Who Am I?

Who I am no longer matters.  At least not as much as it used to.  At the time of this writing, I'm just some random mid-60-year-old American guy with life memories both good and bad.

The short version, saving you from a long boring read:  During my life I've been a baby, son of a U.S. Marine and an elementary school teacher, kid, Oregonian, Californian, primary school student, school-skipper, sexually abused, an elementary school student, Cub Scout, Floridian, railfan, preteen, Webelos, youngest bugler in the history of The Emerald Buccaneers Drum & Bugle Corps, trumpet player in school bands, junior high school student, Boy Scout, porn addict, teenager, high school student, artist, photographer, writer, weekend greasemonkey for a readymix company, drugstore stockboy, stockboy at a Sprouse-Reitz store, certified SCUBA diver, fire extinguisher technician, Christian, boyfriend, high-school graduate, Arizonian, UTI student/graduate, jilted ex-boyfriend, night watchman, lunch delivery person (in the days before DoorDash et.al), engaged, tool room supervisor/truck deliverer for a Peterbilt/GMC truck dealership, husband, mechanic, school bus driver trainee, concrete mixer driver, auto parts store assistant manager, dump truck driver, father, truck driver for a wholesale plant nursery, driver/dockhand for a regional trucking company, owner of a parking lot striping company, hazardous waste hauler, commercial vehicle inspector, divorced, website designer, remarried husband, grandfather, retired, not quite dead yet.

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