Kirk Cameron - Still Growing: An Autobiography

Kirk Cameron is a fresh and honest voice in todays Christian culture. Still Growing is a surefire hit!

Karen Kingsbury

New York Times bestselling author, Between Sundays and Ever After

Its amazing how our beliefs lead us! Kirk takes us on a whirlwind tour of the amazing peaks and the despairing valleys of his life with sincerity, vulnerability and passion. His choice to choose faith at the height of his career is a model for every person! I heartily recommend Still Growing.

Gary Smalley

Bestselling author, Change Your Heart, Change Your Life

STILL GROWING

2008 Kirk Cameron

Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Bethany House Publishers edition published 2014

ISBN 978-1-4412-6602-6

Previously published by Regal Books

Ebook edition originally created 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New American Standard Bible, 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. All others are the authors paraphrase.

Photos used by permission of the Cameron family. All rights reserved.

It would be impossible to write a book like thiswith honesty and multiple perspectiveswithout the help of family and friends who saw the events from their own vantage points and workmates who knew the inside scoop better than I, many of whom were willing to be interviewed, poked and prodded to recollect what it was really like back in the day. Thanks to my dad and mom, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends and co-workers who were willing to open their memory banks and share whats thereall for a good read.

My sincere thanks to my friend Lissa Halls Johnson for her invaluable work co-writing this book. Without her many hours of questioning, researching, brainstorming and creative writing, it wouldnt have gotten done. Her talent and hard work is what brought my story to life.

Thanks to my amazing and wonderful wife, who is endlessly patient with me, and whose support, encouragement and discernment made this project not only possible, but fun to work on.

Im beyond grateful for my children, whose real lives have given me lots of fun stories to tell. They make me want to be a better father and husband.

Im continually grateful to Mark Craig, my manager, for his genuine friendship and tremendous support of my family, career and ministry.

My gratitude to Ray Comfort for his partnership in the gospel and encouragement to do it now!

To Dan Ewald, my talented friend who saved the day and helped me find the funny in my lifethank you.

And to my Lord and Savior Jesus ChristYou are the pearl of great price.

I am indebted to you all.

Kirk

I reached for the rubber knob on my cassette player and cranked Prince to the max. He was singing about purple rain, but the L.A. skies were a clear blue that sunny day. I was flyin down the freeway in my new Honda 2.0 SI Prelude, the wind giving even more bounce to my already afrod mullet.

I grinned, remembering the cruel pleasure of deceiving Tracey Gold yet again. Not that it was hard to doTracey was the most gullible person in the world. Just last week while carpooling to the studio I had started in on her.

This cars got the sweetest technology, Trace, I bragged. Its so smart, all you have to do is set it on automatic pilot and it drives itself.

Shut up. Does not, she furrowed her brow.

Does so. This car has special radars. It can read the lanes and stay within the lines. It also slows down when it senses a car ahead.

Traceys eyes widened and her mouth gaped. Really?

I flipped a non-existent switch on the far side of the steering column just out of sight, put my hands behind my head and guided the wheel with my left knee. See?

She bought it. Wow. Thats amazing!

It was classic Carol and Mike Seaver. If I had told that story to the writers, they probably would have written it into the show.

But enough reminiscing. Prince was singing and it seemed disrespectful not to focus on every last word. He was, hands down, my favorite rock star. My dressing room sported purple light bulbs alternating with the standard marquee bulbs around the mirror. Posters were tacked to violet-painted walls of Prince straddling his cycle, a curvy Latina babe perched behind him, his cape billowing in the breeze.

The tape ran out and I fumbled around the cassette rack for my Boy George tape. I enjoyed crooning along with Ill Tumble for Ya, even though Boy was a he-she who wore pastel eye shadow. Maybe it didnt seem strange to me because my day job also required wearing pancake make-upor man-cake, as I preferred to call it.

It was the 80s, and it was the best time to be a kid: mastering the Rubiks Cube in speed contests, getting joystick-cramp in that spot between your thumb and index finger from hours of playing Donkey Kong and Berzerk, growing a Chia Pet (which kind of resembled my own hair)... I could go on.

Everything was big. Big colors, big belts, big glasses, big boom boxes.

Without realizing it, I was setting trends (well, my stylists were setting trends). I didnt know the first thing about fashion. If someone had given me a tank top with shoulder pads, I probably would have put it on. I couldnt possibly have understood the influence I hador, to be honest, the influence my character, Mike Seaver, had. When I spun around sporting sunglasses and a brown leather coat during the Growing Pains theme, millions of teens were doing the same thing in front of their bathroom mirrors. I had no idea.

Boy George started a new tune as I exited the Pass Avenue ramp off the 101 and headed towards the Warner Bros. Ranch. This part of the drive was often the most entertaining. I took great pleasure in leaving my window down and maneuvering up to a red light next to a car filled with girls. Id glance over, flashing my famously crooked smile.

Morning, ladies.

I loved the double takes, the ear-piercing screams. Without fail, their spastic hands fluttered while their lips mouthed my name. The best part was taking off while the shock kept them stuck in the intersection.

The previous night during taping, I found another way to stroke my ego. A girl had won a chance to play a bit part on the show, though she had been told I wouldnt be around for the scene. An older man playing her father said his lines and all went normally. But when the second take rolled around, I snuck in and said the fathers lines. The girl grabbed her stomach, shaking all over. She stared, incredulous, while I soaked up every moment of her ecstatic squeals. When I hugged her, I thought shed pass out in my arms.

With a wave to the security guard, I pulled my car into the parking space marked For Kirk Cameron Only next to Stage 30. I jumped out and headed to my 30-foot motor home. Another day, another 10 grand.