Coach Bill / Dad, Entrepreneur Special Educator, American Political Scientist, Writer, Musician.

My grandmother, Kathleen was born and raised in Missouri, the daughter of a devout preacher. She was my grandfather's second wife, joining the family when my father was a scrappy, 13 year old, back in 1945-6. A History and Social Studies teacher at his school in Pasadena, Grandma watched over Dad, who was a quintessential outdoorsy, 'sandlot' kind of kid in the California of the 1940's. In his preadolescent years, Dad would walk around with a sling-shot, and cuffed, blue jeans with his hair slicked back. Dad's real mom was a beautiful woman who had tuberculosis and was an alcoholic. She spent her time living in the arid desert or the breezier mountains of 'Cali.' to address her pulmonary condition. I never met her. She passed away in the 1970's before my birth. I wish I could have met her to know my father from a mother's perspective. Grandma Kathleen was 'my grandmother' and a loving, caring, nurturing one at that. She dealt with ...

On my father’s side my family fought against each other in the American Civil War. Protecting ideals, a way of life, family and one’s community was on the forefront of their minds and hearts. With such a burgeoning nation, Americans were beginning to live far from the original thirteen colonies. Their was expansion to the west towards the Missouri and Mississippi rivers and south towards the Floridian panhandle. Life was quite differentiated across different swaths of the United States. In the north, the yankees were focused on growing trade and communication with the world, expanding the military and  beginning to more seriously address the sin of slavery. Slavery was a topic of discussion gaining popular ground. In the south, life was much more tranquil. Plantation owners controlled huge parcels of farm land and developed their crops for sale in America and beyond its shores. Their farm lands were worked by human beings who were owned and directed to work for their masters...

My grandmother, who lived for 100 years, had Parkinson's. Throughout my childhood she would send handwritten letters to my sisters and I from California telling us about what she was up to, what Blue the black cat was into or how we were going to meet soon. Her letters were long and she had solid handwriting. Though we visited California yearly,  letters from 'the Golden State' were like magic to me, especially letters from my grandmother. She took the time to write these since I was a little boy. As I entered adulthood the shake in her hands had increased considerably so much that the letters were hard to read and had become illegible after that. Phone calls became more popular. She was cognitively intact for the most part. Though we were far apart from each other, I would visit her on my own every year. Besides my Dad, she was my only other live connection to my Dad's side of the family. This created a great connection between us. The letters from the pas...