So, you’re a Dentist, What’s up with the Writing Thing?

Have you ever wondered about how the stuff you've lived for years, gradually became a passion? And why did it take so long? When I was a little kid, my parents read to me, and from what I've always heard, I loved it. I think listening to Mom and Dad read me stories opened my ears, in some subliminal way, to the wonder books held inside. And when you're early single digits old, even seeing out the front door held the look of a world full of wonder. The writing seed might’ve been planted early on, but it didn’t grow and bloom overnight.

And slow down, I couldn’t read worth a crap when I was only three. And I had bigger problems, like navigating a tricycle and finding the range going #2.

My evolution of the writing thing moved relatively slowly, beginning with total dormancy. But the reading thing was sling shot out as powerfully as a speeding bullet or at least faster than you can say Classics Illustrated. Thanks to my big brother's urging, I read every comic book version of every classic (or not) novel I could find (My brother also schooled me into becoming a die hard USC Trojan football fan.) If you asked me about Bugs Bunny, Goofy, or Mickey Mouse, I’d raise you The Count of Monte Cristo, The Last of the Mohicans, or The Illiad & The Oddysey. I had comic book novels game way before the updated creepy "graphic novel" tag ever existed. I must’ve read and seen the accounts of the Trojan wars over a hundred times. And I still couldn’t believe the Trojans could lose to the Greeks on their own home field…in Turkey? The same thing happens today when I watch ESPN's 30 for 30’s "Trojan Wars" account of the 2006 BCS Championship with the USC Trojans losing at my hometown Pasadena to a collection of Longhorns and a guy who threw a football like a girl and scored a "6" (outta 50) on the Wonderlic test.

When I was growing up during the Eisenhower Administration there really weren't any tech distractions. I had no problem breaking up with my non-existent personal phone, let alone the one that was plugged into the wall and was used mostly by my mom and Aunt Clara, who spoke a strange sounding language that turned out being an Italian dialect called Greek. But I must’ve been impressed because I still remember the number, Cumberland (CU)3-4267. And party lines existed way back in the day too, like when the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn. Unlike a Conga line that could happen at a wedding even way before "Who Let the Dogs Out" and "Love Shack," Cumberland party lines meant group conversations with or without introductions, invitations, or previous close encounters of any kind.

When I wanted a retreat from all the Greek neighborhood telephonic chaos, television wasn’t much of an entertainment option. As opposed to the 900+ streaming possibilities available to me when Roku is having a good day, 10–12-year-old me had one station and mostly an Indian head occupying a tiny screen supported by a huge piece of furniture. And color TV did not exist. One afternoon in the late 50s after an episode of "Search for Tomorrow", Mom and I were watching "Who do you Trust," a game show hosted by Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon. And we both thought we almost saw color (my mother never drank liquor nor took drugs, and I hadn’t started dental school yet.) I think the technological universe was cautioning, "Not so fast my friend."

My escapes were sports and reading and creating my own experiences out of what I watched, heard, or read. And then there was the Sports Page, my new reading obsession. There were photos, stories about my favorite players (Willie Mays and Yogi Berra) and even the cool stats with columns of numbers that also told a story. But the wonder of walking into old Wrigley Field with my dad holding my hand as I saw the inside of a professional ballpark for the first time, took my breath away; it was overwhelming compared to what I’d read, imagined, or seen in black and white. And I think my early ballpark experience gave me reason to believe reading books and the Sports page or maybe anything I could get my hands on (even in school) were the keys to opening up my world of wonder forever...and maybe even sharing the experience in print one day. And my reading and my imagination inspired all kinds of make-believe neighborhood adventures and games played out with my friends down the street. It was great being a kid back then. In my new expanding world, the Trojans always won.

Next up: Part Two, All in the Family