By way of introduction
Every story needs a beginning, and while this one is not mine, it is the beginning of the stories that I have come here to share. I am writing these stories in part because although I am an extraordinarily ordinary, middle-aged white guy, I have managed to live an extraordinary and often unbelievable life.
These stories are touched by time, and perhaps some are a bit polished by that history, but they reflect real events like a weekly juggling show at 12th and K streets in Sacramento for years; spending a year teaching Chinese acrobatics to teenage students in rural China; and watching the summer Olympics from a bomb shelter near the Golan Heights demilitarized zone.
My life has sometimes been lived as a series of unbelievable vignettes.
And yet, these things happened, and I was there.
Some of these stories have struck the people in my life as so unbelievable that, for a time, they were dubbed “Justin Stories™” - trademark added - which grew into a general belief that I simply lied as easily as I breathed. Fortunately for me, all of my best stories involve other people, and it wasn’t long before one of them shared such a story with mutual friends, only to have it dismissed as a Justin story.
“But I was there!”
(Hat tip to the Mater’s Tall Tales stories - which might have influenced my decision to share my own adventures.)
Try telling someone that you ran in a restored ancient stadium in Greece for a revival of the first Olympic games in Nema, and see how seriously they take you for the rest of the night. This is one of the many stories that I generally don’t share, because 1996 exists in the dark, cold times before everyone had a camera in their pockets, and even the organizers of those games have told me they wish they had more photos. Alas.
But mostly, I am here to share these stories with my son. At some point, sooner than I would like I’m sure, I won’t be here to share these tales or bring the receipts. I want my son to know that the stories that people around him might dismiss are true stories, that his father was really there, and that these things really happened. For his sake, I will share the stories with receipts, but also those like the Nemean games, where you’ll just have to take my word for it.
But you can trust me; I was there.