Grief

Some of you have expressed concern about how my family is coping with recent troubles. I appreciate your concern, even though I’m not entirely sure how to respond to the queries. An honest answer would differ with each response, depending on the day, hour, minute of the asking.

We find many emotions present including anger, regret, wonder, hope, hopelessness, triumph, grief, love, annoyance, curiosity, pride, hate - the list grows every time one or more of us faces a new aspect, remembers, considers.

We have our daughter back and of course, that trumps all.

I have in mind today another set of parents whose loss is complete and final. Their loved one was a person of whom I have only troubling memories. I recall him as a user, an abuser, a person whose weakness trumped his strengths and who hurt my daughter and my family. That is my view and my blinders allow only a narrow focus on my personal memories of this person, when I was called upon to take action and he reacted badly.

But I’m a dad. And as a dad it is my duty to try to view things from my daughter’s perspective. Hers is quite different from mine, including all the positives that brought him into her life and the thread of hope that she held out for him to overcome his demons. I, too have faced the self-inflicted demise of an ex whose bright spots are as much a part of the cycle of memories as are the reasons that it ended. And so, I understand how this hurts her. And on her behalf, I have to hope for him finally to have found, at last and at least, peace.

I understand his parents are hurting though I cannot comprehend the breadth and depth of their sorrow. My child came back. Theirs is gone and no amount of wishing or what-ifs will change that soul-crushing fact. And so although I don’t know them, I can’t help but feel for them.

My child came back. And for that, I will forever be grateful.

Wishes

At my age (62, what of it? Okay, and a half – sheesh!) it’s sort of unavoidable to look back from time to time and think about the things you wish you’d done or wish you’d not done or wish you’d done differently. Should I have held out for college after high school or at least gone into the Coast Guard rather than the Navy? Or perhaps I should have gone ahead and done the Navy thing and then right through college. Or should I have followed the original plan and gone into the seminary – NOT!

Should I have stuck with and devoted myself to singing or more seriously pursued writing back when I wrote the first (unsold) book?

Which girlfriend should I have treated better or just differently or walked away from earlier?

Yeah, these are the sort of things I suppose we all think about from time to time. But the truth is, if I had a Wayback Machine, I wouldn’t want to make any changes that interfered with my ending up where I now find myself – Mary and Daughters One and also Two, a few cherished friends, a job that matters.

So, what if I could change not the events or people in my life but rather, what I learned and when. Now THAT is mebbe worth thinking about. Off the cuff, a terribly incomplete list might include:

1)      I wish I’d understood at sixteen or seventeen that THEY (girls) were as scared of not being asked as WE (boys) were of asking. I wonder how much that’s changed.

2)      Continuing along the same thread, I wish I’d understood mu-u-uch earlier that most of the guys who talk about their exploits haven’t had them and ALL of the guys who talk about their exploits are jerks.

3)      I wish I’d known at a younger age that my sense of what is right was usually fairly spot on…

4)      …and my sense of what joke would be appropriate for a given situation was usually not. Truth be told, this continues to be a problem from time to time.

5)      I wish I’d had the slightest inkling of a fashion sense. Not that I wanted to be Mr. GQ but when I look at old pics…damn! What was I thinking?

6)      I wish I’d put more thought into my choices of reading matter. Reading stupid books were never going to make me more educated, thoughtful or human but I read what I found easy and entertaining for so many years – well, I wouldn’t mind a do over on that one. I might be able to go back and change this and still meet Mary when we were both ready – think?

7)      I wish I had treated some people better and that I’d demanded better treatment for myself from others. I don’t suppose that makes me unique.

8)      I wish I’d understood at an earlier age that no one deserves more than they are willing to put out.

9)      I wish I had studied harder, earlier in some areas and that I’d understood the value learning, earlier.

10)   I wish I’d understood that being cool and acting cool aren’t the same thing…

11)   …and the same goes for being intelligent and being smart.

12)   I wish I’d understood the importance of just shutting up and listening.

13)   I wish I’d spent more time noticing. A body can never do too much noticing.

But if I had it to do over again, and if I had to choose between being wiser and being kinder, I hope I’d choose kinder. In the end, I think that would also be the wise choice.

Facebook, shmacebook

Deactivated my FB page for now. I was spending too much time on it and it was interfering with my writing and, you know, actually living. And other reasons. Dunno if I'll go back - depends on if I miss it.

Meanwhile, at the suggestion of a dear and sage friend of many (MANY!!!) years, I'm going to spend my synaptic time and energy writing, here and elsewhere. I hope to hear from those of you who care, once in a blue moon.

Why

Why?

This is such an easy word to pronounce – it’s one of the first words children learn, as any frustrated parent will avow – and one of the simplest and most direct questions to ask.

Why?

Do you mean why easy or why one of the most direct?

Why?

Because in order to answer your question, I need to understand your information need.

Why?

Because if I don’t understand what you’re looking for, I might give the wrong answer.

(Sound of fingers drumming…)

There’s a technique in the world of process improvement (where I spend a great deal of my paid time) called 5-Whys or more to the point, Ask ‘Why’ Five Times. It’s a tricky tool to teach because you can easily give surface answers to each succeeding question and end up never getting to the Root Cause of the problem at hand, which is of course the pot o’ gold you’re seeking.

It’s also dangerous to use because the respondent might well give an answer that is to him or her Truth but to the thinking world logically flawed, or as we like to say in formal ethics, a bunch of hooey. Examples of this sort of response abound and nowhere more often than at the intersection of politics and religion.

Example: Query - Why can’t people exercise these constitutionally guaranteed rights?

Response - Because God said it’s bad.

See what I mean? There are myriad valid ways you can knock the logical stilts out from under this response but none of them will work for a simple reason – the answer is based on a belief system that is in no way tethered to provable concepts. The answerer is perfectly willing to provide nonsense answers and actually quite smug concerning their use of theology as their authority for doing so. And to be clear, I’m not saying your god belief is nonsense, that’s completely up to you and after all, what do I know? But using it as your authority for making a judgment about people’s rights in a pluralistic society is completely bonkers. Particularly just now, when we have half the countries of the world clearly demonstrating on a daily basis the dangers of letting religion drive a society.

Wanna know how to whinny down the vast field of candidates for public office?

Step one: Ask a question about disputed rights.

Step two: When they give the answer, ask ‘why’ and then listen to determine if their answer is based on constitutionally valid principles or just ‘beliefs.’

Moral: Beliefs only work as underpinnings for a position if the debate is undertaken solely within a group of folks among whom the belief system is common. That does not describe this country.

Sorry.

 

Time for different

It’s a Saturday morning. I sit here in my workout clothes because the gym is the next item on my day’s agenda and watch through the window as the wind moves the branches and makes the leaves appear to be quaking. And I think, what’s next?

Not in terms of minutes and hours, those will be spent grunting on the elliptical machine and picking up chicken wire at the hardware store and my shirts from the cleaner and then making room in the garage to move Daughter One’s stuff in next weekend.

But seriously, what’s next?

At a flash fiction writing event on Thursday last I found myself among a group of people who love writing as do I but whose take on what that means is entirely different from my own. Not alien, but decidedly different. And I found myself really liking and responding to different.

And then I came back and looked at this blog and realized it needs to be something different. But which different should it be?

I’m thinking of mebbe posting short fiction or perhaps a thought for each day (naw, done too much already by people who are good at it) or perhaps more socially driven topical essays. Or, or, or…

I dunno what this thing is going to become except for this – In November 2010, I posted:

               “This is my first entry as a newly minted bloggerboy…Now to think of something worthy to say…Maybe later.”

Methinks ‘later’ has caught up to me.

Please keep watching.

Flash fiction

Athletes practice their sports; I write to random prompts. I’ve been doing this more of late as I prepare for my first flash fiction meetup later this week. So, the other day the following prompt appeared on one of the sites I frequent: “Seventeenth century pirates pass through a time portal and find themselves nearby a modern cruise ship. Tell us what happens next.” I had 1,000 words to spend and allowed myself an hour before I needed to get back to my “real writing.” I hope you enjoy my take on this prompt.

The Apparition (or Captain Cooper’s Close Call)

Captain Angus Cooper threw off the covers, rewarding the slow dog with a sideways kick in his rush to the cabin door as the blast of sound continued to assault his eardrums. “What in the name of heaven and hell is that noise?” It came from nowhere and everywhere at once and then it stopped abruptly.

“Hard a-port!” The shout came from Pritchett, the former British Navy sailing master who had chosen The Code over being set adrift in a small boat with the other officers of the King’s Sloop Chrysalis and now served as her quartermaster and de facto second in command under the flag of the Jolly Roger.

Two men strained to turn the vessel, facing but not seeing each other as they muscled the great wheel around. The sailor facing the stern hesitated as he glanced up in horror, earning him a cuff from Pritchett.

Turning about, the Captain could not immediately discern what had caused Pritchett to order the abrupt turn or the helmsman to lose his composure. Then, as the intervening fog bank moved in the slight breeze he thought he caught a glimpse of a cresting wave. He ran to the taffrail, leaning out as far as prudence and a death grip on the log box allowed and straining his eyes to determine what the errant wave signaled.

As the shifting rudder made itself felt and his own ship began to heel in response he turned to shout over his shoulder, “I’ll have the crew on deck if you please, Mr. Pritchett!”

Turning back, he was struck speechless even as the ship’s boy ran to roust the crew. The wave had grown to rail height as it rushed toward him, already halving the distance between Chrysalis and…

‘By the saints in heaven,’ he thought as he beheld what seemed to be a great white cliff, no less imposing than those at Dover and the more dangerous as it moved past his single-masted command at a rate never before seen on sea or land. He realized the present danger was from the wave which was quickly bearing down on the starboard quarter. 

“Ease your rudder!” he shouted and then, “Hang on if you’d see another dawn!”

 The sloop hung drunkenly for a moment before starting back to vertical and had almost gained an even keel when the immense curling and churning wave overtook them, lifting and bludgeoning the stern, buckling the knees of several men just making the deck from below. Cooper reeled sideways and hugged the rail as the white water breaking over the stern threatened to carry him away.

Shouts and a few screams mixed with the sounds of crashing water and groaning lashings as the wave engulfed them, loose gear clattering and thudding until the breaker passed overboard ahead. The ship wrenched down by the bow and then the stern as the body of the wave passed underneath. Regaining his feet, Cooper saw the masthead whip forward then back, lines straining and blocks swinging crazily.  

The Captain was heartened to see the bo’sun urging men to the pumps, the rocker arm already seesawing as sailors alternated riding the handles down and the first gouts of bilge bubbled up across the deck and out the scuppers. Satisfied that his crew had the immediate emergency well in hand, he returned his gaze to the cause of the near calamity, studying the behemoth as the shifting fog revealed it to his disbelieving eyes.

The momentary view only served to increase his confusion. A ship it could only be but of this size? As the expanse of freeboard passed ahead and the stern came into view, he read off the name Pacific Empress and the homeport New Orleans, LA.  He recognized no such ship or port and what yard could have spawned this monster whose first weather deck sat higher than the Chrysalis’ masthead and with tiers of open-railed decks above seeming to rise to the sky?

He continued to watch as the fog closed around it and peeled his eyes to catch brief glimpses as the breeze tried and failed to clear the mist. Now a rushing sound ended his reverie and he returned his attention to the sea, noticing for the first time the churning wake that now made the sloop corkscrew sickeningly with the combined effects of the moving sea and the burden of seawater below that had come with the bow wave and that the pumps had not yet cleared.

For the next hour captain and crew labored to return the ship to normalcy, pumping bilges and snugging stretched lines, hanging clothing to dry and restoring equipment that had gone adrift. Entering his cabin to change, Cooper found the windows smashed and called in the boy to accomplish the task of hanging soggy charts to dry. He moved in a cloud hanging his own clothing, stunned by what the men were calling The Apparition.

Some time passed before a knock at the half-sprung door announced a messenger.

“Mr. Pritchett’s regards, Cap’n and the bilges are inspected, dry and tight. All men present and we’ve returned to track. No sign of the…er…”

“Very well, carry on.” Cooper went to close the door and found himself standing in the open frame, squinting past the men on watch in the direction IT had disappeared, wondering.

 

In the bows, two men worked with needles and bone shuttles to repair the torn bowsprit net. The younger looked over his shoulder and shook his head in disgust.

“What?” asked the older man.

“Seems to me we let go a whopping prize, is what we done.”

The wizened seaman laughed. “Son, we’re buccaneers, not fools. We make our fortune by the prizes we take; we keep our heads by the ones we let go by.”

The young man stared off after the lost prize until his partner punched his shoulder. He shook his head, grinned and returned to the task at hand. 

Things I do whilst home sick

              Yeah, I called in sick today. I think I finally got tagged by the flu that felled both Mary and Daughter One in the last week and today I just wasn’t quite recovered enough to ride the bus. And frankly, I can’t complain, having received a decidedly less catastrophic dose of the grunge than did loved ones mine.

              The thing is, unless I’m actually writhing in pain or doubled over plumbing, it’s not easy for me to just stay in bed. So ten o’clock found me stumbling around the manse dressed in my oddly stretched sleep shirt, shapeless sleep shorts and big ugly slippers, an ensemble that has remained on me all day and into the eve. Thus adorned, I found myself engaged in the following activities:

·       Watching the Cake Boss marathon

·       Sorting stuff into keep / donate / toss piles

·       Doing the dishes

·       Patting the dogs

·       Working on the book editing

·       Calling my sister

·       Thinking about how to torture Daughter Two’s boyfriend when he comes for Christmas with her

·       Patting the dogs

·       Whining

·       Reading James Fahey’s memoire

·       Watching a fly

·       Patting the dogs

·       Writing this

Okay, so I never said I do exciting stuff when I don’t feel great. I think you can see a theme here.

As One says, whatevs…

Stress

Lots of stress in our lives of late. This does not make us special or unique in any way. But you all know what it’s like when you seem to have a perfect storm of ^&(*&&%^$! hit you from various directions. And it’s particularly stressful when bad things happen to people you love.

Okay, not to dwell on my troubles. Except to offer this as a smarmy excuse for the paucity of blogging I’ve done of late. Sorry about that. It’s just that the current emotional climate makes it difficult to come up with ideas for this little tete a tete. And when I have the brain and the energy to write, as happened this weekend just past, I have to direct my resources to the completion of the book manuscript.

I’d promise to do better but that would conflict with the promise to myself not to lie. So instead, I’ll just say that I will provide content when I have ideas I feel are worthy of sharing. And meanwhile, continue with the book.

Deal?

Point of view

Recently I have been schooled a bit regarding point of view.

For as long as I can recall, I’ve wondered what it’s like to be someone else, with that person’s knowledge and learning and culture and Center of Universe. I suppose that’s a natural thing to wonder about if like me you’re a person who enjoys writing fiction. I further suppose that curiosity regarding another’s point of view is a necessary component of empathy, without a dollop of which individually we are surely lost collectively.

Some selves I simply cannot imagine inhabiting. Others seem sufficiently tied to my own experience and preferences and prejudices that I can well imagine what that person is thinking or feeling. Of course, I could well be wrong.

I don’t understand the internal world of my cousin Larry, a Roman Catholic priest. I like him and I love him but I can’t imagine living his life. The same is true for most of the people with whom I’m acquainted.

I’ll never understand someone who wants to be a cop but I’m thankful beyond measure for the officer who took care of my daughter the night she was assaulted.

The people in this world whose lives and outlooks I value are too numerous to count, even if we limited the enumeration to those I have actually met. I am willing to go a step further in saying that the good vastly outnumber the bad in this world. At least, that’s what I hope and believe.

But there are in fact bad people and one of them touched my daughter’s life and through her, the lives of all the people who know and love her, of whom there are many.

I don’t understand this bad person’s point of view. And I don’t want to. I hope he is brought to heel at some point, preferably before he assaults any more young women. But I don’t want to dwell on him because to do so takes me to a dark place that I prefer not to visit.

I choose instead to focus on my daughter’s point of view. She is quite a remarkable person and not because she’s my daughter. She cares about people, including people she will likely never meet. She is focused on charting a path forward that leaves her attacker behind. And she will go far down that path because she is a strong and intelligent and smart and caring person.

I don’t have a good ending for this one, if only because this sort of horror requires time above all. For healing, for absorbing, for finding the courage to peer around that next corner. But I will offer one last note – I have long doubted the statistic that one in five young women will face sexual assault. Based on my own experience and my knowledge of other men I knew, I just could not believe that so many men were predators.

Turns out, I was an idiot.

I have recently come to know that within what I consider my immediate family – my daughters and nieces and first cousins alone – are at least six women who have been subjected to this evil. Each one of them a smart, lovely person who adds to my world and yours by her presence.

I need to do a better job in future of being supportive in a way that is valued by the people in my life. I hope and believe I can.

Because, you see, recently I have been schooled a bit regarding point of view.

What will we do?

The situation as I see it from my vantage point thirty-some thousand feet over Wyoming is not encouraging. We have a treasure trove of candidates vying for the top job. Wait, did I say treasure trove? Silly me, make that refuse bin; it’s more accurately descriptive.

I’m not going to get into personalities here. Suffice to say that judging by the current candidates, we would do better by bringing in the Ringling Brothers Klown Kar and choosing at random from among the occupants.

I have an idea! Big surprise, right? Let’s start over! Yeah, just toss the whole bunch in a deep hole and start accepting new applications. Now this might seem like a bold departure from the norm but then Ol’ Norm just ain’t doin’ us so good, now is he?

Here’s what I propose:

·       Allow anyone who would qualify under current constitutional rules to apply. We’ll need a complete resume / CV along with a candidate’s personal statement as to why they should be considered for the position. Upon receipt, each application will be assigned a code number.

·       No party affiliation will be considered

·       No primaries will be conducted

·       The voting populace will be encouraged to provide questions to be addressed by each of the candidates – one question per registered voter, 25 words or less.

·       Each candidate will answer each of the questions – 100 words or less

·       All qualified voters will be allowed to vote but neither inducements nor encouragements will be offered. Accommodations will be provided for those who would otherwise be unable to participate due to location, disability, etc.

·       No PACs, lobbyists, ‘experts,’ party hacks, etc. will be provided access to candidates over and above that available to every voter.

·       Rather than a debate, have each candidate prepare a final statement summarizing their previous statement plus answers to submitted questions.

·       Voting will be double blind, with no photos, videos or vocal audio provided. Voters will not know if a given candidate is male, female, black, brown, etc. They will be identified by numbers alone.

·       Tallying of the vote will be by a simple count.

Okay, so my plan might have a few minor flaws. But tell me, do you really believe the current system works better?

Paradigm shifting

Okay, so I wasn’t planning to really blog much during this road trip, in part because I intend to spend the vast majority of my writing time and energy on finishing Da Book and in part because I figured my absence would make your hearts grow fonder. Wow, that was a long sentence, wasn’t it?

Back to the point, assuming I have one – your opinion regarding which will develop as we continue, so let’s move on, shall we – wait… Where was I going with that?

Oh, yeah… So, I wasn’t planning a blogitious missive for this weekend but then things happened. Things like spending four days in the car with Daughter Two and contemplating four more days driving in the opposite direction with Daughter One. Like listening to Two explain her injection molding project and One explain her glass blowing projects and sort of understanding because I’ve run a molding plant before but not entirely because it wasn’t precisely this type of molding and the closest I’ve come to glass blowing is watching it demonstrated at the glass museum in Tacoma. Things like the Panel Light of Death coming on when the car and I are 2300 miles from home and my internet research of the meaning of said alarm boiling down to “yeah, that’s a bad’un!”

And of course things like worrying about Two moving to the Big City where Al Capone once did business and worrying about her fate at the hands of Chicagoans only to find the neighborhood around her apartment charming and lively and (it seems) relatively safe and homey. And reacquainting myself with One who has lived across a continent from us for several years and whose intelligence and wit and down to earth logic I’d forgotten I so cherish (I will never again allow my relationships with One and Two to be reduced to texts and sound bites).

And observing Mary in the role of Mom-helping-daughter-get-settled and being reminded (although I insist this reminder was not at all necessary) just what a great Mom she has been to our children. Watching her in action helps me to understand the unseen void experienced by the motherless central character in the book I’m writing. Where would I have been without this woman; never mind, don’t even want to go there.

This trip has been unexpectedly about noticing and learning anew. My views of key concepts and characters in my life are shifting. I’m discovering that while I am still loved and respected and considered, I am no longer entirely necessary. They are ready.

And I’m okay with that.

A woman I know...

…is dealing with the brutal fact of her own decline. Our lives may be shaped by hopes and fears and dreams but it’s the facts that establish the boundaries. And this fact is one we will all face, sooner or later. But of course, that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Not for her. And not for the people who love her.

She has trouble remembering things. Things like turning off burners and taking her pills and what someone said a moment ago. And what and when to eat and drink and not to set the microwave timer for two hours.

What she does remember is raising six children and a frequently childish husband. She remembers doing for and doing without and the struggles and the triumphs. But painfully, too frequently of late she remembers what she should be able to remember but just can’t, quite, remember.

And it hurts. It hurts her so deeply to know that she can’t be the person she once was. And to know that more and more, day by day, her loss is so apparent to those who once came to her for answers to the questions in their lives. She is beyond being able to hide the hurt and that hurts, too.

Her children try to understand how to be both kids and caretakers. How does one strike the balance between being a daughter and a supervisor? Between being a son and an enforcer of the little rules that keep her safe when she’s alone? Rules that she taught you so many years ago.

Her children, each and all, would give anything to have back the mother who raised them. And that mother is there, for her and for them, in memories. Theirs and hers. But she can’t be in the moment. In the anymore. And therein lies the rub.

For her it is frustrating and maddening and hurtful and inexplicable. And for her children it is frustrating and maddening and hurtful and inexplicable.

The love in this family is palpable.

Sometimes, that has to be enough because that’s all there is.

Great customer service

On the way home from the gym today I stopped to pick up some fast food for lunch. (And yes, I get the irony; don’t be snarky!)

Anyhow, it’s been a tough couple of weeks and the next few at work promise to be busy and stressful, although the road trip with daughters will be spirit mending. Meanwhile, I’m home alone, trying to stay busy and not think about problems and not worry about the folks I love.

So anyway, I’m not in the best frame of mind, generally speaking. And I didn’t feel like going home to eat and then going back out to run errands. So I turned into the fast food place with a familiar sense of surrender.
 
And then, through the drive through speaker (which worked well, believe it or not) came the friendliest voice you can imagine. This guy made me instantly feel like I’d fallen in with friends.  He joked without delaying me and made a suggestion that actually made sense and just made me feel like his only reason for being was to help me have a wonderful lunch experience.

Think about this: all he had to work with was a boring fast food chicken sandwich and his personality. And from those ingredients, he put together a truly positive luncheon experience for me.

When I pulled up to pay the guy had rotated away from the window so I passed kudos through his manager. And I hope the manager made this guy feel as special as he made me feel.

Sometimes, you just get the nicest surprises in the most unexpected places.

I've created a monster

‘Kay, so here’s how it played out:

Daughter One is coming home for awhile. This is a very good thing.

 In the course of discussing you know, stuff, I sort of allowed as how I’m concerned about my health from a gross tonnage standpoint and working on both my intake and exercise. This level of honesty would also be a good thing, but…

This was not long after I’d learned she has developed into quite a cook and just before I said something to the effect of “Yeah, I’d love to try your healthful recipes!”

Mary is on her side, as is Two, as are most of our common friends.

To recap: I was honest with my daughter about my health and welcoming of her offer to introduce me to some of her culinary faves. Someone please tell me how this turned so badly against me!

To a famous man

I don’t suppose you much care what I think.

Which is odd, because I am one of the people whose enjoyment of you as an entertainer brought you the fame that you so assiduously pursued for as long as I can remember. As a kid I memorized your Noah routine, as did all my best buddies. My friend Mark and I used to do our version of you asking “Who is this really?” and then crack up at our own comedic brilliance, much to the annoyance of Sister Basil.

I watched you in I Spy and on variety shows and when you got your own prime time show, I watched it every chance I got. You were the icon for a generation of Dads. And I followed along. I hope I’m a dad like him, I told myself. If only I could grow up to be as brilliant and funny and wise and caring as him.

Flavored gelatin seemed more desirable just because you took such delight in recommending it to us. Of course, gelatin is a kid thing and you were at your comedic / friendly / trustworthy best when making your cute, pucker-mouthed grin at a giggling child.

You were well-reasoned and caring and wise and playful and you did not interfere with your television wife having her own power. You respected yourself and your children and your elders and – ironically - women.

Respect was a big thematic thread for you. You famously slammed Richard Pryor for his blue humor. Some of us were proud of you for that stand. Wow, were we on the wrong side of that one!

And all that time, people were hurting. People you used and flung aside. People you drugged and raped. People who could not make their voices heard through the cacophony of our worship of you. People we should collectively have been protecting from you found nowhere to turn.

“I didn’t know” rang as hollow on my lips as on the lips of the residents of Oswiecim and Treblinka. It’s not enough to say you were famous. Or rich. Or that you made us laugh. You made us not listen to the ones you silenced and that’s on all of us.

I resent you for making me a bystander.

I resent you for making me regret my own laughter at your jokes while others were being crushed under your thumb.

I will resent you every time one of my daughters talks about her own encounters with perverts. I resent that they can’t be entirely comfortable walking alone or meeting a new man or wearing a bathing suit in public or, or, or …

You are the monster under the bed, the snake in the basket, the moving shadow in the night and the dread fear of every father of daughters.

You are the reason my daughters are afraid. But you will not win. Because my daughters are strong women who will not be defeated by you.

You are a horrific part of so many women’s pasts. And when you wonder, THAT is why from now, you have no future among civilized people.

Do what you can

Several people I love are hurting tonight. One due to an assault, one due to the death of a loved one and others for other reasons. None of them for reasons I can erase with my magic wand.

We can each and all only do what we can. So please, please, soon after you read this turn to someone you value and tell them why this is so.

I'll be back with you soon, promise.

Flurry of activity

I taught Daughter Two how to replace the working parts of a toilet today. Never mind that it took two tries because I failed to have her flush the line thoroughly and by the time we figured out we had crud in the pipes from work on the water main on the next block, we had ruined the replacement fill valve. My bad.

The point is that someday when Two’s own toilet fails to flush, she won’t have to wait a couple days for the landlord to get around to fixing it. Nor will she have to pay weekend or evening rates for a plumber. Ten bucks at the hardware store and ten minutes of work and the toilet is once again relief-ready.

When Daughter One had a flat whilst still a student driver, I coached her through changing it. She did just fine and didn’t even complain about getting to her voice lesson with filthy hands.

My daughters are definitely girls. That doesn’t mean they should have to rely on males for the everyday mechanics of life. I didn’t try to make them into boys. But being self-reliant shouldn’t be gender specific.

Proud of both of them.

So, why the title? I wrote this while staying out of the way. Mary is helping Two with final preparations for her post-grad trip to Europe. Since it is now 11:23pm and Two and friend have to be at the airport at 4:00am, I sorta figured my best move would involve hiding in the office, writing.

Of course, I could have stood in the hallway pontificating about the fact that her packing could have been finished earlier, say yesterday. But I opted to remain among the living; hence the hiding.

Moral: When there’s an oh-crap-I-have-to-be-at-Jessica’s-an-hour-ago-and-I’m-not-packed flurry of activity, just stay out of the way and think nice things about the flurriers. It’s kinder this way.

Also, smarter.

Learning experience

Just returned from a road trip with Two to visit my family in the California bay area. It was a trip in more ways than one. Got to visit with two of my three sisters and their esposas, my brother and his, in a setting that was free of hoopla, agendas or expectations. It was special. Among the specialities (yes I know, but I’ll spell it as I wish!):

·        Visiting with Anne and Gary and finally getting to know him much better before their wedding in the Fall (he’s a nutball and so will fit right in);

·        Lots of chat with everyone about just whatever came to mind;

·        Got to see and interact with the new circle of cousins (my great nieces and nephews);

·        A wonderful reunion with a nephew I haven’t seen in years;

·        Scored some used books from Pat and Patty;

·        Schooled Pat on helicopter piloting;

·        Enjoyed some cool fireworks courtesy of City of Morgan Hill;

·        Forgot about work (almost) entirely.

Far and away the best part of the trip was the time in the car with Two, especially on the way home. For those who haven’t made the trip, it’s fourteen-and-a-half hours, an easy drive but a long one to do in a day. On the way down, Two slept and recovered from a nasty cold while I listened to a book on CD, munched Cheetos and wondered what people did who work in that building. Coming back, she shared the driving chore and with several days together behind us, we eased into heart-to-heart mode.

I learned more about her life at MIT, about her vision for her future, lots of personal and family stuff I won’t go into here. We really got to share and I learned a great deal, not just about her but about being a young women in post-millennial USA. And yes, about us as two adults, as father and daughter, as elder looking back and younger looking forward. And looking forward together.

I will drive again with her in August to facilitate her move to Chicago and of course, I look forward to that trip, as well. Then I will be driving back to Seattle with One the next week and that trip just has me all choked up in anticipation. I just can’t wait to get on the road with her and talk about anything and everything. She’s far enough past college that we’ll have a wealth of experience and outlook and forks in roads to discuss. She’ll play her music and we’ll talk about da book and books and ideas for writing. And her experiences as a young adult, which explorations worked for her and which not so much. I truly can’t wait! I can learn from this young women who had the courage to pursue a dream that would have scared me silly at her age.

I’ve always loved my daughters and they were fun kids (well, usually anyway…). But the young women they’ve become are fantastic people and the opportunity to spend whole days just chatting with each of them is precious. Being a dad is an incredible honor and also a lifelong learning experience.

Car tuned, check. Leave scheduled, check. House sitter lined up, check. Bring it on!

And yes, I do know how fortunate I am.

The debate

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishing of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people to peaceably assemble, and to petition the government for redress of grievances.

The First Amendment along with the other nine amendments that we collectively refer to as the Bill of Rights was drafted by James Madison in response to the strongly voiced opinions of the then several states that the Constitution did not provide sufficient protection for individual liberties. In this very first amendment the framers made clear the bedrock principle that in a free society the right to hold your own beliefs and to communicate those beliefs was not to be infringed. The tenth Amendment then wrapped things in a bow: The powers not designated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people.

Today we find ourselves in a debate over the rights of a class of people – in this case, persons who wish to protect  rights of gay people consistent with rights of heterosexual people regarding marriage, survivorship, property held in common, etc. – who have long felt trammeled at the behest of those whose dogmatic religious stances deny their legitimacy. The Supremes have ruled that in the United States, same-sex life partnerships are fully as valid as opposite-sex pairings and that the several states are barred from making laws to the contrary.

We could spend the rest of our lives arguing the ins and outs of the ruling and of the multitude of positions taken by various constituencies who consider themselves key stakeholders to the question of gay rights. I am not real keen on re-arguing this battle. The Supremes have ruled, I agree with the ruling although not entirely with the reasoning and I worry that any faults in the reasoning may offer an opening in future by an even more ‘conservative’ Court to overturn this week’s decision. But it is what it is and the ruling stands for now.

Many voices, thankfully not a majority but still way too many for my comfort, are being raised to decry the ruling as godless in this country that they  would like us to believe was founded by and for Christians. And these voices are the ones that worry me most profoundly. But rather than engage in a one-sided debate on the matter, I thought I would lay out the reasons for my concern and let you take them as you will:

First, any suggestion that this country was founded as a Christian enterprise is clearly specious but nonetheless touted loudly and often by those who would have us all gathering at the river every Sunday. It was not. And if you have not read – at a minimum – the Constitution itself as well as the Federalist Papers, please do not engage me in debate on this point as you are simply not qualified for the contest.

 Second, freedom of religion demands as a bedrock principal freedom from religion. Otherwise, we’re a short slide down a very slippery slope in the direction of a state religion. Which religion should be the authorized one? Christianity? Fine, then which version of that truth do we follow? Even within Christianity there is not unanimity as to which version of your foundation document – your bible – is the one and true rendering. Which one do we as a society sanction? The only way to avoid the eventual slide into the vortex of state-sanctioned religion is freedom from.

Third, if we are to establish any democratic system of governance, it seems to me that the design must be undertaken under the veil of ignorance (Google will take you to a reasonable if incomplete rendering of this idea) regarding original position as stated by Rawls and respected in the writings of Kant, Locke, Jefferson, et al. Christians, be careful what you ask for.

 Finally, and this really gets to the nugget of my stance: Why do you care? The gay rights folks care because they feel their civil liberties are being curtailed on the basis of beliefs that have no legitimate standing as constitutional determinants. The anti-gay rights folks care because they simply feel that anyone who doesn’t conform to their view of the well-ordered life has no place in society. Which stance do you find the more compelling?

What is most perplexing is not that the Supremes have ruled as they have, but rather that the ruling was not unanimous.

The argument in main is settled, at least for the moment. This is not the time for continued debate. It is, rather the time for paying close attention to those whose continued caterwauling daily plays across the news feeds. Politicians of a certain bent are promising if elected to find ways to roll back the rights affirmed this week by the majority of the Supreme Court. Pay attention to whose voices are raised most loudly and unreasonably. These are folks for whom I will never, ever vote.

I’m makin’ a list, checkin’ it twice…

Road trips

I can’t begin to tell you how much I enjoy road trips. Especially when they’re with someone I care about deeply.

In a few days, I will be off to Californ-eye-ae with Two for a visit to my side of the family before she moves to Chicago. We will spend a long day in the car together making fun of stuff we see along the way and discussing life. Then, three days of my sisters and their offspring and me bro and his wife, perhaps some hiking and lots of time sitting around making inappropriate comments about politics and politicians, old acquaintances and anything else that appears on our thought horizons.

Then another drive back during which Two and I will laugh about the folks we’ve just visited (but nobody tell them, ‘kay?).

My next road trip will entail driving Two to her new digs, which will involve three-plus days on the road during which I’ll regale me dotter with shameless lies about the origins of all the sites we pass along the way.

After a couple of thoroughly boring days spent keeping out of the way whilst Mary and One help Two with her move in (my contribution to the affair consisting of carrying the heavy stuff in from the car before becoming scarce for those two days), I get  to drive back home with One. We haven’t had a road trip together in several years and I am really looking forward to so much alone time with the young woman I so love and respect.

Okay, so I’m also looking forward to torturing the girl, what of it? Four days of mooing at cows, commenting on passing drivers, singing the wrong words to show tunes, pointing out buttes where there are none, occasional pressure relief with the windows up (Prove it was me – I dare ya!) and discussing the meaning of life. Could the girl ASK for a better time?

This is unfolding as a really good summer, yuns.

Inez

Very few of you know my friend Inez. That’s okay, I’ll tell you about her.

I have to pick up the story when Inez was about two-and-a-half years old. She lived in New Jersey with lots of friends her age and of course, her human handlers and trainers. She was a beautiful Golden with dancing eyes and a perpetually wagging tail and an alertness that seemed unnatural when in harness and an impish look when off duty.

I met Inez when Susan brought her home from the Seeing Eye for the first time. Susan’s former dog guide (Nelly, her second after the sainted Louise) had suffered a series of doggy strokes and although she eventually regained much of her playfulness she would never regain the chops or the desire to return to the working world of keeping Susan safe when out and about.

In order to let the dogs meet on neutral turf, I took Nelly out to the little park behind the library and we introduced them there, Inez with Susan in harness and Nelly at my side on a loose lead. They took to each other right off and I didn’t detect any jealousy on Nelly’s part at seeing her role usurped. If anything, she might have seemed a bit relieved. Bjorn, Susan’s husband had come to love Nelly and so she went home a pet that day, a retired working dog who would live out her days without professional responsibilities. Meanwhile, Two and I took Susan and Inez over to the college where Susan worked and practiced routes with them, defining visual cues for the dog and settling on arrangements for one truly ambiguous intersection (plazas are the bane of guide dog pairs).  Before you know it, Inez with Susan and Nelly with Bjorn had settled into a new and comfortable routine.

Time went by. Nelly became Bjorn’s constant companion while Inez partnered with Susan. Eventually Nelly passed and as these things go, there came a day when Inez in her turn let Susan know by a certain hesitance that her own time working in harness was drawing to a close. So the cycle repeated, Inez becoming Bjorn’s pet-companion while Cajun came home with Susan from New Jersey to assume the watch. After another round of familiarization coaching over at the college, life resumed its normal rhythms.

Last week, Susan’s son passed away and so she and Bjorn and Cajun are in Florida for the funeral and to take care of the business needs attendant on the passing of a family member. Inez is watching the manse and Mary, Two and I have taken turns going over to sit with her, let her in and out and feed her. Two sleeps there each evening.

Inez could feel the tension and sadness in the house last week and now is left largely alone, with only a dog’s understanding of human affairs so that she probably isn’t entirely sure she hasn’t been abandoned. Tomorrow, her tribe will return and she will know she’s loved and part of a family. But for tonight, we can only give her an extra pat on the head and hope she isn’t too sad. She can’t know how happy she will be this time tomorrow so all we can do is make her feel loved.

This is one time I really, REALLY wish I spoke dog.

(6/26/2015) Just realized I missed some edits and there might have been confusion as to which dog was which. Sorry about that. All well now.)

(7/19/2015 - Inez passed away earlier this week. Bjorn was with her. You never really know what a dog understands, but I'm sure she knew she was loved.)

Current events

I made the mistake of looking at news on the web during lunch today. There are just too many awful things happening in this world just now. I won’t list them here because you probably already know and if you don’t, why spoil your day, right?

So instead of dwelling on downers like the impending train wreck of a presidential election cycle or gunmen in churches and such, I thought I would take advantage of this space to share some things that tickle me. So, here goes…

A young woman of my acquaintance has had a recent experience with crashing and burning. Except, she didn’t. What she did was stand back up, brush off and start looking for a new direction. And another young friend has returned triumphant from a transformative experience abroad, with new lights in her eyes and a spring in her step.

Mary and Two did some ‘good shopping’ for Two’s new digs in Chicago and One is thinking about new adventures including a potential career shift.

Our friend whose son passed last week is finding out just how many people loved her little boy and valued his life. How many he touched and that she is not alone in her loss because she was not alone in understanding what a special person he was.

I recently made a major breakthrough in understanding how to finish my large writing project after a lo-o-o-ong dry period. And the breakthrough came on an airplane six miles in the air, so for the moment air travel is somewhat redeemed in my mind. The characters have awakened and the words are flowing. Watch out, Toni and Angela and Sruthi and get ready to do some editorial reading!

Odin the Large and Lazy’s cancer appears to be in some sort of remission (knock wood) and I haven’t had to yell at Zoey the Small and Annoying in (almost) a week!

I spent part of this week in Butte, Montana. In addition to meeting some truly wonderful people, I spent two evenings kicking around in this old mining town that I would never otherwise have come to know. It’s always educational to be immersed, if only for a few days, in a culture that is so removed from the experiences of my own upbringing.

And of course, this evening I’m sitting in the family room with Mary and Two and the dogs writing this for a small group of friends.

Don’t believe CNN. These are my current events and life really, truly is good.

Life happens

I’ve been worried of late.

Worried about small things. The seemingly glacial progress I’m making on finally finishing the novel. Money. Finishing the house renovation in time to sell it and retire. Losing weight and getting in better shape.

Worried about large things. The mental health and self-image of one I love more than life itself. A dear friend who has been going through an agony of life changes. Seeing this project at work that likely will be the worthwhile capstone of my career as an advocate for persons living with disabilities flourish and grow so it won’t die with my eventual departure.

Seems like worries are always with us. But last night I was reminded that worries – concerns or even dread anticipation – are simply not the same as actual bad things happening.

Last night I went to the airport to pick up a wonderful friend who happens to be blind and so needed a gate-to-home escort. She had been on the other side of the country spending time with her son, whose terminal cancer had entered the end stages. She’d come home for a brief “pay bills and recharge the psyche” visit.

When I met her at the gate she collapsed into me. Even Cajun, her seeing eye dog was clearly wilted by the experience of standing watch over the decline of a loved one. My mission was to get them both to the safety of their own nest for a few days so they could return with renewed vigor to help Bryan face this last enemy who will inevitably take him but can never defeat him.

Lennon was right - life is what happens…

We were in the elevator from baggage claim to the garage level when her cell phone rang. Bryan’s life is done and Susan’s is forever changed. Strangers who could not hear the words nevertheless understood they were witness to a tragedy unfolding. And they moved unbidden to protect Susan, forming a wedge around us as we walked – swear to God, a flying wedge. They held elevators and shooed tour kids out of the way and stood and waited watching without intruding when she broke down and I had to just hold her for a moment in the middle of the airport sky bridge.

The last eighteen hours have been a confusion of calls and texts and emails between Mary and me and Susan and the various people who needed to be informed, included in plans, included or consulted in other ways. Bjorn is heading back from Norway to be with his wife and life’s love. Bryan’s friends and father are making arrangements for a memorial. Mary logged in as me on the airline site to get them booked for the trip back for Bryan’s memorial.

There’s really not much one can do for a mother whose son has died. There’s just the everyday things like making runs to the store and checking that she’s eating and, well, stuff.

Bryan’s struggles are at an end. Susan’s will continue over the next days and weeks and our efforts on her behalf will be supportive but not restorative. That can only come from within. She’s a strong woman but life can overwhelm even the hardy.

So, what to do?

Here’s my request of you:

Turn to a loved one or even a stranger who is having a tough time and lend them some of your….what? Love? Fortitude? Wisdom? Any or all of these and more?

And if the person having the tough time is yourself, know that we care. Reach out. And borrow something from that caring.

We truly are all in this together. But only if we care to be.

Noblesse oblige, an update

Albert Einstein gave up more than a few quotable utterances in his time. I was reminded of one of them yesterday.

Mary and Daughter One and I attended Daughter Two’s commencement ceremony at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Which meant sitting through a number of speeches. The one by MIT President L. Raphael Reif was interesting and entertaining and touching. Others were fine I suppose but by far the speech that most impressed and most deeply touched us was by Joanne Zhou, the graduating senior class president.

She spoke of the elements that brought them all to this great day and pointed out eloquently and correctly that the biggest factor in their success was the role each other played in their collective lives. I know this was true for Two. We did a passable job as parents and she has the best seester in the known world. She had some great teachers at critical junctures and a couple who really stood out as mentors. And of course, it didn’t hurt that like her seester she had a world class brain.

It was a wonderful event, hard seats and two hours of diploma distribution notwithstanding. And now both One and Two have their degrees and their starts on life. I am so proud of them.

I look back on all the odd twists and turns in my life and I just can’t figure out how I ended up here. I am not complaining; I am part of a family that while not perfect is as close and loving and supportive as any I could name.  And let’s face it – father doesn’t always know best, if you really did leave it to Beaver your kids would not survive puberty and the Brady Bunch don’t exist in real life, thankfully.

We’re not perfect but we’re pretty good. And I know lots of other families that are pretty good. You don’t have to see your kids attend MIT or pursue their childhood dream of performing to be proud of them. Truth is, that’s not the part that makes us most proud.

That quote of Einstein’s that I was reminded of at commencement tells us that “Those who have the privilege to know have the duty to act. “

He was right. Both our daughters are among “those who have the privilege to know.” And both of them are people who care deeply, believe strongly and advocate passionately. I’ve no doubt they will act.

And that’s the part that makes this dad so proud.