The year I was born was the same year The Rolling Stones released “Exile On Main Street”. I emerged into the world at a hospital in Bemidji, Minnesota. They told my mom I was dead when I was born. Discovering I was alive, my parents named me after a hitchhiker named Kip Gentry. They had picked Kip up in their Volkswagen bus in a blizzard somewhere between Wyoming and Nebraska.
My early years were spent in Nebraska, Colorado, Minnesota, and parts in between. Raised on ecology, hippie ethics, and the sweet desserts my grandmas gave me, my first memory was having my diaper changed while a soap opera played on a TV over my head.
There was Sesame Street and Romper Room, Evel Knievel and the Lone Ranger, bologna sandwiches, and late-night radio. I remember it all through a lens of childhood belief in reincarnation, that when we died we just shrank back down and started over again.
No matter who we are we all have stories and your story is the most important you know. Do you want to tell your story? Through writing, art, music, photography, film, or multi-media? I want to help.
Get in touch. Contact me.
This photo is of my mom, dad, me, and our dog, Zack, in the early 70s.