Introduction

My name is Carl, not that it really matters. I’m going to give you the story of my life, at least to this point. I don’t think I’m about to die anytime soon, but I am a long way past middle age. Let’s just say I’ve easily qualified for the 55+ community I’m in; to the point where I didn’t have to prove my age when I checked the place out; they could have at least asked. The reason I’m putting this down on paper is a little complicated. (Okay, okay; not really on paper, but that just proves how far ‘over the hill’ I am.)

First; maybe, just maybe someone will be able to learn something from my choices, actions, decisions, etc. I’m not really advocating anyone to do what I did; you’ve got to live your own life. But maybe I can expose you to some of the alternatives to a normal, typical life; whatever the hell that is.

Secondly; when I’ve talked about my life and experiences most people have been very entertained; so hopefully you’ll like my tale, and it will give you a boost of some kind.

Least important; once I’m gone all my stories and experiences will just fade away; I’ve been told I should leave a record. I’m pretty sure that’s just bullshit, but I’ve had that particular reasoning sprung on me several times, so maybe it’s not.

And I’ll add a final excuse; I’m a little bored and don’t have anything else I need to do right now. I’m not sure this is going to be all that constructive, I’ll leave that for you to decide. There will be some sexy stuff now and then; if that’s not your thing, just skip over it. If you get a thrill out of it, cheap or otherwise, good for you. It was usually pretty thrilling for me when it happened; I still smile when I think back on most of it.

Now for some background info; actually, quite a bit of it.

Physically I’m unremarkable; a little shorter that most, not heavy or skinny, not a muscular athlete, no commanding good looks; I’m just the typical guy you pass by in the store every day. If you’re a guy reading this, just picture yourself. As a kid I was pretty skinny, and usually one of the smaller ones. Even now, as an adult, I’m not close to being a big man. I would consider myself an average amateur athlete, but nothing special. I will admit to being an excellent racquetball player for several years a while back, but that’s about it. I still play basketball and senior softball when I can, but that’s more entertaining than competitive. FYI; senior softball has 11 people in the field at a time. The first time I played I thought “We’ve got too many people out here”. A couple innings later the thought had changed; “We don’t have enough people out here”. Let me just say; if you can still hit, catch, throw, and run; you’re going to be an all-star at that level.

I had a different childhood from most people though; it took a while for me to really grasp that. Most everyone thinks their life experiences are typical unless they are wildly outside the norm; I wasn’t any different in my thinking. My birth father left went I was 6 or so; I don’t remember him at all, or know the reasons why he left. At that time, I had 2 younger brothers and a younger sister, baby brother was not quite walking yet. We lived with grandparents for a while, mom went to work and life went on. Within a couple years she met and married a nice guy who became my step-dad; the man that really raised me, when I talk about ‘dad’ in my story, he’s the guy I’m talking about. Mom and dad had two more girls, so we ended up a family of 8; I remember graduating high school and my youngest half-sister was going to start grade school the next fall.

My early family life wasn’t bad; but with all the kids we didn’t have much extra. I remember going to a friend’s house when I was 12 or so and ended up staying for dinner. Obviously, a smaller family than I was used to; after the meal I remember his mother saying something about putting the leftovers in the frig. Leftovers? I had to think about that, and figure out what exactly she meant. My mom wasn’t a good cook, and I never went to bed hungry or anything; but the idea of extra food after a meal had never occurred to me.

Our home growing up was usually just 3 small bedrooms and 1 bath, so all the girls were in one bedroom and all the boys in another. The single bathroom was always a problem, no one got to spent any extra time in there. I was the oldest, so I was the default babysitter on the few occasions my parents went out. The only real problem was my mother, she was a little ... off. Easily distracted and cold; I don’t remember any of us getting a hug from her, or hearing that she loved us. That was normal to me, it was many years before I realized it really wasn’t supposed to be that way. Looking back on it now, she probably suffered from depression.

Dad was “blue collar”, and a pretty good man. Patient and jovial, he rarely raised his voice to us. We moved around a bunch with him always looking for a better paying job; usually in small towns along Lake Erie. (Side note; lake effect snowstorms are ones you want to read about, not experience.) When I was 12, dad decided to work for himself doing home repair and remodeling; for 4 years I worked summers and most weekends with my dad and sometimes an uncle; I ended up enjoying it. At the beginning I was an unpaid ‘go-fer’ and just an extra pair of hands, but I paid attention and learned quickly. Not just the knowledge of how things were put together, repaired, and worked; but also, to simply work hard and to do what needed to be done without being told. When I was a sophomore in high school, he decided to try a white-collar job and we moved again; my handyman/gofer job was over.

The new place was on old Victorian house; a little bigger than usual for us; but still just 3 bedrooms and 1 bath. The big difference was it had a large third-story attic. In a couple months dad and I were able to finish that attic into three more bedrooms, actually three separate sleeping areas, and add a second bathroom up there. The bathroom in the attic just had a shower, but that extra bathroom made all the difference. My 2 brothers and I ended up on the third floor, with Mom and Dad and the girls on the second.

I had lost my ‘job’ working with my dad and uncle, but no matter; I soon managed to get a real paying job as a busboy/dishwasher in one of the Big Boy franchise restaurants; in the city a couple dozen miles away from home. A real paycheck every two weeks, one of a couple things I had been overlooking/ignoring. The last two years of high school I worked as much as I could; first washing dishes and clearing tables, but I was quickly moved up into the kitchen as a short-order cook. (One of Dad’s lessons proving out; work hard and good things might happen.) I ended up working ‘til midnight most weekdays and later on the weekends; Dad quickly decided that he didn’t want to be my chauffeur and I needed a car of my own. It wasn’t much, a 1960 Buick that I bought in 1970 for, and this will really date me, $75. (Keep in mind that this was when $5 filled your tank, and not bought just a single gallon of gas.) Life was good for me at 17 and 18; money in my pocket, a car of my own, and as long as I didn’t do anything stupid, free to do pretty much what I wanted. I still had to graduate high school, one of Dad’s requirements; and I knew I had to keep working to maintain what I had no matter what I felt like (another of Dad’s lessons); but life wasn’t bad. I could easily maintain a C average in school; I read a lot, just not my school books), and managed to graduate in 12 years; attending 13 different schools across 2 states in the summer of 1972.