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When I was nine years old, my family lost our home, and the six of us moved into my grandparents' converted garage.

When I was 15, my parents left town for a month. They hid the keys to the car, but I found them. That month, I drove my stepdad's Thunderbird Super Coupe into Manhattan every day, and I would crank Cypress Hill as I flew around the city, racing the taxis.

A few years ago, I decided I wanted to be home with my family.

I was only 21 when I bought a five-bedroom detached house in Stoke-on-Trent that was way outside of my financial status in life. I did it by borrowing money from my family and the bank, taking out a huge mortgage.

My parents didn't want me to go into show business. They were afraid of what would happen if I didn't succeed. They wanted me to get married and have babies. I never saw marriage and family in my life.

I ran my own business when I was 19, buying condos and renovating apartment buildings.

At 19, I was in the streets making money. I was surviving.

My parents moved out to California in 1968 from Ohio in a VW station wagon pulling a little trailer. I was 4 months old. They were following the energy out here.

There was a time when my parents had to sell off a plot of land so that I can buy a rifle for competitive tournaments. After that we stayed in a rented house for the next 15 years.