There was diversity where I grew up - some of the white people were loggers, some worked at the mill, some were farmers. On the coast, some were fishermen, in Central Oregon, some were ranchers. Everywhere, though, some worked at the chainsaw shop, which was, and to some degree still is, essential to life in Oregon. There weren't any people who weren't white, because who in the hell wants to live somewhere where it rains 9 months a year and the white people are ripping the crap out of the beautiful forest, turning it into a mud pit? I didn't know any better - what I knew was rabbits can talk, etc.

this is me on my 3rd birthday. Suave, handsome and talented.

Central Oregon, west of Redmond. Pretty, huh?

My TV-parent was on most of the time, and I could watch what I wanted until my old man came home from logging all pissed off, whereupon I went to my room and read, or generally stayed out of the way.

We moved a lot, because once all the timber is cut, the big company that owns the mill usually shuts it down. The employees can either move to a new town (where they are currently cutting down all the trees), stay where they are and become unemployed, or go back to farming (you can also move to Portland, or California, but real Oregonians, at least back then, preferred the luxurious, opulent lifestyle afforded by unemployment).

When I was in the 4th grade we moved to Redmond, Oregon. That's Central Oregon, which is really popular right now, because Oregon has become a mecca for people with enough money to retire in a place where there are golf courses, skiing and sunshine. It wasn't the same back then...

Central Oregon is beautiful - cold, yes, but beautiful. Home wasn't much fun because I was getting older, I was from the part of Oregon I alluded to earlier, nice people, new Nikes (well, they weren't Nikes then, but you get the idea), fairly cultured, etc. The kids in Redmond were (to put it as nicely as I can) way behind academically, but they knew how to detonate a stick of dynamite. I stuck out like a sore thumb because a) I could read and do arithmetic like any 4th grader, and b) I was under the impression rabbits can talk and skunks have french accents.

My parents were always pissed because I was unhappy, the schools were as shitty as public schools get, my Mom was unhappy, and my brothers were unhappy. That left good old Dad, and he was generally unhappy because his job wasn't so great, so we weren't a "Leave It To Beaver" family anymore, we were more like "Beaver Goes and Lives In Hell".