Today is a national holiday here in the Philippines. And it is also my birthday. Coincidence? I think not!
No great insights on this rainy (of course) 63rd anniversary of my birth. My life has certainly not gone according to “plan”, not that I actually had one, and this birthday finds me alone for the most part in a place I didn’t really expect to be. And Lord knows, I’ve been in worse places both physically and emotionally. I don’t have to look very far to see up close and personal just how blessed I truly am. It’s easy to focus on what you don’t have I think, but today I’m especially thankful to have made it this far in my life’s journey with my health mostly intact and nothing of significance to worry about.
And what a journey it’s been! Indulge me while I reminisce.
The very first part of the trip…
It all began that long ago morning at the Kaiser Foundation hospital in Los Angeles, California.
My father managed a fast food restaurant in Orange County, but this was the closet hospital for his Kaiser health plan.
1955-1960: My first hometown was lovely Garden Grove, CA.
It’s all a little hazy now, but it looked something like this back then…
Me in the bros back in the 50s…
1960-1973: Westminster, CA was where I did most of my growing up (heh, I’m still a work in progress though!).
My Alma Mater. High school was a challenging time for me. Ran cross country my Freshman year, then switched from athletics to drugs (mostly pot). Still managed to stay focused enough to become editor of the school newspaper and to graduate (that was touch and go!)
Me and my Grandma Pernie…
1973: Garden Grove again briefly. I got arrested on the Fourth of July (you can read about it here) and my father and I agreed it would be in our mutual best interests for me to move out. Got an apartment with a friend and was working at a convenience store for two bucks an hour.
1973-1974: Huntington Beach, CA. Things didn’t work out with the first roomie, so me and my older brother got a place in Huntington Beach and I started practicing to be a grown-up. Got a better job and my first broken heart while there.
This photo is a little misleading as we lived miles from the actual beach. But I did spend a lot of time on (and under) this pier over the years…
1975: Midway City, CA. So, I got a girl I was dating pregnant. We moved in together until the baby was born at which time we planned to give the child up for adoption. When that day came I balked at letting my baby girl go and proposed marriage instead. I told that story here.
All you can say about Midway City is that it is midway between Huntington Beach and Westminster.
1976-1978: Back to Westminster. My parents owned two small houses on a corner lot and rented one out to me and my new family. I took a job with the Postal Service and was on my way career-wise. My son was born in 1978 and the family was complete.
Me a father of two? Something doesn’t add up!
1978-1983: Prescott, Arizona. Being a family man was a big responsibility. And even back in the 1970s I wasn’t liking the way California was going and wanted something better for my kids. The wife and I loved Arizona and so I started working hard at getting a transfer to a post office there. Prescott was the lucky winner for my, er, unique talents. I paid them back by becoming the president of the local letter carrier’s union.
Still probably the best place I ever did live. A beautiful city, small and clean. I was big time into softball there. Even founded the Mile High softball club. A double entendre, as the city was a mile high and so was I….
Most importantly, it was a great place to raise my kids. Or so I had hoped.
1983: Monroe, Oklahoma. Alas, it was not to be. The marriage went south and I got custody of two young kids. I did my best as a single father but I needed help. Who do you turn to in that situation? My mother of course!
My parents owned this small farm in Monroe. It was a really great place for the kids…horses and country living!
I give my mom and grandma all the credit for raising two outstanding individuals that I am proud to call my children.
1984: Fort Smith, Arkansas. Well, as good as the farm life was for the kids, it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. Plus, my work was across the border in Arkansas. I took an apartment there and spent weekends with the kids.
This was my first time living in the South. And I was in my prime. I’ve been around some, but man oh man, the gals back then loved to get it on. Hey, it was the 80s!
Which brings me to a birthday memory. I was dating a girl from work named Darla. She was a clerk on the night shift. She left work early and showed up at my place just a little before midnight. At the stroke of 12 she commenced to give me a blow job. I was of course pleasantly surprised. Afterwards she told me she never wanted me to forget what I was doing when I turned 30. I’m sure I will never forget even though she left me not long after. Sweet girl!
1985: Van Buren, AR. Things were going well at work. Got my first promotion to management as a Safety Specialist. What’s a rising star like me going to do? Why move across the river and buy a house in Van Buren of course!
If it looks country, that’s what it is. A country town through and through…
1986: Poteau, OK. I met the woman who was destined to be wife #2 and moved into her very nice home in Poteau (pronounced PO-tow).
If it looks depressing, that’s what it is, a depressing burg of a town. The fine dining was done at Pizza Hut and the shopping at Wal-Mart.
1987: Columbia, South Carolina. I took a big promotion as a Labor Relations Specialist in Columbia, SC. A town I had never even seen (I had interviewed for a job in Charleston, but got hired for one in Columbia). I didn’t care, I was getting the fuck out of Poteau!
Ah, city living! Comparatively speaking anyway.
Me back in the Cola days. Everybody’s so different, I haven’t changed.
1988-1997: Lexington, SC. As happy as I was to be out of OK, the kids were missing the horse lifestyle. So we bought a big house on two acres and I brought the horses out. It was a good life, with a rural lifestyle and city conveniences 30 minutes away.
Well, it was better than Poteau. Except for hearing the occasional Klan rallies on the next street over from my house.
1997-2004: Stafford, Virginia. Another big promotion and another big move. I was working in Arlington and Stafford is a good distance south of there. I was warned that I-95 would kick my ass. I blew it off saying “I grew up driving the freeways in Southern Cal”. I-95 kicked my ass. It was better after I took a job in Washington, DC with the Department of Education. I took the VRE train in everyday. Still an 1.5 hour commute each way, but at least I could relax and read.
I lived on the golf course in the Aquia Harbour subdivision. I didn’t golf though. The ex still has the house and a good bit of shit I left behind when I moved on to Korea.
2005-2010: Seoul, Korea. The move that changed everything. It is what this blog was all about. It’s all there in the archives. A lot of it is almost too painful to remember. But I wouldn’t change that life altering decision anyway.
I love and miss this city!
2011-2014: Back “home” in Columbia. At least part time (also spent several months a year in my other home of Seoul). It is where the kids and grandkids live. And I got home just in time to help my parents through their final days.
It’s all gone now. Still struggling to find my way onward to a new life.
2015-2016: Back to Seoul with nothing but broken promises and broken dreams.
2017: Pyeongtaek. Damn, looking back on it now I never really gave that town a chance. I was so bitter and disillusioned. Would I like to go back and give it a do-over? HELL NO!
I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault. It was me, not you.
2018-?: Barrio Barretto, Olongapo, Zambales, Philippines. And here I am waiting for the next big thing. Things can always be better and they sure as hell can always be worse. I think I’m getting more and more settled and I’m confident I’ll make a satisfying life here. Just give me another good ten years to work with. Hell, make it twenty.
It ain’t real big but it’s big enough to call “home”.
Happy Birthday to me! Let’s stick around and see what happens next, shall we?
Happy Barfday!
For what it’s worth, “poteau” is French for “post,” i.e., a kind of pole. Here’s a pic of a poteau de frappe, or striking post, used in some martial arts (the caption to the pic reads “toughening via traditional striking post”). These posts come in many forms, from simple boards to the Chinese “wooden man” used in many wushu styles.
I’d say “try not to drink too much today,” but that’s a lost cause. Heh.
Interesting to have a crappy Okie town with a high falutin’ French name. How does that happen?
And the pronunciation gets fucked up once it’s Americanized. I was in the town of Touchet, Washington, back in 2008 during my abortive cross-country walk. The natives didn’t pronounce their town’s name the French way (“too-SHAY”); they pronounced it “TOO-shee,” like bad Yiddish for “ass.” Why, God, why? I could list all sorts of mispronounced French names in the US: Des Moines, Pierre, etc. We Yanks seem to have no respect for French names, but we pronounce most of the Spanish-derived names fairly faithfully—even La Jolla, CA, gets the correct pronunciation from us. Go figure.
Many of those place names mapped by voyageurs chasing beaver….pelts west from Quebec and Ontario. Love the blog! (Korea 2003-2014 – I know the struggles!)