If you are following along here’s where we have been:

Prologue, Chapter 1, and Chapter 2.

It was in the springtime of my nineteenth year. I had a decent enough job doing vinyl plastic fabrication. I shared a two bedroom apartment in Huntington Beach, CA with my older brother and I was driving an almost new 1974 Datsun pickup truck. My girlfriend was a 17 year old hottie named Bridget, whom I wasn’t in love with, but she loved sex almost as much as I did. And I had just acquired an adorable German Shepherd puppy I named Angie. So life was as good for me as it had ever been.

I recall picking Bridget up from her job as a sales clerk in Westminster Mall. She got in my pickup and immediately announced “I’m pregnant”. I was stunned at this news and blurted out “Damn it! If I knew you were going to get pregnant I wouldn’t have got the dog!”. And so began my reluctant journey into fatherhood.

Bridget and I both agreed we were not ready or equipped to be parents. She was a Catholic though and abortion for her was not an option. So we decided instead to give the baby up for adoption. Bridget’s parents were quite conservative and had never approved of me anyway and they were very unhappy with the news of the pregnancy. So we decided it would be best for all concerned if she moved out of the house and we’d get a place of our own until the baby was born. We made all the arrangements with the County adoption agency and we were provided free prenatal care and monthly food stamps. And so it came to pass that we were living together in a small apartment in Midway City.

We were of course unsure when the child had been conceived, but the doctor estimated a due date in October. Now, I was big time into softball in those days and I happened to be playing in a tournament on a Sunday afternoon in early September. Bridget was there with me and around about the third inning she came to me complaining about not feeling well. I told her to go sit down and wait for the game to finish. At the start of the fifth inning my sister-in-law, a registered nurse, told me Bridget wasn’t well and I really needed to take her home. I remember making a big deal about apologizing to my teammates–“sorry guys, I have to leave now because someone has a tummy ache”.

On the drive back home every few minutes Bridget would start moaning loudly in pain. I was 19 and of course knew everything so I told her “it was just false labor, after all, you are not due until next month.” She persisted with her intermittent moans so as we were passing the hospital I pulled off the freeway and told her “Fine. We’ll go in here and they will tell you the same thing I’ve been saying!” And that is where two hours later my daughter Renee was born.

The next day I briefly saw Renee sleeping in one of those baskets in the maternity ward. Then I had to hurry off to work. My employer had moved to Pasadena, CA over an hours drive away. So I get to work and I can’t stop thinking about my helpless baby girl. At lunchtime I told the boss I was leaving and rushed back down the freeway to the hospital. As I entered Bridget’s room the woman from the adoption agency was handing her the papers to sign relinquishing custody of our baby. I shouted “stop! wait! I want to talk to Bridget first.” The adoption woman left and I said to Bridget “let’s get married and keep the baby instead”. Bridget said “okay”.

That was by far the best decision I’ve ever made. Bridget’s parents didn’t think so. Her father was livid and threatened to have me arrested for statutory rape (Bridget was still 17). I told him good luck with that. I had just turned 20 and still had some rebel in me I suppose. Anyway, he didn’t involve the law but he made things more difficult than they needed to be. Wouldn’t allow Bridget to marry so we waited for her 18th birthday in November. And he forbade Bridget’s siblings from attending our wedding ceremony. Petty bullshit. He came around in time and we were cordial but I never forgot how he treated us when we had nothing.

Well, I say we had nothing but that’s not entirely correct. We certainly were not prepared to have a baby in the house. That first night Renee actually slept in a dresser drawer. But we did have friends and the next day they held an impromptu baby shower and they filled our place with all things necessary to get a newborn started out right. I’ll never forget that either.

Life changed. We rented a two bedroom house next door to my parents (a loving grandma makes the best kind of baby sitter). I found a better job in route sales and about a year after Renee was born I started my government career as a letter carrier (mailman) with the United States Postal Service. With that new found financial security (and health insurance!) we felt it was time to plan for an addition to the family. And in March of 1978 Renee had a baby brother named Kevin sharing the house. Kevin actually arrived on his due date and having done the required natural childbirth classes I was present in the delivery room when Kevin entered the world. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

Being a parent makes you see things differently, or at least it did for me. For one thing I didn’t want to raise my kids in Orange County. We vacationed frequently in Arizona and just a few months after Kevin’s birth my transfer request to Prescott was accepted.

Being a parent truly is “till death do us part”. Not so much for marriages. Bridget was 23, working at Prescott’s upscale restaurant, and running with a fast crowd. Sometimes she would stay out all night. I finally put my foot down and she told me “I don’t want to have to come home after work and be a wife and mother”. We got divorced and she gave me custody of the two kids, now aged 5 and 3. And thus began my journey as a single father.

Lord almighty, but it was tough going those first few months. I was a letter carrier which meant starting work at 0630. So I had to get up early, get the kids to daycare, do my job, pick the kids up, feed and bathe them, get them in bed, and then collapse in sheer exhaustion. And then get up the next morning and do it all over again. I’m not ashamed to admit that when I needed help I cried out for my mama. And she of course was there for me. We decided the best option was to send the kids home with her to the farm in Oklahoma. I would either come get them when I was ready or move there myself when a transfer came through. And that’s how it turned out that my kids were raised on a farm.

And what a life they had! Horses and cows and country living. Surrounded with love from Grandma and Grandpa and great Grandma Pernie. Granted, I was never any great shakes as a father, but damn it, sometimes I did get lucky. I did eventually move to the area, but I left the kids where they wanted and needed to be. I was pretty much a weekend dad in those days, but it all worked out for best.

HaHa! I guess that’s enough of the proud papa bullshit. On with the story. Well, it came to pass that I got to know a woman (actually, I got to know LOTS of women in those days, but that’s for another chapter) named Beckie. She was a widow with a one year old daughter. After dating for awhile, I moved into her fine home in Poteau, Oklahoma. She was and is a good woman and great with the kids. And then in 1986 I accepted a big promotion with the Postal Service in Columbia, SC. Now what do I do?

Well, as much as it pained me to yank the kids from my mother’s embrace (and it pained her much more I know) I wasn’t going to leave them behind. Beckie consented to my proposal to marry and so the deal was done. I’d have my kids and someone to help me raise them. How about that?

I’m not a totally selfish bastard. I promised the kids we’d find a place where we could bring the horses, and I did keep that promise. We lived out in the wilds of Lexington, SC and they went to school in nearby Pelion. It was a small high school and both of them excelled in sports and did well academically. Beckie was a Speech Pathologist and found work in a nearby school district. And I was busy kicking ass in my new career field of labor relations. More on that in a future chapter.

And so that was our life. When your kids reach high school age they are doing their own thing and parents are confined to keeping an eye out so they don’t go too far astray. I was lucky that my kids focused on athletics (well, and Renee was also into boys) and didn’t make the mistakes I did in high school. I spent a lot of my free time with them in the basketball arena, baseball diamond, and at the track.

Of course, even when your kids are grown, they are always your kids and an important part of your life. Just not a daily part. When it was all said and done and I had all those newly freed up hours previously spent at sporting events, I thought to myself “now what?” And sadly, I realized that the only thing I had in common with Beckie was our mutual interest in raising the kids. Yeah, I was that kind of motherfucker. So I started an affair with the woman who eventually became wife #3, which of course necessitated divorcing Beckie. I remind myself that whatever bad karma I may have in relationships was probably earned then and there.

I would also be remiss if I don’t talk about my other child, Beckie’s daughter Avery. She was only one when I met her mom and I’m the only father she has ever known. Unfortunately, I was a distant dad to her at best, and once I divorced her mother, I was almost completely absent from her life. Of course, Renee and Kevin considered her a sister and they all stayed close. As did Beckie with my kids. By now I had taken another promotion in Arlington, VA and they all remained in South Carolina. I was odd man out so to speak.

It was only as an adult that I came to terms with Avery and I think for the most part she has forgiven me for the hurt I caused her, however unintentional. Now we hang out when I’m visiting, and she even came here to the Philippines a couple of years ago to join me on vacation.

And life moves on. I disappeared to Korea for almost 12 years and now I hang my hat in the Philippines. The kids have kids of their own and are living their lives just fine without me there. It is great that Beckie is still a mom to them and even their real mother reappeared in their life when she retired and moved to South Carolina.

And the wheel in the sky keeps on turning. Childhood ends. The rebellious teen years pass. But this chapter of my life will never end. Indeed, I’ll live on through my children. That’s a legacy I can be proud of!

Winter is here again oh Lord,
Haven’t been home in a year or more
I hope she holds on a little longer
Sent a letter on a long summer day
Made of silver, not of clay
I’ve been runnin’ down this dusty road

Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’
I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow
Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’

Continuing on with the story of my lives. You can read the prologue here and Chapter One here.

I know it is rather cliche to characterize the teenage years as “rebellious”, but when the shoe fits…(ahem). I’m not exactly sure just what triggered me, but it seemed to coincide with my entry into high school.

As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I was from a working class family in an affluent upper middle class community. This “sin” was exacerbated in my high school which was notorious for its cliques and assignment of status among the students based on social standing. Where did I fit in? Basically nowhere, as I didn’t really meet the demographics of any group (jocks, muscle car racers, scholars, etc). Well, except maybe the stoners, but more on that later. So I was a loner for the most part, although outside of school I would hang with my neighborhood crew.

Ah, Karen Michelle. My first love. Met her in journalism class as a freshman and we had a passionate relationship until she moved away to San Diego just before senior year. Took Karen’s cherry in the back seat of my mom’s 1969 Plymouth Fury when I took her to watch the submarine races at Huntington Beach. I actually continued to see her periodically after she moved, making the two hour drive down I-5 for the weekend when I could get off work and/or had the gas money.

When I wasn’t down south I had a local girlfriend named Gail Weed. It was the best of both worlds, right up until Karen and Gail wound up in the same place at the same time. In the end I lost them both, only then realizing that I was in love with Gail. Sound familiar? Bless her heart, Gail responded to my profession of undying (and exclusive) love going forward with a hearty “fuck off”. That would be the first in a long line of heartbreaks to come over the course of many lifetimes.

My rebellion manifested itself in various ways. For one thing, I completely rejected the Protestant faith in which I had been raised. At some point I just became aware of the utter hypocrisy of the Christian church. And once I started questioning the values of the church I found I couldn’t intellectually accept the basic tenets of Christianity. I still do not believe Mary was a virgin or that Christ rose from the grave three days after being crucified. And so ended my budding career as a steel guitarist in my church’s band. Ah well.

I did run cross country my freshman year. I was actually pretty good for a youngster, running the two mile course in under 12 minutes (I think my best time was 11:40 or so). Whatever promise I held as a distance runner was apparently overshadowed by the fact that my hair touched the top of my ears. Coach Hedges (who may have been a drill sergeant at one time) told me to cut my hair or I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in future meets. So I quit the team. And now 50 years later I’m a Harrier once again. Life’s funny, ain’t it?

Academically, I couldn’t be bothered with bullshit like homework or in some cases, attending class on a regular basis. And my grades tended to reflect that.

I did have success in my Journalism class. In fact, I rose to become editor-in-chief of our high school paper.

Being a writer with the paper gave me another outlet for feeding my desire to “stick it to the man”. I had my own column on the editorial page called “A Few Words On…” Each issue I’d address some controversial topic of interest to me. One I specifically recall because it almost got our adviser fired when he resisted the school principal’s effort to censor it was called “Our Gestapo”. I basically (and probably unfairly) took the security staff to task for their over bearing nature in enforcing the rules.

I wasn’t always wrong on the issues though. I had editorialized that a California Proposition on the ballot to decriminalize marijuana should be approved.That created a bit of a shitstorm at the time.

Speaking of marijuana…starting at about fifteen years of age I became a bonafide pothead. I smoked dope whenever and wherever I could. And this being Southern Cal in the 1970’s, it was easier to get stoned than to get drunk. Although I did that on occasion as well. Pot was locally grown and relatively cheap at $10 an ounce. I experimented with other drugs as well, like LSD, but really only liked smoking grass. And truth be told, being high a lot of the time sucked whatever motivation I had to work hard in school right out of me. It’s a wonder I managed to graduate.

My criminality wasn’t strictly limited to my use of illegal substances. I was a notorious flaunter of traffic laws, mostly speeding related. And once I stole a car to replace a friend’s car I had drunkenly driven into a brick wall. But I was only arrested once:

On or about July 4, 1973, at 18900 Gothard Street, Huntington Beach, County of Orange, [John McCrarey] did willfully, unlawfully and maliciously disturb the peace and quiet of Mrs. Hal Westley Shirey by offensive conduct, and the use of vulgar, profane, and indecent language, in a loud and boisterous manner, in violation of Section 415 of the Penal Code of California.

My crime was yelling “fuck you pigs” after being ticketed for a bullshit offense. If you are curious about the details, I told the story here.

As a result of that episode I had the final falling out with my father whereupon I moved out of the house and on my own at 17. Good thing I had my own career already.

I worked there for several months until the night I was robbed. Pretty scary shit that was. And being the rebel that I was I had failed to make my regular drops into the safe (the rule was never more than $30 in the cash drawer). I probably had close to $100 at the time of the holdup. I guess that raised suspicions at corporate, because they told me to come to the office for a polygraph. As if I was involved with robbing myself! I was a punk, but I wasn’t no Jussie Smollett. Anyway, I told them they could stick the polygraph up their ass and quit.

I then embarked on a hitchhiking trip with a buddy across the Pacific Northwest. We had planned to enter Canada, but the Canadian border guards apparently didn’t like our looks. The pretext they used was we didn’t have enough money with us to be granted entrance. Bullshit! “How much do I need? I’ll wire home and get it.” He looked at me and said “son, you’ll never have enough money to get into Canada”. If you are interested in the details of that sad story, I wrote about it here. Anyway, I’ve never been back to Canada since that attempt, but I always swore then when I go, I’m going to do it at that border crossing.

Anyway, I came back home and found a better job working day shift in a factory. I also suffered my first bout of major depression and spent weeks planning to commit suicide. Even bought the drugs I planned to use to end my life. When the appointed day arrived I changed my mind for some reason. Best decision of a lifetime! I would not have wanted to miss all the lifetimes that followed that one.

And as fate would have it, near the end of my 19th year an event occurred that was destined to change everything. Stay tuned for Chapter 3.

He’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good
He’s a rebel ’cause he never ever does what he should
But just because he doesn’t do what everybody else does
That’s no reason why I can’t give him all my love

I’ve been around some places in this life.  I moved out of the house I shared with my parents on Milton Avenue in Westminster CA in July, 1973 at the tender age of 17.  Moved into an apartment on Magnolia Avenue in Garden Grove with a neighborhood pal.  I had two girlfriends at the time, Gail and Karen.  Karen lived down San Diego way so it wasn’t too difficult to make sure they were never in the same place at the same time.

A few months later I moved further down (up?) Magnolia to Huntington Beach and shared an apartment with my brother Keith.  I was living there when I had the misfortune of bringing Karen home with me from San Diego while Gail was amongst the friends having an impromptu party at my place.  So shortly thereafter I found myself with zero girlfriends.

About a year later I was dating Bridget and knocked her up.  So we took an apartment in Midway City during her pregnancy with the intention of giving the baby up for adoption. Turns out once I saw my baby girl I wanted to keep her, so I married Bridget.

We rented a nice little house on 22nd Street in Westminster from my parents and engaged in the family life.  Before long my son Kevin came along and we started dreaming of raising our kids somewhere other than Southern California. I managed to secure a transfer of my letter carrier job to the mile high city of Prescott, AZ.

Rented a nice little house on Western Avenue sight unseen, this was before the internet, I found it advertised in the Prescott Courier.  I don’t recall where I managed to get my hands on a copy though.

Anyway, Prescott might just be the best place I ever did live.  Back then it was a bustling little metropolis of 25,000 souls nestled in the Bradshaw Mountains.  It seemed like a place I could spend a lifetime in, so I became a first time homeowner in a sweet little house on San Carlos Road.

We were living there when the marriage fell apart, so I rented a place on the other side of town on Shadow Valley Road.  It was one of those modified A-frame cabin-like things, and I shared it with two random roommates.  I fell in love with a Phoenix gal whom I met in Flagstaff and was attending graduate school in Pocatello, Idaho.  I only got to see her on the occasional weekend when I’d make the drive up north and during school breaks when she’d come home.  Thought she was going to marry me but then she wound up pregnant. With another man’s baby.

That was a pretty devastating blow and I felt the need to change my life.  So I took a job in Fort Smith, AR and rented me an apartment in the illogically named El Conquistador complex.  At least I was close to my kids again who had been staying with my mom and dad on their little 80 acre ranch across the border in Monroe, OK.

I experienced a rather lonely year before the locals determined I was “all right” despite my odd accent.  I had some success with the ladies and eventually started staying with Pamela in her apartment in Poteau, OK.  Got bored after awhile so I moved back into Fort Smith and commenced to dating Iris and Darla.  Iris was seven years older than me and Darla was 7 years younger.  I fantasized about putting Iris’ brain in Darla’s body.  Failing that, i settled for Beckie and moved into her fine house back in Poteau.  We got married and I got promoted and we moved to ourselves and the kids off to Columbia, SC where we rented a house on Greengate street.

Of course, the kids had grown accustomed to having horses, so we bought a house in Lexington on 2/12 acres that was zoned for horses.  In fact, all the streets were named after horses.  We lived on Shetland Lane.

As testament to my selfishness and degenerate character I fell in love with another woman.  Beckie moved out and Carol moved in.  Not long afterwards I got promoted to a job in Arlington, VA.  I lived a few months in an apartment in Crystal City before purchasing a house in Stafford where Carol joined me.

A few years later my misbehavior led me to rent an apartment in Arlington, but eventually I returned home to my house and wife.

In January 2005 I took a job in Seoul and had a government paid for villa in Hannam-dong. Carol was supposed to join me there but got cold feet and backed out.  I chose to stay in Korea rather than return to my American life.

I made several trips to the Philippines where the young women were more than willing to assuage my loneliness.  Then I met Se Hwa through a Korean dating site and she moved in with me for a year and a half.  She left me to move to the USA for a Masters Degree.  And there she remains as far as I know.

Not long after Se Hwa left I met Jee Yeun and we’ve been together ever since.  When I retired I bought us a house on Lockleven Drive in Columbia.  When we stayed in Seoul we lived in an apartment in Gireum-dong.

And now it has come to pass that I’m living in cozy villa in Itaewon.

By my reckoning, during the 43 years of my adult life I’ve spent roughly three years on my own.  It takes some getting used to.