I was born the ******* child of a USAAF crewman and a USN Wave after fathers aircraft was forced to ditch in the New Caldonia Straits during the battle of Gitchee Goomee.
They met while he was recuperating in the Naval Hospital/Acey-Duecey Club/Ping-Pong Bar at Grimsby Naval Base in Witchita.
Love blossomed, as they say. At least for a few hours.
When I was born, my mother ran away in shame leaving me in the care of my father.
But every year, I would receive, at Christmas, a toy boat in the mail. The package never bore a return address. Every time I asked father who sent the boat to me, he would just say "Shut up,you little bastadge!"
He always called me by that endearing nickname.
I was raised on the flight lines and in the hangars of various bases until I was 17, and my father said "Get the hell out, you bastadge!" (I certainly couldn't argue that point, could I? I finally figured out what my nickname meant.)
I realized that the only things I knew we're the AF and how to get discounts from local prostitutes. Those were different times. I figured that the AF would pay me, while ladies wouldn't have anything to with an unemployed youth.
Ah, if only I'd known about disolute Florida widows then.
So I joined the USAF. I served four years. With my 17 years of life experience on bases, I was immediately promoted to Major and served as adjunant to the Base Commander at Burpellson AFB.
But those toy boats were always in my mind. I yearned to go to sea.
After my discharge, honorable with honors, I drifted to the East Coast and began looking for work on boats.
Oh joy! I was hired on a private yacht owned by a US senator.
At my interview, I was asked "do you know anything about boats?"
"No sir" I said.
"Can you keep your mouth shut?"
"Yes, sir" said I.
"You're our boy." He said.
So there I was, off to new adventures on the sea!
After many years, I decided to retire.
I left as a Cabin Boy but I returned as a Cabin Man.
Anything else?
