This is my story.

My grandparents left Europe just after the First World War. On my mother's side, from Poland, the Skaryzsewskis; later shortened to Skarr.

On my father's side, the Hevezis, also shortened on the family's escape from the genocide in Hungary and their journey to the United States of America. The former family name was Maroshevizi. There is a village in Harghita county, and that village is our family name. I come from a noble family from the Zsekely tribe on father's side.

That was then, this is now. Today I entered my 59th year. Now, my home is in the kingdom of Campuchia, aka Cambodia. This country is referred to as "The Kingdom of Wonder" .., and boy is it fitting. I often wonder how I ended up here.

I have lived and worked in more than 25 countries, most of them in East Asia. When I joined the US Marine Corps in November 1988, I had no experiences outside of my birth country, USA.

The Marine Corps sent me to Okinawa in 1990. There I was corporal Hevezi and working in an engineer battalion as a hazardous materials chief and safety non-commissioned officer. In jarhead lingo "Hazmat & Safety NCO."

They trained me well in Okinawa and I also studied at night school with the overseas program via University of Maryland. I was a go-getter and since I was married and my wife back in West Hollywood living with her family, my commanding officer approved my request to bring my wife to be with me in Kin Town.

We rented a tiny simple apartment five minutes from Camp Hansen. It cost us just $150 per month and we were happy. We conceived our first child there. My wife Adriana Arcos Aldas took a part time job at the White Kitchen and studied Japanese cooking for a few months. We were happy.

Then, a turn down. The Red Cross sent an urgent message. Adriana's mother was nearing her death and we quickly packed and flew back to Southern California. Her mom passed away while we were in the air.

We buried her mom at Forest Lawn. The family was devastated. Adriana's mom was the backbone of the family. They came to the USA from Quito Ecuador one by one in the 1980s. When I met Adriana on a Saturday morning 1988 while driving down Interstate 5 to watch college chicks play beach volleyball on Mission Beach, she was an illegal alien. She came on a proper tourist visa, but it expired. Like many from south of the border, she just stayed with her family.

So after the funeral, I was pretty stressed. My wife was deeply saddened to lose her mom. Everyone was worried about the baby. She was six months into the pregnancy and was a mess. I left Los Angeles and returned to my unit and an empty apartment.

That was tough assignment for both of us. Her family took good care of Adriana, and day by day, she endured it like a champ.

I finished my year-long duty on Okinawa in July 1990 and returned to Los Angeles living with my wife's family. There were five sisters -- four living at home -- and her only brother Carlos, "Chalo." He lived on the UCLA campus housing complex in Culver City with his Thai wife. He was teaching at UCLA. The eldest sister Patricia was married with three children and lived in a modest apartment also in Culver City.

It was great to be back in Los Angeles, a city I knew well and had many wild nights with my Marine buddies when I was a bachelor full of piss and vinegar. We once infiltrated a frat house party and joined the bus load of drunk student to the USC campus to watch the classic USC vs UCLA football game. There were to kegs on the bus. UCLA lost and the mood dampened a bit. Back to the frat house, one of our group told a girl he was working on that he was a Marine from Camp Pendleton, I guess trying to impress her.

Well, a platoon of huge college dudes escorted us out the door. I thought it was gonna be a brawl, but our group realized how stupid it would be to fight an entire fraternity of college boys who were already pissed off about the football game. We slept in my buddy John's 1987 Mustang 5.0. We woke up to a sauna and we stank. So we drove to Tijuana and continued the weekend.

Adriana was doing great and the baby was due soon. I was commuting to Camp Pendleton daily and had been informed by my unit that I could not maintain my military job as an engineer mechanic. If I wanted to stay in the Marine Corps, I must apply for a new career field. The Corps offered me four options: Truck driver, Air Traffic controller, flight mechanic, or combat correspondent.

My reenlistment package was in limbo at the Pentagon when my first son Michael Alexander was born at Saint Joesephs hospital in Burbank California. He was a 9-pounder and very healthy. Adriana had no birthing issues and we took our son home on September 26, 1991. It was a great day, and all the family and Ecuadorian friends of the family paraded into West Hollywod to see our "Migilito." His cheeks were so fat.

After a month in West Hollywood, we moved our little guy to an apartment near the military base. Bonsal California is famous for race horse breeding. We good see the training facility from our apartment balcony. We loved our apartment and living in the rural country town in North San Diego.

We were worried though. There was an unusual delay with my reenlistment paperwork and I was approaching my last day of my four year initial enlistment. What would we do if I could not continue my career in the Marine Corps? Just a few days passed and my package was approved. I got four more years contract and was accepted as a combat correspondent.