I've always considered myself to be a bit looney. I've been trying to figure out if my birth date is the cause. I don't really think it did but it does make my personal insanity a bit more palatable. I couldn't have a more appropriate birthday.

April 1st... April fools day! I love it. It gives me an excuse.

My life has been a roller coaster ride. Born in 1951, my dad made combat jumps as part of the 17th airborne in WWII, so short he just made the minimum height. He was rough, tough, and profane and a mechanic.

My earliest memories include 3 days of hell in 1955. Our cesspool top caved in. My brother (older by 6 years) had to crawl in & tie rope about the pieces of concrete so my dad could pull them out with the truck. Then I had to climb down in standing in ooze up to my armpits. My brother lowered a 5 gallon bucket on a rope to me. I had to scoop it full the use a pail to top it off. My brother hauled it up & dumped it on our garden. It took us 3 days... in August... to finish. A fun 3 days for a 4 year old.

If we needed punishment, off came the belt and we got wailed. He'd hold one arm up so we had to stand on our toes while he wailed away. We were relatively well behaved.

When I was 9, my dad had a service station built beside our house. We all worked, 6am till midnight, 7 days a week for the first 3 years. Upon getting home from school it was change to work clothes & go to work. I had a 3 step step ladder at the gas pumps so I could wash the car windows as I pumped gas.

My brother joined the airforce after graduating in 1962 and at 11 I became the back up mechanic. My dad would work on a car in one bay while I worked on another in the 2nd bay. My dad expected my brother and I now me to work as fast and error free as he did. My older brother & dad had fought constantly, verbal escalating to blows at least once every two weeks. I learned the lesson to let my dad's bellows and swearing go in one ear and out the other. We never even argued as I'd simply continue working while he yelled and cursed.

In 1963 I came home from school and my dad gave me the 20 pound sledge hammer and told me contractorswere coming the next day to begin excavation between our house and our private garage to build an addition connecting the two buildings. There was a 16 x 24 foot concrete slab between them and I was to break it up that night... and watch the gas pumps. I did it.

In 1965, I still hadn't learned my lesson so when he asked my sister (3 1/2 years younger)and I if we'd like an in-ground swimming pool in the back yard, we both said yes. Then he smiled and said he'd order a kit from Sears, 20 x 40 feet, 3 to 8 feet deep. I was excited until he gave me the pick, shovel, and wheel barrow. Again, I did it. Only took 3 weeks.

At 16, I got a job on a chicken farm and got away from my dad. 50,000 chickens and their shit were easier to handle. I got my first speeding ticket while riding to the chicken farm... doing 50 in a 35mph zone, passing a tractor-trailer on the wrong side in a no passing zone... on my single speed bicycle. At the beginning of my senior year I got a job in the local bleach and dye works.

At school I had no close friends because I could never hang out. I was a tough guy, never backing away from a confontation, and a bit crazy. In eighth grade I got into a fight with a senior in the locker room. He beat me, blackened my eyes, bloodied my nose, split my lip, but I took him. He'd knock me down and I'd get back up smiling and go at him. Each time he decked me I'd smile more and lap up the blood running down my face. By the 5th time I got up I could see fear in his eyes. I was so hopped up on adrenalin I didn't even feel any pain. I finally wore him out (Mohamm Ali copied my style with his 'rope a dope') and took him down. I sat on his chest and blasted his face with both fists. It took 3 guys to pull me off him. He missed the rest of the week of school but I was there. Sore and turning colors, but there.

That was the last time I ever had a fight. Everyone was afraid of me cause I was simply too nuts to realize I'd been hurt so they avoided me. I didn't want to fight... I realized I was so cranked up I might have killed my opponent if I hadn't been pulled off. The expreience of loss of control terrified me. It opened my eyes to life's horrors. My dad was a functunal alcoholic, never drank while working, but after supper was never without a beer and drank himself to sleep every night. I have never touched alcohol... I'm scared of losing control.

My transvestism/transesexualism first manifested itself at the time the gas station was opened. My brother and I had to work... my little sister was daddy's angel. Jealousy! It grew as I aged... it was an escape from the forced/expected machismo.

Needless to say, I was psychologically messed up. I had to appear super macho while wanting to be a dainty girl. This plus my wacked out weirdo rep at school kept me socially isolated. I was afraid to ask a girl out.

When I was a senior, a girl I knew from grade school (her mom was my den mother in cub scouts, she was in 1st grade, I was in 2nd.) asked me to come to the art club dance (she was asking everyone she knew). At the same time the Bleach & Dye works was having a Company dinner and my co-workers (all adults) were pesting me to bring a date. I told the girl I'd go to the dance... with her... if she'd go to the banquet with me. Those were our first 2 dates. We continued, going to college and working together. We'd get up at 6am, I'd go to her home and pick her up. We'd drive 12 miles to a state college, classes and study from 8 till 4, then drive 15 miles to the city to work till 10 in a department store, then back home. While working full time, we both took 18 to 21 credits a semester and went summers, earning our degrees in 3 1/2 years. I could never get a teaching job as 18,000 of us graduated that year with a social studies degree for 2000 openings. I did get a job as a supervisor in a factory at 22 and we married the week she graduated.

My macho side wanted to join the marines and I scored a full NROTC scolarship to Penn State. Thjis was in 1969 and I wanted to go to Vietnam. (Told you I'm crazy!) A month before school began, I ripped up my knee and they dropped me. I had to scramble as I couldn't afford the main campus and managed to transfer to a Penn State local campus for the year before transfering to the state college. My wife and I paid our own way through college plus bought and maintained our cars.

She saved me. I wanted to take her out on Sundays, she simply told me she was teaching Sunday School. The following Sunday she had an assistant. That was in 1969. The pastor was a good man and saw my inner possibilities. In deep talks, he helped me iron out my concerns and doubts. I'm still at that church, and have been teaching the 7th & 8th grade confirmands for the last 3 years. I've got 11 for confirmation in May. I teach the kids, not the curriculum. I make it real and releate to their lives. I was only going to do it 1 year while we were between pastors but the parents wanted me to continue as the kids enjoy my classes.

My wife was not at all understanding about my TV/TS interests, although we are deeply devoted in virtually all other aspects of our lives. Our daughter is 33 and we're in our 37th year of marriage. In 1990 we added onto our home (16 x 31 feet, 2 1/2 stories with basement & replaced the heating system), doing the work ourselves, masonry, carpentry, roofing, plumbing. wiring, drywall, everything. We moved my widowed mother-in law and brother-in law in with us. We kept the original and they got the addition. My mother -in-law died in 1997, but my 48 year old going on 12 brother -in-law is still here... rent free.

Also in 1997 my wife was diagnosed with MS. She had bad days and worse days but continued working as an elementary school librarian. In 2000, Thanksgiving, she slipped on some ice and fell, fracturing 2 vertebrae. She refused to stop and although confined to a manual wheelchair, she continued to teach. She couldn't stand or walk so I lifted her out of bed and carried her to the shower. We showered together as she couldn't stand. It wasn't fun or easy, but we did it. I'd put her in her wheelchair, take her to the car, lift her into the car, take her to school, lift her back into the chair, then help her to the library. Then I went to work. After I finished my shift, I'd pick her up. She managed to finish the school year, then collapsed. She was hospitalized for 47 days as they stablized her. MS is aggravated by stress so naturally it flared up. The upshot was that she has been permanently paralyzed from the waist down and has been bedridden since then. I've remodeled our home making a roll in shower, ramps for the power wheelchair (which she can only use 3-4 hours a week) and have set her up with inter-coms and remote door locks as well as a laptop computer. For the last 8 3/4 years I've been her only care-giver, feeding and bathing her and assisting in daily bodily functions (those days in the cess-pool have actually come in handy!) while working full time and being fully active on our church governing body. I'm the ex- president (6 years) and currently assistant treasurer, and treasurer for the Sunday School and Memorial Fund. (I do my TV/TS writing in my spare time.)

My faith has made all I do possible. When my wife first went into the manual wheelchair, she was head of the Sunday School, so every Sunday I took her into church and out... up and down 27 steps. An older parishioner came to us after 6 weeks and thanked us. He'd wanted to do something big for the church in memory of his late wife but didn't know what to do. He put up the money for an elevator and in 6 months, our church was made fully accessible. God used our steadfast faith to influence others. Our personal tragedy became a blessing. Then 5 1/2 years ago, the Medical Equipment Company we used asked if I wanted to come on board as Service Manager. They were impressed by my attitude and initiative. I accepted and have been using my experience in dealing with disabilty to help others. Again, God used our tragedy for good. I work 1 mile from home and now come home for lunch every day. It's been a win-win situation.

Still, I'm crazy. I've discovered my family struggles with alcoholism is mine, just compulsive eating. I can't eat one donut without having to get a dozen. I can't get a box icecream without eating it in one setting. I control myself by not starting. For the last 41 years my breakfast has cnsisted of two cans of Coke.. no food... with another two cans for lunch... with no food. In the last three years I have cut back my Coke consumption from 10-12 cans a day to 5-6 cans. My one day of splurging is my birthday. I bring donuts for everyone at work. Last year I ate 6 donuts and drank a 2-liter bottle of Coke in the first 1/2 hour, polishing off 3 more 12 oz cans of Coke with a total of 21 donuts. I'll let you know if I do better than that this year.