THE HOME BOY'S ODYSSEY

PREFACE

The reader may wonder about the title of this book, so allow me to clear up that point right away. I was born in Denver, Colorado and was raised in a home for children. I was there from the age of about two years when my mother died until I graduated from high school at the age of seventeen.  I knew nothing of my father, alive or dead.  So I grew up as an orphan.

The word, Odyssey, derived from Homer’s story of Odysseus, or Ulysses, as the legendary hero is known, has come to mean a prolonged adventure. And I have come to look upon my life as a sort of prolonged adventure or odyssey. As I grew up identifying myself as a “home boy”, I pictured this book as a kind of chronicle of a home boy’s journey through life.

My particular journey, or my memory of the journey , began in the Home where I was raised.  Eventually I became a Criminalist and  became a teacher of this forensic science,  both in the United States and throughout Latin America and the Caribbean region.

Why write a book about my life, about the world as I have known it?  A good question. A challenging question.  I imagine that everyone during a lifetime has experienced tragedy, adventure, comical moments, and a great deal of ordinary, mundane living. Everyone has suffered or enjoyed his or her unique, personal experiences. And most people have formed  views, interpretations, and philosophies relating to their lives and times. In other words, it is conceivable that most people have the material to write a book. And the books which are finally printed would appeal to some and not to others. Of course, the risk which any writer takes is that his or her book might  not be acceptable to people. Writing requires a willingness to expose one’s thoughts and feelings to public view. And the result could be ridicule, rejection, or maybe even acclaim. The worst case is that all of that creative effort could be completely ignored by an uncaring world. For me, however, the very  act of writing makes it all worth the while. Writing helps me to enjoy the memories and the reliving of past adventures. It pleases me to philosophize and to indulge my sense of wonder about things and events, my sense of wonder about life.

A few years ago I did write a book about the Home where I grew up as a child. But that was written for a very specific audience, the other kids, now greying seniors,  who grew up with me.  And their reaction was so enthusiastic that the experience proved to be very rewarding. The origin of this book was quite different.

I do not look upon this book as a traditional autobiography.  Actually,  I did not embark upon a project of writing that kind of book.  I had been writing a series of articles and stories for a weekly newspaper,  the “Weekend”.   And these short stories and articles seemed to evoke an enthusiastic response from friends and colleagues who urged me to put them into book form.  As I reviewed these works,  I realized that most of them were drawn from my life,  and might even be placed in some sort of chronological sequence representing my particular journey through life. In a rough way, I could organize most of these writings into certain phases of that journey.  It appeared that I already possessed a lot of material for the writing project.  And so with some travail and agonizing, this book came into being.