He used to sit quietly in the corner of his mother’s studio while she worked. There were no babysitters — if Patsy was choreographing, he was there, watching and absorbing every movement. While other boys traded baseball cards, he memorized dance counts and listened to the rhythm filling a Houston dance hall. Born August 18, 1952, he grew up between two worlds: his father Jesse, a precise-minded draftsman, and his mother, founder of the Houston Jazz Ballet.
Structure and creativity shaped him — and he wanted both. He skated, swam, played sports, studied dance daily, played violin, sang in choir, and acted in school plays. Busy wasn’t the issue. Being different was. In 1960s Texas, a boy carrying ballet shoes stood out — often painfully. Teasing turned into bruises, but resilience was drilled into him. His father taught him never to start fights, but never to quit. His mother urged him to stand proud of who he was. Slowly, the bullying faded.
