I didn’t know it then, but even as a child, I lived with intention. I wasn’t meant to follow the crowd...I carved my own path, even when it was the lonelier one. And while I sometimes look back and laugh at my boldness, every choice was mine. That matters. My journey began at the Alton YWCA, my first classroom, sanctuary, and playground. I learned to swim, dance, dive, and dream there. I can still
picture the window seats with their hidden cubbies and hear the laughter echoing from Junior Suzie Homemaker Saturdays. Who knew diving lessons would lead to hours spent chasing a childhood passion on a YMCA diving board? I started school at four, which meant an extra dose of first grade, and thankfully, my sister Cindy was right by my side. We were opposites in every way...brunette and blonde, play and books, eating and cooking, but she’s always been my best friend and fiercest ally. At West Junior High, I juggled friends, band, cheerleading, and the very real challenge of having my mom as both math and homeroom teacher. Alton High followed, full of growth, awkwardness, adventure, and memories I hold close. Whether we stayed in that river town or left it behind, we all carry Alton with us. That bond doesn’t break. It weaves itself into who we’ve become. My path has wound through St. Louis, Edisto Island, Mexico, the Caribbean, and the Dominican Republic. I’ve learned paradise isn’t just sunsets and surf, it’s how a place makes you feel. For now, I’m back in the States, grateful for hot showers, strong Wi-Fi, and the wonders of Amazon. I’ve been a swim instructor, a stand-up comic, a poet, a secretary with five typos a minute, a nonfiction author, a real estate agent, an insurance broker, a wedding planner, a leadership coach, and a teacher of tech to those who swore they'd never learn it. My life? Far from easy. But worth it? Absolutely. And yet, through all of that, nothing prepared me for the calling that would come...not from a job listing or a dream, but from silence. My father was a World War II Prisoner of War. He almost never spoke of it. I grew up not knowing the full story of what he endured. Then one day, long after his passing, I found out he kept a diary, "Writings from the Barbed Wire Hotel." Hidden poetry, drawings, and fragments of truth. That moment changed me forever. I didn’t grow up immersed in military life. I didn’t know the sound of cadence calls or the deep ache of deployment goodbyes. But I knew what it meant to wonder…what it meant to wish someone had said more. So I started documenting. First my father’s story. Then others like his. Veterans from World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. Stories of medics, nurses, and Marines, door gunners and dog handlers, POWs and Purple Heart recipients. Not to glorify war, but to witness it. Preserve it. Pass it on. Because I didn’t find this mission - it found me. Through my father’s silence. Through the ache of what I didn’t know. Through the courage of those willing to finally speak. Now, I am a military documentarian. I record what history books overlook. I ask, I listen, and I honor, so future generations will know the cost of freedom, and who paid for it. Going into this, I didn’t know the rank structure or how to spell “medevac.” I didn’t understand what a Huey or V-22 Osprey was or why some veterans still flinch when a car backfires. Or what it was like to be part of the team to assassinate Qasem Soleimani. But I learned. I showed up. I earned their trust, because these stories matter. Freedom is not an accident. It is protected. Preserved. So if you’re reading this and wondering who I am now...
I am the daughter of a silent soldier. I am the voice behind the stories he couldn’t tell. I am someone who lives on purpose...
For those who served. For those who sacrificed. For those who were never given the chance to speak.
⭐️🇺🇸⭐️
