Get in the Ring, BusyDad 

I took this life on 2 weeks’ notice.

Let’s back up. Summer of ’01. Happily swinging single guy meets party girl visiting the USA on business. They have an incredible time for 3 weeks. An incredible time because when you know it’s all going to end before your next rent check is due, you don’t waste time with games, with what ifs, with real life...

It was good. Then it was done.

Until the ulcer. The ulcer that somehow made party girl feel nauseous whenever she smoked. The ulcer that became a growing concern for party girl and swinging single guy as they ran up their overseas long distance bills. The ulcer that had other ambitions. Namely, “I’m gonna hang out for, oooh, about 9 months or so, and then after that, render your life unrecognizable.”

Two weeks. That’s all she had to pack up her belongings, say goodbye to her friends and family and start a new life halfway across the world. Two weeks. That’s all he had to clean up the apartment, say goodbye to the black book, and start figuring out how to build a family with this girl from halfway across the world.

And that’s how I ended up here. Bruised, bloodied and punch drunk at the hands of fatherhood. I had no coaches, no sparring partners, no high-altitude training camp at Big Bear. Self-taught and winging it, with no professional training. But at least I can say I'm experienced.

The question is, am I William Hung or Jimi Hendrix?