A Little About Me
Life for me began in 1969 in an isolated farm house my parents rented in Jerome, Michigan. Whether my curiosity for the world is inherent or was first sparked and nurtured by my parent’s subscription to National Geographic, I really don’t know.
I hadn’t even started school yet the first time I remember trying to bust out of the States; I can’t be sure, but I think my brother Jay and I were after one of the peasant hats when we quietly tried digging our way to China via our sandbox in the back yard.
The next time I wasn’t as sly. I packed a small suitcase, marched downstairs and informed my mother that it was time for me to strike out on my own. Without missing a beat, my mom told me that was fine, but I wasn’t allowed to cross the street, as I still wasn’t old enough to do so on my own. I said alright and marched to the end of the driveway with steely determination. I put my suitcase down and looked left and right, wondering which way to go. It was then I realized if I couldn’t cross the street, then all I could actually do was walk the perimeter of a very large square and end up right back where I was standing.
No, no, that wouldn’t do; I wanted to see what was beyond the endless rows of corn in the fields across the dirt road. I wanted to walk up to the trunks of the treetops I could see in the distance, and how was I to feel the bark in person if I couldn’t cross the street? I marched back up to the house, and once inside, informed my mom I’d be staying for dinner.
With world travel out of the question I took up a new hobby. As early as I can remember I had a fascination with books. Even well before I could read I’d page through books and underline words that I liked (much to the frustration of my book-loving parents).
Having already been taught to read and write, I found a pack of multi-colored markers and penned my first two books at age five, each a whopping five pages long.
(Rob and Marsh; photos below show both of my must-read ”books”. The front page of the first gripping tale showcases the title “Mike an the Mouse”, and of course I’ve given myself credit for it by writing my name at the top of the page. I’ve drawn a picture of our beloved protagonist, Mike; Mike has six fingers, and his ears look unnervingly close to devil horns, as they’re drawn almost on top of his head. It took me three tries, but there’s something next to Mike that kind of looks like a mouse, and whatever it is, it has a very lovely afro perched atop its pink little head. The brilliant first sentence at the bottom of the page is “On a sunny day I saw a mouse”. Apparently I thought this would be a real page turner, and so in the second photo there’s my second ”book”. It’s nearly identical to the first, the only difference being Mike’s new pal is a deer, and the sun has been replaced by fog. These two susupense-filled books haven’t made me rich yet, but you know, one can always hope. )
I’ve been lucky enough to travel further than my childhood sandbox and the endless rows of corn across the street, and I’ve even made a wee bit of money off writing (and I do mean wee). I have a kick-arse family and amazing friends, and although I’m considered poor by societal norms, I consider myself to be one of the richest people around.