As a boy, in Michigan...

I never had a haircut from a barber until I was 14 or 15. I guess I never really thought too much about my appearance. It seems kids didn't think about that stuff as much back then. My dad was my barber. During the summer, we would sit up on our deck which overlooked our woods. The air would be sticky with humidity, and it was certain that horseflies or mosquitoes would be searching for a scalp or arm to make its victim. We'd coat ourselves with a thorough coating of Off to make sure we were left bug-free. I'd go shirtless, sit on one of the stumps that had been cut from out woods and my dad would break out his comb and two pair of shears. I'll never forget the name of the thinning ones: Double Ducks. They had a little red plastic carrying case. I had straight bangs on my forehead. In fact, I think I had the same cut from the time I was five until I reached about 14, when my dad moved before us to El Paso. Again, no worries. I was a kid. A cool haircut didn't matter

Me, attempting my best Rocky Balboa pose, Summer 1977 The first movie I can remember going to the drive-in was Woody Allen's 1969 classic Take the Money and Run, although it must have been at least three or four years after it was made in order for me to remember it (I seriously doubt that I remembered it as a 10-month-old!). But it was the summers of 1976, 1977 and 1978 that give me really fond drive-in memories. My dad had purchased a Ford Econoline van — silver blue with a silver top. It had a ladder on the back and you could climb to the top of the it. It was the perfect movie-going experience. Where we lived in Michigan, it sat far west on the Eastern Time Zone, which meant that it would stay light until 9:30-10 at night. I'd wear my pajamas, since it was so late. Mom would pack cans of orange pop from the Meijer's Thrifty Acres. Dad would buy a bag of popcorn at the concession stand. We'd wheel the van in for a prime spot, and as it got dark, I'

This blog will probably mean nothing to anyone but myself. As I get older, I've felt I needed to put some of my memories to print, in some form or another. I would hate for them to be lost. I dedicate everything here to my daughter, Anneliese, as well as to my mother and father, who may not know it, but gave me a childhood I could only dream of. The memories I'll share will probably match the season I'm writing in. It's now summer 2007. Today, I live in El Paso, Texas. And, despite my love of the city and people of El Paso, there's a part of my soul that's still in the Great Lake State. My home. My Michigan. It will always be there. And when I've departed this earth, I hope that someone will return my ashes to the woods that I spent my boyhood. I was born on October 19, 1968 at Mount Carmel Mercy Hospital in Detroit. Nine days before, the Detroit Tigers had come from behind to win the 1968 World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals. The Tigers would have