I came into the world the usual way on July 27, 1959, bloodied, battered and alone at Luke Air Force Base, Phoenix, Arizona. Well almost. It was 103 degrees that day and very hot and dry. My dad was stationed in the Air Force, and we lived on the base. The story as it was told to me by my mother was that I was taken from her and put in an incubator, and she could not hold me for three weeks. During this time, I was between life and death. Doctors did not seem to know why, and they were not sure I was going to live. Apparently, I had an indentation on my chest that looked like I had been kicked by a horse and it was green, purple, and blueish in color. No one could explain what it was or how it might have happened. I was not born premature. It was just one of those things that happen in life and there really is no explanation as to why. My mother was only 19 years old, and I was her first child. She had five. She was scared as any mother would be when the doctors have to take your baby away for a while before you can see it. My mother was in good health and never had any trauma while she was carrying me, and her doctors always told her she was doing well. However, she did not know if I had three heads or no arms or what. When the doctors tried to explain this situation to her it was very difficult. They could not give her a defining answer as to why I was born with this apparent deformity. They were bamboozled and had never seen anything like it. They just described it as a deformity of some kind, and they could not say whether it would heal itself or get better because they did not know. This deformity haunted me most of my young life. Gym class in school was a nightmare. I hated to take off my shirt for sports because every kid would just stare at me in wonder. They would ask “What happened to your chest?” Some would just walk away as if they felt sorry for me. Others would make fun of me like kids do. And of course, it led to some fights too. Some boys are just bullies, and they usually grow up to be men who are bullies. However, as a child I was normal. I played, ran constantly, and would never sit still. My mother always had to explain to her friends about my chest because as soon as they saw it, they would ask, “What happened to his chest?” She never knew what to tell them because she didn’t know. I am sure it was embarrassing for her because every mother wants to brag about her beautiful baby, and I am sure I was hideous compared to others. However, when we are young, things like that don’t bother us. We live with what we have. And I did the same. I would answer all the questions the best that I could and try and tell people that it did not bother me. It did hurt at times. If I tried to climb a tree or lift something heavy, I could feel my chest inside tighten up and hurt a little. I never let that bother me though. I would just keep going and try and lift something heavier. When I started grade school, and I would look in the mirror I hated what I saw. I always thought I would die a young death. I just figured that if I looked that bad, I surely could not live very long. So, I would always run as fast as I could, jump as high as I could and do things that were hard to do. I thought that, if I did things like that maybe I could strengthen my chest and it would push itself out and I could look normal like everybody else. Funny how we think as young children isn’t it? I would see magazines of young men who were models with their shirts off and I would say to myself, well, I will never be able to get that job. Or I would be watching television and see actors with their shirts off and I would think to myself, well, I can’t do that. It was very embarrassing for me too. I was never one to quit though. That word is not in my vocabulary. And my grandfather was a big lift in my life because, if I said I can’t do that, he would say, “Can’t never could do anything.” And he would tell me why I could do something, and he could make me believe it too. That would always make me try harder. Well, I grew as most of us do. And the day I left for the U.S. Army, my grandfather said something to me that I never forgot, and I have always tried to live by this motto. My grandfather was a welterweight boxer in the Army with a record of 10-1 and 10 knockouts. He taught me a few things too. He said, “I want you to always remember this. This is something my father told me. When it gets too tough for everybody else, it’s just right for me.” He said, “There will be days that you want to give up but fight through it.” I believe my grandfather told me that because he was not sure I could graduate Army boot camp. I graduated second out of 136 men. I finished second on the U.S. Army physical fitness test. And yes, today my chest is not perfect, but I am no longer afraid to take my shirt off. And, when it gets too tough for everybody else, it’s just right for me. Recognized Author Notes A story about overcoming adversity in life...

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