Born 'Ronald Richard Robinson' though, always Riki and always spelled that way - in Karachi, Pakistan - late December back in '63, as the song goes.
Adopted at birth in a very interesting story to be elucidated upon later. I'm still gathering all the particulars on this one - when I know, you'll know. However, these are the 'facts' as I know them. I was born to a woman whose name I would not know for a very long time at 5:15 in the morning on the 21st of December. (That would put me entering the world at 7:15pm EST on the 20th for all you wacky astrologist dabblers out there.) Due to the efforts of a pre-arranged adoption - and a no small amount of $ changing hands - I was laid to rest in the arms of my mother Elfia Rose Robinson. Along with her I had also inherited a father named Paul Armond Robinson and two brothers, Raymond Jeffery Robinson (Jeff) and Paul Greggory Robinson (Gregg). And so, our nuclear family unit was complete. Later on, after we traded Karachi, Pakistan for Manila in the Philippines, another member would be added to our little family. My sister, Elfia Roslyn Robinson (Lyn), although adopted after I was and a good foot and a half shorter than me, would always be my older (by one month and eighteen days), big sister. And there you have it. Behold the Robinsons!
World traveled - three times 'round before Third Grade with stops, hops, and houses in: the Philippines, Hong Kong, Beirut, Hawaii, Europe, Georgia (USA, not Russia), Thailand, and Laos - finally setting down roots to live in Tarpon Springs, Florida from Third Grade on.
Of my very early life (toddler on through Second Grade) I remember very little, although what I do is a happy time filled with snapshots of foreign lands and friendly people. Of the Philippines, I remember the outside of our house and the couple of the birthday parties held there. Vacations were spent in Baggio, with mountains all around. At home I frittered away my days running up and down a large hill that got smaller every year and riding sidecar in our supped-up tryke with my sister Lyn dressed and driving as Robin the boy wonder and I sitting proudly with arms folded as nothing less than the Batman himself. My next locale held a slightly different story. For it was there that I would learn to read and write and begin to form the superior intellect that has propelled me to unpretentious stardom. But I digress.
I began my education at a school in the American compound located just outside of Vientiane, Laos. Yes, it is true. I did chase butterflies in Laos during the Vietnam War. I had a different view of Southeast Asia than most people did in the late 60's. For me it was green fields and tetherball. There were fern weeds that closed when you touched them, red and blue spotted beetles that we chased and captured with a child's delight, and some shiny bug that we called a golden turtle - making it the first of many 'tortugas' to cross my lifelong path. The world was full of wonder. Never before or since in my life have I seen so many chrysalises encapsuling the glorious metamorphosis of life. I was even lucky enough to watch a butterfly or two emerging from the old shell to take first flight on its own great adventure. GI Joe was still hip and we had landed the first man on the moon. America wasn't doing so bad back then, even with the secret bombings happening so close by and the Tet Offensive just around the corner. Things were different through the eyes of a child. I remember chasing after the helicopters as they dropped propaganda papers on Mao Tse Tung. I couldn't read them, but they were cool. We were kids back then, what did we know? We ran joyfully after them and collected the fluttering leaflets as they rained down from the sky like some political Skittles commercial.
Girls
The first girl that I ever felt a liking for was named Michelle Miley. She was skinny like me with blonde, bobbed hair. I watched her from a distance and felt goosepimply all over, and never even breathed a word to her. I wonder what she's doing now.
There were other friends and other adventures - one of our maids was fired because I climbed up on the roof of the house and then jumped. Another episode evolved when our gardener with the two thumbs on one hand caught the snake with two heads. No, really! And then there was the time that I had my tonsils taken out in a hospital in Bangkok, Thailand. Lots of ice cream, but I hated it when the baby elephant performing at the hotel we were staying at stepped on my foot. Suffice to say that it was a grand time in my life. We got out of there at least a year before the American compound was overrun by the Viet Cong, and the other American families were forced to leave- so we were able to bring most of our worldly memories back Stateside with us. Others weren't so lucky. It was right around the year of the big flood, and I remember leaving by helicopter - another big adventure for one so young. And because I was an extremely cute kid - no, really - I was often invited to sit with the pilots for a little while. It did not matter that it was a military helicopter or a commercial airline, I could always be found looking out the front windshield of the airplane. They even let me put on their headsets, though they were so big that they never quite fit.
Somewhere between living overseas and settling down in Florida, I contracted a strong case of what I like to call Forrest Gump Syndrome. By that I mean that I am often in close proximity to events of great significance, historical or otherwise. One of our stops before Florida was Washington D.C. My sister and I went to school there, and I befriended an ambassador's son. (Don't ask me his name or what country he was from, because both are long forgotten.) Neither of these things is of import to this anecdote anyway. What is important, however, is the name of the hotel we happened to be staying at and the time we happened to be staying there. Figured it out yet? Ten points if you did. We were living at the Watergate Hotel when the infamous men of CREEP broke into the Democratic offices and helped themselves along the path to President Richard Milhouse Nixon's resignation. Neat, huh!
Florida
Home sweat home! From just before the Third Grade (somewhere's betwixt '70 and '71) on until 1990, I played, prayed, toiled, tarried, got into trouble, got spanked (a lot of that), learned, graduated, learned some more, laughed, danced, cursed, swam, climbed, fell, hurt, loved, rose above, screwed, chewed, spewed, and basically lived my life there. I grew up in Tarpons Springs, Florida, located in the Tampa Bay area (how 'bout them Bucs!!) just south of Clearwater (for all of you snow birds keeping track out there). It is a medium-sized community sporting a large Greek population. Strange and peculiar in its own right - some might even say eccentric - and definitely the perfect place for me to call home.
A scrawny kid throughout my elementary up through and beyond my high school years. Enduring all that runt kids with the nickname of Hamster would have to. I developed a comedic wit with a quirky sense of humor (puns anyone?) as a defense mechanism, although I believe that the only ones who appreciated it at the time were the fellow geeks that I was lucky enough to associate with. (See the movie Free Enterprise for examples on such behavior.) It kept me alive with at least a smattering of self worth, but did nothing in the way of getting me a date. I had crushes and heartbreaks, pining for various young ladies throughout my youth as we blossomed together in the mid to late 70's into the people we were to become. Skinned knees always went along with the best of times, and for me it was nothing but.
Grew up a United Methodist churchgoer, becoming involved even to the point of singing in the youth choir (called Sonrise). We went on various summer tours up and down the East coast mostly, but also as far as Colorado and into Canada. More/Less church stuff, touching on Leesburg United Methodist Youth Camp - the first place that I was ever anything that could be considered popular, Jesus ('78, '79, '80) festivals, Christian music, and the like.
Tarpon Springs Senior High School (home of the fighting Spongers - a sponge diver, for those who don't know - 'Soak 'em up Spongers'): football games (in the stands), dances (shy wallflower), running the Greek corner gauntlet (only someone who went to high school in Tarpon Springs can truly appreciate the anxiety of having to get to class via this route), getting pantsed in gym class, getting thrown into garbage cans (ah, the sweet, popular life of a nerd), the school riot (not sure of the year and what exactly was the cause), falling in and out of infatuation for neither the first nor the last time (most of these young ladies never knew, even to this day)
Believe it or not, I actually earned my school letter. Not for football or baseball, mind you, but in the manly sport of chorus. Go figure.
Graduated in (June??) of 1981 "We are sexy, we are fun, we are class of '81' " and from there moved on to a varied college education.
As if my geekdom had not reached its all time high, I learned to play Dungeons & Dragons - later Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, when I became proficient enough - and cemented my standing in the 'Pimply-faced Virgins Club'. Later, however, this would become instrumental in the late blooming of my breakout year. (No Elven magic-user assassin would ever keep me down, no siree, bub! I curse you, Zijourn, I curse you and dance on your grave! Uh'ahem' 'scuze me.)
Camp counselor at the Leesburg camp for half a summer. Half because I had to leave early to go on a Sonrise choir tour. This was the trip from Florida to Colorado and back again, and yes I was the lead for our mini 'rock opera'. (No autographs, please.)
Somewhere in here I was finally blessed with my first girlfriend. ('Bout damned time!) It was very innocent as relationships went, and it did not last for very long, but it counted, dammit!
College life
BMOC? C'mon, who am I kidding? Not you, I bet. SPJC (St. Petersburg Junior College) - Tarpon Springs and Clearwater campuses: AA degree in general education, and even got some time in for a fraternity (Go DTX!). USF (University ofSouth Florida, in Tampa) - Religion and Theater. UCF (University of Central Florida, near Orlando) - Psychology.
Renaissance Festival
In March of 1984 I got involved with the Bay Area Renaissance Festival of Largo, Florida - affectionately known as B.A.R.F. (Thank you, Howard Kash - then Koutney - and Paul Parzik - formally my church youth director. I blame all my latter bestest and naughtiest times on the both of you. These are also the very same two that got me so heavily involved in AD&D. Thanks again, guys.)
1984 is a benchmark year for me, and it is one of my favorites. First of all, joining the Renaissance festival played no small part in marking the second time that I drank from the goblet of popularity - and a mighty draught it was as that. I was heady with intoxication from it, and I wanted more. Believe me, more is what I got. The other thing that happened? Prince came out with his first movie that year. It was called Purple Rain, and for the first time ever in the history of my memory, skinny guys became en vogue. Everything changed for me from that moment on, and my life would never be the same. More of a glass half full kind of thing, know what I mean?
As far as the Renaissance festival goes, I started off as a street character, performing as-an Elf: Eventine, son of Janus, son of Ander, son of Eventine, king of the Elves. Not very original - just ask Terry Brooks - but, what the hey, I was a 19 year old dork virgin; what do you want?
The following year, I discovered stage combat - or rather, it discovered me. Tryouts were being held for a brand new thing called a Human Chess Match - new to me, that is. It had been curiously absent the previous year when I had joined up with our humble festival. This game is performed using live people as the chess pieces. (The dead ones just kind of lie around, and that isn't really much fun to watch for anybody.) Usually you will have one force standing up and playing against another in a good vs. evil, naughty vs. nice passion play. These pieces are moved about on the board as usual - or as usual as one can get playing chess with 8' x 8' squares made of sod - until one lands upon an occupied space. That's when the combat begins! For now the two chess pieces must battle it out in a choreographed fight routine that determines who indeed will remain standing as victor of the square. If you're still having a hard time envisioning it, think WWF meets 'Robin Hood: Men in Tights'. At least it was for me - Robin Hood, more commonly known as Scott Andre, was the director of the Human Chess Match that year. He and his Bronz Dragons ruled that show every year until 1987. That's when he pulled out an Uzi replica and shot his Chess-matching career all to hell. But that's a tall tale best saved for a frosty pint of ale on another day. Ahh, good times, good times. Tryouts back in 1985 were nothing more than being able to adequately perform a few forward rolls and the like. It was a far cry from the grueling one minute fight performance required by subsequent directors (heh, heh, heh). In case you were wondering, I did very well that year-and every year after that. My first fight partner was a very good friend of mine by the name of Mike Petryczak. (Sorry if I spelled it wrong, buddy.) He had the martial arts training that helped keep my hyperactive, youthful vigor in check. I had'. Well, I'm not really sure what I had, but I must have had something. 'Cause damn we looked good out there. The following year I was co-assistant fight director with my ole fight partner Mike. The next year after that I was assistant director of the whole Human Chess Match show, second only to Mr. Andre. By 1989 I had become the director, the top dog, the big cheese. Blah, blah, blah. Suffice to say I like to fight. Don't get me wrong, real violence makes me nauseous, but choreographed violence is one of my few passions. I don't necessarily have the grace to pull off a lot of the stuff I can do. I hate to watch myself on tapes, because I think that I look clunky out there. But I do have an eye for it, and I can take someone's average fight and make it into something beautiful, into art. All right, I've droned on enough about this. Let us stop and take moment to set the stage for the next phase of my life.
Imagine if you will, that your life has been written out for you. That the Fates have measured its length in a skein and laid it out in a tapestry that is woven and made beautiful by the intersecting skeins of other people's lives. The tightest and largest of knots are made by those who are bound together the closest, with their lives intersecting over and over again. Though I did not yet know it, in that glorious spring of 1985 on the Largo Festival site, I was going to meet and befriend someone who would from that day forward be forever entangled in my life. My twin in many ways, he would get my best and my worst and I his. Together we would forge the beginnings of what has become our Tortuga family. He is the Pirate King, the pineapple hunter, the spunky one. He is Stormy's sound, the Ocean's beat, the Electrik jockey. Finally, he is the name changer - for is Donatello and he is D'Angelo, but Tortuga through and through. I know him simply as Jef ' back then Jeff 'Hall, my friend.
And I think that that's enough for now.
See you kiddies next time.
Don't date any wooden Tortugas, or something like that.
Ciao.
