The following is an autobiographical sketch of my life. As I am going back to school to finish my bachelors degree, this is the first assignment. I share this because it is what I enjoy doing; writing. God bless-Witt.
My life began in the summer of 1962 in the Northwest corner of Ohio. The fourth of six children, I grew up with the values of a Christian family, hard work, education and service to community. My father worked long hours in a General Motors steel foundry to support us while my mother spent the earliest years of my childhood as a home maker and day care provider. Later, she would work as a teacher’s aid and elementary school librarian for nearly thirty years. In that time my siblings and I had the advantage and sometimes unfortunate situation of having a parent readily accessible if we needed something or got into trouble at school. I remember having difficulty reading and with mathematics throughout elementary school of which the latter followed me even through my earliest college years.
I would best describe my elementary school experience as both frustrating and tumultuous. The result of a summer birthday and concerns over my maturity level left me with a second year of kindergarten as well as learning to adjust to totally new classmates who seemed much younger at times. There were many clashes on the playground where I remember being singled out by several other boys in my class who proceeded to taunt and physically harass me; a fact which followed me through the sixth grade. Fortunately, unlike some, junior high seemed much kinder and gentler as far as social interaction, but academics still loomed as a topic of contention for me.
Math tutors, athletics and a natural curiosity for the opposite sex proved a normal course of events for me as junior high gave way to high school subjects and social gatherings. Having grown up as a middle child, I was quiet and unassuming which made for awkward moments at school dances; but there was always a basketball game or track meet to take the tension off my slowly developing social sense. As a family, we continued to attend church every Sunday and sit promptly in the first pew as it proved a means for my parents to keep us in line as well as to not give us an excuse for inattention during the sermon.
Faith, though very much a part of my upbringing seemed quite artificial to me growing up. The Catholic Church offered instruction and the implementation of sacramental virtues of which seemed strange to me. I often found God to be a distant observer and I struggled to seek a relationship which applied directly to my life. For this reason I believe I wondered so much as an adolescent, not to mention the awkwardness I felt when it came to girls. In later years I would describe myself as a loner and a kind of chameleon who could adapt or fit in to whatever social group I encountered. You could say I was a follower who went with the tide as far as what I did outside of school. This led to experimentation with alcohol and smoking pot.
Growing up in a very German oriented and agricultural region afforded me many opportunities to experience the acceptance of alcohol as a socially acceptable means of interaction. I remember my first “beer buzz” as I was barely out of junior high school; little did I know then the implications of depending on a chemical substance as a means to feeling comfortable in a peer group. I believe I inherited my maternal grandfather’s love of the outdoors which is why I enjoyed being a Boy Scout; it kept me out of trouble on more than a few occasions, yet allowed for other creative ways in which to get involved in mischief. I recall getting caught streaking through camp with a few troop mates by staff members late at night. A phenomena of the times during the 1970’s and quite out of character for a shy kid like me.
High school graduation day came in May of 1981. I had absolutely no idea where I was headed and got so intoxicated on beer that I passed out in my Dad’s car at a classmate’s home. Not a moment to brag about but a tell-tale truth of things to come later in my life none the less. It seemed I had the choice to follow in my father’s footsteps or strike out on my own in search of an identity. College really did not seem to fit in those days, so at nineteen on July 24th, 1981, I decided to follow my oldest brother who had joined the Army only a few months earlier. It would prove both physically and mentally challenging to a kid like me from Northwest Ohio who had no future of his own at the time.
Six months of regimented life did me a lot of good right out of high school. I had always battled a weight problem growing up so losing forty pounds in Army basic training gave me the confidence to walk tall and feel a sense of accomplishment. Heading to Germany as a yet untried communications specialist seemed the greatest adventure I had ever known. Two years of my life would be spent serving my country and learning about the world. Little did I know how much my past as a loner and follower would shape the events of those early days on my own with Uncle Sam. The “Cold War” still raged in Europe even though people in the states did not seem to care. It was a time of uncertainty yet oddly enough, a time to prove myself as a man; or so I thought. While in the field I was living with purpose and determination, but in garrison I was a binge drinking kid trying to keep pace with a bunch of more experienced thrill seekers bored with Army life.
If a person can change in as little as two years, then I was the “poster boy” for how much. Comparing the two photos I had taken while in Germany shows a kid of barely twenty and another nearly twenty two. A boy and man in contrast best describes the two as the dark shadows under the eyes of the latter attest to the journey to that point. I went home to Ohio for a brief respite and a whole new world that I had not seen while so preoccupied over seas with duty and trying to break the insanity of Army living. The folks threw a homecoming party complete with Polka music and draft beer in a glass boot I had sent home for Christmas the year before. We danced the chicken and celebrated with family and friends of my parents. Afterwards, I visited my old high school the following Monday morning; it felt weird. I even stopped in to see my old senior composition teacher, Miss Doll, whom I never got along with very well, but who got me thinking about becoming a writer. It would take a few more years for this sense to develop, but deep inside I knew I had a voice to share with people if only I could unlock it.
I spent the next eighteen months stationed in Arizona and deployed to places like Honduras and California; talk about a contrast in socio-economic landscape! I went from the lush green countryside of Germany with its guest houses and beer halls to the sage brush mountains and sub tropical plains of Central America to Pismo Beach. There was little time for boredom and thus binge drinking was kept to a minimum. The curiosity of the opposite sex came back to haunt me in the shanty towns of Central America. I think I finally grew up as the circumstances of unbridled sexuality took its toll. Suddenly I realized the consequences of not living according to my moral upbringing. Needless to say, I took my honorable discharge from the Army with pride knowing I had outgrown some of the wonder lust. I actually went home with a plan in mind!
The rest of this story is quite a whirlwind actually. I joined the Ohio Army National Guard, enrolled in college and found my faith. The old academic problems of the past kept creeping up as I took, failed and re-took the required math courses I needed for a bachelors degree in social work. It had come down to that and journalism as I had written for my high school newspaper. I chose social work because I had come back to the Catholic Church and was volunteering as a youth minister. As old habit would have it I dropped out of college having never passed the required math course I needed. Having resigned myself to failure, I took my mother’s advice and went to work at a residential treatment facility for delinquent boys. In the winter of 1992 I met the woman who would become the love of my life and the mother of our two sons. It was like my return to faith and committing to something greater than my own desires had shown me the way to happiness.
The intervening years finally brought about my finishing an Associate of Arts degree and a whole new direction. I ended up following in my father’s footsteps after all and went to work in a factory making more than an entry level social worker. It is funny how economics can influence the best of intentions, but I am finally at the point in my life where I can still see opportunity knocking. I have found that life offers many avenues of approach, trials and opportunities for growth. It is through these that we find purpose and meaningful relationships, faith and love beyond our wildest imaginings. This has been my life in contrast; a journey of happenings beyond and within my control. Life has taught me to endure and endure and endure until a dream finally comes to fruition. And so again, I embark on another journey to see the fruits of labor become a reality. The best is yet to come!
