Growin up.

Born in the back seat of a 59 Ford T-Bird. Ok, that is figuratively, we moved around a bit. In order to get through K - 12. I attended 4 Grade Schools, 1 Middle School, 1 Jr. High, and 6 High Schools.

I was actually born a military brat since my Father was in the Air Force. We lived in a small development that consisted primarily of other government workers. The house was very small. My parents split up when I was around 4.

My Mom then met someone and remarried and we moved outa the projects and onto an old ranch. The exciting and memorable part of that experience was an escapee from the local prison was running around the area. The good thing is that he never shot anyone. He only used knives. Made waiting at the bus stop real exciting.

After that we moved even further out into the sticks. My folks bought some undeveloped property and we moved onto it with our 18' camp trailer. Yes, I am old school trailer trash. Over the years we built a house outa scrap lumber. It was a family project. I think we had electricity for the last 6 months. Water was a crick about 100' or so from the house. We raised rabbits, chickens, pigs... you know like those long haired hippy folks. Only my dad is a redneck. I think my mom was the wanna be hippy. I turned out to be a long haired redneck hippy. Just to confuse people and myself.

We then moved to Port Angeles, where we lived in the trailer again for a bit in a couple different parks before the folks bought another house. We still heated with the wood stove but we had running water. I remember being able to turn on the kitchen stove by turning a knob. Now that is cool. My dad worked various jobs one of which was on a fishing boat so we spent the summers on one of the local indian reservations. Lot's o fun. Including the infamous water balloon war. The "Indians against the Humans" that was what we were called. Good times. Also the location of my first and last "Official" boxing match. Me and some other poor sap (a local indian kid) were squared off. He was under a lot of pressure since his dad used to box for money. I do not remember who won. I just remember even though the gloves were huge they ocassionaly hurt.

From there we moved to more mainsteam locals in various burbs of the Puget Sound till my folks split up. I bounced around crashing on couches. After a bit I moved into a motorhome with my Mom and lived in various locations before finally moving east.

We moved to Central Washington the armpit of the world. More drugs per capita than just about anywhere with some good old racial tension thrown in just for fun. I actually watched a documentary about this area. It talked about the high concentration of drugs, crime, dropout rate, ect... It seemed quiet but there was always this uncomfortable unhappiness around. I dropped out of High School my senior year to specialize in drinking and driving. Usually fast. Somehow I managed to hold down various odd jobs to support my debachery until I melted down.

We stayed with an Aunt and Uncle when we first moved out to Central Washington. After a bit we got our own place. After a while I decided maybe I wanted to do something with my life other than end up in ditch someplace, so I joined my mom, cousin and some other guy and we started the Telephone Answering Exchange. It was doomed to fail but hey I straighted up and worked two jobs, learned a bit about running a business and being professional. Then I guess out of boredom I got this crazy ass notion to join the service. The Marines were the only ones who would take me. I did a delayed enlistment. Worked to get some capitol. Just before going in I was wrestling one of my step brothers, Curt weighed 250 lbs I weighed 130, soaking wet. Toward the end of the match he bent my knee sideways. That resulted in my my foot ending up by my hip pocket but pointing the wrong way. It hurt and as a result he won the match which really hurt cuz I had him. Anyway, I ended up failing my physical because after that my knee made a loud popping noises whenever I did deep knee bends.

So sitting in the bus station I called an Aunt and Uncle. My uncle came out and picked me up and took me to their house. They were in the process of moving to Co. so I helped them pack stuff into the Uhaul as I waited for my mom to come and get me. A couple hours before dark my uncle comes up to me and says, "Were leaving for Colorado in the morning, (this to me was obvious), let me know by dark if ya want to go", he continued "You have to get a job or go to school". This was a colossal suprise to me since he and I never really got along. So in the morning I headed off to Colorado, with dreams of Graduation.

Somehow ,by the grace of whatever gods may be, I graduated from High School in Colorado. About six months before moving from Colorado to Phoenix I got real stupid and got into a game of chicken. The end result was a shattered Tibia platue, fractured ankle and fairly severe head trauma.

I was in and out of conciousness for a few days. Initially I did not know who my Mom was when she called. I think that was definitely a low point. Rehab was a bit brutal but I was back to work in about 4 months. It felt real good since the Doctor told me it would take six months before I would be walking ok again. My job at the time was working on a delivery truck. We delivered any kind of door or window. At nights i worked as a busboy. I had enormous medical bills and a ton of pessure to go to this Tech school. I do not rember a lot of it. The days just kind of blurred together. The only constant was pain. The only reason I could sleep was, I was getting 4 hours sleep a night. I started out trying to remember my phone number and address and went from there.

I then moved to Phoenix and went to DeVry Inst. and recieved a Technician's Diploma. I graduated DeVry with around a 3.7 GPA while working 28 - 36 hours a week. Not bad considering my High School GPA. A company called Acuson hired me out of school and I have been there ever since.

Shortly after moving to Ca. I moved into a small studio in East Palo Alto, the homicide capitol of the USA at the time. I moved into that small studio in order to be independent and not have roommates. I didn't think it was so bad most of the time. The locals called me Whitey. Occasionally on the way home the roads would be blocked off since they were doing another raid on the Manhatten apartments. Amazingly enough even though expensive high rise buildings are being built the Manhatten still stands. The best part of living in EPA was watching my old disabled neighbor shoo the hoods off the sidewalk with his cane.