January 8, 2025
Over the last two years, I’ve tried to write articles that I thought would be interesting to read. Most have been stories about my fishing experiences, and a few have been about whatever is on my mind. But for the next three weeks, I’m going to introduce you to the writer who was born in Richmond, Texas, on March 7,1961.
As a child between the ages of 5 to 8 years old, I grew up in the Houston area. We lived in the small town of Rosenberg, Texas, until the age of 8. As you will see, this is a story about a young boy who overcame a lot to get to where he is today. So, pay close attention because this road was filled with a lot of potholes and obstacles that had to be overcome.
To understand my life’s journey, you must understand how it all began. My biological mom and dad divorced in 1960 while she was pregnant with me. My dad was in the military stationed in Germany when they decided to part ways for whatever reason.
While I never got to meet my dad, I’ve heard stories about him from other family members over the years. He had great athletic talent and enjoyed a beer or two while chasing the ladies on Friday and Saturday nights. Ah ha…. Probably the reason they got divorced!
My biological mother was not the mother who raised me. The lady I would eventually call mom was actually my aunt (biological mother’s sister). My bio mother was a beautiful lady who also had an extravert personality and was the life of the party wherever she went.
She lit up a room when she walked in with her smile, charm and beauty. She had a career as a model and traveled frequently while trying to raise two boys: Kenny (my younger stepbrother) and myself. Sadly, she was not a responsible parent as we spent a lot of time with babysitters including families that did not speak much English.
My brother and I were often split up during her trips out of town for days at a time. Sometimes she would leave us two to three days longer than she was supposed to. There were several occasions where the sitters would call the police scared to death that we had been abandoned!
Before my delivery date of March 7th of 1961, my bio mom had another son (Mike) five years before me who she walked away from after the divorce. Mike was raised by our grandparents on our dad’s side. He (who I eventually reunited with in 2016) was a great athlete and was a product of Sam Houston High School and went on to have a successful college football career in the mid 1970’s as a running back for East Texas State (now East Texas A&M).
During my early childhood in Rosenberg, I started the first grade and really struggled due to the lack of guidance from home. My mother, who was never home, remarried to a wife beating cop who I despise to this day. My stepdad could have cared less about his only son Kenny (my stepbrother) or myself.
Several times I witnessed my mother’s beatings…. something a 7-year-old should never have to witness. Kenny and I were pretty much on our own and raising ourselves. Being the big bother and part time caretaker, I literally hid food under my bed to make sure we had something to eat! I made sure we never went without food. According to my aunt (eventual adopted mom), I continued this practice for the first year I lived with her and my uncle as well.
Always looking for our next meal, one thing I became very good at during this time of survival was sneaking into people’s houses and helping myself to whatever food was within reach. That’s right, I was the neighborhood brat who nobody liked. But one thing was clear, there was no one better at sneaking around a house than me.
At no point was I ever seen or caught while navigating through our neighborhood houses on Rosenburg’s Walger street. I never stole anything of value, only food. But had I stayed in this environment, I’m sure I would have ended up in juvenile detention before the age of 10.
Friends were never a part of my early days in Rosenberg, except for maybe one or two, but their parents didn’t like their kids hanging around with me. I never understood why people didn’t like me knocking on their door at 6:00 in the morning wanting little Johnny to come out and play.
Even with all the challenges I faced on a daily basis, there was a day that changed my life forever. It was the day I realized God had blessed me as an athlete and the ability to play baseball. One early spring day I heard they were having baseball tryouts for Little League. With my baseball glove on my handlebars and so excited, I jumped on my bike and rode to the local park where the tryouts were taking place.
After arriving, I jumped off the bike and got in line to take ground balls like everyone else was doing. But there was one thing that got my attention; these guys were a lot bigger than me! But for some odd reason, this did not seem to faze me.
As the coach hit a ground ball my way, I scooped it up and made an impressive hard throw to the coach. Seeing the shock on his face he called me over for a talk. I knew I had made an impression as he asked how old I was. I told him seven going on eight, thinking this would not be a problem. He smiled and said, “Son, you’re going to be a great player one day, but your too young to play Little League at this time.” He told me to come back when I was old enough.
Crushed, disappointed, angry and crying, I got back on my bike and road home upset over how they wouldn’t let me play. I mean I was almost eight years old and just couldn’t understand! Obviously, a seven-year-old child does not have the ability to reason. After all, I knew I was one of the best players on that field that day and couldn’t wait to show all of them what the future held for me!
Unfortunately, none of them ever knew the success that would eventually come my way later in life since I moved from Rosenberg to Mt. Pleasant, Texas, before I could play Little League.
Next week I’ll continue my life’s incredible journey so make sure to follow-up with next week’s article and see just how blessed I have been and how two people would change my life forever.
Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com
