Age -4 Months- attending my first SF convention in utero.

Age 5?-, my first job. Collecting tickets on an Italian tourist lift.

Age 6- The car accident in Paris.

Age 7- Scarlet Fever in Checkoslovakia.

Age 8- Somewhere in Eastern Europe. The VIP tour of a brewery, in Esperanto.

Age 9- The Danish newspaper reporter taking my picture at my toy typewriter for an article about Dad.

Age 10-, discovering that everyone in Europe did not write science fiction. Until then, it had seemed natural. Drive out of Denmark on holiday, stay with an SF writer. Drive to the next country, repeat until end of vacation.

Age 12- "Yes, my Daddy is home." ... "No, I will not get him, he's plotting." ... "Yes, I said he is home." ... "No, you can't talk to him."

Age 15, instructions on 12 ways to silently kill the enemy. Instructor: US Army Vietnam War veteran who considered "Bill, The Galactic Hero" his bible and used to read it to recruits. Location: Our back yard in California, where he camped after adopting us at a convention.

An average childhood it was not, and I would not trade it for anything. I'm not the writer in the family, so a direct statement of my admiration and gratitude will have to do.

Mere words are inadequate thanks for a lifetime of support and encouragement.

I'm really looking forwards to attending the 100th Birthday party.

Todd Harrison