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

In April I go to release the ashes of my late-father with my sisters. Dad was my hero. He passed away at the turning of midnight from 2014 into 2015. Though he was eighty two, his loss was devastating for me. I was tethered to my father. He was my prayer buddy, my counselor and an ever-present force in my life, even after I moved thousands of miles away at the onset of college in Boston. Our connection was a constant one. We thought the same and there was fluidity between us. Many a times we would remark to each other on our extra sensory perception of each other. We would call each other up with something to say and it would be the same thing and we would say to one another, “I was just about to call you to talk to you about that.” To this day I look into his eyes and can here him say, “Son, I love you and I am proud of you. Go get’em!” Dad was magnanimous in the life of his children. He would wake up every morning like a machine at 5:30 to do his exercises. The dude (and I) wo...

My home in Oahu’s North shore town of Haleiwa was a 2 bedroom ‘shotgun’ plantation wood structure left over from the 1940’s. It sat on a raised level just across the towns only 7-11 store on Kamehameha Highway. My backyard overlooked the pineapple fields and the massive mountain range that shoots out to Kaena Point, the most westerly tip of O’ahu. While in Hawai’i, I worked as a life skills trainer to a young, feral girl on the autism spectrum. On my time off, I would explore the island, surf, join bonfires on the beach and race through the pineapple fields. There was always talk of protecting the North Shore’s natural environment and warding off big development was very important to the people of the town. Everyone liked the way things where. My neighbor, originally from Oregon, was an exceptional Mormon surfer guy who use to go out at midnight off Sunset Beach with a spear and long flippers to fish all alone. I was amazed he stayed alive.  A jack-of-all-trades...

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 ...