My story begins, in a sense, before I even knew I existed. I was born on November 2, 1973. I arrived in this world as a blank slate—an unwritten page, an atheist by default. I was 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. This moment is lost to time, yet it is 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. Much of my biological origins remain a mystery. They are 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. I fought my battle at the University of Michigan. There, doctors removed my right eye to stop the spread of the disease. In its place, I was fitted with a prosthetic. It was a glassy stand-in for what was lost. It served as 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. Shortly after, our family packed up and moved east to Metro Detroit. We settled about 25 miles from downtown.
The road that led me here has been anything but ordinary. Life has a way of dealing unexpected hands. Each twist and turn has shaped the man I’ve become. Every struggle and triumph has contributed to who I am today.