Shortly after my mother became pregnant with her first child, my father died. It wasn't a plane crash, car crash, military accident, or any accident at all. I never really got to know him, but he got to know me. I've heard he was a nice guy but that phrase is a cloak of hollow deception. Regardless, he is gone now just like every other father persona in my life. They dropped the ball but that is ok cause I'll make up for it...some day.

I spent the earliest years of my life in my grandparents' home. It was a pleasant two story home with a little less than an acre in the back. I had a second-story room with an outlook of an ancient oak tree that was knarled by time. The pheasant's cries signaled the saturday morning coffee and life was simple in its beauty. Afternoons brought the fun of the water hose in the garden, and the night, stars and moon to reflect the brightness of the sun.

I was happy then, life was simple and I looked foward to every coming day.