Foreword and Chapter One

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Foreword

Unlike most Rock dinosaurs who have shed their glittering skin, there are still a few exhibitionists around, like Arthur Brown (Fire), and Lady Gaga, Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper, but in Pete Mason's case, he has never had the chance to fully realize his R&R Fantasy.

If you are interested in spiritual seeking and looking for a higher meaning in life, there is something in this book for you. All in all, it's a cool book, and since he really needs to be one, Pete is a cool guy.

~~~Rolf Kempf, PhD of the Street.

Chapter 1

Childhood Dreams

Once upon a time, not very long ago, there was a little boy named Peter Mason. He wanted to be one of the greatest people in the whole wide world. In fact he wanted to be a ROCK STAR. He believed that his dreams would come true one day if he tried hard enough. He knew he had to be like "The Little Engine that Could," who said, "I think I can, I think I can" when he climbed up a steep hill. Eventually, because of his faith in himself, the Little Engine made it to the top of the hill. I am Peter and this is my story and it's a true story.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew

you; Before you were born I sanctified you;

I ordained you a prophet to the nations."

(Jeremiah 1:5)

For most people in life there is black and white and then there is a gray area, but for me life has consisted of mostly black and white, up and down and from one end of the pole to the other. Finding a balance in between has been one of my greatest struggles. I grew up a rather shy boy from a cultured middle-upper class home.

I often listened to classical music played by my mom or dad from the big black Yamaha baby grand piano situated in our living room with a view of the coastal mountains in Burnaby, British Columbia. My father was a doctor and his position and salary allowed us to have a privileged lifestyle. Many would look upon my brothers and sister and I as spoiled and yes, it is true we were spoiled and I would have to say also blessed in so many ways.

We would often eat dinner at the big dining room table with the beautiful white table cloth and the fine china from England decorated with ceramic pink and gold flowers. It was usually on Sundays that we had our big feast. My devout Catholic mother would bring us all to mass regularly on Sunday whether we liked it or not. My dad would stay at home on Sunday and watch sports on TV. Mom prayed a lot for him and eventually he came around to attend Sunday mass with us.

My mom spoke Polish fairly well but she just used to bawl me out for something, usually for not making my bed or making a mess in my room. She called me a slop and an empty head in Polish. The Polish words were something like "Prushniuk" and "Poustewp." She also said "Wolaboga!" (Oh my God!) a lot. One of my favourite albums at that time was a Polish clarinet album. The songs were upbeat and we would run around like crazy in the house. We played the record on a large stereo that looked like a desk.

Since I was the youngest of five children, I was especially pampered by Mom and Dad and actually the whole family since my brothers and sister were much older than me. Every school day my mom would have a new comic book placed on my bed when I came home. I ended up with a large box full of comics to read.

I was the baby in a loud, bustling family with a quiet, shy personality to begin with, and I didn't develop great survival skills for what I was to face later in life.

Still, this quiet, contemplative side of my personality kept me grounded and also became a strong force of steadiness and stability for me as the tides of life began to roar.

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