I come from a background of divorce and grit. My young mother, with dreams bigger than her reality, married a much older man. He was an airline pilot in Cuba, his third marriage, and I’d be the last of his many kids. He was 64 when I was born, my mother in her early thirties. The man was tired, worn out. They divorced when I was three, in New Jersey. Immigrants, scraping by with hard work and blue-collar jobs. My father took whatever work he could find, mostly driving trucks. The communists in Cuba had torpedoed any real chances for future success in the United States. My two brothers and I ended up on public assistance. Then my mother started dating another man, and that’s when the real chaos began. Drugs and alcohol stormed into our lives, ushering in years of domestic violence, drama, and constant moving. New schools, new roach-infested apartments every six months. One day, a neighbor had a garage sale. We couldn’t afford much, but my eyes lit up when I saw a trunk full of drawing
Back in my early 20s, I found myself working as a security officer in a hospital. Now, let me tell you, for a naturally shy and introspective guy, this job was a real test. Imagine having to be the authority figure, directing people during some of the most stressful moments of their lives. Add to that the fun of subduing violent or inebriated folks, especially on the weekend shifts. We had our fair share of interesting characters, like "HH," who was a sparring partner for Mike Tyson. When the police called to warn us about HH, we knew we were in for a ride. Then there was "Joe," a guy who had done serious time and always kept us on our toes. One day, a big, friendly guy from California showed up to visit a sick relative. He got to chatting with our team and mentioned he was opening a martial arts school in the area. Naturally, we were intrigued. This was the 90s, mind you, before MMA became all the rage. He introduced us to Jeet Kune Do, the martial art popularized