About the Author
Frank Marrero holds a Master's in the Arts in Teaching and a California teaching credential. He taught in inner-city SF Bay area elementary schools (as well as privileged academies) for a quarter century to noted praise. He was also an instructor at John F. Kennedy University in the San Francisco Bay area where he taught in the Department of Religion and Philosophy. He is the proud father of two accomplished adults: Salem, 25, and Ella, 21.
Marrero grew up in Nashville, Tennessee where he regularly played on the steps of the world's only perfect replica of the Parthenon of classical Athens. His mother and father (Sybil and Ramon) were passionate unconventionalists. Well-established in his mid-twenties, Mr. Marrero owned a hardware store and opened a highly successful natural foods restaurant. On his 26th birthday, Frank retired from conventional living and spent decades as a student of world religions and spirituality in the ashram of the Great Sage, Adi Da.
Adi Da charged Frank to study the emotional and spiritual education of the ancients, starting with the tulku tradition of Tibet, where a host of teachers focus on one child believed to be a spirit-master from the past. To convert these sacred and priviledged practices to widespread secular use became a focus of his life work.
Frank lives in The Netherlands with his wife Marielle.
When I was but two years of age, I was in the newspapers and on WSM-TV (1954) for going off of high dives. For over a second, I could fly. But the summer I turned six, some left-behind suntan oil was instrumental in an accident whereby my forehead plummeted four meters into concrete.
I started first grade later that summer, but my hand always cramped after using the pencil for more than a minute. In all the years it was on the report cards, I had the lowest marks for handwriting that they could give. The word “disability” didn't exist then, and I certainly wasn't “crippled”. I was called lazy or not interested (which is beside the point).
Many things came from this. I couldn't draw with crayons either, so I don't really pay attention to colors. For example, in my early fifties, my bike of twelve years was stolen and so I went to the police to file a report. They asked me what kind of bike it was, (Mountain), but when they asked me what color it was, I didn't know and had to go back home to see some pictures (red!).
Because I couldn't handwrite, this developed into a miscomprehension and zero-appreciation of literature. So I read math and science books with a passion (and the biographies of great composers). But as far as literature and writing were concerned, I was illiterate.
Because I could not handwrite in school, a cacophany of disinterest and inability caused me to do quite poorly in English classes. Fortunately the ability to communicate was not shut out, for Tennessee is known for its story-tellers. My family was a shining example: Every family gathering centered upon telling stories. I could hardly write my name but can spin many a yarn for hours.
I had to drop out of school. No one ever recognized the problem/ diability (maybe I was just lazy). It finally made sense when the most recent studies of concussion (NFL-NYTimes) revealed that one of the possible dysfunctions that come with brain injuries is dysgraphia, compromising the ability to handwrite.
Thank God Adi Da Samraj asked me to do the impossible and take on the mantel of The Director of Children's Education in 1984, managing the creation of curricula and literature for eight small schools. Fortunately, on the very first day on the job, I was ushered into a room where the latest technology had just arrived: a personal computer. [Insert trumpets here.] Plus, I had an entire editorial department at my service. Three years later, I could functionally write. My apologies for any awkwardness still left over from a poor foundation.
Books by Frank Marrero
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With my Marielle at Marathon
16 meter dive
with Ella and Salem
At the Temple of Apollo in Delphi
The Parthenon, Nashville, Tenn