As I look back on 75 years of life, I reflect on what has influenced me; what has shaped my life.

First and foremost, my mother and father not only gave me their genes; they gave me dozens of morals and maxims to live by and to pass along. Mom and Dad grew up in Arkansas during America’s Great Depression, so I absorbed their habits of thrift; to conserve utilities, to not waste food, to make do with what was available, to repair and to reuse. Love of family and respect for others were other values I inherited.

Roots, Restlessness, and a Country at War

Harry Truman was president when I was born, had been since Franklin Roosevelt died during World War Two. But the war never really went away. My father, like millions of other men of his generation, joined the military after Pearl Harbour to fight against imperialism, against fascism, and soon after I was born, against communism.

Dwight Eisenhower, another veteran, was elected president in 1952. And armed conflict continued, this time on the Korean Peninsula. The bond I could have had with my dad became a casualty of war when he was assigned to Korea. He was a stranger to me when he returned, and I to him.

Daddy chose the Army as a career; this meant I would move often, never putting down roots. I was the second of four brothers; this meant I never had my own bedroom. I longed for privacy, for stability, for long-term friendships and a sense of community. Extended family in a distant town gave the only sense of continuity – but Daddy made sure those bonds were strong by visiting kinfolk several times each year.

By the mid-50s, there must have been five years’ worth of World War II movies if you watched them end to end. And I must have watched them all. The theatre at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, even showed 1940s newsreels before Saturday morning cartoons.

Television, movies, photographs — it was all in black and white. And that was the world I grew up in — black and white, good and evil, us versus them.

Race relations were black and white, too. I used to wonder about the restroom doors in Arkansas marked Men, Women, and Coloured. Why did Negro boys and girls have to use the same bathroom? “Whites Only” had a chilled water fountain. The “Coloured” fountain was white porcelain, but it was not refrigerated. Even the logic of a child could tell you this was not fair.

Popeye, Tom and Jerry, and Mickey Mouse on television entertained us kids at mid-century, but Superman, Davy Crockett, and Zorro were our heroes. My dad put groceries on the table and paid the rent on the house. Mom turned the food into meals and made the house into a home. They were heroes, too. No one in our family ever went hungry; we never lacked health care.

Finding My Voice in a Divided America

Daddy took me to Alamo Stadium in 1960 to hear Barry Goldwater campaign for president – and I started paying attention to politics. When John F. Kennedy was shot, my age of innocence ended. My world began to expand. James Bond and the Beatles brought England to America. And then there was Vietnam.

“Son, wake up,” my grandmother roused me from sleep one summer morning, “We’re at war.” Instantly, all the images of those World War II movies played back in fast-forward. But not for one minute did I think Vietnam was going to be my war. Two years later, I realised this would be my war – if I didn’t do something about it.

Our family lived in the Beltway of Washington, DC, in the mid-sixties, so I got a first-hand look at nationalistic America as well as the counter-culture. The Peace Movement made sense to me. I rebelled against the war, against the establishment, and against authority. So did millions of other teenagers in the 1960s.

Back in my high school days, my East Coast friends and I would debate which was the better record label: Motown or Atlantic. I liked the Supremes and Temptations with their Detroit Sound, but I really thrilled to Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett and the other soul singers from the South. From the Bay Area to the British Isles, I’ve always loved the Blues. It picks me up when I’m down, makes me laugh when I’m happy, and makes me want to dance. And I love to dance.

Service, Study, and the Making of a Man

After I left home in 1969, I lived on the streets in San Antonio for a while. Then I lived on the road from Texas to California. It was a learning experience. I carried my sign against the war; I marched on the Capitol back in Texas – and was tear-gassed for my efforts. In 1971, I was drafted anyway. At the time, I felt it was the worst thing that could have happened. But, looking back, I’m glad I served.

Richard Nixon gave me my first aeroplane ride – to Fort Polk, Louisiana, for the Army’s Basic Training. I ate three square meals a day, put on weight. I exercised, put on muscles. I matured a little bit more. I learned the chain of command and new responsibility.

Because I already knew how to type, I was at the top of my clerk-typist class – and I signed up for more training. While my classmates went to Vietnam, I was sent to Indiana for a course in Personnel Management. By the time I finished my training, President Nixon was winding down the war.

I was stationed in Germany and made the most of it. I travelled behind the Berlin Wall, visited my brother in Frankfurt many times, and, when our parents came for vacation, we toured Europe from Amsterdam to Zurich. I saw how politics shape a country; how different cultures have different ethics. Vestiges of my worldview still remain.

Back in Texas, the G.I. Bill paid for my college education – and then some. With my 5-point veteran preference, I landed a good government job and joined the Air Force Reserve. I was triple-dipping into the government treasury and saving almost more than I spent.

English was difficult for me in high school, but I found it easy in college. Literature and composition courses led to creative and technical writing classes, which led to an associate’s degree in journalism. But it would be 30 years before I received a paycheque for my writing.

My Reserve duty took me to Washington, DC, several times, where I visited old haunts, toured new sights, and did research at the Pentagon. In 1979, about a month after the nuclear accident at Three Mile Island, about 300,000 protestors marched on the US Capitol. I was one of them. My spirit of protest is still alive and well.

After a few years of earnings from the Reserves and the GI Bill, I was able to put a fat down payment on my first house. Home ownership came with a lot of pleasure but also responsibilities. I soon learned the basics of plumbing, carpentry, lawn work, window replacement, and electrical repair. I matured a bit more; new skills gave me a new confidence.

I travelled frequently to Mexico during the 1980s; dozens of times to the Tex-Mex border but also to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico City, Guadalajara, Oaxaca, and Chihuahua. Visits to Colombia, Barbados, Puerto Rico, and Canada reinforced an international viewpoint. Talking with people of different nationalities gives one an introspection of citizenship.

Love, Loss, and The Art of Growing Up

When my dad died in 1991, I felt my family of origin was disintegrating. One sibling was struggling through his divorce; an investment with another brother went sour. Looking back, I believe I purposely set out to create a family of destiny. I got married in 1992 and had a baby 11 months later.

I enjoyed my role as husband and relished my identity as a father to a newborn. Being a dad to Charlie has been the richest, most rewarding experience in my life. To instil responsibility to an offspring takes responsibility.

The growth that comes to a father and a son is a two-way street; it makes a life complete. I learned that maturation takes place in the involved father. All generations benefit when families spend time together.

Charlie was two when his mom and I divorced, and so began a period of rebuilding. Months of journaling and support groups gave me introspection. Then I discovered poetry and a channel to express my thoughts. I had a purpose to my life, and sharing it gave fulfilment.

I was inspired by other poets at weekly open-mic venues. I acquired confidence in public presentation. And I gained pleasure in creating and offering my work to others. I found a new identity. And I matured a bit more.

Charlie was 12 when his mom moved him 350 miles away. I followed him – and followed my destiny. Moving from a big city like San Antonio to a small North Texas town gave me advantages and opportunities I had not considered.

No longer a little fish in a big pond, I found myself doing promotions and publicity for a non-profit organisation. This led to planning events, creating commercials, and doing public service announcements on TV and radio. Serving on the board of a health clinic was another learning experience.

Part of my Daddy Duty was ensuring my son finished high school. Mission accomplished, I returned to San Antonio with upgraded talents and a desire to serve my community. I love this city for its culture, economy, and the mild winters.

Relationships, Friendship and Health

Through the years, several great loves in my life have expanded my heart and enriched my soul. I am grateful to the women I’ve known. I have learned empathy, flexibility, acceptance, forgiveness, compromise, how to show vulnerability, and perhaps most importantly, patience.

Best friends have played an important part in my life as well. My pals have been inspiring, encouraging, and helped build my confidence. Friendship can teach respect and communication while offering reason and camaraderie. Working relationships have taught me how to work it at work. I have grown through such alliances, and I hope I’ve given as much as I’ve received.

My body needed serious maintenance as I navigated my 60s. Apprehension about skin cancer was far more dreadful than the actual cure. Recovery from prostate cancer was far more complicated than my expectations. But now my PSA levels are good. For a botched inguinal hernia operation, the repair had to be repaired.

Periodontal surgery is as painful as it is expensive. The benefits of a hearing aid have outweighed my sense of vanity. After surgery to remove cataracts, my vision is the best it’s been in 40 years. I’ve got my shingles vaccination, and I keep my blood pressure in check.

I work out each day and enjoy bicycling and walking. I do my own yardwork and try to eat healthy. My father died at age 69, just two months short of his 70^th birthday. The older we grew, the more we grew together. Mom lived to the ripe old age of 85. It is now my goal to live as long as her.

I feel like I have had a good life. I hope my son will find value in my legacy.