MEMOIRS V.1

Here's a shot at the auto...
So (in mostly) third person I present: The memory of me.
He was born in So. Hampton, Long Island, New York in the winter of 1959. His Dad was shipped out shortly to Europe, where he spent his developmental years in France, England and Germany. His first words were uttered in French, he remembers nothing of this, but if Mom and Dad said it was, so it was.
He landed back in the states at Lowry air force base in Denver. A string of base housing assignments would follow him to Bergstrom air force base in 1967. He has been here ever since, not counting the 2 failed attempts to move to Colorado.
Consistancy is not the hallmark of military dependents, make friends fast and lose them in a short time or withdraw and be a loner seemed to be the choices.He was "settled" in 1967, his Father's retirement saw to that.
Austin,Texas...1967, If memory serves, it was a year and a month or two before or after the incident involving Charles Whitman and the UT tower and rifles on August 1, 1966. This was the Austin he was moved to, still reeling from the savagery of that day and awash in the growing unrest over the war in Viet Nam.
His Dad enrolled in the educators school at UT, where he met soldiers of the war in the Nam who were on the GI Bill...His "lifer" attitude changed and suddenly the blind patriot part of his Dad was overcome by a more aware, worldly sort of Dad. He grew his hair, he grew a beard of sorts and got some groovy sunglasses...he looked like like Franklin.
He took him to anti-war marches where, more often than not, ended up with Father and Son running from the police and teargas.
By the time he started really formulating his own identity, the mold was cast.
By 1974, The lawn mowing-pot-dealing-hippy-freak was about to learn the meaning of the words "Human" and "Service" when he was compelled by his parents to volunteer at the state school for the mentally retarded where his Dad worked.
His parents believed it would be better than a life wasted mowing lawns...he believed $200 or so dollars a day was way better than dealing with 'tards. He was wrong in the short run...