If I were given the chance to relive my childhood, I wouldn’t take it. For the most part, those were times I’d rather forget. I didn’t get along well in school, and family life was less than ideal. About the only thing I liked about the seventies and eighties was the rock ‘n’ roll music.
As a kid growing up in Miami, I had an Asian look about me, even though I was of Hispanic descent. Many of the kids in school asked me if I was Chinese; some called me a stupid chink; and a few just beat me up.
Things at home weren’t much easier. My parents divorced when I was in grade school. I lived with my mom and three sisters (all older and bigger than me). There were the usual sibling rivalries. So, at school I got beat up by the boys, and at home I got beat up by the girls.
I hardly had any friends. Anybody I associated with was just as much a misfit as I was. I spent most of my free time either with my head in a book or riding my bike around the neighborhood.
High school was torture. I was shy, unattractive, and under-developed. And though I was small for my age, the hormones still surged through my body. Like any other teenage boy, I wanted to be at least noticed by the girls, but it seemed like every girl was out of my league.
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