WELL, TODAY I TURN 30, SO I'D LIKE TO REFLECT BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD THAT HELPED MOLD ME INTO THE MAN I AM TODAY KNOWN AS ROBERT BISHOP ARDEN AKA GZUS THUG...D.O.B. 12/28/1977PSALMS OF A THUGBYGZUS THUG   1      "Who am I?  Peety Pablo Mother-Fucka'."  Ok, no I'm not, but is that not one of the greatest opening lines to a Hip-Hop song ever?  My name is Robert Bishop Arden.  Born 12/28/1977 in a suburban hood in Phoenix, Arizona called Maryvale.  It had potential and notoriety for being a rough hood.  I never personally "saw" it, but I could feel it all around me, and it greatly affected the man that I would grow to be.  It started when I transferred to my home school, Cartwright elementary in the second grade.  I was going to Desert Springs way the Fuck near 83rd and Indian School because that was were my long-time baby-sitter was, so I could walk or get easily taken to school while my parents were at work.  Anyway, My Dad and the baby-sitter had a huge falling out during the summer before I was to start 2nd grade, so my Dad figured it was time (He had no other choice) for me to go to my 'hood school.  I became Latchkey Kid in the Mother-Fuckin' House, Beyoch, at 6 years old.  Now that's Gangsta, or in other words, survival, or doing what the Fuck you got to get done to make it in this world.  Being a single Dad and trying to raise a boy and a girl on your own the best you can ain't easy boys and girls.  Word up!  So I went to Cartwright starting in the 2nd grade, and the very first month I was there, I was a very good little boy and I got Cougar of the Month.  Such a proud moment in my life, as well as a definite turning point.  I began to hear cussing on the play ground, and I was shocked and disgusted, but then the old adage of the Hood took over.  "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and then beat the living Fuck out of 'em."  In that second month, and 'til this very day, I began cussin' and talkin' like I was the Baddest Mother-Fucker to ever walk the face of this Earth.  In other words, I was Talkin' Shit, and I've just about mastered it, and that's how I became, as my Aunt Judi used to call me, "You Little Shit."    CHAPTER 2     I grew up at least for the first 5 years of life with a mom and dad in the home as well as a little sister after September of '79.  Well all I really know is that when I was 5, my parents got divorced, and my Mom moved a mile down the road to a condo.  They mutually decided that it would be best for my sister and me to stay in the house with our Dad although they had joint custody, and we still saw our Mom often.  Like I said, she lived a mile up the road.  Dad was more of the disciplinarian, and led more of a stable life to be better suited to raise two young kids, and that He was.  I don't remember getting along with my Mom too much as a little boy growin' up.  I knew that if I pushed her buttons just right, she would go into hysterics, and it was quite entertaining as a young boy to see someone get so angry and be able to do absolutely nothing about it.  So that is what I always did with my Mom and it worked like a charm on a daily basis, or at least when I saw her.  My Dad found this out about her first-hand, and when he figured out how utterly ridiculous it was, as well as, tiring and just plain getting old, they got divorced.  So needless to say, I took his side, and I took his side until his dying day.  I saw the hurt and the emotional pain that my Mom put him through when on occasion we would have those special "Father-Son Chats," that I will never forget as long as I should live.  So needless to say, I jumped on the "not liking Mom too much" bandwagon which began to have a life of its own, and I began not liking her too much for myself because of what I personally witnessed from her that I did not care for.  We just didn't see eye to eye, and it always seemed that me and my Dad did.  He always had all the answers, and I could ask him anything, and he would always have a "Real" and intelligent response with no BullShit.  I tested my Mom a few times, and she could never help me with Jack Shit, and that became the trend.  I grew up loving sports, I mean; I probably started liking the Dallas Cowboys when I was 3 years old.  No Bullshit.  My Mom and Dad took me to my first Phoenix Giants baseball game when I was 4 years old.  I remember getting a blue mini Phoenix Giants bat, and a LA Dodgers plastic helmet.  It was kind of ironic in hindsight because I grew up a San Francisco Giants fan because that was our Major League affiliate, and here I was with there rival team's batting helmet.  Hey, I love the color Blue what can I say.  Anyway, My Dad always took us to sporting events while we were growing up.  I mean, Suns games, Giants/Firebirds baseball games, a Roadrunners hockey game here and there, but the highlights was when the Mother-Fuckin' Cardinals came to town from St. Louis and my Dad took me to see my beloved Dallas Cowboys play the hated Phoenix Cardinals, or took my sister to see her and my Dad's Minnesota Vikings when they would be scheduled for the Cardinals at ASU Stadium.  Those football games were the greatest memories that I have with my Dad.  The Cowboys didn't even win some of those games, but I didn't care too much about that.  I was at a NFL Football game with my Daddy, and I was in love with this Man.  My sister and I always loved sports, and when we got old enough we would beg him to sign us up to play AYSO soccer.  It was me first when I was 5, and then both my sister and I when she was 5.  There were even a few glorious seasons where my Sis and I were on the same team and Dad was coaching or supporting in any other facet that he could, but he was always there for us every step on the way.  He was the greatest support system that my sister or I could have ever hoped for while growing up.  He truly loved us and would show us on a daily basis.  He made our happiness his purpose in life, and he did a Damn good job.  When I got to be 9, I begged my dad to sign me up for Pop Warner Football, because he had said no the previous year because he thought I was too small and I was disappointed, but I got over it.  And when He signed me up, I was so excited.  I loved playing and watching football and my Dad knew it.  I was so nervous about making weight my first year because I was so close to leaving the team I started with to moving up to a larger weight class, and I wanted to stay with the Mighty Tigers Jr Pee Wee football team for the Westside.  Westside MotherFucka.  Throw your MotherFuckin' Dubs in the air.  He supported me on a crash diet where I only remember eating Tuna salad with no bread.  Well that Saturday morning came, and I was crying like a little Bitch because I was so scared about not making weight, but I made it by 2 LBS, and I was so thrilled.  My dad then took us to Coco's where I had a 3 cheese omelet that was so good, and a blueberry muffin, and I was in Heaven, and my Dad was there to congratulate me and then feed the poor boy, and that he did.  I played four years of Pop Warner, and that last year with the Red Barons, my Dad was a coordinator of sorts and in the team picture.  He might have been in previous football team pictures, but I don't recall, it was a long time ago.  I think he was more of a soccer coach with my sister's teams in the early years of my football career.  He was a man who devoted himself 100% to two different kids in 2 different sports at the same Fuckin' time.  How he did that, I will never know.  And yet it always felt like He was there for you like you were the only concern in this world at all times, and he did that for his son as well as his daughter at all times.  Just Fucking Amazing.  His devotion to his two kids was admired by many.  Everywhere he was besides work, there were his two kiddos for whom he was well pleased.  His life and impression on how to be a real daddy and raise kids left such an eternal imprint on my brain on how I would raise my kids when I have them in my adulthood.  And he did it all by himself with no help from a woman or the government.  It was just his great since of responsibility that he was taught at a young age, because his mom also died when he was a fairly young age.  I know, his dad died when he was about 32 because I was only 1 at the time, and I don’t remember my grandpa at all.  I have never had a lot of extended family to help guide my ways.  My dad’s sister, Judi is still alive, but she move from Casa Grande to Greenville, Texas in 1990.  She keeps in contact every now and then, but not enough to leave a real impact on my upbringing.  I guess that I have beat around the bush enough.  All that is left is to write about the “First day of the rest of my life.” CHAPTER 3     Well, my Testimony really started at 8:00A.M. On December 21, 1991.  That was a "Butterfly Effect" day that changed the rest of my life.  It was what I specifically called, "The First Day of the Rest of My Life."  That was the time and day that God saw fit to take my Dad to be with him (I hope.  I was too young to know for sure.)  He just got remarried 2 months before on October 19, 1991 and had 2 new step-kids who just turned 13 on the 18th of Oct. and one who turned 15 on the 20th of Oct (or vice versa, I don't remember.)  Not to mention his own baby girl from the previous marriage who just turned 12 on the 28th of Sep.  And finally a bouncing baby boy from the previous marriage who turned 13 on the 28th of Dec. in 1990.  You got it Sucka!  That Mother-Fucker was me, and I instantly began Hating God.  I said to God straight to his Mother-Fuckin face.  FUCK YOU.  YOU GOD DAMN BITCH.  FUCK YOU.   And FUCK YOU FOREVER YOU GOD DAMN SON OF A BITCH.  You got it Holmes.  I was pist, and I really didn't give a Fuck who knew it.  Especially not Mother-Fuckin' God.  That lasted for weeks, and probably even months.      Let me go back to that Fateful morning when all the kids got sent into my room in the garage. (Now, that was a sweet pad.  Thank you Merry and Dad.)  The news came that he died instantly of a massive heart-attack at forty Mother-Fuckin' Three years old.  I was completely Fucking Numb, but all I could think about in my room on that day was calling Power 92 and requesting 2 songs In Memory of My Dad.  I never did call, but the 2 songs that were ringing out in my heart were "It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday" by Boys to Men, and the other one was "2 legit 2 quit" by MC Hammer.  Those 2 songs expressed how I was feeling that day perfectly.  It was so hard to say goodbye to my beloved Daddy.  Hell, it still is to this day, but I was a little 13 year old punk kid that was an absolute Bad-Ass that was Too Legit to Quit and I still am to this day.      Well, hating God started to feel pretty Damn stupid after months and months of doing it.  Our step-mother kicked us out of the house that Our Dad bought for us(and the awesome room that they made for me.) after she had a mental break down later that January, and we were forced to live with our real mom, who we haven't really lived with since her and Our Dad got divorced in 1983.  Well, Mom stepped up to the plate and really gave it all she had, which wasn't much, but it was all she had, and we knew it.  She kept us in the same school that Dad had us going to.  She drove us to school and back every day (probably 8 miles or so each way twice a day.)  And then she did the ultimate for us.  She bought a house in the district that our high school was in, and the school bus stop was on the side of our new house(new to us anyway.)