My passion for journalism started when Barry Sanders retired. I grew up on an Air Force Base in San Pedro, California. My father was a Master Sergeant in the Army and was rarely home because of his duties. That day my brother and I were playing outside and my dad called us in. He was very serious, we thought someone died. Dad told us Barry Sanders was retiring. My brother wasn’t really fazed by it, I however, shared my dad’s disappointment. He didn’t know why Barry left Detroit and I was determined to find out for him. I read the sports section for the next two weeks to find the answer, my dad would come home and ask me for updates and I would share the articles I clipped from the LA Times and Sports Illustrated while he shared his insight. By the third week neither of us really cared that we didn’t know why Barry Sanders left football, we found something to talk about, something that was just for us.
When my dad retired from the Army he took a job at USC as the senior manager for Transportation Services. He promised my family this would be our last move because we were buying a house in Anaheim. My dad told me the house was near a professional baseball team and that he subscribed us to two newspapers. He challenged me to read each paper even if the stories were the same, the style would be different. After the first year in Orange County my parents sat my brother and I down. I read the sports section everyday so I already knew Michael Jordan was unhappy with the Wizards and was contemplating retirement again so I wasn’t sure what this discussion was about. They both explained that they didn’t have much money saved and the little money they had saved would go to our education, but it won’t be enough to pay for college. We were expected to go to college and we would have to do it on our own.
My parents sent us to an all boys catholic highschool. My brother flourished while I struggled. My brother found the competition thrilling, while I thought I was so far behind, it was impossible to catch up with my peers. On top of my schoolwork we both worked in the cafeteria so that we could eat breakfast and lunch for free. Whenever a scholarship opened we were expected to apply because as my parents constantly reminded us, the tuition was very expensive and we needed every bit of help that was offered. My dad always said a strong man admits when he needs help and we are humble enough to ask for help. I was always open and honest with our situation and despite not being catholic I wanted to be at that school, the community was unlike any other place I had been to. After my freshman year my parents told me that I was a very good writer because my scholarship letters were getting accepted and we had enough tuition assistance to cover the next two years of high school. We needed every penny because despite my excellent grades in English, I was below average in every other subject, I even failed the final in Physical Education and received a B in the class. My dad was furious, in his mind I failed PE.
Servite offered a career day and we were to pick three speakers that we wanted to attend. I didn’t recognize any of the names except for Steve Fryer. His son Sean was in my class and Steve had a weekly column for the Orange County Register that I read religiously. Despite having a kid at our school, he never wrote glowingly about us, in fact he held us to a higher standard. We were the rich kids that didn’t excel athletically. We were in a competitive conference that we had no business playing in. I sat through all three of his sessions and by the third he asked me why I didn’t go to other meetings. I told him this was the most fascinating
career in the list and who wouldn’t want to make a living writing about sports. He agreed and wished me luck.
I still wasn’t able to keep up with my classes. Counselors started getting concerned, my parents were getting worried. I knew college was going to be even harder so I went to the Army recruiter. My dad joined right out of high school and he turned out to be the best man I’ve ever seen, surely I could do the same. My dad was an infantryman so I wanted to follow the same blueprint. At 17 and with a war going on in Iraq my parents laughed at me. They said they would never sign me to that life and followed me to the recruiters office the next day. Despite being a below average student, I was nearly a genius by US Army standards. The Army recruiter said not only could I pick any job, but I also would receive a signing bonus. My dad scanned the lists of available jobs and we landed on Public Affairs Specialist.
“Trust me son, this is the job you were born to do,” said dad. “You’re going to be the man, you will get to read and write and unlike me, when this is over you will have a great career to walk into.”
I trusted my dad and he was right. I left high school 19 days after graduation and was at bootcamp working harder than I ever had before. Following boot camp I went to job school and was around my peers learning about grammar, headlines and photo journalism. Our instructor was a Marine so whenever he edited our papers we would do push-ups while he read them over. Initially I was doing 60 push-ups, I had a lot of mistakes to be edited. By the end of the class, I was doing 10-15 per edit. I finally found something that I was good at. Something that was just for me.
I was stationed at Fort Carson Colorado with the 4th Infantry Division. I was scheduled to deploy to Iraq, but another journalist went in my place and I was reassigned to Korea. In the rice field of Uijeongbu I was the only journalist. I was deeply concerned about being in such a small newsroom, but I was a big fish in a small pond. Coming from a combat unit I was young with a lot of experience. I also couldn’t drink so I spent most of my weekends working or reading. I received the Keith L Ware award twice for sports articles I wrote and my editor told me when I was finished with my contract I should pursue sports journalism.
Kim Jong Un took control over North Korea as their next supreme leader. One day in June I was called from my office to do a duty of the utmost importance. A small squad of privates were all assigned to bang sand and place it around the fences of the base because of a security alert we had been upgraded to in response to Kim’s threats to test nuclear weapons. I wanted to cover this but I was told I couldn’t because it would scare the American people.
“The people have a right to know what’s going on here,” I said to my editor. “I’m sick and tired of being censored, the Koreans don’t even want us here, you should hear what they call me when I go out at night.”
I collapsed on day three of our security detail. I suffered a major seizure and fell face first on a shovel. My eye was wired shut in fear of suffering severe nerve damage. I was discharged from the Army and had to go back to Orange County. I left after a year. I was tired of having everyone’s pity. I didn’t write for the next seven years.
During the pandemic my dad died. Prior to his death he kept asking me why I was cooking instead of pursuing journalism. I told him I enjoyed making temporary edible art and he told me how disappointed he was in the direction I was heading. God spared my life in Korea and I wasn’t accepting the gift. The loss of my father made me realize how precious the gift of life really was and I went back to school. I got my AA in journalism and was going to stay local. My mom was really struggling with my dad’s passing and I wanted to be nearby.
“Stop taking the safe route, go live your life,” said mom.
I applied to ASU and left my family a few months later.
