My Story

Most people who meet me today would never guess how out of place I felt growing up.

Things were often tense at home.

My Father

As a boy, I never understood why my father carried so much anger and bitterness.

But the truth is, he earned every scar.

He spent three years of his childhood in a Nazi concentration camp.

His father was killed in the Battle of Moscow when my dad was only two years old.

When the war ended and he reached America at age nine, he could not speak a single word of English.

He arrived with a German name, a German accent, and blond hair and blue eyes that marked him before he ever said a word.

Kids made fun of him, picked fights with him, and blamed him for a war he did not start.

Then came the orphanage.

Five hard years of early morning chores, shoveling coal into a stove, and milking cows.

He tried to run away at least three times.

Each time they caught him, dragged him back, and beat him.

He carried a lot of anger from what he had been through.

Bitter.

He felt like life had given him a raw deal.

What he went through never left him.

My brother and I learned early to be careful around him.

That environment shaped how I saw the world.

Growing Up Different

My hearing loss was there from the beginning, but nobody knew it at first.

When I was little, my mom noticed I didn't always respond when she spoke to me.

She took me from one specialist to another, trying to figure out why I seemed to live in my own quiet world.

Several years later, we finally got an answer. I had a profound hearing loss.

By second grade, I was wearing a behind-the-ear hearing aid in my left ear.

As a kid, I also had a slight speech impediment.

Words with the letter "R" came out sounding like "W."

The kids on the school bus noticed right away.

They would shout, "Hey Paul, you waskerley wabbit!"

I kept my hair a little long to hide my hearing aid.

I often felt like I was on the outside looking in.

Most kids learn how to blend in.

I learned how to disappear.

Still, I tagged along with friends who were into sports.

On a field or court, my hearing loss didn't matter.

Effort mattered.

Heart mattered.

It was one of the few places where I felt like I belonged.

Nobody cared whether I talked funny or wore something behind my ear.

Even then, I was still an introvert trying to fit in.

Sports gave me a place where I felt accepted.

College

After high school, I headed to Lees-McRae College in the mountains of North Carolina.

I didn't yet know what I wanted to do with my life, but I could keep playing football.

The Lees-McRae Bobcats had a tough football program.

While I was there, our team won the East Bowl and a JUCO national championship.

Things were different back then. Fall camp was brutal. No students on campus yet, only players and coaches.

In the beginning, we practiced four times a day.

Yes, four times a day.

Some guys couldn't handle it.

The older players had a name for it.

They called it the Night Train.

As camp went on, players packed up in the middle of the night, and we never saw them again.

Coaches were thinning the herd.

As the season went on, we practiced in the snow.

It was bitter cold.

There was nothing around the practice fields to block the wind.

As long as we kept moving, we could get through it.

My college ID.
Sunburned from football practice.

After two years, I transferred to East Carolina University.

Bigger campus. New people. A fresh start.

Loved it!

But I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life.

I started as a Business major.

The professors kept giving us assignments in the computer lab.

I didn't even know how to turn one on.

I was already struggling to hear in class.

Too embarrassed to ask for help, I switched majors and moved over to Psychology.

I wanted a better financial future than the one I grew up with.

But I didn't know how to get there.

That's me on the left after a workout.

Always Sweating

Along with my hearing loss, I also dealt with excessive sweating.

It's called hyperhidrosis.

My hands, underarms, and feet would sweat constantly.

It would start before I even got out of bed.

There was nothing to be nervous about.

And yet, the sweating would start anyway.

I didn't know why it was happening.

In class, I'd try to hear the teacher, take notes, and keep up with everyone else.

The sweat from my hands would drip onto my notebook paper.

Literally drip.

Handshakes were the worst.

My hands were always cold and clammy.

In social situations, I'd often carry a cold drink in my right hand.

If someone reached out to shake my hand, I could blame the moisture on the glass.

Most of my shirts were white.

They hid the sweat better.

During my senior year of high school, I'd often go home during lunch.

There was just enough time to change shirts, wash my hands, dry them with a towel, and rush back before class started.

If someone asked why I was wearing a different shirt, I'd tell them I spilled something on it.

It didn't last long.

But I didn't know what else to do.

Every night, I would lie in bed and beg God to heal me.

It dominated my life.

Years later, after moving to Arkansas, I started researching my symptoms online.

That research led me to a specialist in Little Rock.

Surgery changed everything.

My feet still sweat a little during the summer, but the constant embarrassment is gone.

Thank you, Lord!

Our wedding day, November 23, 1999.

The Business

I was first exposed to Amway when I was a kid.

My parents were involved for several years.

They couldn’t afford a babysitter, so my younger brother and I usually went with them.

The meetings.

The rallies.

The dream.

My first real memory was a large Amway rally in Washington, D.C.

Eight years old.

My brother was still little, only three years old.

Don't remember the speakers.

But I remember the energy.

People talking about freedom.

God. Family. Country.

A different kind of life.

Something more than working all day at a job.

Sometimes we'd drive to a Saturday rally.

Afterward, a group of us would go dream building.

Walk through camper dealerships.

Look at Winnebagos.

Stop by car lots and look at vehicles we couldn't afford.

Mom would cut pictures from magazines and tape them to the refrigerator.

Houses.

Cars.

Vacations.

For a while, it felt like something big was going to happen.

Then, over time, it faded.

It didn't work out for my parents.

But the idea never left me.

Years later, after transferring to East Carolina University, I came across Amway again.

A downtown gym near campus became part of my routine.

Got to know the owner.

One day, while working out, I noticed him using an Amway spray bottle to clean the mirrors.

Not long after that, I decided to get involved.

Hotel meetings.

Personal development books.

Motivational tapes.

Did the best I could.

Some of it made sense to me.

Some of it didn't.

Being an introvert didn't help.

Neither did my hearing loss.

Or the sweaty hands.

Talking to strangers did not come naturally.

We were given phone scripts.

If someone asked, “Is this Amway?” we were taught to avoid the question.

That never felt right to me.

Toward the end, I learned that many of the top leaders were making money from the books, tapes, and functions.

I couldn't ignore it.

It didn't sit right with me.

It changed how I viewed the entire business.

Once I knew, I couldn't look at it the same way.

So I walked away.

But the desire to build something of my own never left me.

Janice Gravely

My mother met Mrs. Gravely through a monthly Christian Women’s Club meeting.

Mom said she'd fall asleep during meetings.

Her health was not what it used to be.

Then something changed.

Mrs. Gravely and me.

Janice Gravely shared something with my mother.

Something that seemed to be helping her.

Sometimes I'd stop by her house to pick it up for Mom.

That's how I got to know Mrs. Gravely.

Didn't think much about it at the time.

Before long, I found out she had graduated from UCLA and had spoken all over the world.

Years earlier, she had survived a plane crash.

Paul Harvey shared her story.

So did Guideposts and Reader's Digest.

Years passed.

Then her health started getting worse.

Her family talked about hiring a full-time nurse.

Little by little, her health got better.

She lived another twenty-five years.

And passed away when she was 99 years old.

Arkansas

After marrying Laura, I moved to Arkansas.

She insisted we live in the same place.

Ended up working for Nystrom.

Called on schools across Arkansas.

Maps.

Globes.

Educational materials.

Several times a year, company meetings meant trips to Chicago, Atlanta, and Houston.

On paper, it was a good job.

But it never felt right.

Didn't like being away from home so much.

Wanted more time with family.

Not less.

Then came a lawncare business.

Drove a school bus too.

Because I like to eat and live indoors.

But I was worn out all the time.

And didn't like mowing other people's grass all day.

So the lawncare equipment was sold.

I kept driving the school bus.

It's the only job I've ever had that didn't feel like I had a boss.

It Never Left Me

During all those years, network marketing stayed in the back of my mind.

It never went away.

And I kept looking for answers.

Books.

Courses.

Sales training.

Marketing.

Copywriting.

Anything that might help me.

Most of it was put on credit cards.

But I kept searching anyway.

Looking for a way that fit me.

Once you see leverage and compounding, it's hard to unsee it.

Why I Shared My Story

Most people only see where someone is today.

They rarely see what it took to get there.

Maybe that's why I decided to tell a little of my story.

I've never been motivated by a big house, fancy cars, or expensive vacations.

What I've always wanted is something simple.

More time.

Time with Laura.

Time with Brady.

There was always something inside me saying:

"Keep going."

"You're going to figure this out."

I believe the Lord was helping me along the way.

He's the one who helped me keep going.

One day at a time.

If you've read this far, thank you.

Now you know a little more about me.