Memoir

If the truth be known, no man knows it . . . so why pretend? Truth is only perceived and each man’s perception is a bit different than another’s.

This work is neither fact nor fiction for it has been painted by me, a man in possession of a brain fraught with forgetfulness and prejudice. I tell the tale as I remembered it, as I lived it, and probably as I imagined some of it . . . and I do it all with pure joy, for although the tulips that I tiptoed through grew over a mine field, I found a safe pathway across and truly enjoyed the trip.