What story? I’m old and I eat and drink too much. Okay, a little of my story.

I was born in a log cabin . . . that’s not true, but as an Irishman I am obligated to embellish stories. I was born in the Mid-West. My old man split when I was about four years old. My only memory of him was on my fourth birthday. I was living with my grandmother, his mother, and he came around to give me a plush chicken toy that I cherished until I was disappeared from grandma’s house and the chicken stayed behind.

I must have known who my father was although I have no prior memories of him. But since he had an eye patch from an injury at the steel mill, if he had been a stranger I should have remembered screaming in abject terror at this man with a gauze eye patch. Instead, I remember rushing into his arms, therefore I must conclude that I knew him. After that he was out of my life forever — never to be seen or heard from again.

Long story, kind of short, I was whisked off to a boy’s home, a kind of orphanage except that most kids were from broken homes, not true orphans. My two older brothers who had mysteriously disappeared from our grandmothers estate (it was really a ramshackle piece of excrement with an outhouse) suddenly materialized in my life at the boy’s home.

For about the next ten years I made my life at the “Home”. We were well treated, mostly, and went to public schools and the church of our choice. While not your typical upbringing, it was more than adequate and at times quite a riot.

One day, my mother, whom I had no memory of at all, made an appearance at the Home along with the man that would be my stepfather, a marvelous little man with a drinking problem.

I was about age thirteen at that point. I spent weekends with them and came to know my mother as well as I suppose you can after more than a decade apart. I was around fifteen when she extracted me from the Home and took me in to live with them. That phase of my life lasted for about four years.

The rest of my life was unspectacular; I finished high school; went into the Marines; came home and impregnated my girl friend and ultimately first wife, Mary. We had and have three wonderful children, six grandchildren, and at this point a great-granddaughter.

I spent my working life (still working after a 10 year early retirement/sabbatical) in manufacturing with a focus on aerospace products.

As I mentioned, there was a first wife, and a second wife, and what you might call a turbulent interlude with a hot Mexican babe in between the two, and whose name I shall omit since I have no idea where she is or if she would sue me for mentioning her name.

My second wife, Gale, and I have been together for nearly 44 years at this point, so I’m going to go out on a limb and assume this might work out for both of us (it’s her third marriage). There are no guarantees in life, so never use absolutes.

Somewhere around the age of 50, I became enamored with writing. I have not made a red cent on it, but I love writing and will continue to write until they pry that pen from my cold dead fingers :-)

I’m banging away every day on the keyboard. I post a ton of my political and philosophical blather on Facebook, and I am currently serializing a book on my website http://megapov.wix.com/mega74 .

That is a rather bizarre website name that no one has a chance of remembering, but they want money to set up a special handle and I’m not there yet. The book is basically a thesis on the history of religion, but hopefully done in a narrative style that people will find entertaining.

That’s it. Am I going to post more stuff here? Who knows? I do what the voices tell me to do.