I was seven years old, and my dinner came from a dumpster.
I'm the oldest of three kids. My father died just before I turned five. My mother had an eighth-grade education and no safety net. What we had was each other — and not much else.
We lived in extreme poverty. At different points, we stayed with family members, in motels the church paid for, and wherever we could find shelter. We relied on food stamps and a weekly box of food from the local food bank. After our chores were done, homework completed, and the stores were closed, we would go to the local grocery stores and search through dumpsters — searching for discarded pasta, bread, canned goods, juice boxes, anything we could bring home, clean up, and use.
Most of our clothes were hand-me-downs. What wasn't came from the Salvation Army. That was my childhood. Not a chapter of it — most of it.
At twenty, I joined the Marines. A defining moment for me.
Eight years of service. Multiple deployments. A year stationed in Manama, Bahrain. The Marine Corps didn't just give me discipline — it gave me a standard. A way of showing up, solving problems, and leading people through hard times without flinching.
Before I left the Corps, I was attending school at night to finish my bachelor's degree. That's where I met my wife — she was serving in the Navy. Fast forward to today: we've been married 22 years, we have three amazing daughters, and three grandbabies.
The next two decades were built on relentless execution.
Taking the leadership and mission-first mindset I forged in the Marines, I transitioned into the highly complex, precision-driven environment of automotive and aerospace manufacturing.
For twenty years, I climbed the ranks through site roles, regional leadership, and global operations—managing massive infrastructure and solving complex, high-pressure problems for industry titans like Maxwell Technologies, Honeywell Aerospace, and TE Connectivity.
I built, I executed, and I delivered. By mastering the mechanics of global business, I earned my complete financial independence and retired at 46.
Then I asked myself: what do I actually want to do with this chapter?
The answer was clear. I wanted to serve people. I wanted a career that mattered — not to a shareholder, but to a family sitting around a kitchen table trying to figure out how to protect what they've built.
I know what it looks like when protection fails. I lived it. I know what a father's absence costs a family — not just emotionally, but financially. I know what it means to have nothing when something goes wrong.
Family security, healthcare solutions, and financial independence — these aren't products to me. They're the tools that change the outcome of a family's story. What will your story be?
Today, I live in Tucson, Arizona with my wife of 22 years. We have three daughters and three grandchildren — and every policy I write, every family I sit down with, I'm thinking about them too.
I run a fully independent agency — which means I work for you, not a carrier. No quotas. No bias. Just honest guidance from someone who has seen both sides of what preparation and the lack of it can do to a life.
If you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen.