A Product of My Environment

You already knew I'm maybe just a tad self-centered. Having kids might have taught me to put someone else first. But alas, I was never blessed with children. As I don't see a baby in my future, I will likely remain horribly self-centered for the rest of my life.

As those of you who know me already know, there are few things I'd rather do than talk (or write) about me. You'd think writing a book about myself would just make things worse. After all, writing a book gives me license to spend hours and hours focused on me.

Writing the book, contrary to what you might think, is helping. Just to be clear, I am NOT saying writing a book is the same as having a baby. No need to share graphic details of your own childbirth experience as evidence. I believe you.

The first time Dad asked, I told him my book would recount from birth how everybody had f*cked me over. Payback time has finally arrived. It's funny because it's true. The book did sorta start out that way. I am a product of my environment. To understand me you needed to know how my family messed me up. Right?

Writing about the way I remember things has helped me to see more clearly how things really were. I see with the 20/20 vision of hindsight and the wisdom of middle age how I've learned or been taught to react and respond to certain situations. I'm telling you it's eye opening!

The experience has been more than a little therapeutic. I've learned a lot about myself I didn't know. Now I'm hoping the book will sell enough copies to pay for the therapy I'll need to work through it all.

Toss in the research I've been doing on my family tree and the interesting reaction to my theories from various branches of the family and I'm telling you the last few months have been quite a little ride. I have learned one thing. Take a look at my family tree and you'll see I am NOT the only...

Crotchety Old Man