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Let Me Introduce Myself...

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Youngsville, North Carolina
What's the meaning behind "When I Was Five"?
Anyone can tell you I may occasionally start a sentence with "When I was five". In fact, they may tell you it's way too often! And, it's usually the opening sentence of a long-winded story. As in: "When I was five, I moved to Puerto Rico..."

First, let me say that I didn't move to Puerto Rico - my parents did! And, they took me with them because, well, because they had to! But I just say when I was five, I moved to Puerto Rico - it's easier. So, what does that have to do with the title? When I started thinking about blogging, I knew I would need a catchy title. Something that friends and family would relate to. Something strangers would be hooked by. It had to reflect who I am; why I am. And this title is perfect! The influence that early relocation has had on me is beyond measure. Everything about that transition and those formative years created the "Dave" I am today. But, since this could easily become an essay, let's just consider it a nice segue to The First Post...

Welcome - and enjoy.

Dec 21, 2012

When I was 5, I moved to Puerto Rico...


I was born in 1954 - December, in Indianapolis, IN. It was probably snowing. No doubt it was cold and damp because it always is that time of year. I was the 1st child to Don and Margie, the most loving, caring, and nurturing parents a child could want. Eventually there would be five of us children and almost 17 years between first and last. I don't remember much of those very early years except sitting in my Grandpa Dixon's big old, red-leather, heated and vibrating recliner. And eating ripe cherries off the ground under Grandpa Speicher's cherry tree next to the garage. Sure, I've seen old pictures of me, usually bundled up in coats and gloves, and in the snow, but I don't really remember any of that. Still, can you just imagine the culture shock when I was five, and I moved to Puerto Rico?

No leather recliner, no cherry trees, no snow! I'm pretty sure I was the only freckle-faced, red-haired, lily-white little boy on the entire island. Surrounded by brown people who spoke really fast; and really funny! Keep in mind I was only five, hardly a master of English yet, and suddenly in order to communicate outside the home I needed to learn a new language. I think that is when I began to stutter and stammer... while speaking to someone my brain would jump back and forth from English to Spanish, searching for the right words. In the meantime my mouth would repeat the same syllable over and over until I found the word. That’s probably not an accurate medical diagnosis but it sounds logical to me. But anyway, I entered the 1st grade in a school system which taught everything in Spanish. English was taught as a second language for 45 minutes a day. I was an “ESL student” long before that was a trendy catch-phrase.

One of my best friends in school was a kid named Guido Brito who was a very talented artist. I spent hours each afternoon at his house trying to draw like he did, borrowing paper and charcoal sticks, and copying his sketches. Eventually I developed my own style and technique but I know that Guido is the reason I have had a lifelong passion for all things creative and artistic. I've often wondered whatever happened to him. There was another kid in the neighborhood, Esteban, who taught me to play electric guitar - poorly. I studied accordion for a couple of years at the George Kudirka Studio and, because they're similar, I also learned piano and organ. I even played a "solo" at a concert which was broadcast on TV. Every night I would fall asleep listening to the rock-n-roll station on my little transistor radio. Explains my love of music and why "The Oldies" and "DooWop" are among my favorite genres. Another “best friend” was Jimmy, an American, who lived across the street and was 2 or 3 years older than me. He had two older brothers who were able to buy cigarettes and booze so by the age of 7 or 8 I was smoking and drinking fairly often. And that is important because I never quit – only became more addicted over time. Well, I did quit drinking 30-something years later, but only after it nearly killed me. Smoking still threatens my life but I figure it’s the only vice I have left and I kind of hate to give it up...

We lived less than two blocks from the beach, in the Isla Verde area of Santurce, and most of the coastline in the area was still undeveloped. I had free run of the place and loved to play Ponce De Leon and explore the wild land. I learned to swim, snorkel, sand and body surf practically before I could walk and eventually learned to surf on a long board and even scuba dive. Somehow (and I don't recall how) I was allowed to join a Boy Scout troop even though I wasn’t old enough. During my last year in PR, I went on camping trips to the rain forest at El Yunque, the ancient fossil beds at Cabo Rojo, the Phosphorescent Bay near Ponce, and various remote beaches like Luquillo and Fajardo. And our Scoutmaster supplied cigars for all the boys! Those certainly were different times then. For a kid still less than 12 years old I had already lived an exciting and adventurous life and established some deeply ingrained traits.

I have always been fiercely independent and filled with a wanderlust. Dropping everything and moving to a new city is nothing new and I still get the urge to do just that every few years. Camping, hiking, swimming, boating, fishing, and exploring are favorite pastimes. I know there is salt water in my veins and sand in my shorts and I’m most at peace when near large bodies of water. I love spicy Caribbean food, island music, dominoes, Latinas, and more than 40 years later I still speak and understand Spanish on a passable level. I am blessed to be who I am today; and it's all because when I was five, I moved to Puerto Rico.