Some Background For You (My Jurassic Period...)

I was born....I lived....and someday, I'll die. That's pretty much the whole story when all is said and done, but for you detail-oriented types out there, I guess I should try to fill in the blanks a bit more so here goes. :-) I was born October 28th, 1958 in a small town in central New Hampshire called Plymouth. It's not at the end of the world, but if you stand on a tall chair, you CAN see the edge of the world from my hometown. ;-) I was the oldest surviving of 5 children. I did have one older brother who died from what we now know was Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. I never got to meet him, but I know his name was Gary Shane and I especially know the toll his passing took on my parents. Even my own name (Shawn) was as close as they could get to calling me Shane without causing undue heartache. I have 2 younger brothers (Greg and Corey), and 2 younger sisters, (Sharmaine and Tracy). I was the practice model for Mom and Dad. They got to "learn" on me and by the time Corey came along in 1969, they had honed their parenting to a fine art. Our family was, what would be called "economically challenged" for those of the "politically correct" persuasion. Growing up in small-town New Hampshire in the late 50's and early 60's, I think we were simply members of the working poor. My parents went out of their way to see to it that we all ate well and had good clothes for school, but the hardship this wrought on my Mom and Dad was tremendous, although in their own, stoic way, you would NEVER hear them complain. Dad worked long, crazy hours as a laborer in the local papermill. Mom kept up the house and watched after her growing brood and also worked in a local factory. The paper mill went out of business in the late sixties and my Dad, who's formal education ended well before the 12th grade, took a job at a Marina painting and repairing boats. He worked at this job for over 20 years, only to find a pink-slip in his paystub one day. No gold watch....no "Thanks for all the years of hard work"....not a word. I know it hurt him when this happened, but in his own quiet way, he endured and went on to find work in a factory and he still has that job to this very day,...despite the fact that he "retired" nearly 4 years ago. He's near 70 now and still works harder and faster than the 20-year-old kids that work alongside him. Dad was often too tired and busy with work for the usual "game of catch" that most fathers and sons played, but he was never neglectful. He taught me to hunt and to fish. Those are things he's always loved to do, and although hunting for me these days is done with my camera, I still enjoy fishing and the peace & tranquility it brings. He also taught me, without even knowing it, how to be a hard worker and how to be a good father. We never had formal lessons about such things, but I found as I grew up, that I respected him tremendously for his ways of quiet strength and gentle nature. I figure if I do even half as well by my own two children, then I too, will be a great father to them. My Mom? Where do I start? This wonderful woman grew up in the Depression and survived hardships that still make me cringe, yet marvel at her durability and survival. She was born "Helen Lois Heinemann", and trying to grow up in a tough part of town during World-War 2 with a German name caused her and her family great hardship. My mom learned early on of the worlds' ignorance and hate. Getting beaten up daily on the walk home from school by neighborhood kids was commonplace for her and her brother Lawrence. Her parents lived next to the town dump in Roxbury, Massachusetts in a shack with tilted floors, and it was common practice in that home to place the legs of your beds and chairs into tin cans filled with kerosene to keep the cockroaches from climbing up on you. Her parents divorced somewhere along the way, and her Mother married a man who can best be described and a drunken loudmouth who literally gambled away what little they had left. He was also the poster-boy for child abuse and became well-known to the local police for the beatings he used to give my mother. On one such occasion, where she was hospitalized with broken bones from such a beating, the local police chief took my mother aside and told her that if her step father came after her again, that she should pick up the biggest kitchen knife she could lay her hands on and kill the son-of-a-bitch. To prevent the effusion of bloodshed, my mother (who was now in High School), left Roxbury and found an apartment and a job in Plymouth, NH and continued her schooling. She worked at various jobs, but ended up working as a telephone operator for Ma Bell. She says she really enjoyed this job and I believe she did. She has worked in factories, as a cashier at the local grocery store, as a clerk in a department store, for the local school in the cafeteria....All the while raising a family and tending to our needs. She too, was a hard worker. When she became sidelined with ill health in the mid-1980's, she decided to try her hand at a business of her own. She had always enjoyed her work as a telephone operator, so she singlehandedly started up the Pemi-Valley Answering Service and ran it alone....24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for more than a dozen years and built a very profitable and lucrative business. When her health once again caused her problems in the mid-1990's, she begrudgingly decided to sell the business. Of course, ...she was miserable....so....after 5 years, she asked me if I would consider being her partner in her new venture....yes...another answering service. This woman just will NOT give up....and I love her for it. So as of this past summer of 1999, she and I are the proprietors of the "Around The Clock" Answering service (l.l.c.) When it gets built up to the point where I can leave my work in Law Enforcement, (which I'm itching to do)...then I will, once again thanks to my Mother...have something waiting in the wings to call my career. Thanks Mom! So why, you ask, did I tell you all of this long story? Well, it's pretty simple you see. I am the son of my mother and father. Their history and experiences become a part of MY history and experiences. I am not my mother, nor my father, but their lives have, in no small way, shaped me and who I have become. We are linked...we are family.