My real name is John Morhisa, but you can just call me John. I was born and bred in The Big Apple. I've never really known who my parents were. I wish I could tell you about them, but I don't remember ever seeing them. I think they left me at the orphanage when I was one or two, but I can't quite recall. I was left outside in a Reiter milk carton. I can still remember the kids at the orphanage calling me Reiter or Reiter Boy. I was constantly teased about it.
Then, one day, a family who was from Poland (they had been in the US about two years) agreed to take me. They were ok, but the mom gave me only porridge to eat for a year and a half. I wish that I could tell you that I was happy there, for they were nice to me, but I can't. I kept wishing to meet my parents. I wanted to be like every other kid, but, unfortunately, I knew that would never happen.
A year later, my foster parents were arrested, on account that they were selling drugs on eBay. I was sent back to the orphanage. A month later, a single man in his forties came from Boston and took me. He was also nice, but unfortunately he got killed during a drive by.
I was sent back to the orphanage for a third time. Then, four year later, a couple from Nebraska took me. They're ok, but nothing exciting. At the time of this writing, I have been living with them for about a year-and-a-half. Other than the fact that they lock me up in the basement every night, my foster parents are pretty nice.
That is my life story so far. I hope you enjoyed reading it more than I enjoyed living it.