On June 19, 1964 in a hospital room in the small country metropolis of Winchester, VA, James W. Smith and Mildred B. Smith welcomed their second and last child to the world. That scrawny bundle of flesh coming in at about three-fifths the weight of a single clay brick, was me. At this point, I had one sibling who I had yet to meet. Her name was Kathy. She was 7 years my senior. Whether she liked it or not, her monopoly on time and attention had come to a screeching halt. Yup…screeching.
As a family of four, we lived in the quaint little town of Middleburg, VA, the official capital of Virginia’s horse and hunt country. My early childhood years were fairly routine ones, with a tiny myriad of highlights and accomplishments. Cub Scouts to Webelos, Catholic altar boy, Fife and Drum Corps drummer during the 1976 Bicentennial year to name a few. All of those were trumped by the accomplishments of me and my cousin’s R&B band Galaxy Band & Show. We had a cult following. Some were genuine, others were frickin’ freeloaders.
The camaraderie of making music with my cousins was second to none but dethroning reigning champs at local battle of the bands competitions and playing in local gigs throughout D.C., Maryland and Virginia was even sweeter…at least until Bob Marley joined the group. Once my cousin discovered weed and other various and sundry things for his nasal cavity, the fun quickly became a “pain in the arse”. Inevitably, every gig was a ritual of tracking his “arse” down before any performance and crossing our fingers, hoping he wasn’t too F’d up to sing. It’s not a good thing when your lead singer can’t sing. Fun times, eh?
My formal education started in kindergarten. My mom was my teacher. I just assumed that because we lived under the same roof, I had carte blanche on class misbehavior. The funny thing is, it didn’t take her long to erase that delusion, I mean completely wipe it off the map. That ass whooping was just what the doctor ordered.
Relax, that shit was acceptable back then, it wasn’t child abuse, it was called tough love It was expected. Probably the sole reason my generation of baby boomers have made such a positive impact on society today…we don’t feel entitled or expect a trophy in this “everyone gets a trophy” world today…we earn it.
| If you’re too sensitive after reading that, and you need a hug, I can arrange that.
The following years consisted of elementary and middle school. Making the tennis team and running track as well as serving as our high school marching band drum major was another highlight for me before I graduated in 1982. From there, I went on to attend “THE” Virginia Commonwealth University majoring in business.
I was not the smartest student to my peers in school but I certainly gave priority to my studies. I can honestly say though, that the best education I ever received was during my formative years at the hands of James and Mildred. They taught me to do things the “right way” and it is the foundation I’ve leaned on all my life.
Today, I’m married to someone who is definitely not afraid to burn a bridge, or even rebuild one if you drew first blood. Her name is Kelly, a farm girl from Wrightsville, PA. We have two kids, girls Sloane and Logan. I currently work as a senior accounting assistant at a trade association in Reston, VA. So, when I’m not crunching numbers, I’m cobbling words.
Go figure.