THE HICK FROM THE STICKS TURNS 50 SOMETHING
Okay, I didn't grow up in a trailer park (though I did grow up on an acre lot with new sewer hook up and our neighbor to the east was a farm with cows, hogs and stinky manure).
And I didn't grow up in New Orleans (though I wish I had been raised in such a culturally-rich and diverse city, rather than the homogeneous berg I grew up in, where there were only two African American children that I ever knew K-12, there were zero Hispanic Children and we were so WASPish that the Italian kids seemed as exotic as Martians).
I'd like to think I did okay for growing up in exurban isolation in far exurban Cleveland, Ohio.
I met my wonderful wife of three decades at Kent State (I was first in my family to go to college, she was third generation).
Worked at the newspaper in Columbus, Ohio and had so many great mentors and close friends, that I'm not going to single any out by name...for fear of leaving out someone who deserves mention.
In 2000, my wife Heidi and I went crazy. We decided to leave the cold (and the bitter winters certainly had something to do with our madness) comfort of Upper Arlington and super stable jobs.
We landed in Miami. Bought a tumbled down, now nearly 100-year-old house in the heart of Little Havana. Inherited thousands of abuelas, which great, save for the fact that I was to dumb to take my high school Spanish seriously, so when I landed in espanol-speaking Miami, I could only remember about 10 words to share with all those grandmas that adopted us.
My wife took advanced Spanish and was chatting with our neighbors like she grew up in Spain. (notice a pattern here, that my much more refined bride had a leg up on me in the worldliness department from the day we met?)
Slowly, but surely, going on two decades in Miami, with Little Havana house paid off next year, I have graduated to the proud station of speaking Spanish like a poorly-schooled five year old.
Verb tense, comes and goes. Accent...quite often not a part of my speech pattern. Espanol de la calle...instead of refined words -- yep, that's me. Begging folks at the grocery to slow down so I can grasp the context, then struggle to understand -- that's old Esteban of Casa Gringo.
But I've had some fabulous mentors here too, especially when I worked for a big hearted Miami Commissioner who took a chance on hiring me.
Now I'm with a great Urban Design firm. I'll leave the name out, since I've purposely not dropped any person or business names here -- again, for fear I'll leave a very deserving person off the list an unintentionally hurt their feelings.
Made some lifelong friends here in the subtropics, where we all take acting crazy to a high platform.
Even got converted from a dog person to a crazy cat lover, when a homeless Siamese adopted us. Her name is Honey Bear and she sleeps on my bed. (Please, all you other cats who visit daily to eat and drink at our doorstep, please don't take offense when you read this and see Honey Bear's name, but not your own.
Got to travel to about half the Spanish speaking places on earth (feeling oh so slightly sophisticated, because I kinda have a tentative toe hold on the language, vs. every other place on the planet that doesn't speak English, where I am dumbfounded by Turkish, Portuguese and all of the above).
Through it all, my best friend on earth, Heidi, has grown with me and polished herself into one of the leading advocates for Universal Design, the Americans with Disabilities Act, Inclusive Mobility and everything else that makes live more livable for people with disabilities.
I could ramble on forever, but it's probably time to stop. I think I've already exceeded the typical length of a blog post.
So now, I've walked the globe for more than half a century. Hopefully, I can squeeze out at least another quarter century before they plant me six feet under.
Then again, it's been an adventure every day. If I fate delivered me to the Big Sleep tomorrow, I could not argue that I have not led a very full, entertaining life,
