Corporal Michael Witzowski
Name Michael Andrew Witzowski Jr
Position Chief Marine NCO
|Eye Color||Light Blue|
|Physical Description||Mike has brown hair that tends to always look a little bed headed if grown out due to a several cowlicks. His eyes are light blue. A strong chin, high cheekbones, strong shoulders
and solid build can paint a rather formidable picture when first approaching him. Even dressed down you can't miss the fact that he's cut like an old Earth football player.
|Father||Mike Witzowski Sr.|
|Mother||Michelle Witzowski (Deceased)|
Personality & Traits
|General Overview||In a great big universe full of diversity and newness there's
always a few sign posts pointing the way back towards home. Mike is very much one of those. He's a good old boy tucked into a uniform and sent out in space. Loyal, stubborn, ballsy, cheeky, responsible, a little dense at times, but fully committed. He's everyone's older brother and everyone's other son. As a child he was never the leader of the pack of neighborhood
kids that he ran with as much as he was the protector and the crash test dummy. With time, training and a lot of infirmary visits he really hasn't changed his role as much as seasoned it to where he's injured a little less.
Mike understands that he's not quite as smart as a lot of his peers. He's always had to work harder to get adequate ranks and grades (not to mention make up quite a lot after losing some of each for brawling). His tendency to network and coordinate make up for it.
|Strengths & Weaknesses||Strengths: Tenacious, tough, physically strong, polite, natural coordinator, strong moral code, hard worker, athletic
Weaknesses: Overly responsible, has a tendency to bottle up emotions, not very cultured, stubborn, brawler, just a little immature
|Personal History||If you asked Mike about his childhood he'd show you two holos and say 'this was me growing up'. The first would be of rather square boy of about 10 in age with chipmunk cheeks and a funny looking knit ear flap cap on. His mother was reaching for the hat, smiling. His father was moving in to stand behind him with his arms out stretched to take them both in. That was his family the way that he liked to remember it.
The second would be of a whole neighborhood of kids clustered around a huge snow fort in mittens and jackets and winter hats looking as if they were ready to wage war. The oldest were just beginning their journey through the teens, the youngest bundled so thickly in snow suits that they looked like pastel colored starfish littering the outskirts. Someone had taken it from hay loft of an old barn.
In reality his childhood ended a little earlier than most children. Mike was raised predominantly by his father who was a hard working hay farmer. The man was known to be terse and hard, but he was a good father with a lot of strong morals to pass onto his son. Mike's mother was a Starfleet Nurse who had always been this heroic figure in his mind. The time that she got to spend with them on Earth was always full of laughter and warmth. She hardened the edges on both of the Witzkowski men. Cheered them on with all their little competitions, made huge fusses out of Mike's achievements in sports and how at 11 he stood as tall as she did.
As a child Mike wanted to be a football hero. Instead he ended up being every other kind of hero. If someone got hit in the head with a brick- that was Mike. If someone fell out of the loft trying to fly- that was also Mike. He had a penchant for testing out everyone's bad yet amusing ideas, fishing other kids out of the river, getting into fights with bullies, etc. The whole community knew him and all of his assorted trouble and still somehow ended up letting him belly up to their breakfast nooks and supper tables or play with their kids any how.
Mike was 12 when his mother was brought back home in a wheel chair. She hadn't the mind left to do anything but stare. It had been an accident when all the grown ups had gathered around to talk. Not that it made anything better once they labeled that nobody was at fault. Or that his father was any less brokenhearted seeing the woman that he loved drool and stare. The senior Mike Witzkowski insisted on keeping his wife at home from then on instead of sending her to live in a facility, which meant that Mike Jr. had a lot more work to suddenly pick up in order to keep the homestead going.
The first thing to drop off was the sports. Then the grades. Then a lot of the play. What time he got to be his own became a type of therapy to be as wild and crazy as he could for that limited time before responsibility crashed back down on him. Most of that was spent being the rest of the community's son, brother to all those other brothers, defenders of all those
younger sisters, terror or fireworks, bullies and feral cats every where.
His grades scrimped by all through high school. The only thing that got him through was his best friend Anthony and the coaching of a neighbor. When all his other friends started heading off to college or various academies Mike was convinced that he couldn't leave. His parents needed his help too much.
Anthony had every intention of going into Starfleet and wanted him to go with him, too, but there was always another reason why not to. Harvest was coming. Who would oversee the reaping? Who was going to haggle down the market price?
Eventually Mike Senior stepped in on the conversation and told Mike rather politely to get off his damn ass and go live his own life. As much as it hurt Mike initially he got over it quickly enough and raced off to go take the admissions exams with Anthony. And failed. Twice.
Once the luck of the third try pulled through Mike spent the rest of his time at the Academy in Anthony's wake. He played ball again. He got into some god awful fights. Tons of trouble all around. Lots of tutoring and coaching and bringing together blockades to rally through problems faced on campus. But the point was that he made it through the impossible.
Most of usual suspects ended up serving on the same ship through some lack of forethought on behalf of Starfleet Command. This, of course, was a terrible idea. Once again though there was smooth talking Anthony to the rescue. Nine times out of ten he could wrap words so well that he'd twitch
them right out of trouble just right. The one time he couldn't he ended up in a body bag and no punch line, no attempt to straighten up could right what had been done.
From there Mike had no other choice but to carry on. He got switched from ship to ship, traded up and down rank depending on what boneheaded ideas he came up with and which captain he was serving under.