One of my very first entries on this site, titled "In An Elevator", written back on Aug 10th, 2010, remains one of my most emotional pieces. I oscillated between trepidation and rejoice so many times, thinking the worst, thinking the best. It was truly one of the longest nights of my life and perhaps the most exhilarating. It is a piece I wrote while looking back on that very night my oldest child was born.
Since then, I've dedicated similar entries to my son Alex. His first day in First Grade, his debut as a pitcher. I've thought about Alex more than usual as of late. He is now 9 and in three months turns 10. I look back at the struggles faced since his birth, weighing only 3 lbs, living his first few weeks in the NICU unit, the staples on the back of his head after a fall off the monkey-bars, and so on. He just recently got braces, something he's not entirely happy with..
I look back at myself as a Father throughout these past 9 years and hope I've done enough. Perhaps I am tougher on him than my other two because I see so much potential. I see so much brilliance and wonder and unbridled joy in the most mundane of things; a rubber band, a broken pencil, a small rock. It is truly a wonder to see Alex in action, architect and master of his kingdom.
Soon he will turn 10, and he will move on to those dreaded middle school years, full of complexities and turbulence. On January 24th, 2004 I found myself in a metal box of trepidation. The restraints from that box have slowly eroded, yet at times they pull me back and cloud my judgement. I'm still learning. To be a father. To push less. To sit back more often and watch him in all his wonder. To listen more about habitable planets and galaxies and far-off stars.
Perhaps I will never fully leave that metal box. Perhaps that is my role, to be both his protector, his tormentor and his guide. For now, I enjoy those mornings where we simply sit on the couch while everyone else sleeps, listen to jazz, drink chocolate milk/coffee and talk about the simple things in life. I love my boy.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Something Wicked This Way Comes....
Sneak peek at something I've been working on....
The morning after, everything was drenched in a carpet of rain drops and cobwebs. It was a surreal canvas to wake up to after last night’s events and its ultimate finality. Narrowing in on what we deemed to be impossible, we discovered things that ought to have remained hidden. Perhaps in another lifetime progress would have led to much needed freedom, the type which is almost inaccessible in most places; the freedom of the soul.
The morning after, everything was drenched in a carpet of rain drops and cobwebs. It was a surreal canvas to wake up to after last night’s events and its ultimate finality. Narrowing in on what we deemed to be impossible, we discovered things that ought to have remained hidden. Perhaps in another lifetime progress would have led to much needed freedom, the type which is almost inaccessible in most places; the freedom of the soul.
Languishing before us
was the statuesque and ethereal silhouette of one Gretchen Harris. Her hazel
eyes brimmed with tears reserved for lost loves, in this case in the form of
Sam Parker. They’d met long ago when they were wild eyed kids ready to take on
the world. At some point their paths diverted, one destined for despair, and
the other leading to certain demise. Their story is the type written about by
lost dreamers and subject matter experts in the art of melancholy.
In 1911, the Davis mine
caved-in, killing 120 men. By the mid 1930s only the blacksmith shop and 150
cellar holes remained where homes once stood. The mine is the epicenter of all
things related to Gretchen, Sam and myself. The aftermath of the cave-in is
embedded in the residents of this remote town. The once prosperous area is now occupied
by shadows, silence and desolation. And it is in the midst of this desolation
that our story, steeped in melancholy, begins.
Dim
light of my despair
Restless
in nature
Intimately
aware
That
my departure is unlikely
That
I can no longer breathe air
In
shadowy corners
In
paths we’ve crossed
The
allure seems brightest
The
emptiness divorced
Dim
light of my despair
Stay
awake for me
Stay
always with me
Till
I can once again breathe air
Battlefield
In light of recent events, I've developed a profound belief that life is not only unfair, but unjust. For the grand majority of my years I've felt like there are reasons for everything that happens; reasons why bad things happen to good people, or why horrific acts of violence against humanity are allowed to continue. I am sympathetic to the human condition. I am sympathetic to the fact that essentially we are creatures that struggle to commit acts of goodness daily. Many out there, fully aware of evil or unjust acts that they are about to commit, commit them anyways, and then lament the fact that they gave in to their so-called evil ways. We are flawed, I understand. We struggle to find within ourselves reasons to commit acts of goodness.
There are no reasons and I also fail to believe that there is a grand plan. It is a simply a matter of free will and our continuous descent into the proverbial rat-hole. Blame parental guidance, blame society, blame mental illnesses. Those are the popular ones amidst the laundry list of excuses we tend to come up with daily. I am no angel by any means, nor do I pretend to be. I am who I am, a flawed individual who struggles daily to commit acts of goodness. Some may say I need to pray more often, others may say I need Jesus in my life. Those are the same excuses given to the rapists, the sex offenders, the evil doers of our world, who wake up every morning with one thought and one thought only; I will give my all to do as much harm and commit as many horrific acts as possible, simply because I can and am inclined to do so.
A friend of a friend is dying from cancer, she has but days left, and will leave behind two young children. She is someone I have never met. Having children of my own, my thoughts immediately gravitate towards their well being. I feel sick about it. Her despair is my despair, because I am a parent, because I am human. Because we are connected. It is not fair. It is not just. Is it then all a crap shoot? Is it a random generator of alternative endings for anyone and everyone?
The suffering, the horrific acts we commit towards one another, the early demise of some for no apparent reason. Where does this all lead? How can we as humans be expected to better our condition, when all around us despair and lament take center stage?
How deep does the rat-hole go? We simply continue to descend into sub-human levels. We are losing our humanity. We are losing our ability to simply help our neighbor. We are losing ourselves and devolving. Young and old alike, we suffer, some too young, from one day to the next it is all lost. We are losing the war.
There are no reasons and I also fail to believe that there is a grand plan. It is a simply a matter of free will and our continuous descent into the proverbial rat-hole. Blame parental guidance, blame society, blame mental illnesses. Those are the popular ones amidst the laundry list of excuses we tend to come up with daily. I am no angel by any means, nor do I pretend to be. I am who I am, a flawed individual who struggles daily to commit acts of goodness. Some may say I need to pray more often, others may say I need Jesus in my life. Those are the same excuses given to the rapists, the sex offenders, the evil doers of our world, who wake up every morning with one thought and one thought only; I will give my all to do as much harm and commit as many horrific acts as possible, simply because I can and am inclined to do so.
A friend of a friend is dying from cancer, she has but days left, and will leave behind two young children. She is someone I have never met. Having children of my own, my thoughts immediately gravitate towards their well being. I feel sick about it. Her despair is my despair, because I am a parent, because I am human. Because we are connected. It is not fair. It is not just. Is it then all a crap shoot? Is it a random generator of alternative endings for anyone and everyone?
The suffering, the horrific acts we commit towards one another, the early demise of some for no apparent reason. Where does this all lead? How can we as humans be expected to better our condition, when all around us despair and lament take center stage?
How deep does the rat-hole go? We simply continue to descend into sub-human levels. We are losing our humanity. We are losing our ability to simply help our neighbor. We are losing ourselves and devolving. Young and old alike, we suffer, some too young, from one day to the next it is all lost. We are losing the war.
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