Thursday, June 28, 2012

Another Day

I want to tell you a secret.

I would like to say it is the secret to end all secrets, that of life, but I'm neither bold nor brilliant enough to boast in such a manner.

The fact that today, right at this moment, I blink & still breath proves the fact that I have found 37 years on this planet intriguing, intoxicating, infuriating & ultimately, thus far, unending. My choices have not yet killed me, my path has not yet laid me down & my worth has not yet been judged in whole.

We'll leave those absolutes for another day.

I don't want you to take things too seriously. By things, I mean all things. The human brain has an infinite capacity to learn. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean it grows. That just means it "knows". What you feed it dictates how big, strong, wise, tough and/or weak it can become. But "knowing" something has never, will never & can never be absolutely true. I say this because if you take things too seriously, eventually you'll fill the extra room above the garage of your brain with junk that you never wanted to own & can never sell.

At its best, life is laughable. At its worst, it's misery. Understand what that means.

You weren't put here to fulfill a reason. You weren't put here to overcome any obstacle. You weren't put here to achieve any thing. You weren't put here at all. You just happened to get to Be Here.

So while you're here...

Sit in the dark more often than you do in the light. It will give you an entirely different perspective on what your eyes take for granted. See people for who they are and not what you've expected them to be. Take compliments with humility & take criticism equally as such. Perspective has driven our species the entire time, as it were. It's built nations and it's torn them down. Ironically, it has always remained after.

Love with everything inside of you until you feel as if you'll burst. Don't worry about reciprocation. One day you'll realize that reciprocation never mattered nearly as much as you assumed it did.

Open a door for a stranger. Not because you expect them to thank you but because you expected them to pass through a door that you happened to reach first. Do it with honesty. Do it because you can.

Stop worrying. It changes nothing.

Live your life with integrity. Own up to your fuck ups. Be comfortable in your own human skin. We are not perfect, we never will be & our actions will always define those truths. Never be ashamed of what you tried to do, be or become, regardless of the path you take in discovering those roads.

Because all paths end up being roads. Understand what that means as well.

Now, about my secret...

I think I'll save it for another day.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Post Title Here

Unfortunately, you'll probably live the majority of your lives being told that we, as a species, are full of difference. See, you'll be influenced by the people you encounter, the people you hear & most importantly, the people you trust. You'll be segregated by color, by ideology, by religious beliefs, by community & by fear. Those are traits you've yet to fully acquire but they are waiting in the wings. Those traits will desire you because your influences will require you to desire them. And you will desire them... for a season.

And no longer than that season, I hope above all hope.

We are all different. That is a fact. But we are not full of difference.

See that. In everyone you encounter, everyone you hear & everyone you trust. See that. You'll find a way past color, beyond ideology, through religion, around community & over fear. See that. Don't just look at it. See it.

Looking never let's you see.

We'll figure this world out yet... I promise.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012


I was lucky enough to have the rare privilege of experiencing something I'd experienced only once before in this life, tonight.

After an exhaustive evening of re-inflating the pool (I'm a Man... I refuse on general principle to follow any given instructions... hence yesterday's completely unexpected deflation of said procurement), patiently waiting for the low pressure spigot (I prefer "spicket" but whatever) to finally supply you two impatient, and supposedly sentient, beings with the liquid that you so desired in said containment container & enduring splash after splash (all unwarranted, unwelcome & most importantly, unexpected)... I am glad to say this sentence and this evening in general ended gloriously.

Let me frame it for you.

It's 10:20 PM. The fireflies are still out, oddly, and we're laying on our backs in the cool grass of an early summer June night. The sky has a few rogue clouds that begrudgingly wander by but for the most part it's wide open, unending and willing to expose itself.

The youngest of you has given up the collective ghost and wrapped his little 6 year old body into a convenient ball. The stray cat that once decided we were as good a place as any to squat, has taken up what must be (in her mind) the most dedicated of positions between said 6 year old and the 36 year old male who helped that very 6 year old "be".

The oldest of you is oblivious to all of this of course. She's still pointing out feint stars her Father doesn't actually know the names of and then scowling at him, in what can only be described as condescending judgement, when he invents (ie. Lies) their names and generally just makes shit up.

That's when the meteor happened.

In one glorious and unexpected moment, the oldest of you pushed (with valiant intent, might I add) against my chest, lower intestines, stomach & various other organs I probably need, headstrong into a standing position atop of my pelvic bone (and those various amenities that, for the most part, inhabit said region).

Arm outstretched, finger painting the trail of a little space rock that wandered too close, you exclaimed boldly & with complete absolution "LOOK DAD!".

I tried. The tears were making things blurry to be honest.

I like shooting stars too, baby girl. I do. I saw a bunch at that moment.

Of course that animated the wayward traveler that we like to call "Cali" who proceeded to invade the younger being's back & my arm pit with her (I just LOVE YOU evolution) claws.

Calamity. Just... Calamity.

I should really get to the point of this shouldn't I?

Once the excitement had died down and the younger of you two had returned to his humanityball pose, we settled once again into what can only be described as, well frankly, my telling you half-truths about the individual stars of which you inquired. And, for the record, I personally think "Michaelonia" or... "Paytonarnias" or... "Caydadon" are GREAT names for stars. I may concede "Michaelonia" sounds more like a disease but I digress. I thought the other two names were hard core.

I did my best, though, and I think I succeeded.

Want to know how I know?

Because after a little while, I felt the rhythm of your little body equalize. You hadn't fallen asleep on my chest while looking at the nighttime sky since you were around 4 years old.

You did tonight though... four years later.

I hope you remember this twice one day.

You & your Brother will never know how much I love picking you up and carrying you inside while you're sleeping.

It's puts all three D's in Daddy.

Saturday, June 16, 2012


I have lived a random life.

I have not contributed to my society in any notable way and I have not taken away from it in the same fashion. I have simply been around. That encompasses the majority of us, I think. We're always around.

I've lived my life with that great landscape in mind. Judging myself on what I have or have not done to help the greater picture, the greater cumulative or even the greater collective of mouth breathers roaming too & fro. I've always been that silent twig who has a leaf or two that waddles in the wind while it itself remains unmoving.

I knew all along that the greater picture, the greater cumulative & all of those mouth breathers never disturbed their sleep with my own worry, yet I always disturbed my own with theirs. I knew the definition of insignificance. The greater picture never asked for my brush. The greater cumulative shunned the idea of adding another obscure addition to its fold. The greater collective marched headstrong on, believing fully & with passion, in what the human being next to them shouted louder.

I found my solace in that acceptance, by the way. That was my peace.

My license plate has meaning. I'm just waiting to go home. :)

You won't understand this letter now. You will one day. I have that much faith in your pictured, cumulative & collective brains.

Never be afraid to live outside of the box. Never, ever, fear being in the fields.

It is where we grow.

We take pretty pictures in a cumulative fashion & we collectively overcome and prosper on our own... individually. We have no other choice at the end of the day.

Talk Hard, My Brood. Don't be afraid of feeling alien.

We All Are.

And All is Well.

Thursday, June 14, 2012


I have been looking forward to a certain day for almost four years.

My patience first began in August of 2008. That was the day that your Mother chose to leave. That was the day when a home became a house and rooms became cells. That was the day when I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that life as I knew it would never again be the same.

The first few months were the greater part of one of those dreams you have in REM sleep. Vivid, poignant, impressionistic & not nearly as brief as you'd think they would be. Just wandering, really. Wandering around a house that for one week you two would inhabit and the next week, you would not. Rinse, repeat. Over and over and over. I wandered that hall and your rooms every single night.

Never wander, by the way. Wandering is waiting. Waiting to find what is waiting to be found. There's entirely too much waiting involved in my opinion. Go, instead. Go with purpose and intent. Even if you don't actually know where you're going. Just make sure you never wander.

I knew it was over that day, by the way. I knew there was never any going back. Trust had been raped, spit upon & kicked in the ass. I knew I did not like your Mother for the human being she was. I also knew that she had her own reasons for not liking the human being that I was. Everything in life is subjective. The only problem with that is that we subject our thoughts solely on what we believe. That's where faith can often fail us. She was a Deep South social butterfly, I was an Appalachian hillbilly. It happens.

Let's fast forward.

On Saturday your Mother will marry that man that took my life. She will say I Do, again, in the same church she said those very words not 15 years ago. She will wear white again. I find that laughable, but necessary due to her religion... More importantly, though, he will be my children's step-father.

That is pain. That is hurt. That is life.

I want you to know something. I want you to know something about your Father, specifically

I am Glad for her. I hope she finds happiness. I hope she finds what she is looking for. I hope your lives, away from me when they are, are filled with goodness. Regardless of who fills the shoes I once put in that little bin beside the door.

I have been looking forward to a certain day for almost four years.

Saturday is that day.

I've been wandering too damn long now. So, thank you Christie. I wish you well.

Even if you are marrying a pudgy, greying, slightly obtuse looking individual who kind of walks pigeon toed & talks in a pitch that is entirely too lofty for a man whose nuts surely attempted to drop at some point. Wow, that was mean wasn't it? I apologize. Not really.

As for you two knucleheads... well... I can't wait to pick you up Sunday. I've missed you terribly. I love you tremendously.


P.S. I was only kidding with the snide comments about your soon to be step daddy. I'm sure he just walks that way because he chooses to...

... or not. ;) *waddle waddle waddle

At least now I can breath again.

And Amen. That's the last prayer I'll ever whisper.


Tuesday, June 12, 2012


I had an older gentleman come up to me today, rather abrupt & with intent, who asked me a very simple question.

"What's up with the hair?"

It was awkward. I was leaving a restaurant and just walking to a vehicle but this individual felt a compulsion to approach me and inquire about my own being, my own body & my own presence (if you'll permit me that).

It's an honest question, though. I acknowledged that fact. I try to acknowledge all facts. I do. I fail often but I try.

What's up with the hair?

He asked why it was "long". My answer was completely honest. "Because it grows". His retort, "Why don't you cut it?". My reply, "Why do you cut yours?". His reply "Because it looks better.".

Fair enough.

In all honestly, it was merely a simple, symbiotic thesis we were both shooting for. It isn't complicated at all. It's all about perception and how we like to lay our own perceptions upon those that we don't actually perceive (well, away from our own expectations). Or in other words... damn if we don't sleep better seeing people that look like us.

He was a nice man, though. I'll remember that about him.

I say all of this because I want you to try to see people with your eyes closed. I want you to hear them. Better yet, listen to them. Smell them. Taste them if you must. Be near them. But don't you ever look at them with expectation. Keep your eyes closed as long as you can.

They'll never live up to what you yourself haven't lived up to. You need to think about that.

They're not you and they never have been. You're not them and you never will be.

But you both Are.

You reckon it's the hair?

(Thank You, Tori.)

Thursday, June 7, 2012

And That Means

The picture above is of a store. It's still there to this day. Granted, it has a paved parking lot, upgraded fixtures & what not now, but it's still there. I wish the aluminum shed that used to be there was, well, still there. It used to have a big "CN" on the front doors. I remember driving by it every night when I was 17. It's gone now. That's just how life goes.

Your Great Grandfather owned that store during what would turn out to be one of the most important moments of my future life.

You see, about 15 years after that picture was taken, your Great Grandfather bought that store. He had two daughters. Your Gammy & your great aunt Carolyn.

One of them ran off and eloped (I love my Aunt Carolyn). The other did not (I love my Mom).

I'm getting sidetracked.

One night, in the mid 60's, your Gammy was living above this store. By above, of course I mean the apartment on the second story. She lived there along with her Mother & Father. Back then Mom's & Dad's lived together willingly.

Let's fast forward to one Friday night on Route 11.

There is a restaurant/bar/damn near brothel, called "Watusy's" at the corner of Route 11 & Plantation Road. It used to be called the Harvest House. I think. I have no idea why I think that, though (literally, I don't recall what it was called).


Back to the point.

One night your Gammy decided to have dinner there and (that same damn night!) your Poppy decided to drink beer in the bar (you're finally catching on to the theme we like to call "Humanity", yes?). Now, the funny back story is that they had dated months before. Word on the street was that your Gammy had gotten pissed at your Poppy for some bullshit that boys do (we Do).

Needless to say, they ran into one another on the way to the bathroom. I cannot invent this. Believe me.

Long story short; your Gammy left her Date at their table & your Poppy left his Date at the bar... and they drove back to... you guessed it... that place in the picture.

Suffice it to say, both dates were pissed.

Women take scorning better than Men. At least in the interim. I'm guessing Poppy's date is very happy now. I honestly don't know.

What I DO know is that Gammy's date showed up (at that place in the picture) and threatened to whoop Poppy's ass. Knowing Poppy, that probably didn't sit well with him. I would imagine his inner banty rooster came out.

What's funny though... is that your Great Aunt Carolyn & her eloped hubby, your Great Uncle Non, were there.... by happenstance.

Thus, when Gammy's jaded date & all his buddies showed up to smack down your Poppy, well, your Poppy had back up.

But that never stopped your Poppy from walking out to the boy in question and saying (and I quote this because I've heard it 10,000 times growing up) "If she liked ya, she wouldn't be here with me, yea buckaroo?"

Yea. Buckaroo... *snort*. Kills me every time.

So thank Goodness for that night, that moment & all the shit that came down around it.

Hell, I wouldn't be here if it hadn't.

And that means...