Good Faith…

Good faith suggests belief in good.  Faith has always meant believing in something despite the evidence. Good has always meant “right” or “pure” to me.  I am of the belief that we have lost the ability to have Good Faith arguments. I know, not controversial right?  But think about it in the context of you and me, or you and your brother, or you and your best friend.  If I engage in a Good Faith discussion with a person I love and trust, despite our differences it’s easier to point out the flaws of their perspective versus their actual argument.  The perspective is flawed because it is drenched in victimhood, or superiority.  This can also be used to rob you of your right to an opinion because you are not as informed potentially as someone that has lived it or been close to it. Now I tend to agree that if you aren’t “in” it then arguing is not the best course of action—you should listen.  Then there is the old idea that because you have a platform you “shouldn’t” speak.  I believe all of these are flawed.  

“The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence,” Charles Bukowski

A Good Faith argument, doesn’t have to be vitriolic or angry for that matter.  Passion sure… But to truly have a conversation that is driven toward understanding versus right or wrong is healthy.  I believe that.  Yet our culture is led by leaders that don’t engage in discussions. And definitely not a “Good Faith” discussion.  The most pervasive force in our culture is the internet and social media is by far the most powerful medium for the dissemination of ideas.  It’s dangerous to the uninitiated.  Hell, it’s dangerous to the people that truly understand how it works and how little you have to know to have a voice.  I had read this once, now I’m paraphrasing, that conflict starts with two people in a room.  The concept is simple.  That conflict is natural to humans.  It’s in our very nature to argue.  This goes back to the forefathers, and to the philosophers and the old world.  There were rules of engagement for debate. Now everything has abandoned that idea and it’s all about “owning” or “humiliating” the other side.  Everything has become a rap battle versus a discussion. Now i get the urge to “own” some arguments because they are that misinformed or that wrong.  I’m not going to pretend that racism is good so that I can talk to you about nationalism or immigration. I will listen, and once you go there, I’m done.  That idea disqualifies you from the whole idea of “Good” in my eyes.  But if you want to discuss the  idea that we should speak about the problem as a whole versus how it affects one particular person or group, maybe.  I’m listening, but don’t go there.

As I sit here and think about the countless ideas that have the majority such as healthcare is a right, and common sense gun laws make sense I can’t help but think of the people that are in the very place to gain the most and how they are using us as pawns in the argument.  Again, this is not “Good”.  They are taking things such as absolute ideology and ultimately telling us how we should think and feel.  The idea of being ambivalent has driven a whole segment of the population to be agnostic or indifferent.  Ambivalence to me is a sign of intelligence and wisdom not a lack of courage.  So don’t let anyone tell you what you should think.  I pose that the vast majority of us are ambivalent.  Just don’t be indifferent.  That’s the death of progress.  

So here we are at the very precipice of a return to civilization- to “Normal”.  I want to get rid of these damn masks as much as anyone.  You know how many times the barista has messed up my order! In all seriousness— let’s take a deep breath and listen.  Be ambivalent.  Don’t hate an opinion before it’s shared before you really listen, and hear it out.  Then place your foot firmly on your non-negotiables— ie racism, taxes, etc. When it’s all said and done, say thanks I hadn’t thought about it that way.  Then move on.  Then when it’s all said and done— discover how you really feel and think.  Don’t let the paid propagandist, the spinsters, and the firmly implanted and indoctrinated tell you that you are weak because you don’t know.  Have Good Faith in others because they weren’t born of that opinion they were forged in it over years or they were convinced because of some bought and paid for hashtag.  

“The measure of intelligence is the ability to change,” Albert Einstein

“Those convinced against their will are of the same opinion still,” Dale Carnegie 

Sunny and Rainy days (Thoughts on my father and remembering his final days)

It’s been three months since you nodded to me and gave me what I believed to be your most lucid moment in a barrage of foggy moments. I remember trying to help you get to the car to take you to the ER because he were in so much pain.  I remember carrying you like a baby from the car to a wheel chair at the hospital. I remember being in that sterilized and white-lit emergency room.  I remember the doctor asking me how I was doing afterwords.  I was supposed to be there to take care of you.  I thought I was but she knew things that I didn’t. She knew that he was leaving this cold and confusing existence and moving onto the next.  She was certain of it.  

“How are you doing?” she said. 

“I’m good.  I’m worried about my dad.  I don’t want him to have this pain.”

She put her hand on my shoulder.  It rested there lightly but firm in its touch. She told me about his state and that there were options all with a low probability of success and all painful.  If I was not emotionally involved in the decision I would have marveled in her execution of empathetic communication.  She was the perfect person for that moment, even though that moment was unfair and awful.  After reviewing my options I was clear on what he had wanted. I was clear that he wanted to fight death but didn’t want to have it all be for nought.  The futility of my options were simple but buried under layers of circumstance.  

“This will likely take more strength than your father has,” she said.

“You don’t know my father,” I said.

She smiled out of some sort of understanding to my situation despite her acute awareness of the reality. I was none the wiser. 

“My father wants options he doesn’t care about the pain. He doesn’t want to prolong just to extend his life. But he wants a shot at it. He wants a shot at…” I was unable to complete that sentence.  I stared at the lights in the ceiling that were patterned across the cream colored hue of the room. I could see myself through a the lens of 360 degrees, spinning, and impersonal.  Then I was thrust back into my head. I looked at the healthcare posters on the wall and the collection of tubing and plastic containers, and various types of bandages and syringes.  I looked at my dad he looked into me.  His eyes trained on mine and he shook his head east and west, left and right almost too subtle to see.  He mouthed something, “no”. I felt that feather like touch on my shoulder get heavier.  I couldn’t cry but damn I wanted to.  

My dad made it through that night, and the next.  Well his body did.  He was there, and breathing but he wasn’t alive.  That was the last moment I had with my father.  The medications and the coldness of life have numbed my emotions over the years.  Much like they did my dad.  He was a tough son of gun for so much of his life.  I admired that and at times wished I had his toughness. I didn’t. I was built differently despite the bloodline.  I aspired to be like him at times. Just like he did with his father despite their differences. 

It’s poetic how life starts and ends.  I’ve had that burden thrust on me too often in a short span of time.  The weight is hard to bare.  I can’t imagine doing it alone.  He had moments of vulnerability that I was blessed with in his last few weeks.  I saw a side of my father that allowed me to know who he really was, and that he loved me.  That was a question that despite his insistence over the years that he did — I needed reassurance. 

Now it’s 2020. What a shitty decade it’s been for me.  It’s important to remember that despite the lows, the highs are there.  Sometimes it’s hard to see the good.  In reflection, as my dad had done late in his time, you see things more clearly.  You remove some of the discontent and the raw emotion, and the self-righteousness and you see the new family members, the laughter, the memories, the connections, the new experiences, the new places, the rapturous love, the smiles, the wins. The days that go smoothly and without event that seem so mundane that you don’t take a moment to be thankful. Rainy days and sunny days happen without regard to the balance and fairness of it all. Dad shared something with me in my two months I had with him that meant so much to me.  Yeah, he told me he loved me and that he was proud of me.  But it was more than that. It was the quiet moment together watching a movie and smiling at the exact same moment, a moment that I won’t share because that was our moment. We looked at each other, and recognized how it made us feel without a word. Despite the genetic connection it was in that moment we knew something about each other that was ours.  Not father and son, but two lives connected by a feeling that was unique to us at that very same place in time.  Life may have robbed us of that over the years, and evermore.  Damn it, that was our moment and I’m never giving it back.  I still haven’t cried.  Maybe I’m out of tears. It may be years from now when I share a moment like that with my son, or daughter, or someone that I love where I will be overcome by occasion and the nostalgia. I welcome it. October 5th, 2019 is owed some tears.  I love you dad.  

*Thanks to my mother-in-law Grace Parson for keeping me updated and sending me pictures of my father’s grave stone.  He is buried at Salisbury NC National Cemetery. He wanted the military burial and marker. He was his most proud when he was in that uniform hidden in the masses of white and gold adornment.  I’ll visit often.  

My Eulogy for Dad

I haven't written much lately.  The desire to put thoughts and emotions down on paper (so to speak) is like a pang in the belly that strikes deep and only knows one way out.  I've struggled to allow any of it out. It's deep in my gut and shoots up spine and gets trapped in my head.  It's just stuck there.  Ever present and persistent it sits holding onto dear life.  I hope to extinguish at some point .

I wrote this for my father on his funeral day. I remember I went to bed that night hoping to get up early and jot down some notes to share at his funeral.  I found that sleep was impossible so I went down stairs and pounded the keys.  Here is what I came up with.
His death is something that in one way or another I've been preparing for my whole life.  Why... Well he's been telling me about it since I was old enough to understand.  My Dad was hellbent on the final chapter of life.  He did all he could do to avoid it but it haunted him, and in some way bringing me along in that journey he wanted me to know to prepare.  I don't know if that is why I'm stuck in this moment.  My father has been my life's greatest muse.  I've always strived to meet his definition of a man.  I now know he did everything he could to meet that expectation as well.  I miss you Dad.  I hope you are finally at peace.  I'll write soon.

10/5/2019
Some Words About Dad

My Dad and I haven’t always had the easiest relationship.  In fact, at times it was damn right difficult. Throughout all of it we both desired to have a better one.  Love was never in question.  It was a strained dynamic that started from the beginning.  I’ve tried to find the words to describe our relationship.  I always landed somewhere around “complex”. My Dad was a rolling stone from day one I’ve heard.  He never really settled down.  The Navy facilitated a life of adventure, duty, and purpose that kept him a way from me and my sister.  

I don’t remember the toddler years —which is when we lived together for the first time… My sister claims to remember everything.  I can lie back and close my eyes and try to - but to no avail.  There are images though.  Perhaps bolstered by some old pictures in the dusty albums on my desk. Yet they feel familiar.  The moments have resonance for me because my dad was my hero as a kid.  I remember making up stories about him.  Not because I wasn’t happy with the life he was living. No, not at all.  It was because I didn’t know.  I didn’t know what my father did with his time in the Navy.  I would tell my friends that he was a  fighter-pilot or a solider.  I would compare him to the movie stars in Top Gun.  I was proud of him and my made up stories.  He was, sadly, a mystery to me as a young kid.  My habit of fictionalizing my father to the point of immortality was borne out of love and admiration for a relationship that was lacking due to circumstances beyond my control.  To me he was this statuesque, cocksure, symbol of masculinity.  I wanted to be like him and I barely knew him.

I remember one of my most vivid memories as a boy my oldest son’s age, at a Boy Scout Father & Son camping trip where we participated in obstacle courses and competitions. I remember I hurt my ankle and it was suggested that I sit out the rest of the activities.  Dad asked me what I wanted to do while my ankle had doubled in size—-  There was no way in hell I was going to let him down.  I had built this man up to be bulletproof.  This desire to find his approval would carry over well into high school, college, and early adult years. 

I later found myself wanting to prove that I was my own man.  I couldn’t hide the fact that I was his son.  My voice started to sound more like his.  My smile was etched from the very same hammer and chisel.  We both loved movies on a Sunday afternoon, and then dinner where we discussed the finer plot points.  We both liked a good breakfast. We were both fond of music that told a story. There was no avoiding this.  

In my thirties, we grew more distant. My family had grown.  We moved in different directions miles apart. My career had demanded more of me. That relationship that had defined my yearning for so long, and had haunted me my entire childhood was getting away from me.  

Because as I grew older I realized that I had fictionalized so much of who my father was that as an adult we were very different people and we didn’t see eye to eye on many things.  Neither of us were good at expressing this unspoken distance between us.  

I was asked the other day if I regretted moving him down here to North Carolina with me.  I had to think about how I wanted to answer that.  Because the answer was easy. It’s no, I didn’t.  The decision to move him down was one that I had to run the numbers, and consider the emotional cost on my family and my wife.  When my wife  Jennifer said yes, without pause or reservation, I knew that it was the right thing.  If that is what he wanted to do.  

You see, fathers and sons have a bond that is inextricable.  Even when things aren’t as we like or want, that desire to be the man that helped raise the boy is still there. Through the years it evolves, and becomes something else.  But deep down, it’s still that want to be as good or better than your father.  

My dad, Leonard, was a good man.  A man that loved deeply even though he struggled to articulate it.  He was a meticulous man that believed in paying his debts.  He was a romantic at heart.  He fictionalized his relationships and visualized versions of those that were sometimes hard to live up to his account.  He was nostalgic and warmly viewed the good ole days when things were simpler and people were more authentic. He looked out for his friends and loved ones, and would help them when they needed his help.  He loved his kids.  He was there for us and always concerned himself with our decisions good or bad, and whether we wanted him to or not.  He adored and doted on his grandkids.  I asked him near the end if he felt loved.  He said he did.  He had many regrets in his life, and as old age has a way of sobering our views and tempering our angst, he shared some of those with us.  He found God near the end, and accepted Christ in his life.  He told me he loved me often.  He laughed with his grandkids.  He got to know his daughter in-law.  He fought until his body said no more.  

My father loved his country, and was concerned about its trajectory for some time.  He fought for our country and served proudly.  It is fitting today that he gets a heroes burial.  Dad, you are my hero in many many ways.  We found our way back to each other.  Rest Peacefully, and know that you are loved.  I will be back to visit often.

My Dad and I haven’t always had the easiest relationship.  In fact, at times it was damn right difficult. Throughout all of it we both desired to have a better one.  Love was never in question.  It was a strained dynamic that started from the beginning.  I’ve tried to find the words to describe our relationship.  I always landed somewhere around “complex”. My Dad was a rolling stone from day one I’ve heard.  He never really settled down.  The Navy facilitated a life of adventure, duty, and purpose that kept him a way from me and my sister.  

I don’t remember the toddler years —which is when we lived together for the first time… My sister claims to remember everything.  I can lie back and close my eyes and try to - but to no avail.  There are images though.  Perhaps bolstered by some old pictures in the dusty albums on my desk. Yet they feel familiar.  The moments have resonance for me because my dad was my hero as a kid.  I remember making up stories about him.  Not because I wasn’t happy with the life he was living. No, not at all.  It was because I didn’t know.  I didn’t know what my father did with his time in the Navy.  I would tell my friends that he was a  fighter-pilot or a solider.  I would compare him to the movie stars in Top Gun.  I was proud of him and my made up stories.  He was, sadly, a mystery to me as a young kid.  My habit of fictionalizing my father to the point of immortality was borne out of love and admiration for a relationship that was lacking due to circumstances beyond my control.  To me he was this statuesque, cocksure, symbol of masculinity.  I wanted to be like him and I barely knew him.

I remember one of my most vivid memories as a boy my oldest son’s age, at a Boy Scout Father & Son camping trip where we participated in obstacle courses and competitions. I remember I hurt my ankle and it was suggested that I sit out the rest of the activities.  Dad asked me what I wanted to do while my ankle had doubled in size—-  There was no way in hell I was going to let him down.  I had built this man up to be bulletproof.  This desire to find his approval would carry over well into high school, college, and early adult years. 

I later found myself wanting to prove that I was my own man.  I couldn’t hide the fact that I was his son.  My voice started to sound more like his.  My smile was etched from the very same hammer and chisel.  We both loved movies on a Sunday afternoon, and then dinner where we discussed the finer plot points.  We both liked a good breakfast. We were both fond of music that told a story. There was no avoiding this.  

In my thirties, we grew more distant. My family had grown.  We moved in different directions miles apart. My career had demanded more of me. That relationship that had defined my yearning for so long, and had haunted me my entire childhood was getting away from me.  

Because as I grew older I realized that I had fictionalized so much of who my father was that as an adult we were very different people and we didn’t see eye to eye on many things.  Neither of us were good at expressing this unspoken distance between us.  

I was asked the other day if I regretted moving him down here to North Carolina with me.  I had to think about how I wanted to answer that.  Because the answer was easy. It’s no, I didn’t.  The decision to move him down was one that I had to run the numbers, and consider the emotional cost on my family and my wife.  When my wife  Jennifer said yes, without pause or reservation, I knew that it was the right thing.  If that is what he wanted to do.  

You see, fathers and sons have a bond that is inextricable.  Even when things aren’t as we like or want, that desire to be the man that helped raise the boy is still there. Through the years it evolves, and becomes something else.  But deep down, it’s still that want to be as good or better than your father.  

My dad, Leonard, was a good man.  A man that loved deeply even though he struggled to articulate it.  He was a meticulous man that believed in paying his debts.  He was a romantic at heart.  He fictionalized his relationships and visualized versions of those that were sometimes hard to live up to his account.  He was nostalgic and warmly viewed the good ole days when things were simpler and people were more authentic. He looked out for his friends and loved ones, and would help them when they needed his help.  He loved his kids.  He was there for us and always concerned himself with our decisions good or bad, and whether we wanted him to or not.  He adored and doted on his grandkids.  I asked him near the end if he felt loved.  He said he did.  He had many regrets in his life, and as old age has a way of sobering our views and tempering our angst, he shared some of those with us.  He found God near the end, and accepted Christ in his life.  He told me he loved me often.  He laughed with his grandkids.  He got to know his daughter in-law.  He fought until his body said no more.  

My father loved his country, and was concerned about its trajectory for some time.  He fought for our country and served proudly.  It is fitting today that he gets a heroes burial.  Dad, you are my hero in many many ways.  We found our way back to each other.  Rest Peacefully, and know that you are loved.  I will be back to visit often.

On the Record

The world can be a pretty savage place.  I’ve seen both sides of this.  Luckily my life has been relatively on the right side of things.  I’m not keeping score, yet I feel like I’m up a few.  I want to take a minute and say some things about some people that are truly amazing in my life.  These folks, family and friends have had a positive effect on me and mine.  It’s important to pause and reflect on the good.  There’s plenty of time for everyone else.  

My niece Violet.  It’s funny how in life you meet free spirits. Those spunky, creative types that wear a color that’s unexpected and or make some unique fashion choice that is theirs and unabashedly so.  Violet is only four, mind you.  But she is such a fun little girl to have around.  She’s happy most of the time.  She entertains herself by playing with a pair of shoes, or a fork. Whatever random item that’s around her she’s talking and playing, usually quietly.  She has an adorable laugh that makes you smile and want to hear it again and again.  Her temper can be like a match quickly ignited.  She is totally enamored with her mother, like all little girls are. And her mom, my sister, is able to solve the world’s problems.  As Violet would tell you.  She’d also be the first to tell you that you better not cross her, or you’ll have to talk to her mom!  I have had the last few months to get closer to her, and I’m thankful for that.  She has brought a lot of smiles, and giggles (for my kids) through her sheer presence alone.  I am thankful for that.  I hope that she will remember these past few months fondly.  She’s grown closer to her cousins and experienced some things that are part of living in my household.  Things such as our affection towards breakfast, movies, and music. I think her favorite food now is Pho, which is on the top of my list.  Like anything, you have to find the good.  I don’t think a year ago she would have planned to spend as much time with us as she has, nor would her mother.  But it has been one that I will remember and I’m appreciative for the privilege.  

Don, my stepfather. I’ve had the distinct pleasure to get to know the man my mom fell in love with her last few years on this planet.  In a way, that has brought me closer to her through my time with him.  My mother was convinced that her life was meant to be singular with regards to relationships.  She hadn’t had a lot of luck prior to Don, and was convinced that she was happy with her books, dog, and time with her family.  Who was I to tell her otherwise.  She met Don late in her journey, and he was the blessing she deserved.  Don has been a grandparent to my kids, and he dotes on them in such a loving way.  He has welcomed us into his family and he is very much a part of ours.  I’ve spent a lot of time with him talking life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. We see eye to eye on a lot of life’s perilous topics that drive so much division in this world. It’s nice to know that mom picked him, and I see why.  He is truly a great man, and family man.  He expresses his love through the generosity of his time, and his genuine interactions and curiosity about each of my family members. Again, I’m lucky and thankful. 

My wife… Meeting her, falling in love with her, and getting to spend the last sixteen years with her have been the most notable of all my achievements.  She makes it easy, so it’s not challenging.  So, it’s more of a gift from life to have found my soulmate at such a young age for both of us.  I’ve always been pretty basic… She is not. She’s the luxury model that is only available to those so fortunate.  Somehow, I was that individual.  She is a great life mate, and has ambitions about what our life should be both as parents, as a couple and as human beings.  Her character is without flaw, and she truly lives her values and her convictions.  She has worked hard to improve her parenting skills.  She takes time to discuss what went well, and how we can better work together to provide the best opportunities and lessons for our children. She gives each one of them so much love and affection, and care that I am amazed by her ability to multitask and find even a split moment to give me any attention.  She works tirelessly to help others.  She is truly a savant when it comes to organization and packing.  I’ve been amazed watching her help others that struggle with the immense task of packing up their life and purging what is not necessary (in a weekend).  It’s harder to give up on things than it seems—am I right?  For whatever reason, I’ve been lucky in love.  As an incorrigible romantic she’s made my life easy.  One thing about romantics are that we are too sentimental, and overly nostalgic.  We seek out drama, and when we don’t have it in our lives we find ways to channel that energy or at least hold it at bay.  She always asks me why I like the type of music I like (you know, the sad sappy stuff)? I don’t know the answer specifically.  I do know that I like music that makes me feel something. Especially when life is so dry or mundane, or even complicated.  She provides me the calm.  She allows me to be me.  She allows me to be ambivalent in life and in passion.  Damn, I’m lucky.  

My friends.  I’ve had the great fortune of having friends in my life. I have friends that I’ve known since I was twelve years old.  I have friends that I’ve met in the past five years.  I am not the most transparent of people.  I tend to obfuscate and put up barriers into what I’m thinking and feeling with people I don’t know—in person.  This medium, the blog, is a way to allow me to let it out.  It is most definitely an “overshare” however, that’s what I do… I can say what I say, and not have to get closer to someone else that I don’t necessarily have to worry about the relationship.  You can stop reading at any point, right? If you still are, I am thankful for those of you that invest a few moments of your time to learn about me and my thoughts and experiences.  My closest of friends stay in touch with me.  They know what I care about and will check in when they know that I need a laugh.  I appreciate each of you: Ben, “Nude Bob”, Aaron, Kipper, Phil, Alex are the ones that invest so much time with me.  Time is fleeting. So those of you that care to share some yours with me, you are a special to me.  You have been loyal, and I remain steadfastly so-as well.

As I look at the words before me I wonder why I take the time to write this.  I write it because I want it on the record.  I want people to know that there is good in this world.  That we can win.  That with some luck, and some effort life can be good.  When it’s not, take time to enjoy the moments that are bestowed to us. Have hope that those moments will soon become the more prevalent ones.  In life the score board may not be digital or even an old manual one with the edges bent that have to be flipped for every point.  It’s more like the sandlot games of old.  Where it’s hot, and people come and go throwing the odds in different directions.  Some people are more skilled, and others are just more committed.  The score doesn’t matter.  Just know the value of those around you.  Know that relationships matter. And no, it’s not the quantity. It’s the fact that they stay with you through thick and thin.  The score doesn’t have be on a board.  Your winning because you’re together.  

Fall is for Homecoming, wherever that is...

Fall has always been my favorite time of year.  Even as a kid, I knew that it forebode the long school year ahead and the distance from that point to the lazy days of summer.  Jennifer  cooked chili yesterday, and Aubrey made cornbread which has become a sort of ritual for us in the fall. We will eat chili at least once a week this time of year.  Starting today football is on every weekend until next year which for a Blue Devil/Panther’s fan can both make or break your weekend.  Last fall was a major life event for me.  I spent most of my weekends, and some days of the week traveling with my sister back and forth to Roanoke to visit my mother in the hospital.  I have every right to hate fall as it brings up some feelings that are better left in the past.  Somehow, I believe that it happened this way for a reason. Maybe that’s how mom wanted it? Fall is supposed to be about homecoming.  Maybe she wanted me to remember this time of year is about family, and being together.  Not just for the good times.  We need to be there for each other through both good and bad.  It’s easy to attribute everyday things like life and death with the song on the radio or the rain— because we all want to find some type of cosmic significance to our lives.

When I was just a child, I remember the little white row house that my sister, my mom, and me lived in on Raleigh Street in Martinsburg, West Virginia.  I was a young no-nothing that had a middling sense of self, zero fear of mortality, and there was nothing to me as cool as my dad.  I had this vivid imagination of what he was doing at any given time.  I told people that he flew planes, and helicopters—everything… I watched movies, movies that I probably shouldn’t have watched as an eight year-old but I did.  Movies like Top Gun and Iron Eagle, and I lived vicariously through these characters and thought my dad was probably 

doing something as cool as Chappie or Maverick.  I remember I had wanted to live with my father at one point.  I remember telling my mother that I wanted to move in with him one day.  She was heartbroken, and I remember feeling terrible asking but didn’t quite understand the significance  at the time.  This plain and commonplace word “home” had no bearing on me at the time.  Home for us was an old house, that needed a lot of work and even more after we moved out. My mother didn’t have much money.  She worked for the school system there, and had a passionate ambition for further education.  Thinking back, we never really had a sense of want in our lives. My sister and I were given every opportunity to participate in sports and scouts, and all other youth activities.  I can remember going to these games and mom sitting there on the side lines.  She was a quiet fan, but she clapped and showered us with compliments when the game was over with the loving bias of a mother. 

In our days of innocence we were entrusted with our own safety at times.  At least that is how I remember it.  I can remember 
autumn days sitting on the porch, playing in the back yard with my sister and the neighbor kids while we all waited for mom to come home from her graduate school classes. Here she was, raising two kids and going to school in the evening after working all day.  Even though,  I can’t imagine allowing my daughter to watch her siblings for a few hours.  As a kid, it was pretty neat.  I remember we would be home alone for a couple of hours while mom was at class, I think one of the neighbors would look in on us to make sure we were still alive.   We had to stay in the house or the back yard.  When it was dark or raining, we had to entertain ourselves.  We would watch movies we had recorded on VHS tapes from HBO.   We would watch a rotation of all the 80’s classics which provided my sister and I a rich education in 80’s culture and cool.  We loved those movies, and even today can share a random quote from one of them and smile knowingly.  Our little house was small, and had many problems.  I remember we used to crack the window to get the fall air to circulate through the house.  I always loved the cool air of fall, and the change of colors on the trees. I used to roam the block when mom was home. We would walk everywhere. To the grocery store. To the arcade. I used to blow my whole thirty-dollar paycheck, from delivering a local buyers-guide  door to door, at the arcade and local deli.  It’s long gone now, and replaced by some other business.  If my mom knew of some of the crazy things I used to do as a kid, she wouldn’t have been happy about it.  I was insulated by the ignorance of youth and the always safe place to land at home.  I remember mom would put so much effort into trying to cook these great meals for my sister and me.  Like most kids, we had our favorites but she insisted that we have a more advanced palette. Some meals were notably not for me then and maybe even now, but most were good.  Now that I am older, and feeling much older lately, I can’t help but try to define home.  I want a place where my kids can come back to, and show their kids, and share the fond memories of childhood.  I don’t have that really.  I don’t have a place to call home.  There’s so many great quotes filled with beautiful words to describe home not being a physical place but an emotional one.  I find some solace in that because it’s familiar.  My mom was always home to me.  Even though I had this picture of what life should be like as a kid, and how much I wanted to be my father or even someone else on any given day.  I remember being jealous of some kids that had more, and got to do more as a child and not knowing the great fortune that I had at the time in having the love of my mother.

So it’s not quite fall but it’s starting to feel like it.  The air is cooler.  The sounds of football can be heard over the tree line from the high school.  I’ve got a jacket on today even though I probably don’t need it.  I love the colors of fall, the brown and orange.  The flannel shirts, and denim jackets. Not so much the pumpkin spice…  Yet, I sit here and I can’t help but feel different.  Fall is a time for homecoming.  I yearn for home now more than ever.  Even to this day as I start to think about the home that I am creating for my children, and the vibrant memories I hope they have of Fall Saturdays with each other, and their parents I yearn for home.  It’s now been 11 months since I lost mine.  So as the leaves start to change, and start their graceful journey through the air to the ground, I will think about you.  I would give everything to be able to go home again.  

A letter about Aubrey for her Teacher

Hello Teacher,

Sorry this is late, I’ve had a busy few days.  I wanted to take a proper minute to write about Aubrey versus a rushed one.  So let me tell you about this daughter of mine. Aubrey is my first child. She has three younger siblings: Liam, Dylan, and JoElle.  She’s a great big sister.  Aubrey loves to help with the “parenting” part of maturity, but not the chores part.  She is quick to help a crying child or share words of encouragement when one of them is in need of a subtle push.  When it comes to routines and responsibilities she needs the same encouragement.  She aims to please, and hates to let other’s down.  This can bring her to tears at times.  So be aware, that Aubrey will get quiet and then shy away when she is ashamed or disappointed in herself or if she feels that from you. 

Aubrey loves to read.  She will read at the dinner table. She will read all night if we let her.  She will even read upside down, hanging from the couch.  Her favorite books have been the Babysitters Club series which her Aunt Mary gave her like one-hundred copies or so, in a big ole box. I believe she’s read over half, and she’s only had it since Christmas . Aubrey is a lot like me in the way she enjoys people but finds her energy through quiet times like reading or some other form of entertainment.  One of my dreams for her is that she will never lose the love of reading—so far so good!  Second to reading, maybe a close tie, would be her passion for nature.  Aubrey will spend an entire day watching nature shows.  She will sit back and digest it all.  She loves to learn about different animals and how they live, and what they eat.  This has evolved into a specific interest in aquatic animals.  Two summers ago I took her, and the rest of the family to see the Clear Water Aquatic Center in Florida.  This is the home of Winter the Dolphin in which the movie Dolphin Tale was based off of. Aubrey has watched that movie, and its sequel probably twenty or so times.  She has shown interest in marine biology and will tell you that’s what she would like to study and maybe have a career in one day. There are many years, and many hills to climb if she will ever get to that point but I hope that she continues to dream big about what and who she wants to be when she grows up.  So many forget that and just go where life takes them. 

Aubrey and her best friend Mia created a neighborhood organization called “The Animal club”, which is now called the Science Club or Nature Club—they’ve been going through a bit of a rebranding-.  Either way, it’s a club about animals and nature.  It’s actually something I’m pretty proud of her about.  She works with her friends to plan out each meeting, and set up a schedule. They plan snacks, activities, and a specific animal or experiment that they will be focusing on each meeting. This is all designed by them so it’s pure kids stuff.  But pretty neat nevertheless.


Some other passions are cooking and baking.  She loves to help with breakfast, or baked goods.  Aubrey is very caring and takes care of others out of a tender spot in her heart.  When her mom was sick she would make breakfast and take it to her in bed.  She will also cook and prepare food for her younger brothers, and one day her baby sister.  Aubrey has strange eating habits.  She will eat steak, and hamburgers (usually half of one).  But she doesn’t like much else in the meat category.  Maybe some chicken from time to time.  But she loves fruit. She will two to three normal servings and not look back.  I’m also pretty sure she likes junk food and candy because it doesn’t last long in the cupboard.  Her mom is a bit of a health nut, so we rarely have it.  So  in the event we do, it won’t be long for this world.


Something else to know about her is that she is a borderline hypochondriac (nothing serious) but she will tend to dramatize  bumps and bruises as a shift in fate. I don’t know why and it’s not that she is starving for attention or anything.  It is common that this type of cataclysmic event occurs right before she has some type of responsibility. So be aware of any hazards or pitfall that she might encounter when an undesirable task is at hand.  Then behold the magic of when that task has been completed or the moment has passed—she will be miraculously healed.  She does tend to be clumsy at times, and likes to play by flailing her body in different directions as if she is being propelled by some unseen force.  Other unpredictable behavior to be aware of, is the need to climb things that shouldn’t be climbed. You will at one moment be talking with her and then your attention is drawn in another direction, but when you turn back she’s gone.  Not gone, but up—somewhere.  Maybe that’s how Batman does it? The girl is a little goofy is all I’m saying.  And also precious and funny. Just beware..


She’s a night owl.  Aubrey doesn’t sleep sometimes. We have to check on her before we go to bed. She is good at acting asleep.  She might have a future one day as a sleep model.  She makes sleep look realistic and doesn’t move a hair.  I’ve been convinced many times only to find her sprawled out on the floor with a book on her face or sleeping on the couch downstairs after she binge watched some show on Netflix (not Breaking Bad or anything— just like Barbie Super friends or something).   So if she seems sleepy in class (more than other kids) let us know.  We have tried to get her on a better sleeping routine.  We have even spoken to her pediatrician about this on occasion.  

As a student you will find that her flame burns quietly.  When she’s engaged in the lesson or topic, she will be focused and driven to learn all she can.  In other areas she will become distracted.  Last year math gave her a lot of trouble.  She tends to get down on herself, or loses interest in what she is doing.  This will progress into “I can’t” and “I’ll never” be able to do this right.  She tends to wait until I get home late after a long day at work to say “hey, I need help with some math homework”.  You can imagine  my excitement relearning how to do compound fractions at 9:30 pm on a Wednesday via Youtube… So this is an area where we could use some help.  Let us know, let me know if she isn’t focusing here in class. Let us know how we can reinforce or reward improved behavior or focus here.  She won’t necessarily ask for help, so you might need to ask her and then clarify with her for understanding.  Additionally, if you have some extra-credit type work where she could do some extra math problems over the weekend send those to us and I will work with her over the weekend.  This would be a great help.  Her mom and I have spoken and even considered a math tutor for her.  So we will continue to stay close to this.  

Thanks for reading and allowing me to share some thoughts about a truly special girl.  My hope for this year is that Aubrey continues to grow confident and strong.  She’s a bright, creative, and a


thoughtful kid. She lacks confidence and needs reassurance quite often.  I want nothing more then for her to be a strong successful woman one day.  No one has let her in on the secret that she’s beautiful , even though we tell her all the time.   I can tell you this, if we had stopped with her I would have believed we achieved perfection on the first try.  I’m sure all parents feel this way but from my perspective we have achieved it.  


Thanks Again,

Ryan (Aubrey’s  Dad)

Dear Mom, We're doing alright

Dear Mom,

It’s been almost a year.  The sky’s still blue, and what goes up still goes down.  Pretty much everything else has changed.  Donald Trump is president, and you probably know how I feel about that so let’s pretend that didn’t happen…  Bill Cosby was charged and eventually acquitted of some pretty heinous stuff.  I’ve been reading a lot.  I recently picked up Pat Conroy’s posthumous book A Low Country Heart.  It’s all excerpts from letters and blogs that he wrote in his late years.  I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it.  In my simple life, my family is good and happy.  Everyones growing on schedule, and healthy which is what matters.  Aubrey is a rising fifth grader, yeah I know… She loves to read, like you.  She’s been named “Busy Bee” reader two years straight! She’s also really coming out of her shell.  Remember how she would be too shy to order her food in a restaurant?  Now she walks right up and asks.  She loves spending time with friends, and playing outside.  Her neighbor friend and her created an “Animal Club” where they organized an agenda, lessons, and snacks for a few months.  This is all borne out of her creativity and love for nature, and science.  She’s traveling to spend a week in North Carolina with her cousins and Jenn’s family.   Liam has gone through quite the transformation.  He is a better listener, and has learned to handle frustration in a more respectful way.  His lack of focus is still there but just maybe he might be good-to-go without the help of medication.  This will be a big step forward for him, and we are proud of his maturation.  I still don’t know where he inherited his lack of focus… What’s really cool is his teacher this past year, Mrs. Shelton, really connected with him.  She was in her last year of teaching and my initial thoughts were that her patience had probably worn out years ago.  She proved me wrong, and turned out to be one of those teachers that Liam will remember for a lifetime.  There’s a great video we have of him hugging her during her presentation for the end of the year, and her tearing up.  I can guarantee you would have as well.  Dylan is a remarkable little kid. He’s still small in stature but makes up for it in personality and courage.  He’s also passionate about animals and asks anyone that is in earshot “what’s your favorite animal you like?” He stays in the hip-pocket of Liam and Aubrey and wants all the same privileges bestowed upon them and their advanced age.  And of all of them, and it’s been competitive, he’s the most daddy-crazy.  He wakes up with me, collects all of his toys and joins me in the shower, and asks questions that I’m not ready to answer first thing in the morning.  Then he joins me downstairs for breakfast, or whatever I have time for before I leave for the day.  It’s both an obstacle to getting up and moving, and a blessing in that I will remember those moments for the rest of my time.  Then there's JoElle.  Well, she’s perfect.  I can’t really say much more than that.  You know me, I’m not the most infant-friendly of adults.  I’m always too worried about each cough or how warm she feels.  She just looks at me and stares.  I can’t figure out if she’s looking at me or in my direction… She’s quiet for the most part and just likes to take in the moment and hear the voices around her—usually the kids arguing about whose turn it is or giggling as they play some type of game that borders on the edge of torture and hilarity.  We are quite the family.  I never saw myself with four kids but now it just feels like this was the plan all along.  

Even after fifteen years of marriage, Jenn and I are happy.  It’s pretty amazing given the naysayers and differences in backgrounds.  I’ve found the key ingredient is respect and care for each other’s passions, concerns, and lastly an enduring love.  What’s funny about love is that you don’t even know the depth or complexity of your feelings when you’re in the fray, only when you have had time to live it and feel it.  For the ups and downs, and those moments of truth that all relationships cross at some fateful point —it’s there to catch you.  I know I didn’t know that fifteen years ago, and I’m still in awe of the connection that we have formed through experiences, four children, multiple moves, and like I said before—the vicissitudes of this life.  She’s a wonderful mother.   She adored you—as a mother, and as a grandmother to our children. One of my regrets is that she did’t get a chance to tell you one more time.  Just know that she loves you, and misses you everyday.

So here I am, thirty-nine years young and starting to feel more and more like an adult.  It takes some years to pass by to know that this life is not a guarantee, and we need to take each moment in—and try our damnedest  to live it fully.  I’ve lost thirty-five pounds since March through a more disciplined diet and moderate exercise.  I know you know that dieting isn’t fun so you can be empathetic of my journey.  What I can tell you is that it hasn’t been that hard given the alternative.  It starts with awareness.  Then I’ve used that motivate my actions every morning of everyday.  Seeing you go through what you went through, and knowing that life can be cruel and swift in its decisiveness, has been an impetus for both Mary and me to take a more healthy approach.  I don’t want to give into any sense of helplessness and take the reigns of what I can influence in my life.  This is just a first step, so I can’t rest on my laurels.  

I have sat down and decided to write something in earnest.  I’ve just crossed the twenty-thousand word threshold.  This is a big moment for me given that I have about twenty five beginnings of something, but that’s it.  I'm excited about where it’s going and wish you could be the first person to read it when I finish.  It’s about relationships, love, and what happens when people mess it all up due to some self fulfilling prophecy.  I’ve really enjoyed writing dialog and recreating these relationships that are both imaginary and somewhat drawn from real life.  You’ve provide me a rich life. One that has challenge me to put myself out there, to be confident, and to be loyal and committed in everything I’ve done. I appreciate that.  I’m so mad that you won’t be able to read it.  I know that you would be honest and supportive.  I harbor no ambitions of becoming famous, or even having it published.  Even though self-publishing is a very real thing these days.  It's for me.  I set a goal to write a novel before I turned thirty.  So here I am almost a decade late.  

I miss you.  I know that no matter what happened to you after you left this life, wherever you are, I know that you are making the best of it.  You always have, through thick and thin.  I always admired your simplicity of needs, yet passion for experiences.  Not in the daredevil, adrenaline type of experience but in the vast possibility of human kindness.  Whether it was traveling with the church, or helping a neighbor who needed help. I know that wherever the good people go, you are there telling them about the potential of others to do good.  You loved to travel and see the world. You enjoyed visiting locations that were both awe inspiring in beauty and adorned in cultural relevance which is something that you have inspired in both Mary and me.  We’ve grown significantly closer since you left.  You used to always say that you wished we would treat each other more nicely and enjoy each other’s company.  You succeeded in that vision even if it took years for us to appreciate each other’s company like we do today.  

We have the Ryan family reunion here in about two weeks. This time last year none of us truly knew what the future would look like for you.  I know that I tried to deny that it was something serious and you allowed me to do this.  Just like always, you were looking out for everyone else.  Not a selfish bone in your body.  If I could go back in time, I would have spent more time with you.  I would have visited you more often, and I would’ve called you at least once a day.  The Ryan’s will be back together in a couple of weeks.  I know that we will have fun, and laugh, drink, and get sunburnt (well at least the northerners).  I also know that every day I will take at least one moment and think about you.  You will be with us.  

Thirty-nine years… It took the death of my mom for me to grow up. I always was a momma’s boy, even though I wouldn’t admit it.  

Eternal Love and Gratitude,

Ryan

The never-ending Healthcare debate (my perspective)

The American Healthcare Act is a trojan horse.  It’s snake oil sold by the one of the greatest salesman of the last century.  Just being straight forward here, I am not in support of much of anything that the Trump administration has put forward in the last 100 days.  Especially this concept of freedom from government oppression—otherwise known as the Affordable Care Act.  Aka Obamacare.  This bill is nothing more than a tax cut for the wealthy under the guise of giving voters what they want— “Repeal and Replace”. I know that some of you reading this are getting ready to minimize this window, or close out the app.  Proceed if you will.  In the event you are still reading, I’d appreciate your patience in waiting until the end of this exercise in courage and free thought.  

For the last decade or so, we’ve been divided in many ways.  So at odds, that to even concede any agreement with the other side is seen as treasonous.  We all have had these moments when a loved, or respected one says something so damn wrong or misinformed, and we just sit their silently and take it.  There’s the problem right?  We are all misinformed by our own bias and alliances and refuse to listen to the other perspective. Fake news and such… So I’m going to not speak in quotes or “facts” because that is useless in the modern debate.  I will just think out loud and see where that takes us.

We are all good, to some extent.  There are signs of this everyday.  Good samaritans helping the stranded.  Go Fund Me campaigns to support the sick and needy.  The problem with the Great American Healthcare debate is that it has been coopted as an argument of individual liberties.  We’ve shed our humanity, and quite frankly our American way.  What I hear so often are two arguments from the anti-healthcare lot.  I am going to break these down quickly.

One is that Healthcare has always been there for the sick and poor in the form of the Emergency Room.  It has all been said before by the left, so I will not bore you with the reasons that this is backwards.  I will share why this isn’t practical in terms of how it impacts day to day life.  First of all, the middle class doesn’t want to dodge their bills.  Any hard working person doesn’t want to be a liability or a freeloader.  Often a parent will bypass their checkup, or fight through pain and suffering due to the fact that they know that the bill will be large, and that every cent of their paycheck is allocated to their power bill, or car payment.  I’ve personally been there where I will not go to the doctor to get a sore spot on my foot looked at because I can just manage the pain.  Now we are all weak when it comes to our loved ones.  We opt not to buy the inhaler in hopes that the cough deep in our lungs will work itself out.  Or we wait to the next paycheck to buy it.  When your child has a deep cough, or your spouse has a high fever— in these moments we are willing to pay the bill.  It is often here when we can’t afford the high cost yet we pay.  Now, the impoverished and truly poor have Medicaid.  Medicaid provides them childcare for their children and will pay for that hospital stay or expensive prescription.  Even those “illegals” that have an open wound or broken bone won’t get turned away at the emergency room.  Call me what you want, I don't think in a civilized society that sick people should ever be turned away.  The more sophisticated debaters on the pro-healthcare-for-all-side will share with you that this is not cost effective. The more flu-inflicted and less “emergency” type situations that visit the Emergency Room the more cost goes up, and will likely be paid by some type of government relief or be absorbed by those that are paying the bills. This is the argument that many anti believers have subscribed to because it makes them feel  better. This is the “If they need healthcare, they can get it…” argument.  Even though this logic doesn’t hold up and is counter to what so many hardworking Americans would actually do when it comes to what ails them.  We push through, and persevere— even when our body is trying to tell us something sinister lies beneath the surface

The less humanitarian approach is to think about the dollar side of it completely.  It’s a cold approach to how a government should be run, and what a government is responsible for.  I really have trouble understanding this group.  They will throw the constitution at you and try to find the most pedantic argument at you to shut you down.  It is their belief that Government is responsible for staying out of our way, and at the most— protect us from threats foreign and domestic.  To them, any government program is a failed program.  I’m not going to go down that rabbit hole.  When I think of public health, and the potential threats that can potentially spin out of control I only have to look at history to see there were instances where we needed more funding or research that would have saved more lives.  I get it, can our universities and privately funded grants provide some of this research? Sure… I just hope that when history looks back at this time in our lives, those scholars can say we did the right thing. As one of the only civilized societies that doesn’t have government funded healthcare, our decisions (our votes) will be how we are defined.  This mentality that we are all in this on our own, and for those that can’t afford quality healthcare (or any for that matter) are unmotivated and unworthy is a moral decision.  There is so much government waste, and so much redundancy and lack of scruples in the positions of power (under both parties) that it’s sad to think that there are children that wont receive the treatment they deserve.  Their is the single mother that bypasses her annual checkup and fosters her kids before they have a chance to really get to know the sacrifices she made so they could live a normal life up to that point.  For every anecdote there is one for the other side, so I will stop. 

I’ve faced great moral conundrums in my time.  We all have.  Sometimes they aren’t so obvious, we just live through it and act accordingly.  These defining moments echo throughout our lives.  There should be a congruency between our actions and our values.  And when there is not, here comes the guilt.  This should only happen from time to time. Seldom moments that we all wish we could have back.  That fleeting sequence in time where we should’ve stood up for our friend when confronted by a blatant lie. When our pride gets in the way, and we couldn't be honest and admit our failure. In that instance when we were confronted with a wayward opinion, and we didn’t say anything in the spirit of cooperation.  We have all been there, and that is okay.  The truth that I ground myself in is that almost everyone that is making the decision has no risk of losing their great- healthcare.  I have always had healthcare insurance.  Not always the greatest, but there.  My kids, and family have always had that safety net in the event that arms were broken, or they were sick.  I will most likely always had some form of healthcare. In fact, mine will be better than a lot of people that I know and interact with everyday.  Yet, I could stand to lose it if we screw this up.  So for those of us that are able to vote, or speak up— we should.  For those that have the power to cast a vote in our government it is a  moral decision, not a financial decision.  For those of that are affected by this vote, it will be a financial decision- or already is… Do we pay for that checkup, or medicine? Or do we continue to play Russian Roulette with our lives, and our families?  I ask that you listen to your congressman, or senator and hear what he is saying. Because he’s not talking about his healthcare, or what might impact his family.  He doesn’t live your life, he has healthcare insurance.  

Like I wrote before, congruency in our words and actions matter.  It’s easy to take the principled argument of your father, or well respected role model and say that in theory we should all work for everything we get… That is well principled. In fact, I live by that code.  I don’t believe in handouts.  But life and pursuit of happiness is not a handout.  The life of your children is not a handout.  It’s a right in the greatest country in the world.  So many of us watch our 401k grow at a nominal amount each year, and we are satisfied with that.  We scratch by to find money for a birthday gift that our kid wants, but we can’t really afford.  We make choices that affect our credit rating and take risks with our money in hopes that a check will clear.  This is the life of so many of us, and yet we are not congruent.  Some of us even receive handouts from taxpayer funds, yet we don’t see the hypocrisy in it.  It’s different right…I don’t say that to be rude, I say that because it’s okay to need help.  That is normal.

So, what will it be?  Do we allow the snake oil salesman to tell us that we should abandon this idea that our children deserve healthcare?  That we don’t deserve the right to see one of America’s great doctors that may or may not have been subsidized to get their license to practice through scholarships and grants?  It’s not easy. Like the president said, he didn’t know it was this complicated.  I’m not saying that what we have is great, or even good.  Let’s put the politics aside and fix it versus blow it up and go back to the good ole days when insurance companies can take your monthly payment yet turn you away when you really need it… We are better than this.