How a Misfit Built a Life That Fits His Family and Maybe Yours

You wouldn't know by looking, but I grew up feeling different from everyone around me. I was born with a profound hearing loss, and our home carried a tension I could feel long before I could understand it.

What Happened To My Dad

As a boy, I never understood why my dad carried so much anger and bitterness. But the truth is, he earned every scar.

He spent three years of his boyhood in a Nazi concentration camp, a child small enough to disappear in a crowd, yet old enough to understand that the world could turn cruel overnight.

His father was killed in the Battle of Moscow when he was just two years old. His mother and two brothers survived the ordeal.

When the war ended and he reached America at nine years old, he could not speak a single word of English. Not one. 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 mocked him, picked fights with him, and blamed him for a war he did not start.

Then came the orphanage: five punishing years of predawn chores, shoveling coal into a stove, milking cows, and hard labor he never chose. He tried to run away three times. Each time they caught him, beat him, and dragged him back.

So no, he did not flinch. He made my brother and me flinch. He carried his trauma like a weapon, proof the universe had cheated him and owed him something back. He was angry. Bitter. Certain life had given him a raw deal.

All of it, the weight and the heat, rolled downhill into our home and into my childhood. I grew up under a past that 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 showed up early, before anyone knew what to call it. As a toddler, my mom noticed I didn't always respond when she spoke to me. She took me from one specialist to another, trying to understand why I seemed to live in my own quiet world. Years passed before the truth finally surfaced: I had a profound hearing loss.

By second grade, I was fitted with a behind-the-ear hearing aid. As a preschooler, 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!" They thought it was funny. But to a young kid who already felt different, every laugh landed hard.

I grew painfully aware that I wasn't like the other kids. I kept my hair a little long to hide my hearing aid. I was shy, socially awkward, and constantly trying to cover how inadequate I felt. 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 the one place where I felt like I could keep up, where the rules made sense, and where nobody cared whether I talked funny or wore something behind my ear. Even then, I was still an introvert trying to fit into a world that didn't feel built for me, but sports gave me a small space where I felt like I belonged.

Off to College

After high school, I headed to Lees-McRae College in the mountains of North Carolina. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life yet, 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, just players and coaches. In the beginning, we practiced four times a day. Some guys couldn't handle it. The older players called it taking the Night Train. They packed up and left in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.

As the season went on, we practiced in the snow. The weather was miserable, but movement kept you warm. As long as I kept moving, I could push through the wind and the cold.

My college ID. Sunburned from football practice.

After two years, I transferred to East Carolina University. Bigger campus. New energy. A fresh start. I loved it.

I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I started in Business, but I was so far behind the times I didn't even know how to turn on a computer. Too embarrassed to ask for help, I dropped the class and eventually switched to Psychology.

I wanted a better financial future than the one I grew up with. I just didn't know how to get there.

That's me on the left, after a weightlifting workout.

Hyperhidrosis

On top of everything else, I dealt with hyperhidrosis, excessive sweating of my hands, underarms, and feet. I changed clothes constantly, avoided handshakes, and dreaded summer. Every night in bed, I prayed and begged God to heal me.

It absolutely dominated my life.

After moving to Arkansas, I found a specialist in Little Rock. Surgery changed everything. My feet still sweat a little in the summer, but the constant embarrassment is gone. I am deeply grateful. Thank you, Lord!

Our wedding day, November 23, 1999.

My First Look at "The Business"

My first exposure to Amway came long before college. Years earlier, my mom and dad were both involved for a time. I remember their excitement and the way they talked about big dreams.

So when I was at East Carolina and noticed the downtown gym owner cleaning mirrors with an Amway spray bottle, it caught my attention. It brought all of that back. For the first time, I thought, "That's what I'm going to do."

Getting involved challenged me in ways I did not expect. I was shy, introverted, and had a severe hearing loss. Suddenly I was sitting in arenas with twenty thousand people cheering like it was a revival.

I did the full Amway experience. The big rallies. The late-night Night Owl meetings. The books, the tapes, and the functions you were told to buy if you were serious.

I tried to follow the system, including the scripts. They never felt honest. If someone asked, "Is this Amway?" we were trained to dodge the question. That never sat right with me.

The turning point came when I learned where the real money at the top was made. Not from selling products. Not from building teams. It came from aggressively promoting motivational tools and event tickets to people in your downline.

Once I understood that, something shifted. It was not a business model I could stand behind. Still, the experience mattered. It taught me exactly what I would never tolerate again: hype, pressure, dodging the truth, or making money off people instead of serving them.

Finding AIM

Around that time, I met Janice Gravely. Her health had turned around after she discovered concentrated nutrition.

She was not building an AIM business for money. Her family was already wealthy. She shared the products because she believed in them. I did not join a company. I joined her belief.

Janice Gravely

Over time, I learned more of her story. By age seventy-five, her health had declined so much her family considered hiring a nurse. After changing her diet and adding concentrated nutrition, her health improved. She lived to be ninety-nine years old.

Mrs. Gravely and me

I became an AIM Member. But I still had not found a way to build the business that fit who I was: introverted, hearing impaired, and not naturally social.

A Job That Did Not Fit Me

After Laura and I married, I moved to Arkansas and took a job selling books to schools. That eventually led to a position with Nystrom, calling on more than 300 school districts across the state.

It was a good job. Truly. But I was bored out of my mind. I spent hours on the road every week. Several times a year I flew to company meetings in Chicago, Atlanta, and Houston.

None of it felt like my life. I did not enjoy being away from home, and I did not want a future built around someone else's schedule.

Becoming a Dad Changed Everything

When my son was born, my priorities snapped into place. At the time, I owned a lawn care business. It was honest work, but the days were long, and I did not want my son growing up with memories of me always being gone and exhausted when I got home.

Working hard, doing what needed to be done.

So I sold the equipment and took a job driving a school bus. Most people would call that a step backward. For me, it was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Driving a bus put me on the same schedule as my son. We decided to homeschool him, and later, when he played basketball and baseball, I was at every practice and every game. I did not miss the moments that mattered.

The Lord gave me the right job at the right time.

Thirty Years of Figuring It Out

I did not have a sponsor who could teach me marketing, so I taught myself. I bought books, audios, and courses. I invested thousands of hours and thousands of dollars.

Over time, a few things became clear:

• People buy in their own time and for their own reasons.
• Trying to persuade people creates resistance.
• You are not looking for everyone. You're looking for the right ones.
• No is not rejection. No is feedback.
• This is not a convincing process. It's an elimination process.

That shift, from convincing to sorting, changed everything.

How I Work Now

I'm not some network marketing superstar. I'm a dad, a husband, and a businessman who spent years learning what does not work, and what finally does.

• You do not need hustle culture. You need a simple, repeatable process.
• Most people are not your prospects. That's not a problem. It's a filter.
• At any given time, a small percentage of people are ready, willing, and able to build a business. Your job is to simply find them.

This is the process I use now:

• A simple 3x2 card with a message that speaks to the right parent.
• A quiet landing page that does the heavy lifting.
• A short guide that explains how the business actually works.
• My full story, for parents who want to understand who I am and what shaped me.
• Only then, an introduction to the company and its products.

No hype. No chasing. No convincing. Just sorting.

Why I'm Sharing This

A no is not rejection.
A no is feedback.
It means "not a fit," and that's good for both of us.

I'm not a victim. Life hit hard. Hearing loss. Health challenges. Money pressure. I'm still standing, and I'm better for having gone through it.

If you're a mom or dad lying awake at night thinking, "My kids are growing up without me," and you want a quiet, practical way to build income without competing with family time, maybe my story helps you see there is another path.

Not a fast path.
Not a flashy path.
A real one.

If something here makes sense to you, you're welcome to reach out. Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

If you're a parent looking for a quieter path, you're welcome to reach out.