long as I can say I’m trying my best. That’s all I want, but everything just seems so hard. Especially being a convicted felon. That doesn’t help me at all. It only makes things 10 times worse.

I hate thinking like this, but sometimes I can’t help it. Let’s face it – everything I worry about is a reality. I’ve got a lot of things I have to face when I get out. It’s overwhelming at times.

All I can do for now though is deal with my current situation and then worry about everything else when it comes. When I finally get out, I’ll just have to deal with everything one thing at a time, not all at once, or I’ll be crushed under all the pressure. I know it.

I hate to ask for help, but I know I won’t make it without it.

Heartfelt pain

I love getting visits from my family and it’s always the highlight of my week. For me the six hours of visit is like heaven, but for some it’s like a dream that you don’t ever want to end.

While I visit with Mom or Dad, I look around and can’t help but notice people that very rarely get visits are spending those very precious six hours or less with their kids. What gets me is a lot of these guys that have kids are younger than me and I’m only 20. I don’t know what I’d do if I had a kid so young.

What’s even worse is having a kid so young and then being sent away to prison. I thought I had it bad.

My heart goes out to these people that can’t be with their kids – especially during the holidays. I can’t even imagine the pain they feel. Just imagine how hard it is for the kid’s mother, having to support their baby by themselves in this economy while the father is in prison.

Most of these guys that have kids will never even get a visit. I’ve heard so many stories about how they can’t even get their kid’s mother to even write them, let alone come to visit. I don’t know how they deal with the pain. I couldn’t do it and hopefully I’ll never have to.

Christmas 1993

New blog entries from Ted will be posted starting tomorrow.

This Christmas video is a year later when Teddy was 4½. His great-grandmother had just died two and a half weeks earlier on December 8th. He had been very close to her. Consequently, that particular Christmas was not a very happy one.

What I miss the most

Being incarcerated makes a person realize all the things they took for granted on the outside.

I miss some of the littlest things – like being able to use the bathroom without other people in the room or being able to get up whenever I want and go to the refrigerator. I also miss just sitting in the house on a rainy day playing cards or a board game with my family.

Really what I miss the most is not having someone tell me when to eat, sleep and go outside.

Even though I miss being out of prison, I thank God that I only have nine months left. There’s a lot of people in her that won’t ever be seeing the streets again.

So everything that I miss on the outside will still be there waiting for me.

To my family: “I’ll be home soon.”

The family foundation cracks

In early 1993, my husband and I moved with Teddy to a nice apartment three miles away from my grandparents’ house. We still were at their house for several hours every day.

The apartment had gorgeous views – a beautiful mountain out the front and green woods with a gentle stream out the sliding glass door in back.

That’s where I received that phone call from my mother in April 1993 – “I think your father shot himself.” And that’s where I received a similar phone call seven months later. My grandfather called. I was in the bathtub at the time and didn’t answer the phone the first time. A few minutes later, the phone rang again. I got out of the tub to answer. “I think your grandmother had a heart attack,” he told me.

I threw my clothes on, and we all ran out to the car. Within minutes, we arrived at the house. An ambulance was parked outside. Teddy watched as the EMTs frantically work on his beloved great-grandmother. I felt like a knife had been driven into my chest.

My grandparents were almost always with Teddy. Just like they did with me when I was small, they took naps with him, watched TV with him. Teddy helped his Papa in his workshop. He sat in my grandmother’s lap while she cooked and helped her chop vegetables. He called her Ba.

My grandmother was my best friend – the person I was closest to in the whole world. She was the cornerstone of all of our lives.

Her death devastated all of us. And Teddy was four.

Photos: Ba, Papa with Teddy, Papa and Ba

Next: A family crisis

A terrible year

I called the CFRC in Orlando today. They said Ted will be definitely be moved to another facility. They could not tell me when or where, as it was confidential.

No visitations are allowed at the CFRC. A visitation form has to be filled out for each prison. It takes about three weeks for each prison to process the completed application. Although I submitted visitation forms to Brevard C.I., I will have to start the process all over again when he reaches his new destination.

Supposedly, he was able to take my letters, his books that I sent him, paper, envelopes and stamps with him to his new cell. The officer told me they did not go into property. Yet, I’m still waiting on a letter from Ted. A phone call would be even better.
1993 was not a good year. Two horribly traumatic things happened.

One day, I received a phone call from my mother in Florida. “I think your father shot himself,” she said. What she said did not compute. My step-father had always been a deacon or elder in a church. Very religious. Very strict. That day is a bit of a blur, but my family ended up boarding a plane for Florida – not knowing if my step-father was alive or dead.

My mother and step-father had always been teachers. As I mentioned before, they eventually started their own small Christian school in CT. But when my step-father finished his PhD in 1984, he accepted a job in Clearwater, FL as the head of the Education department at a Christian college. It was his dream job.

In 1985, my mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Two years later, she walked with a cane at my wedding.

Around 1990, a new President took over at the college. He got rid of a number of established professors to bring in his own associates from Bob Jones University. My step-father was one of the ones let go, even though he had graduated from Bob Jones University as well.

The economy back then was similar to today’s economy. My step-father could not find a job – he was over-qualified. They lived on credit cards for a year or so. My step-father eventually bought a truck – similar to a Snap-On Tool truck – and sold auto parts to repair shops and gas stations around Tampa Bay.

Ironically, he also had a part-time job teaching a GED class at the Pinellas County Jail – where Teddy would end up 16 years later.

My step-father was not a businessman. He found himself in debt to the IRS. My mother was sick and getting worse. He had suffered from depression for 25 years and took medication for it. A doctor in Clearwater refilled his medicine by phone – without seeing him in person at all. It was later discovered that my step-father was taking over five times the recommended amount of medication a person should take.

By 1993, my mother’s MS had progressed to the point where to had to ride an electric scooter around the house. She was able to get out of bed, into the scooter and into an armchair. They both went to church three times a week – and ate out with a large group of friends after church every Sunday.

On April 29th, 1993, my step-father went into his work truck parked in front of the house, wrote five long suicide letters and shot himself in the head. He died instantly.

My mother heard something, rode her scooter outside, but was unable to get into the truck to see if he was alright. A neighbor found him.

My husband and I flew to Florida with 3-year-old Teddy to arrange the funeral and put his affairs in order. The funeral was very traumatic. Teddy stayed with his paternal grandmother. I sat in the front row and cried so hard as I stared at my step-father’s face – at the huge patched-up hole.

We stayed in Florida for several weeks. Interestingly enough, the church community fell away. Sure, a few church friends and a small number of professors from the Christian college attended the funeral, but only one or two so-called close friends visited my mother a couple of times afterward – and then disappeared entirely. Only one elderly woman remained in contact throughout the years.

This affected my views on organized religion, although I never lost my faith in God. Ted said it best – “The bad times show you who your good friends are.”

My mother did end up winning a medical malpractice suit against the doctor.

Next: Ted witnesses another traumatic event
Photo: My step-father, Dr. Walter Hatten, in front of his truck

More family history

It seems my entire day revolves around waiting for the mail to arrive to see if a letter has come from Ted. Hopefully one will come today. I feel like I’ve aged 10 years in the last two months.

Ted’s father, Bill, and I got married in Florida in July 1987. Six months later, we went to Connecticut to live with my maternal grandparents when my 39-year-old aunt (who was blind and 90% deaf) died of a heart attack. My grandfather had built their large house himself in a well-to-do neighborhood in Bloomfield.

Ted was born in Hartford Hospital in June 1989. From day one, Ted was showered with love and attention. Someone was always holding him.

A few weeks after he was born, the doctor discovered he was allergic to milk. He spit up everything he ate. He had basically been starving. Once he was switched to soy formula he was fine.

Ted loved toy cars. He would sit in his high chair for hours pushing Matchbox cars back and forth, making brrrmmm, brrmmm noises.

When he was two, we bought him his first electric car, a small red convertible. He also had a Little Tikes plastic pedal car and a pedal bulldozer. He would zoom all over the large yard as fast as he could go. He also sat in my grandfather’s lap when he mowed the lawn on a riding lawnmower and drove with him in a golf cart.

My grandparents both had large electric scooters. We would load both of them into a van and go to the local mall to sometimes eat at the food court. My grandmother rode her scooter at top speed, practically mowing down mall visitors in her path. Ted, of course, was perched on her lap. My grandfather followed behind at a more leisurely pace, with Bill and I walking behind. I’m sure this is where Ted got his love of fast cars.

Ted also constantly had a pacifier in his mouth. He wouldn’t give it up and used one until he was four years old.

I can’t help but wonder if all of the comforting contributed to him looking for replacements in alcohol and drugs as he got older.

Photos: Ted in his electric and pedal cars.

Next: Another family tragedy