As we all know, children are highly impressionable. They're clay, being molded by the world into many different things, depending on what the influence is and how hard the impression is. You can take a knife and lightly press into the clay and make small, fine details which wont really change the overall result, but will shape it and give little quirks unique to the product. Or, you can take it in your hand and squeeze the living guts out of it until it runs through your fingers and makes a mess for you to clean up later and try again. But the thing is, the clay loses its moisture, becoming harder to work with and eventually starting to dry out, thus not allowing you to make it perfect.

What are some of the fine cuts that people and society have made into the clay of your life? Who's squeezed it just a bit too hard and almost fucked it up? I think it's weird, I've never really been this cryptic while talking but I feel the clay is a good metaphor.

Ever noticed that a lot of your fondest memories stem from when you were a child? Have you ever acted upon them? How was the out come? Did it happen just how you'd imagined it from when you were a kid or did it completely turn around and bite you in the ass? What did you want to be when you were a kid? What are you now? Are you working a dead end job at McDonald's while you attend college, still pursuing that goal? Are you living your dream? Or have you just decided to give up on it due to fear of failure, regret or just grew out of it?

When I was a kid, I dont even remember how old I was but I remembered falling in love with Starwars. Even before I could read the classic opening title sequence and having my father reading it out loud to me. I always dreamed of going to space, fighting evil for the greater good and getting the hot chick at the end of the day. Now days, I'm kinda doing the same thing with minor differences. I'm sailing the seas in the US Navy, doing my job cause some asshole got butt hurt and fucked something up somewhere, so it's my job to support the ship, support the cause and support the Navy, for (at least as the government is concerned) the greater good. I also remember loving cars. How did I get into that? Hell if I know, but the influence has been profound. I think it all started with my dad. He's a jack of all trades and he's a heavy machinery mechanic by trade. He was always out in the garage, smoking a cigarette and drinking beer (Honestly, kinda like Bunta from Initial D) and me being a kid, seeing my father do this and that, I wanted to help and be a part of it, so little by little my dad let me help him work on the car, or fix a lawn mower or something, eventually leading to me doing my first oil change when I was about 7 or so, and my first brake job when I was 8. Not only that, but my dad every now and then (when I was little I would accompany him to work EARLY in the morning on the weekends) he'd let me sit in his lap and "drive" the car. In reality, he was still holding the steering wheel and had his foot over the pedals, but still, I got to drive my dad's truck. Stemming off of that, my dad was big into Nascar in the early 90's (lost all interest after Dale Earnhardt died at Daytona) which I got into cause it was something me and my dad both enjoyed. He loved seeing all the skills between the different drivers and hearing the roaring V8's as they raced on the track, meanwhile I was gawking at all the cars with different colors just driving fast. One day me and my dad were watching TV in the afternoon and we found a movie starting at just the begining. My dad new what the movie was before it even got interesting, mean while I was in a world of my own. Then after about a minute in, something caught my attention. The music, and as it picked up, so did the movie. Suddenly I'm at Daytona Motor Speedway with a bunch of Nascars while a guitar is wailing. This movie, Days Of Thunder (I actually got goosebumps while finding this clip of the movie) from that moment on, I was completely hooked. I wanted everything to do with cars. Working on them, being behind the wheel and even just talking about them. Growing older, I got into more serious questions with my father about cars and eventually he told me about what he had in high school. A 1970 Plymouth Cuda with a 440 "six pack" that he and his friend's painted red while in shop class. He told me so many stories of that old "clunker" and how fast it was. How many races he'd been in and all the memories he had in it. He only had one photo of the car and he showed it to me. His eyes would always water as he talked about it, and he even lost it a few times when he said how he lost it. (We'd lost the photo when our garage roof collapsed during a storm) On his way home from work one day in the 80's, we was making a left at a stop sign when he was t-boned in the front driver side fender and door, warping the frame and totaling the car. He'd get quiet after he told me that and it was the end of the conversation.

Skipping forward to much more recent times. In 2009 durring the late summer I was playing base ball, starting center field for my high school team. I was on second base in the middle of the game when coach told me to steal 3rd base. Pitcher started his windup and I was off. I was practically at the bag when my coach told me to slide. I didn't think twice about it, I just acted. Being so close to the bag, I didn't get a full proper slide which resulted in more like me falling flat on my ass with my leg out. I fell back on to my right arm (throwing arm) over extended the elbow causing it to dislocate, along with the impact of how hard I fell on it, breaking it in two places and chipping the bone, all in the same second. I look up at the coach and say to him "coach, call time out, I think I broke my arm" Sure enough, he saw it, looked away and called time out. I wasn't in pain, more or less just a huge adrenaline rush and the shock of the whole thing, but I couldn't move my arm. Everything after that was a blur until the next day when I wake up with a cast on my arm and me realizing my baseball days where over. In turn, being still active physically I was looking for something to do with the school and they needed a mascot for the upcoming football and basketball season. I auditioned and sure enough I landed the job. While browsing youtube one night (rather than doing my homework) I found a video and thus found the fandom. I found a local fur online and went to furmeets from then on, thus becoming a furry. (more details on that later) Then I'd finally turned 16 and G=gotten my drivers license and man oh man was that the greatest thing that happened to me at that point. Next thing to do was get a car. I'd saved up money from my birthday and Christmas and bought a Civic for $500 and well, the piece of shit crapped out on me. So in turn, my Uncle Bob (more on Uncle Bob (he's a HUGE HUUUUUGEEE influence in my life) if you guys ask) gave me $2800 to buy a car, register it and insure it with the stipulation that I find something I would enjoy and be proud of owning, take care of it with the help of my father and never let it go till it died. Immediatly I'd wanted a Camaro or a Mustang just like any other 16 year old kid, but they were all too expensive, so while I was thinking it over, I played some Gran Turismo. I'd fallen in love with the Nissan Skyline and done some research on the car and learned that they were never made for the US market and thus making them extremely hard to own, but I wanted an R33. One of the races I was in I had to use a car named the Silvia, and I was astonished by how awesome the car was and how cool it looked. That night was spent on wikipedia, google and craigslist and I had eventually found the car. A 1996 Nissan 240sx. I bought the car and man was I in love. That car ment the world to me and my dad was happy as well as my Uncle Bob. I had so many things I planned on doing to the car and I loved it more than anything I could've even fathomed.

Moving on, to 2010, I'd graduated high school. I'd finally opened up to the world and everything inside it. I was a furry and that right there helped me adjust to society (ironic right?) but I didn't care what people thought of me anymore unless I valued their friendship. I was confident in who I was as a person. I was finally starting to grasp a hold on things. August 7th, I was over at my Uncle Bob's house playing a game of pool with him. The man, even at age 78 was still full of energy. We ended it by me giving him a hug goodnight and a firm high five (something he did with all of his neices and nephews since we were little) August 8th was my sister's 16th birthday, My mom woke me up that morning in tears. "Matthew, Uncle Bob just passed away" I was devistated, in disbelief that my Uncle Bob, the man who'd fought in WWII, the man who'd basically been my grandfather (grandfather on my dad's side passed away when I was young) the man who's footsteps could shake the earth, voice spoke louder than words and the man who'd my whole family and the whole community knew and loved had died. I was just over at his house the night before and he was perfectly fine and healthy. We'd learned later that his heart had burst. Nobody saw it coming. Nobody could've done anything about it, but none the less, he was gone.

Later that year I joined the Navy, went to boot camp in March of 2011 and got sent on deployment in July. Now almost 2 years later, here I am, typing this journal away out of sheer boredom. The clay that is my life is almost completely dry. Only things left that can be done are small surface details but the sculpture that is me has taken form. A lot of small details have been added over the years changing the final result, but the original molding was from my father and my Uncle Bob. They formed me into who I am today, while the fandom took that hard, but still modifiable clay and changed it, in my opinion, a good way. My dad taught me the greatest love I know, the love for your car. He taught me how to put passion in everything I do. My Uncle Bob taught me to have actions that speak louder than words, and left me a pair of shoes, too big to follow in his ginormous footsteps. Some day I hope to be able to walk down that path next to his foot prints and leave my own. I still wish to be a race car driver like when I was a kid, watching TV with my dad.

My dreams, having changed over the years, still are repressed in my memory. My influences being many have shaped me and my course for the present and the forever unknown future. My idols, being many different people from many different back grounds and walks of life each added to that. But at the end, it's not some sports all star. It's not a musician or an actor or anything of the sort. It's just two blue collar average Joes who happen to be family. Thank you dad, and thank you Uncle Bob, where ever you are, thank you.

I started out by asking a few questions and to end this, I have a few questions of my own for you. What influenced and shaped you. Who do you idolize? What are some fond memories of yours and what are your dreams?






I apologize for making you read all of this, but I just felt inspired to start typing and so I did. I hope you enjoyed reading this. I know some parts are more detailed than others so if you have any questions or want to talk more about a subject, please ask and as always, leave some comments.

~Ace