R-U-N-N-O-F-T

I was born in 1952; my old man took off shortly after I was born. His old man did the same to him. This little bit of family history seems to have kept me from ever gettin' married or havin' kids, myself. Probably for the best.
I had the love of cars that comes naturally to boys and I spent countless summer days exploring the junkyard that was just down the road. The owner tolerated me--I guess 'ignored me' is the better way to put it--and that's the way it was: I kinda got used to bein' invisible to grownups. It had its advantages; one kid who knew me growin' up told me, years later, he thought I had the perfect childhood, because I 'could do whatever I wanted.' But the lack of parental guidance had the predictable result of making me a classic underachiever. Wasted my whole life trying to figure things out for myself.
If you're reading this and you've got kids, go on home now, and teach 'em something useful.

But you HAMBians don't need me to tell you that.