What makes Dave be Dave?
(Not me. AnotherDave or JustDave, but never 'The Dave' because that's me.)

For 29 years, I've been trying to figure out why this guy, let's call him Dave, because that's his name and I hate to not give credit where credit is due, but it seems like he can't let go of whatever phantom mission against me he thinks he's on. The truth is, he knows me. Better than most people do. He's seen me sober, stoned, drunk, broken, and real. I'm pretty sure I've told him things I don't even remember telling him. Hell, he probably knows stuff about me that I forgot I ever lived through.

So why is he still coming after me?

He knows I'm not some monster. He knows I'm not the kind of dude who would hurt a person, or an animal, or even step on a bug unless I had to. He knows that I've never intentionally harmed anyone in my life, and more than that, he knows I couldn't. It's not in me. I couldn't fake cruelty even if I tried. Of course I can talk a good game online, I think we are all guilty of that, but it doesn't take away the reality of who I, you, and we all are in real life.

And yet... here he is. Still on this mission to paint me as the exact opposite.

And that is when it hit me:

This isn't about logic. It's about emotion. And it's not about justice. It's about personal pain.

He's not trying to prove something to the world. He's trying to prove something to himself and maybe even to me. Whatever happened between us, whatever thing I did or didn't do, must have hurt him in some way that I don't understand. I honestly don't know what that was. But it's the only thing that makes sense now.

Because if he really knows me, and he should, and still chooses to attack me, then it's not about truth anymore. It's about satisfaction. It's about flipping the script so that I become the villain in a story he's writing to comfort himself. And maybe he thinks that if enough people believe it, it becomes true.

***SPOILER ALERT***

It doesn't.

***END SPOILER ALERT***

But what's even harder to understand is this:
He helped build it.

Not just the websites, or the ideas, or the tools but the entire framework. He knew what I was building. He saw where it was going. And he chose to contribute. He gave me code. He gave me direction. He gave me support. Not once did he raise a flag. Not once did he say:

"Hey man, maybe think this through."

He was right there with me. And then, he wasn't. He stepped back. He watched it unfold, and at some point decided to rewrite the story. Suddenly, I was the problem. The same system he helped construct? Now it's a reason to condemn me.

That's what makes all of this so hard to process.

Because even if he forgot his part in it, or is pretending to, I remember. And I'm not crazy.
I didn't hallucinate the support. I didn't imagine the code. I didn't dream up whatever mission he's on. And most importantly... I never took it outside. Everything that ever happened stayed within the four walls of my own space. No lines were crossed. No harm was done. No one was ever in danger. And he knows that. I'm not a threat now nor have I ever been.

So I keep asking myself 'why is he doing this'?

I think it's because if he admits what he really knows, he'd have to admit his part in all of it. And maybe he can't handle that. Maybe this whole crusade against me is just a desperate attempt to absolve himself of some kind of guilt.

I mean it would certainly be much easier to label me the problem than admit he helped build the system.
Because if the world sees me as evil, he gets to feel like the hero, the one who tried to stop me. Instead of of who he really is... the co-architect.

But here's what matters:

I know who I am. I know what I did and what I didn't do. And... I know that the truth doesn't need to scream. It doesn't need a megaphone. No, It just waits. It waits because eventually, when the noise dies down, and it will, I'll make sure of it, but the truth is still alive, I'm still standing and I'm still fighting.

Judas Priest – Blood Red Skies (YouTube)

I am still thinking of a title for this one.
(Shhh! Be quiet please. I'm thinking. Thank you.)

People don't get to know you anymore. Not really. The world's too damn fast for that. Everyone's scrolling through life like it's a slot machine, pulling the lever and waiting for the next shiny distraction. Nobody slows down long enough to see who you actually are. They don't want a person - they want a headline.

One rumor, one bad joke, one off-hand comment - and you're gone. Doesn't matter what you meant, doesn't matter what's true, doesn't matter what your whole life's been. Somebody grabs it, twists it, posts it, and suddenly you're branded for life. You don't even get the courtesy of being wrong in private anymore. Every stumble is public, permanent, and searchable.

We live in a time when screenshots last longer than friendships. Where a five-second clip, ripped out of context, carries more weight than five decades of character. Where "likes" and "shares" matter more than facts. People don't need evidence; they need outrage. And once they've decided you're guilty, forget it - there's no coming back.

You get crossed off like "Pure Soy-Oat-Zero Lactaid-Not Really Goat Milk" that some lunatic tossed onto the grocery list. That's how disposable people are now - one weird entry, one wrong move, and you're written off as if you never belonged in the cart to begin with. Judgment is instant. No trial. No appeal. No refunds. Just done.

But when I look back at when I grew up - the 70s and 80s - it wasn't like that. We did crazy stuff, yeah. But the crazy had rules. And here's the wild part: sometimes, we actually listened to our parents. Sounds funny now, right? We had rules, we followed them. We had rules, we broke them. And when we broke them... here's the part nobody today seems to understand... we owned it. We didn't blame the teacher, the system, the universe. We took our lumps. Grounded, detention, sometimes a lecture from a cop who knew your dad by first name. That was life.

We were raised different. Principles, morals, humility. Yeah, humility - that one's almost extinct now. It wasn't about being perfect, it was about knowing you weren't. Being humble kept you grounded, it reminded you to keep learning. And we liked that. We learned from everyone: parents, teachers, grandparents, older siblings, even the school dean when he caught us skipping class. Sometimes the lessons came from a cop telling you to knock it off before he told your parents. That was enough to make you straighten up real quick.

We had fun - wild, stupid fun. But we knew when fun ended and responsibility began. You knew when to turn it off, because life didn't give you a pause button. And that balance, that line, was everything.

And here's the kicker: my generation built the stuff you're addicted to today. Cell phones? That's us. Computers? Us. The entire tech world in your pocket? Yeah, you can thank the 70s and 80s kids who grew up tearing things apart and figuring them out. Hell, I wrote code that lives inside those machines you use every day. And if I didn't write that specific line, I damn well could have, because I knew how to learn. That was the difference. We learned.

But here's what hurts: while we were building the future, we forgot to pass down the basics. Morals. Pride. Resourcefulness. Family values. The stuff that actually makes life worth living. We inherited it from the Silent Generation - the most overlooked of them all. You don't hear much about them, but man, they gave us resilience, work ethic, and stability. They gave us tradition. They handed us a torch and said, "Carry this with you." And somewhere along the way, we dropped it.

We gave you the world - but not the compass. We gave you tools - but not the wisdom to use them. And now I look around, and I see a world full of people moving faster than ever, but knowing less than ever. A world where nobody takes ownership, where humility is mistaken for weakness, and where principles got left on the side of the road.

That's the part that breaks my heart. Because the truth is, for all the mistakes, for all the trouble, my generation knew something that can't be coded into an app or downloaded into your brain. We knew how to live, how to own it, and how to learn. And that's worth more than every shiny piece of tech you'll ever hold in your hand.

Deep Thoughts with Dave Monroe
(or Chapter 16's Beating Heart)

You want to know the truth?
I don't know if I'll ever be ready to write Chapter 16.

Not because I can't... hell, I could sit here and hammer the keys right now, but because the story never stops moving. My mom finally told me the truth about my dad... where he was a few months ago (hopefully gone now). She said she saw the signs all the way back in the ‘60s when she met him. That hit like a freight train, but it also made sense.

It made sense because for 28 years I've been trying to rid the world - or at least the internet (my world) of people like him. People like Susan's parents. And now here I am, calling out Dave in KansASS* and anyone else who's spent the last three decades throwing rumors and bullshit at me, trying to burn me down.

The thing is, I'm still here. And I'm rebuilding from scratch in Phoenix which is the exact place where Chapter 16 begins. And that's the kicker right there.

I used to worry about how people would remember me. I didn't want my story told by the wrong voices, the kind that would twist it until I was "that creepy guy." But now? The longer the story goes on, the less I care. Not because I've stopped fighting for the truth, but because I can lay my head down at night with a clear conscience. That's what matters.

Susan (my lovely wife of 20 years who passed away in 2015) already knows who I really am. And to be honest, that's the only jury that counts.

So here's how it's going to end: I'll get myself settled in Phoenix, climb to the top of Camelback Mountain, and read Susan my final version of Chapter 16. Then, if my heart stops right there... so be it.

"Susan... BooBoo... I, no wait... we won. Now please do me a favor and have a talk with the big guy up there. Tell him I'm on my way, but he doesn't need to worry because I'm not coming to relieve him of his duties. I'm just coming to spend the rest of eternity with my BooBoo."

That's the moment I'm chasing. That's the peace. And when I get there, Chapter 16 will finally be done.