It all started in Texas. My family moved there when I was five years old. For the next seven years I hunted and fished, rode horses, and ate my share of blueberry pie. Several years ago I wrote about the experience in Dragonfly: A Childhood Memoir.
When I was twelve years old, my family moved to Florida. It wasn't a hard transition, from cowboy to beach bum. But I did have a few things to learn. For one, I had to--well, wanted to--learn how to surf. And I did. Later, I wrote about my life spent on the Florida beaches in Shark Man, a novel for the middle grade reader.
When school let out my mother shipped me to my grandmother's beach house on Staten Island. Occasionally, my uncle and I would slip off to Yankee Stadium in his yellow Chrysler Imperial to take in a game. I guess that's where I picked up a healthy interest in major league baseball, which I wrote about in Dear Frank: Babe Ruth, the Red Sox, and the Great War and The Men Who Made the Yankees.