maestro_live@yahoo.com — Sat, 07 Sep 2002 04:00:49 GMT

My story is best told as I would verbally tell it. I think that's called prose. One of my more erudite friends with have to answer that question.

Following is MY portrayal of my life, hopefully chronologically and logically stated. You're sure to find many anecdotes and diatribes along the way. Some will find this annoying but most, who know me, will hear the storyteller and understand.

While endeavoring to be as politically correct as possible, I will at times limit my references to the masculine and may find myself making statements that aren't exactly open minded. If you know me then you know there is more to me then these writings and will forgive my transgressions for the sake of hearing my story, my way.

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I don't think you can truly know a person until you know his family. My father; Paul Sr., was the first son of two born to my grandparents - Martha Ruth (Mart) and Harry Hamilton (Bunk) (and to think I was upset at being named Harry).

My grandfather, was the most loving, understanding and giving man I have ever known. He understood life in it's broader sense. He communed with his god and with nature. He was a caregiver, nurturer, craftsman and artist. He was a genuine human being full of love and hope for the future. He was painfully taken from me in the late 90's (the year escapes me now) by prostate cancer. He died alone with just my grandmother at his side because she refused to 1) move back to Maryland from Hudson, Florida when he asked and 2) tell us the truth about his illness soon enough for us to come down. I was on route 95 S, headed to visit when I knew he had passed. I stopped at a rest stop and called to be told he was gone. I'll never forgive my grandmother for keeping him from me.

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Being as this is more difficult than I thought it would be I close for now.

"TOUCHED - the heart of Maestro"