Born in 1966 in Harvey, Illinois (South Chicago). That very year, my mother, sister, and I were caught in the blizzard of 1966 in Chicago. We would have starved to death if my mother had not used serious survival skills to make pancakes out of flour and water for months. That was a close call. My parents’ marriage was hitting major lows. My father, who spent three tours in Vietnam, was by this time quite a different person altogether. After some brutal encounters, my parents split. What a beginning! We, my older sister and baby brother entered the foster care system.Later, we were pawned off to a more permanent foster family. Life was not the same in this foster home. After two and a half years of sexual, physical, and mental abuse, we were a mess. While living at the foster home, I learned to work hard and long hours. In the meantime, our little minds were shutting down, and we ate like animals. We did not use forks, knives, or spoons all the time. We ate with our hands. Some days, we acted totally normal, and other days like a wild pack of dogs. After a time, the state gave us a battery aptitude test to evaluate us. I was certified as mentally retarded. Now, the abuse stepped up a notch. The “retarded boy” did not understand what was going on. (I do want to make something completely clear: the foster parents had nothing to do with the sexual abuse.) My grandfather, who resided in Italy, had written letters several years later to every state senator and congressman in America. Finally, the battle for the three children began. By 1976, my grandfather, my mother, and her new soon-to-be-husband won the battle. Praise God. Finally, we loaded up in the brand-new Grand Prix they showed up in and headed to Colorado Springs, Colorado. A new family I began to watch days turn into months and then years. I began to smarten up. I watched as, time after time, my brothers would brutally speak words of hate. They would defy their father and mother. I realized I did not want to cause any more pain, shame, or fear to my family. I stayed out of trouble as best as a curious boy could. I began focusing on how to help myself in this life. I went to church off and on. I was not really committed but interested in the girls, food, and fun. I began mowing grass and washing cars. It kept me busy and out of trouble. It even made my parents happy. I stuttered a little when I spoke and was extremely fearful of having to explain a mistake. I had no confidence in myself. We were moving again, this time to Las Vegas, Nevada. Seventh grade in Las Vegas was like being sent to prison every school day. I was sure someone was going to kill me just because I was slow to speak. All you had to say was boo, it would have made me pee my pants. Eighth grade was a little different. I guess I started getting better looking. I had a lot of attention from the girls. This made me popular and a target for the local school gangs. Here is where I learned to put my hidden talent to work. I found out that fighting back meant respect. So, I began protecting myself and anyone who could not. High school quickly approached, and home life sucked big time. Our family had been torn to shreds by everyone’s horrible behavior. My freshman year in high school was smooth. I saw seniors roughing up freshmen all around me, but no one was pushing me around. Maybe I did not look like a freshman. I played football and was on the wrestling team. My sophomore year was just about the same.I began to work a job full time. In my junior year, I did not go out for football or wrestling. I began to get bored with it. I was barely passing my classes during ninth and tenth grades. The eleventh grade quickly went by. I would party all night long. I went to school and worked a full-time job. After work it was straight to the clubs to drink and dance. Senior year came and parties were nonstop. The school was a roller coaster ride. I missed so many days the principal threatened to not let me graduate! I had been awarded a scholarship to UNLV for vocal music. Things were looking up. My girlfriend’s parents moved to a nearby town called Pahrump. In Pahrump, I had gotten involved in shady dealings and almost had gotten shot. I never did collect on the scholarship. I soon realized the path I was on was going to lead me straight to the grave or prison. I thought long and hard about my life. I was 18 and a new believer in Jesus Christ. I knew if I did not change my behavior, I would never make it alive. I decided to join the U.S. Army. Joining the Army was one of the best decisions I would ever make. Eventually, I was recruited by a clandestine group and began participating in special intelligence operations. I was privileged to have traveled over sixty countries while serving in United States Army.Read more about this authorRead less about this author