I love to write—about other people, characters, or events—but I find writing about myself to pose quite the hurdle. It’s uncomfortable. Where do I start? What do I include? What do I leave out? My main objective is for you to have a brief understanding of who I am, not be privy to everything I’ve ever done all the way back to kindergarten (my teacher’s name was Miss Trueblood, by the way). We’ll see how it goes.
I grew up a military brat, which heavily influenced how I viewed and interacted with the world. As a young child, we moved around every year or two, with Dad overseas for tours of duty and Mom remaining stateside to care for the four of us: two boys and two girls. We were a close family—in age and in our relationships with each other—with only two years and ten months separating the oldest child from the youngest. If you’re busy doing the math, that meant there were twins in the bunch, and I was one of them.
Dad retired in the late 70’s and we built a house on the land that my granddaddy left my mother. Yes, my granddaddy. Mom was from a rural family with farms of tobacco and corn and cousins that outnumbered the chickens and pigs three-to-one. These were my junior high and high school years, and although my parents sold the house in the mid-nineties and we’ve all scattered in the wind, I still consider North Carolina home.
(to be continued…)