My story begins, in a sense, before I even knew I existed. Born on November 2, 1973, I arrived in this world as a blank slate—an unwritten page, an atheist by default—only to be quickly introduced to the traditions and teachings of the Catholic Church.
Nine months before my first breath, on February 2, 1973, the woman carrying me discovered she was pregnant. Six weeks before that, sometime between December 20 and 26, 1972, I was conceived—a moment lost to time, yet tethered to the fabric of history.
Just weeks before my existence was confirmed, the U.S. Supreme Court issued its landmark Roe v. Wade decision on January 22, 1973, legalizing abortion nationwide. The timing is uncanny—my fate hung in the balance of those shifting tides, yet much of my biological origins remain a mystery, concealed behind the closed doors of my adoption records.
In 1975, before I had the chance to make many childhood memories, life threw me a curveball. I was diagnosed with retinoblastoma, a rare and aggressive cancer of the eye. My battle led me to the University of Michigan, where doctors removed my right eye to stop the spread of the disease. In its place, I was fitted with a prosthetic, a glassy stand-in for what was lost, a silent reminder of the fight I had already won as a toddler.
I was born in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and placed for adoption through a Catholic-affiliated home. My adoptive parents lived in Battle Creek, where I spent my earliest years. In 1979, my younger brother was born, and shortly after, our family packed up and moved east to Metro Detroit, settling about 25 miles from downtown.
The road that led me here has been anything but ordinary. Life has a way of dealing unexpected hands, but every twist and turn, every struggle and triumph, has shaped the man I’ve become.