Who is this guy?

Hi, my name is Anthony Shook (Tony to my friends) and I’ve thought to begin blogging on a semi-regular basis as a way of not only introducing myself to the blogosphere, but to express some ideas that have been cooking for a while now (and hopefully are not half-baked) regarding my life, faith and this thing called life in general.  While many (most?) may not agree with my view of life, the universe and everything, it is my intention to elicit other opinions that through the discussion we both can grow in our understanding of each other and of this world we both inhabit.  To introduce myself, I am starting with a brief (!) autobiography that will be divided into sections; it is my desire to show you where I have been and some of what I”ve experienced (so far) so you can better ‘see’ me as more than just another blogger.

I was born in the naval hospital near Memphis, Tennessee (my Dad was a career sailor, retiring as an Aviation Electrician’s Mate Master Chief) and subsequently moved every three-to-four years.  This had good and bad components; even to this day I do have a difficult time welcoming new people into my life and withhold much of who I am until I get to know someone and feel comfortable allowing them through my defenses.  What I really liked about my travels with my family is that it afforded me a broader experience of life and this world than many of my peers; from the Western Pacific to Europe and the Middle East, both with my family and during my own enlistment in the Navy (more on that later), I have seen much of the world and would enjoy seeing more of this beautiful blue orb that floats so majestically in the cosmos.

My earliest memories were of when our family lived in Agaña, Guam where Dad flew as part of the crew of a P2V; for a kid of my age then (4 to 5), Guam was a paradise and enormous playground with all manner of things to do.  That I survived our stay in Guam is a good indication of a merciful and gracious God who apparently had something else for me to do other than succumb at an early age as a result of some ‘adventure’ my two brothers and I had gotten involved in.  Back in the mid-1950s, much of the island was undeveloped jungle and it was a never ceasing and ever changing playground for the three of us (we definitely got along better back then).  Whether reducing the harvest of the local sugar cane or pineapple farms through our ‘sampling’ (you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted fresh sugar cane!) or running around in the jungle and along trails that seemed too near cliffs that rose above the Pacific Ocean near the base housing.  One time we had gotten into a “dare you” game on one of those cliffs resulting in all three of us hanging off of it with what seemed a very long drop into some angry looking surf.  My brother Melvin was able to help Eddie and I up out of danger, but that left him dangling by himself.  We ran home and told Mom (God knows how that blessed woman was kept from murdering us for what we put her through when we lived there) and she called the MPs (Military Police) who rescued Melvin.

Another ‘adventure’ (this one resulting in a significant paddling) also occurred about this time; the ship that carried produce (eggs, meat and such) to the base had arrived and Mom had gone to the base commissary to purchase her quota of eggs and milk, storing them in our refrigerator.  She decided to take a nap, cautioning us to behave (what fools these mortals be!) and go play outside.  All three of us were New York Yankee fans back then because of such stars as Whitey Ford; we all wanted to be just like him and one of our favorite things to do was pitch rocks at walls, pretending to strike out the opposing ball team as handily as our hero did.  We were wondering what to do on this hot, tropical summer day, when one of us (the instigator of this nefarious deed has been lost to memory) thought up the idea of drawing a strike zone on the side of our home (adobe walls) and using the eggs which were the perfect sized ‘baseballs’ for our hands.  With no thought of the consequences of our act, we proceeded to use up all of the eggs Mom had picked up and covered the side wall with a layer of egg yolks and shells.  After we had completed our victory over the dastardly Dodgers, we marched off to other adventures, full of ourselves and not realizing the gathering storm that would soon engulf us.  The MPs usually drove around the base and housing areas (much as the police do in any community) and soon spotted the interesting decoration adorning the side of our home.  They knocked on the door and asked Mom to step outside to view our decorative efforts whereupon she promised to have it cleaned off (keep in mind that this stuff had by then cooked into the wall) and punish the perpetrators of it.  Boy did she ever!

More to come later.