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KENNETH (67) & GINA (68)…One-Hit Wonders No More
VICTORIA (65)…Not a Scared Spectator Anymore
KLAUS & HENRIETTA (both 70)…Alaskan Adventure
GILBERT (35) & MARLENE (70)…May & December
MAXIMILLIAN (74)…The Professor
PETER & LI (both 67)…Eastern Horizons
DOROTHY (71)…Perfect Ten
LEROY (67) & JUANITA (69)…Different Cultures
IRENE (68)…Hidden No More
HERBERT (81) and IRMA (77)…Shooting Stars
A Final Note: Your Own Seasoned Romance Questionnaire

Plus, Your Own Seasoned Romance Questionnaire
and an Invitation to Participate in this ongoing Book Series
All Rights Reserved. Seasoned Romance™ is a trademark of DeLeeuw Research Group, and may appear throughout
this book with or without the ™ symbol. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written
permission from the editors of:
    DeLeeuw Research Group
    PO Box 610231
    Dallas, Texas 75261

Leroy is 67. I am 68. He is African-American with a little Native American, German and Asian thrown in for
good measure. My father was a full-blooded Apache and my mother was Mexican and Italian. Between the
two of us, we’re like the freaking United Nations! (laughs)

When I was in junior high, I could out lift and out run nearly all of the senior high guys. I literally punished myself by running the
high school stadium stairs, again and again, during the hottest times during the summer. So by the time football season arrived,
while all the other kids were lagging around with their tongues hanging out, I was a lean, mean, tackling machine.
The wilder and more monstrous on the field, the better. If it made the guys on the other team fear me, bring it on! Only with me, it
wasn't an act. I really WAS over the edge. I really WAS that crazy. I really WAS that savage, not just on the outside, but even more
on the inside.
And once I was that big and crazy, even as young as 12 or 13, I never had to worry about an adult abusing me again. Never!
To a lot of my teammates, they were just going through the rah-rah stuff at the end of practices and before games as an act. Not
me. I really did psyche myself into hating other teams' players and doing whatever it took to destroy them.
It served me well. I made All-State in high school, All-American in college and had a good career as a professional. Those should
all be things to be proud of, but as I look back, my job was to hurt people, and I never ran out of the kind of anger that made it so
fun to smash opposing quarterbacks into the ground. I ended a number of careers. When those things happened, I mentally
added another twisted award to my cruelty trophy case.
The sad thing is that as good as I was as a football player, I was absolutely worthless doing anything else. When my knees finally
blew out and my career eventually ended, I was totally unprepared for life. I never had to study during my school years, so I
couldn't read very well. From the time I had been in junior high, grades and perks and test scores and goodies had been handed
to me like candy. As I got older, I had whatever I wanted for the taking—lots of cash, the hottest girls, the baddest cars, and the
coolest places to live.
Even in college and the professional ranks, I lived a bizarre, totally unrealistic life. I take full responsibility for it now, but I didn’t do
anything during the first 34 years of my life to get ready for the day when I no longer had football to focus on all the time.

At first, I didn't want to be involved with ANY man again—romantically or otherwise. I didn't care what damned color he was, how
much money he had or what his background was. If he was a man, I knew better than to get too involved. I liked men in general,
but I just didn’t want to get involved with one.
I had reached the point that I thought I had a big red bull’s-eye target tattooed on my back. Honestly! I had been raped, punched,
kicked and slammed into walls enough times by men to last a few lifetimes. Mainly, I didn't trust men. I had been off the beam with
both husbands, seeing the warning signs and flashing red lights, but thinking I could change them if I tried hard enough.
Wrong! And wrong again!
All the counseling I had gone through since then had helped me a lot, but when I met Leroy, I had reached the point that I didn't
want anyone to complicate my life. My business was doing very well. I was having a good time with my kids and grandkids. I had
friends. And I was bound and determined to avoid getting involved romantically to somebody who would metamorphous from Dr.
Jekyll into Mr. Hyde and start using me for an emotional, sexual and physical punching  bag.
I wanted security, not romance, and I was the one who could provide myself security. My Apache and Mexican blood was raging
through my body and mind, I suppose, and I was fiercely determined to never again be dependent upon anyone for anything.
Never, with a capital N!
Then Leroy came into my life.

After working with a company for five years, not as a professional glad-hander, but truly earning my pay and learning the
corporate ropes, I went into business for myself. That's when I met Juanita at a seminar for entrepreneurs.
Like Juanita, starting my own business took everything I had saved since my turnaround, but like her, I was finally doing something
that was totally fulfilling and worth every financial risk. I guess it’s a good thing, considering all that happened, that we were both
starting out at the bottom financially. No one can say that we hooked up for the other’s money—in either instance.
At the seminar, she and I were paired up in a couple of different focus groups. One thing led to another. She lived two states away
from me, but by the final evening of the weekend, we had dinner together and were already making plans to get together in a few
weeks. That meeting led to another, and a month later, we decided to meet at a golf resort. Both of us are pretty good on the
links. Everything just clicked. We got married two months later, and we haven't looked back.