Born Michael John on October 2 1956 in Great Lakes Naval Hospital. Breathing air for the first time, weeks past the expectancy date. Weighing 10 lbs, 9 ounces, hungry and large. My father John would remain in the navy for eight more years.

   Early memories of walking around the block with my sister, trying to catch the rain with our tongues’ hanging out from the protection of an umbrella. We also had plenty of WW2 Navy surplus radios, flight boots, Mae West jackets and cloth head sets and gauges.

  I would wait at the corner curb for my father to come home between 5:30 to 6:00 pm, While waiting I remember printing my name in street tar with tiny pebbles.                            At Five years old and before starting school I would go to work with my dad on Tuesdays, when he was chief of the day at Glenview Naval Air station. We sat in an office that is on the tarmac. The Jets were so loud they gave you a shuddering thrill. To sit in helicopters and planes was my favorite thing to do. The sailors always spoiled me to take it for granted.

   Starting kindergarten was traumatic. I believe my mother wanted me gone. Because of an infant sister and me a five year old, was too much for her and with the sitters sister educators and companions starting grade 2 and grade 7 I was given the boot. To add to my confusion, my sisters taught me to write cursor before I could print. Ms Volpe the teacher tried to erase what I learned which led to printers block. I felt with only education from my sisters, I would have kept an advantage.

   First grade was probably the year I remember most. A young progressive Nun, Sister Editha. We were taught Spanish, we did art projects. I had brought in a front load dryer with a glass door, loaded it with balls and Cray papers and plugged in the salvged prize to watch the collage tumbling I also had a hammer go up and down with my erector set, hitting a Styrofoam wig holder and called it knowledge. Progressive art is fun.

   I remember the announcement that President Kennedy had been shot, in a Catholic school mainly manned by nuns. That day the speaker above the chalkboard took on a life, almost if no-one was on the microphone.

   Sister Editha made you sit under her feet and eat birdseed if you whistle, abusive by today standards.

   Spanish I could count to ten say Hail Mary and Our Father. It was especially nice when my Jesuit Missionary Cousin sent us a letter from Lima Peru.

   We would visit my dad’s mother in Tampa, FL at Easter but 2^nd grade  I came down with chicken pox, I stayed with Little Grandma till it cleared then I was flown on Delta Airlines to Tampa alone.