I was born in a small town on the coast of northern Nova Scotia. It was a bleak setting for a youngster such as myself to come of age. I spent my early days as many other children did... cleaning fish, playing backgammon, and taking French horn lessons.
My father was a difficult man. He was a military man. He could often be found sitting out in front of the house on the tire swing, yelling at the trees for their insolence. From time to time he would leave us to go on what he would call “routine exercisesâ€. Mother and I never thought twice about it until we realized that Nova Scotia had no standing army. It turned out that he had been going out for days at a time to see the local fishwife. It was no wonder that mother never noticed. She was an albino who lacked the sense of smell. She couldn’t possibly have known that father returned reeking of fish heads and bad oysters.
Mother and I left our small hamlet shortly afterwards. We moved to what we considered the big city… Duluth, Minnesota. Due to an acute case of gigantism, I quickly found a job at a local factory at the age of nine.
After Mother’s freak toaster accident (which I don’t want to get in to), I hitchhiked to Los Angeles to pursue my dreams.
The real story might be more interesting... or not
