The Early Beginnings – Childhood and My Parents

🎬 The Beginning: Breech Baby on 9/11

I was born on September 11, 1980. Technically, I just squeaked into Generation X — a badge I wear with pride. But I didn’t just show up quietly. I entered this world backwards… breech, butt first, followed by one leg, then the other—my poor mom. Giving birth to a large baby in reverse gear was probably a sign of things to come. She must've known from the start I’d be a pain in the ass — quite literally. If life foreshadows personality, my entrance nailed it: I showed my ass to the world on 9/11. There's irony in that I was born on a day that would later mark a national tragedy. It makes you think — about symbols, purpose, fate. But we’ll save the philosophical deep dive for another post.

🌵 Roots: Cowboy Values in New Mexico

Thanks to God's grace and the unwavering love of my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, I was raised with the backbone of Christian and country values: God, Country, Family, and Friends. Growing up in Southern New Mexico — from Deming to Las Cruces — life was simpler, sometimes tougher, but always rich in spirit.

Back then, opportunities felt limited, though I didn’t notice until years later when I’d join the Navy and see what lay beyond our desert bubble. Don’t get me wrong — I wouldn’t trade that childhood for anything. The 80s and 90s in New Mexico gave me mountain adventures, a tight-knit community, easy access to lakes... and, of course, Juárez just across the border. It was a social life spiked with dusty trails and border-town journeys.

💔 The Divorce - Strong Parents – Lots of Love

Like a lot of kids from my generation, my sister Toni and I became part of the stats — children of divorce in the early ‘90s. I was 10, a full-on mama’s boy, and felt my world cracking open. Toni, older and wise beyond her years, couldn’t have cared less outwardly. But she was quietly supportive, even if she couldn't stand to be around me. Typical sibling love.

Our parents, Ty and Callean, didn’t allow the divorce to split their roles as parents. They made a pact to raise us in Las Cruces until we graduated high school, and they honored it with grace. They were present, steadfast, and constantly sacrificing to make ends meet. We didn’t have much materially — lived paycheck to paycheck — but love? That was abundant.

🎶 Ty: Faith, Long Hair, and Full-Volume Living

My dad, Ty, is many things — a musical savant with perfect pitch, a man of deep faith, and easily one of the funniest, loudest, most endearingly chaotic personalities you’ll ever meet. He’s a 70-something-year-old kid at heart who still lights up rooms (and occasionally startles small animals) with his booming laugh and never-ending energy.

He’s the original class clown — the guy who’d point to the most random spot on a New Mexico map and say:

"Let’s go there. Right now. School can wait. We are going camping.”

That’s not a joke. On a random Tuesday during the school year, he’d load up the car and drive us out in the middle of nowhere and set up a campsite like we were in the damn Army, hike remote trails, or explore forgotten corners of the Southwest. Life with Ty was an adventure — always loud, always weird, and always unforgettable.

After leaving the Army, he built a successful piano tuning and repair business that spanned Southern New Mexico and West Texas. Brilliant, artistic, generous — a borderline hippie dressed in church clothes whose heart was made of melody, mischief, and unwavering belief in God’s plan.

He never drank, never touched substances (except maybe in college… and Africa, but that’s classified). Unless you count Dr. Pepper, green chile cheeseburgers, and Little Debbie snacks — which, for him, are practically a sacrament.

Funny twist: Ty eventually married a woman named Debbie. They've been going strong for 25+ years. Guess he finally got his Debbie fix.

🌌 UFOs, Faith, and Starting Over

In the Army, Ty served in a range of roles, including one of the original weather balloon technicians — a role that unintentionally led to an unknown number of UFO sightings. (Sorry, Roswell.)

His duty took us from Texas to Germany to California, before we crash-landed back in New Mexico with dusty boots and a full heart.

Life tossed curveballs. But Dad’s internal compass was always fixed on faith. He uprooted his family more than once, chasing purpose with nothing but prayer, intuition, and the fierce love of his tribe. He was tested — health, finances, uncertainty — and he never flinched. He believed God had a plan… even when the GPS felt broken.

In 2000, he married Debbie and moved to Plano, Texas, launching his business again from scratch. He hustled his way to becoming the go-to piano technician in the DFW area, and is one of the few Shigeru Kawai-certified experts authorized to tune elite concert grands — a rare badge of mastery.

He also joined the Plano Symphony Chorus, singing in special events, fusing artistry and faith with every note.

🧃 Still Loud. Still Weird. Still Ty.

Today, you’ll still find Dad with a Diet Dr. Pepper or Dr. Pepper Zero in one hand, something smothered in green chile in the other, and a grin that quietly defies every storm he’s weathered.

He taught me that life rewards risk — and that faith is less about answers and more about walking through shadows with a flashlight made of hope. His advice?

“Don’t dwell on the past. Set your course. Go after it. Ask God for help!”

He introduced me to classic romance films, hauled me through rugged mountain ranges, and blasted our home with a kaleidoscope of music that shaped my soul.

His strength may be quiet, but his presence? Never.

Ty is the kind of man who turns a Tuesday into a memory. A sermon into a joke. A long drive into a treasure hunt. And no matter what — he shows up with joy and generosity that makes you feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

🎓 Mom: Faith, Fire, and Full-On Diva Energy

If Dad was the fun one, Mom was the disciplinarian — the architect of structure, the enforcer of rules, and the occasional dispenser of groundings that kept me from metaphorically jumping off cliffs with the rope Dad handed me. She summed it up once, perfectly:

“Your dad gave you 50 feet of rope to hang yourself, and you were crazy enough to jump off a 100-foot cliff and hang yourself.”

Mom is the original Diva of our family. She was the first to graduate college, launched a powerhouse career in education and civil service, and forged ahead in a world that wasn’t quite ready for her brilliance. She served for more than 25 years with the U.S. Army as a Training and Program Specialist, overseeing Child Development Services and serving as an Army Emergency Relief Officer.

Her final chapter of professional life was arguably the most notable, as the Museum Specialist and Educator at the White Sands Missile Range Museum, where she passed down the stories of atomic bombs, V-2 rockets, and New Mexico’s unsung role in the space race. Not too shabby for someone who started her teaching career wrangling 20 kids from 1st to 12th grade in a one-room church school.

🙏 Devotion with a Side of Disco

Don’t get it twisted — Mom isn’t straight-laced. She’s a devout woman of faith, deeply rooted in her Seventh-Day Adventist upbringing, and her connection to God has carried her through trials and triumphs. Her devotion is genuine, profound, and tested — she prays loud, she prays often, and when life pushes, she leans harder on the Big Man Upstairs.

But she’s also the kind of woman who, as I discovered as I got older, has a party side that could rival any weekend warrior.

Take high school, for example: I came home one afternoon to find a broken bong tucked away in my closet—a true mystery. Years later, the truth hasn’t emerged: Did Mom break it? Still unknown. She’s never confirmed the whole story, but I wouldn’t be shocked if she was channeling her Summer of ’69 flashback. Let’s just say… that’s one parenting plot twist they definitely don’t cover in Sabbath school.

Or that time in Puerto Peñasco (Rocky Point), Mexico, when my friend Jocker shouted into our walkie-talkies (because remember — no one had cell phones):

“Mom is down in the street!”

Turns out, she’d twisted her ankle after one too many margaritas, and collapsed in the middle of a dirt road, and had to be rescued like a rockstar after a stage dive. That’s Mom — laughter and lipstick, bourbon or tequila in hand, dancing in the storm.

🦸‍♀️ Progressive & Proud, But Never Reliant

Mom’s wisdom runs deep. She’s a progressive force with traditional grit — the kind of woman who says a woman needs a man, but should never rely solely on one to build her life.

She raised my sister Toni with that fire, and let me tell you — those two could go full Jerry Springer in the living room. Sass against sass. Confidence versus willpower. The battles were fierce, funny, and always wrapped in love.

Her lessons were simple but powerful:

“Make your own money. Make your own choices. Love hard, but stand taller.”

That fire made my mom who she is. That same fire burned away obstacles, lit the path for others, and fueled every room she walked into — whether it was a military base, a classroom, or a family road trip with chaos in the backseat.

🥃 Still Laughing. Still Leading.

Today, she and her husband, David — well known as Super Dave — are celebrating over 25 years of marriage and reside in San Antonio, Texas. Third time truly was the charm for both her and Dad.

And yes, the second marriages will absolutely come up later… probably with a side of comedy and a pinch of parental regret. Fair game when you unknowingly raise a learning-disabled, ADHD, dyslexic kid who somehow ended up writing blogs like this one.

Mom is glam, grit, grace — a God-loving party-starter with a bourbon glass in one hand and a prayer in the other.

She’s a trailblazer. A comic. A romantic. A force. And she’s my mom.

🔚 Closing Thoughts — For Now

That’s chapter one of me — breech baby, 9/11 birthday, cowboy kid building into the eventual Navy man. A storyteller in progress, forged by love, laughter, a dose of hardship, and two unforgettable parents who raised me with grit and grace.

Next time, I’ll peel back the curtain on my parents' path to their second marriages — not without a few laughs (probably at their expense) — and honor a man who left a lasting mark on our family: Lee Ray Hennington, my mother’s second husband, who recently passed away. His legacy deserves more than a paragraph.

There’s plenty more to unpack. This blog is my open journal, war chest of memories, and roadmap of transition — from warships to wordsmith.

Stick around. The story’s just starting to get good.