About Me — Edmond A Porter
Just a Small-Town Kid Trying to Become a Writer
My name is Edmond, and I am from Idaho.
I am four generations removed from the Mormon pioneers who settled in the Idaho part of Cache Valley. Even though I lived more than one-third of my life in Washington and the last three years in Utah, I am still from Idaho. More specifically, I am from Preston, known for Napoleon Dynamite and That Famous Preston Night Rodeo, not potatoes.
Being from Preston doesn’t necessarily mean I lived in the city of Preston. Any place in Franklin County qualifies as being from Preston. I grew up on the farm my grandparents bought ten miles east of Preston when they were newly married. My father bought it from his father.
I guess you could classify our family business as dairy farming, but there were a few chickens, pigs, and turkeys thrown into the mix. Life on the farm was great. I was driving a tractor by the time I was six, motorbikes by age nine, and trucks as soon as I was tall enough to see out the windshield and depress the clutch at the same time.
My name is Edmond, and I am a geek.
I spent a lot of time alone operating farm equipment, and my mind needed stimulation. As I spent my days on a tractor seat or in the barn milking cows, I pretended to be a television announcer detailing the events of the day. My narration was spoken aloud if I was alone and under my breath if I wasn’t.
Despite my propensity for talking to myself, I gained a reputation for being smart in school. Reading and basic math were easy for me, and my classmates noticed. Once a reputation is gained it must be maintained, and that is not easy. I read every night and morning on the school bus and always turned in my homework on time. Instead of playing softball at recess, I became the umpire. Not everybody agrees with the umpire’s call, but it can’t be disputed if everyone thinks you are the smartest kid in class.
High school cracked the façade of being smart but struggling for Cs in college and being turned down twice for a graduate program busted it into little pieces. I picked up the pieces and graduated with a degree in biology and had a forty-five-year career in the canned food industry.
My name is Edmond, and I am a son.
When I was in ninth grade and as tall as my peers for the last time in my life, I thought about trying out for the junior high football team. My father, who had no interest in sports, discouraged me. He didn’t say I couldn’t tryout, but there was the not-so-subtle reminder that there were chores to do every night after school at the same time as football practice. That made me realize how important I was to the family farm. I was almost persuaded by that argument alone, but then he told me about his brother who had been an athlete in high school and played on an eight-man football team. A knee injury that appeared not to be serious plagued his brother all his life. It was the first time I understood just how much my father cared about my welfare.
My name is Edmond, I am a father and grandfather.
There is nothing more important than family. Families form a chain that stretches for generations in both directions. I knew my grandparents well. I lived with my parents for twenty-five years, minus a little time here and there, before I married and formed my nuclear family. My wife and I raised five children and now we have eight grandchildren. I am the middle link of the chain.
When our oldest was a newborn, I often stood by her crib listening to make sure she was breathing. I learned that it was not necessary. Children breathe on their own, and they grow up on their own.
As they grew, I read to each of them every night at bedtime. I went to band concerts, choir concerts, and drama performances. Now they do those things for their children, and occasionally grandpa gets to experience some of those things with the next generation. I am content to be the middle link in the generational chain.
My name is Edmond. I am a writer.
I began writing when I was in third grade. I tried my hand at news articles, fiction, and fan fiction. Most of the stuff I wrote through high school remained hidden, except for editorials I wrote as editor of my high school newspaper. In college, I had one paper that a professor thought might be worthy of publication, but I didn’t know how to go about it. I wrote budget proposals and other things for work. Now I am retired, I am ready to try my hand at writing again.
