A LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER

     Today, we're celebrating your 13th Birthday, and I'll go ahead and use the cliche' "It seems like yesterday", because it really does seem like just yesterday, that I held you in my arms for the first time, and all it took that first time was you grasping and clutching my finger with your little hand, to soothe and comfort you and to stop you from crying.  And it wasn't long afterward, that I would come home from work, take you into my arms, and marvel at the look of wonder in your eyes as you were transfixed with my daily ritual of singing Bob Marley's "Two little birds": "Don't worry...about a thing...Because every little thing...is going to be alright."

     And it's true.  Every little thing is going to be alright.  I began to really believe that then, and I've only become more convinced of that every day since that day.  And that's one of the truths of life that I hope to pass on to you.  It's a big responsibility, but one I've gladly undertaken, and it's also one of the many promises that I made when I first held you in my arms that day in the hospital.  I was both excited by your arrival, to the point of being in awe, and also scared by it.  I was in awe, because I held a miracle in my arms, and I had never thought up to that point that I would actually become a father.  And it was like being born all over, with an opportunity to create and nurture a better version of myself.  And not in the sense of trying to live vicariously through you in any way, or planning a detailed future for you.  But in the sense that I could guide, teach, inspire, and love you, and nurture you in ways that I hadn't experienced, so that you would have the opportunity to realize a world of possibilities, and be best prepared to create life and happiness as you wish.  And yet, for all the same reasons that I was in awe and excited, I was also scared.  Because all of that was not only a tremendous privilege for me, but a tremendous responsibility as well.  I really wasn't sure if I was up to the task.  For it would require me to think outside of myself in a way that I never really quite had before.  It meant I could be nearly as self-centered as I had been up to that point.  It meant that I couldn't be nearly as self-centered as I had been up to that point.

     But then, that's the way life works.  It presents us with challenges that require us to become more than we are at the present time.  Challenges that force us to become more in order to do more.  Challenges that require us to become the kind of person it takes to successfully meet those challenges.  And fear often comes along with the territory.  Because we are venturing into an unknown realm, into unfamiliar territory.  But every new journey begins with a first, unfamiliar step.  A step that we hadn't taken previously.  And yet, every new race that is won, every journey that is successfully fulfilled, is always accomplished with a first step that hadn't previously been taken.

     And in my quest to give you the opportunities to develop into the best quality person you can be, I in turn, became a much better person.  Because I had to in order to become the kind of person who could carry out the privilege and responsibility of being a good parent.  And I had always wanted to become better than I was, for reaching my full potential was something I had always aspired to.  But your arrival definitely gave the matter a great sense of urgency and importance.  Because I would no longer be doing it for myself alone.  And I am grateful for that.

     I've been blessed with the acquired understanding that everything that I've ever experienced, both good and bad, was for a purpose.  And I've been blessed with many opportunities to share my lessons and acquired perspective with others, so that all the trials, tests, and experiences have not been for naught.  And I've been blessed in many instances to positively impact, guide, teach, encourage, influence, and in some cases, inspire others.  But no greater opportunity or privilege has existed like the opportunity I have to do those things for you.  And no opportunity means more to me.

     And yet, as big a task as I had before me, and still have before me, you've certainly made it easier in some ways.  You possess a sensitivity and compassion for the feelings of others, that comes much more naturally for you than it did for me.  And you also often display a work ethic as well as respect for your fellow human beings that I didn't develop until I was several years older than you.  While I've been very proud of your accomplishments in school, of which there have been plenty, I think I was even more proud of how you recovered so incredibly well when you were struggling a bit with your academics earlier this year.  That recovery, that ability to bounce back said even more about your developing character.  And the way I've seen you interact with others, like when you were around 6 years old, and I'd see you aiding smaller children you had just encountered, either with tying their shoe so that they wouldn't fall, or helping them climb into a bounce house, all the while other children your age and older were too pre-occupied with their own activity to help these small children...You made my heart smile so much.  And it's still smiling even as I remember it and write it down, and the beaming smile on my face is keeping it company.

     It's funny, because while I very much miss those days of playing hide and seek with you, playing the "Big Bad Wolf and the 3 Little pigs" in the playhouses that they used to have outside of "Toys r' us", playing "Spiderman" in the park every weekend, and you holding my hand while we walked in public...I understand that I can't both have that and watch you grow into the woman that I also hoped and knew you could become.  I can't have my cake and eat it too.  But I can wish...

     And that's one of the other ways that I've grown, both as a person and as a parent.  I've come to understand and accept that I can't both protect you and prepare you for the world.  I can't shield you from the world.  But I can prepare you to successfully deal with it on your own terms.  I can't make you happy or ensure that you will have a happy life.  But I can give you the tools, knowledge, lessons, encouragement, love, and support, so that you can better create those things for yourself and have the confidence and faith that you can.  And I wouldn't be doing you justice by providing a safety net for you when you fall.  Yet I know that as a parent that inclination is always there.  But I can point out some of the potholes along the path of life.  And if you should trip and fall, and there will be times that you will, I'll always be there to help you pick yourself up and encourage you to keep on traveling, to keep moving forward.

     It's a new chapter in you life, and it won't be the only one.  And as with most new journeys, it will involve both a mixture of excitement and fear.  But will get through it together.   Like the song say, "...Every little thing...is going to be alright." 

Love,

Dad

It's never too early too learn

     When I was 5 years old, I lived across the street from the elementary school that I attended.  You'd think that kind of close proximity would've spelled murder for me, because theoretically, it'd be easier for my teachers to arrange conferences with my parents regarding my behavior.  Luckily, that happened far less than I gave them reason to.  Anyway, when I was in kindergarten, one of my best friends, if not THE best friend I had at the time, was a little blonde girl named Anna.  We used to enjoy talking to each other at recess time, and since she lived only a few houses down from me, I visited her a few times at her home after the school day was over.  My mother and stepfather used to tease me, saying that Anna was my girlfriend.  I really didn't like hearing that, for what 5 year old boy wants to have a girlfriend?  Of course, it's always possible that this was just the first step in what would become my openness to interracial dating.  And I'm most certain that it was the first example for me of a pure friendship, one that was innocent, purely based on mutual regard and mutual enjoyment of each other's company.  The kind that are still very much possible to have as one gets older, yet seemingly get harder to find.  And it was on one of the these occasions while I was playing with Anna in her living room, that I looked up to see her father standing there.  He was always there during the day time, and looking back on it now, I wonder if he worked at night, or if he wasn't working at all at that particular time.

     Anyhow, on this particular occasion, when I happened to look up and find him staring at me, he jut had this look of utter contempt on his face.  I couldn't understand why, because I had done nothing wrong, and I felt that Anna and I were playing quietly, but what I did know was that it made me feel very uncomfortable.  And unfortunately, that would be the last time that I would get to visit Anna at her home.  She told me the next day at school that her Dad said that I wasn't allowed to go over there anymore.  I didn't know why, and its possible Anna didn't either.  I thought that kind of sucked, but I still got to talk to Anna at school, although it seemed a little less frequent. 

     Later on in life, I was able to look back on that incident at Anna's house with a little more perspective.  As I continued through life, I would come to recognize that same look that her father had on his face, on the faces of others.  There was always the possibility that her father just didn't like the thought of his daughter having a boy around the house.  After all, what father is ever ready for his daughter to take an interest in boys, at any age much less the age of 5?  But no, it was more than that.  I firmly believe that it was my skin tone.  Sure, I'm a little on the lighter side for a Chicano, but I'm still Latino nontheless, and for some people, regardless of race or creed, differences are intolerable.  It was unfortunate that I had to have my first taste of the  racist brand of narrowmindedness at such a young age, but it was bound to happen.  I didn't see Anna over that next summer, or even during the next school year, and I missed my friend very much.  Then one day in the second grade, I was walking back to my classroom during recess, and I heard someone call my name.  It was Anna, and she was sitting on the concrete walkway outside of her classroom, with her back against the wall. I was both excited and surprised to see my friend whom I had missed so much.

     She looked very sad, and I asked her where she'd been, because I hadn't seen her around.  She said that her family had moved to a different house.  It was weird, because it seemed that we both wanted to talk to eache other, and I wanted to comfort my friend because she was sad, but things seemed different between us.  They had changed somehow, as if there was a barrier between us other than time lost.  I remembered how in kindergarten there were a couple of times that I had tried to comfort her while she was crying.  She had said at those times that she was crying because her Dad was meant to her.  I wanted to comfort her now as well, but it felt as if there was an unbridgeable gap between us.  It was an uncomfortable moment for both of us, and being young, and not knowing what else to say, I said goodbye and continued to walk to class.

   For a long time, on the rare occasions when I'd be reminded of that incident, I wondered if I was less of a friend than I should've been.  As if there were more that I could've done, but hadn't.  And I felt bad about that.  But eventually, I came to the realization that there could've been several possibilities, including personal problems on her part, (most likely having to do with her home life) that might've caused the distance between us.  And if that was the case, I had no control over that.  While we can contribute to the happiness of others, and they can contribute to ours, we are not responsible for anyone else's happiness, nor are they responsible for ours.  And as we go through life, we are all bound to pick up a little baggage.  Now some people may be quick to protest, "No, not me!" But I think my statement about baggage is fair and accurate.  Baggage doesn't always have to have a negative connotation or impact, although it often does.  Sometimes baggage is just something that we have as a result of having lived and experiencing life.  Sometimes in can be the result of mistakes, and sometimes in can be the result of negative experiences, but often, it's simply the result of living.  The difference is in how much of it is negative vs. how much of it is just the result of experience?  And how much do we have, and how heavy is it to carry?  If it weighs us down, and impedes us from being able to move forward on our path, or if we end up dumping it on other people because it's too much for us to handle, then it becomes problem. 

   And perhaps that experience with Anna was also my first lesson that things change, that people sometimes drift apart for whatever reason, and that we need to be prepared to move on in life.  Again, a hard lesson at an early age, but a necessary one.  People, and sets of situations that we encounter in life's journey, are like a single puzzle piece in a thousand peice puzzle.  Some pieces are bigger than others, but all are necessary for us to complete the final picture.  Where we sometimes get into trouble is when we try to force a peice into a place that it doesn't belong, in an effort to quickly complete the puzzle.  When that happens, not only do we risk distorting the final picture, but breaking that particular puzzle piece in the process.  It's every piece in its own place and its own time.

     And so I've also learned to appreciate, reflect on, and treasure the good memories from every situation and relationship, and I've learned that those are things that time can never destroy or tarnish.  And that like money in the bank, they can collect interest over time.  When we're feeling a little shipwrecked in life, lost at sea, suitcases of good memories are the kind of baggage that can make great floatation devices, keeping our head above water, rather than weighing us down, causing us to sink. Sometimes, it's all in how we look at things. 

"Men are disturbed, not by things that happen, but by their opinion of the things that happen." - Epictetus

    

Daddy's little girl

     Like most adults, I have several roles that I play in life, but since the day that my daughter was born, the most pivotal, challenging, and most of all rewarding one, has been that of Daddy.  I've been called many names before, some unfit to print here (thanks, mom), but the one that I've enjoyed hearing most is "Daddy".  And at times, it seems as if my daughter is determined to be the only one that will ever call me that.  There have been a few exceptions, but I'm determined to keep this post rated "PG", so I'll just gloss over those.

   But then, it hasn't always been that way.  I can recall when my daughter was 5, and we were in the local supermarket, looking for the shortest checkout line while I pushed our cart full of groceries, and my daughter reached up and grabbed my arm, shaking it to get my attention, and was excitedly yelling "Dad! Dad!"  I was hoping that she had spotted a very short line, but thought that with my luck she simply wanted to point out that I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe.  And that it was used.  But as it turned out, I was wrong on all counts.  I then asked my daughter "What?  What is it?"  She then pointed towards an attractive female checker and excitedly shouted, "Look! Look!" (Now when you picture my daughter speaking as a five year old, you have to keep in mind that at the time, she had a speech delay, which made her sound like a 3 year old.  It sometimes bothered her, but I thought she sounded adorable.)  "Look at what?"  I asked.  "Look at that girl Dad!" "Well, what about her?"  "She's PRETTY Dad!"  I laughed and responded, "Well, yes, she is.  But why are you telling me this?"  She turned to me and said with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that indicated that she was merely stating the obvious, and answered, "Because...You LIKE pretty girls, Dad!"

     I was both shocked and relieved.  Had I been that obvious in my attraction to women?  For a brief moment, a slight paranoia struck me and I began to pat down my shirt to see if it was wet from drool, and to look around me to see if some supermarket worker had placed any of those yellow cones around me that said "wet floor/mojado", either indicating excessive drool on my part or questioning my right to be in this country.  I had always considered myself discreet when casting an admiring eye on a woman, so I just figured that my daughter was quite perceptive.  She probably figured that there must be some reason we were always getting extra tokens from the female workers at Chuck E. Cheese.  And I was encouraged that she seemed to be accepting that her single Dad would be attracted to women, and what's more, seemed to be more than willing to point them out to me.  Not only was that a relief for me, but it seemed to have nice possibilities.

     Years before I had become a father, I had been somewhat of a father figure to my youngest sister, who is 16 years my junior.  I bought her first bikes, taught her to ride them (and file the serial numbers off of the frames), took her to parks, the zoo, and to amusement parks, and taught her some of the things that kids need to learn in their first few years.  And unfortunately for me on one occasion, one of those things was self-defense.  One of the unexpected benefits of being such a good big brother and taking my kid sister almost everywhere with me, was that many women find it appealing when they see a man interacting well with a child and being an active participant in their life.  And like some perceptive young men, I sometimes used it as an opportunity to strike up chats with attractive women that I encountered in public.  One of those occasions was when my then-5 year old sister and I were waiting in a check out line at the local Sam's Club.  I wasn't 20 seconds into a conversation with an attractive woman in the next line, when my kid sister decided to demonstrate on me the effectiveness of a straight right punch to the crotch of an unsuspecting male. As it turned out...it was quite effective.  Effective in causing me to lose my air, buckle my knees, change color a couple of times, and in causing the attractive young woman to cringe in sympathy before proceeding through her check out line.  And of course my sister stood there with a smile on her face, as if expecting to hear a "Thatta girl" from me and encouragement to pick the candy of her choice from near the checkout stand.  As if I would be capable of any kind of speech for the next 20 minutes.  I think the only voice she should've expected to hear was the one over the PA system requesting a "Clean up on check stand 4."

     So, flashing back several years ahead, and with my hands instinctively shielding my crotch area, my daughter and I proceeded through our supermarket check out line, and I pondered the thought that my luck may have changed, and that I just might now have an effective wingman.

    That excitement was very short lived however, because not too long after, while taking her back to her mom's house after one of our weekend visits, I had to make an urgent stop at a bathroom, because I had made the mistake of drinking way too much liquid before the nearly 2 hour drive.  Just before I burst into the men's room at the local Wendy's Restaurant and my bladder burst on me, I made eye contact with a very attractive woman who was standing in line to place her food order, and we exchanged smiles.   Being that I had my daughter with me, I don't think that I would've asked her for her number or anything, but the thought of another quick exchange of looks and flirtatious smiles would've been a nice way to stroke my ego, so I was hoping that I'd see her again after my quick visit to the bathroom.  I did, and slightly sooner than expected.  Although I was in the bathroom less than 2 minutes, to a 5 year old who's waiting in the hallway and has no concept of time, that seems like an eternity.  So when I exited the bathroom, and Lo and behold, made eye contact with the attractive woman from earlier, who was now on her way to her own bathroom break, my daughter promptly blurted out, "Man, Dad!  You took a long time!!!"  As if in very painfully slow motion, the attractive woman's smile transitioned to a look of embarrassment (for me), and she then averted her eyes away from me and down toward the floor.  Of course, my smile quickly left my own face as well, and the only one in the vicinity who seemed to manage to hold onto theirs, was of course, my daughter.  In fact, I could've sworn her smile got wider...like a Cheshire Cat.  But then again, that was probably just my paranoia kicking in.  Probably.

     But being the kind of person that tries to remain positive, and who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I chalked up the experience to mere coincidence and figured it might've been a fluke.  But then a couple of months afterward, while innocently joking and chatting with the young lady working at the Burger King drive-thru, I turned toward the backseat to hand my daughter her kids' meal, and was met with a look that was both quite suspicious and cynical for a 5 year old.  A look and a smirk that said, "Why don't you just quit your job so you could flirt full-time?"  Sigh...I was beginning to think that the days of my daughter being my wingman were over before they even got started.

     And I became positive that this was the case when after watching a Shakira music video, I turned and asked my daughter, who up until that moment was orchestrating a lively discussion between 2 Barbie dolls as to who would get to go with Ken and Scooby Doo to the movies, "How would you feel if your Dad decided to get married?'  The way that my daughter dropped her Barbies (and her jaw dropped too) indicated that they were now probably headed to the Mattel Emergency room instead of the theater, and that she really didn't like the idea of her father having a female companion.  I was joking of course, but she obviously didn't find anything funny in what I had said.  And I was a little surprised at such a reaction.  I then half expected to later find her cutting letters out of a magazine to paste them on a piece of paper, spelling out subtle threats to be mailed to Shakira.  Of course, she probably receives plenty of letters warning, "Stay away from my Dad!"  And probably mailed by their mothers...

     And on another occasion, while my daughter was again playing with her Barbies on the floor of my bedroom, and Shakira was again letting people know that her "Hips don't lie", I jokingly made the remark to my daughter, "Look at your future step-mom, dancing on tv."  My daughter then turned towards the tv, and stared for a while before turning back towards me.  I don't know what she was thinking while she was staring at the Colombian beauty dancing, although something to the effect of "That tramp?!"  probably wouldn't have been out of the question.  My daughter then turned her look towards me and sat there without a word before turning her attention back to her Barbies.  I realized that "Daddy's Girl" in her mind, meant that there really wasn't any room for others.  At least not any time soon.  So I sat down with her and assured her that I was only joking with my remark, and that she would always be Daddy's number one girl, no matter what.  And we both then decided together that it would be a good idea for Barbie to put on her Mariachi hat and sunglasses before jumping into her jeep to drive herself and her friends to the beach.

    And it's always been that way, with my daughter being my number one girl, and everything in my life, whether it be work, dating, or whatever, being secondary to, and revolving around my time with her.  And that's how it should be.  A few years later, when my daughter was 10, and we were sitting on top of the Ferris wheel at Knott's Scary farm, admiring the night lights, I mentioned to her that this might be the last time we do this together.  She laughed, as if I were joking, and asked, "Why?"  To which I responded, "Because even though you don't understand this right now, there's going to be a time soon, when you're not going to think it's so cool to hang around your Dad, and you're going to prefer to visit places like this with your friends or cousins.  Instead, you're going to be asking me to drop you off, and telling me that you'll call me when you're ready to be picked up.  You might even ask me to duck down and drop you off around the corner."  My daughter giggled in amusement and gave me a look of "Ok, Dad...Senility is hitting you early..."

    My daughter is going to be 13 soon, and as predicted, Dad isn't quite as cool to be around as he used to be.  She still hasn't handed me a Chauffeur's hat yet while I drive her around, but she definitely enjoys her alone time and she opts out of some of the things that I suggest we do together.  She still laughs at my stories though and listens attentively when I teach her life lessons, and I am still convinced that she probably respects me more than any one else in the world.  And while I loved and miss my role as her oldest playmate, I take most seriously my roles as perhaps her most influential teacher, and the primary male figure in her life.  And hopefully, the many by whom all future men in her life will be measured, because they sure don't seem to make them like they used to.  I'm sure that by now, she'd be better accustomed to the idea of there being a special woman in her Dad's life, although still, my daughter would be the priority.

     Life is a cycle, and our roles, and sometimes the nature of our relationships, have to change somewhat.  We hold our children tight when they are young, only to let loose our grip when they grow older.  We look forward to the the day that they can walk, only to see them eventually walk away.  But hopefully, the ties that we have with them, the connections that we've made and strengthened, are like a bungee cord, allowing them freedom to roam, but the with the prospect that when they reach their limits, they can always return.

Song of Gratitude

     Thank you...for another day of life, something that thousands who were here yesterday are no longer here to appreciate.  For I know that this day represents more time.  More time to become the person that I am capable of being, to take another step towards fulfilling my purpose, to come closer to reaching my goals, to express love and appreciation to those who are important in my life, and to perhaps invite new ones to enter it.  And it means more time to experience, learn, understand, and grow.

     Thank you...for those that I have loved, and have been loved by, both in the past and in the present.  Thank you for my child, who represents the love I have to offer, and a version of me that the world has yet to see, while making her own unique and special mark on this world. 

     Thank you, for those who have come before me.  The ones who thought out of the box, who dared to risk, who dared to be great, who dared to be the first, who dared to question what could and couldn't be done, who dared to say "Why not?"  The ones who lived the life they loved and loved the life they lived.  For it is as Isaac Newton once wrote, "If I have seen a little further, it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants."  And thank you, for instilling in me that inherent desire to always walk my own path, regardless of the opinions of others.  And thank you for granting me the perspective to see, that with mistakes and accomplishments alike, that was really the only way for me to go.  And thank you, for the understanding, that the voice that speaks loudest in my head, and is the most critical to listen to, is my own.

     Thank you...for the privilege of being born in this country.  For while it is far from perfect, it still offers opportunities and freedoms which have thus far, escaped some of the other areas of the globe.  Opportunities and freedoms which many of us here take for granted, sometimes feeling that we are "owed' something, and forgetting that with freedom comes responsibility.  I will not make those mistakes.  Thank you... because unlike some, I didn't have to work my way here, win a lottery for the opportunity to be here, or risk my life to get here.  I was simply born...And who I was born to, and where they were living at the time of my birth, was not an accomplishment on my part, or anything that I had any control over.  I will not forget to appreciate that fact.

     Thank you...for my health, for the clothes on my back, for the roof over my head, and for the food in my belly.  Having these things gives me less to worry about, so that I may further concentrate on my goals and purpose.  I will not forget the fact that not everybody can say that.  Even if these things are not in the perfect condition that I would like, I will not forget that things can always be worse.  I will not forget the Persian proverb that say, "I cried because I had not shoes, until I saw the man that had no feet."  And I will not forget that while in this country, we often fret about the decision as to what we shall choose to eat for our next meal, while in some other places, some people fret as to whether they will have a next meal at all.  And for some, even when they can expect a next meal, a "choice" as to what it might be is something that they cannot comprehend.

   And while I am grateful for what I have, I am also thankful for the knowledge, that it's perfectly alright for me to want more, providing that those things are in harmony with my purpose, and that the the pursuit of those things will not inhibit me from increasing the quality of person that I am.  We are all goal-striving beings, and we are made to stretch the limits of our potential, and it is in harmony with our purpose to do so.  Jim Rohn recognized this, and wrote in his book "The Five major life pieces of the life puzzle", "The ultimate reason for setting goals is to entice you to become the person it takes to achieve them." And I am grateful that I have come to understand this fact of life.

     And I am grateful that I've learned, that the more that I appreciate what I already have, the more likely that I am to gain those other things which I desire.  For when we feel good, we're more likely to attract good things.  Feeling good increases our enthusiasm, and when we approach life with enthusiasm, we create a vibe that affects the things and people around us in a positive way.  We have all encountered a person with a magnetic personality, and we get the impression that life denies this person of nothing.  That's because it doesn't.  "Magnetic" is a very accurate way to describe this kind of person, because he (or she) truly does attract to himself the things he desires in life. For life is bargaining.  We all want things in life, and we must all exchange something in return for the things that we want.  We don't get something for nothing in this life.  Nothing worth having comes easy, and few things that come easy are worth having.  The loftier our goal, the higher the price we must pay to attain it.  And just as we all, when bargaining for something we want, are more likely to turn our money over to a person with a smile on his face, someone who is enthusiastic and magnetic, so life, is more likely to turn over it's rewards to those who are enthusiastic in their efforts, and show appreciation in their life, and for all it has to offer.  I am grateful for having learned this critical lesson.

     And I will never cease to discover and reflect on all that I have to be thankful and grateful for.  I will be thankful for the Sun that smiles down on me, for I know that rich or poor, big or small, young or old, meek or bold, the Sun smiles on us all.  And likewise, I will give thanks for the rain that cleans and refreshes me, and the earth as well. I will give thanks for the birds that sing, and my ability to hear their song.  I will give thanks for the people that add to my life, and the ability and opportunity to add to theirs, for the sounds of the ocean waves, the laughter of a child, the dog that greets me with a wag of its tail, the trees that bring serenity to my soul, the wind that brushes my face, the immense variety of both people and experiences that exist in this world, random acts of kindness, the smiles that others share with me, and the inspiration of the human spirit.  And I will be thankful for the endless possibilities of things to be grateful for.  I have so much to be thankful for, it's just a matter of whether or not I will recognize these things today.  And my gratitude and appreciation for the things of today, will provide more for which to be grateful for tomorrow.

The Scent of a Woman

     Men and Women...Boys and Girls...The battle of the sexes...The birds and the bees.  Sometimes it's very hard to imagine, how men spend so much of their time and energy, in doing things to attract women.  I mean practically everything that we do either obviously, or unconsciously, done with the aim of attracting women.  How we dress (well, some of us), what we drive, the words that we say, when we exercise to build our bodies, how much money we strive to earn, are done either solely, primarily, or partly with the aim of impressing and attracting women.  I'm sure that some women would contend that the behavior of many men seems as if they're determined to repel women, but the fact of the matter is, they still find a way of making their way around to each other, regardless of how exasperated some women seem to be with men.  "You can't live with them, and you can't live without them" seems to work both ways.

     And when I say that it's hard to imagine why men do so much to attract women, I don't mean that women aren't worth it.  I'd venture to say that there's some that are worth all that you can think of doing for them, and then some.  A few in fact, are worth you getting the greatest minds on the planet together in the same room, plus George Clooney and Sean Connery, and pulling an all-nighter brainstorming, to come up with more ideas on how to treat them as they deserve to be treated, and what we can do to win their attention and hearts.

     What I mean is, if we look back at how males interact with girls during their early youth, it's no wonder that accusing an 8 year old boy of having a girlfriend is likely to have you wind up with a bag of flaming crap on your doorstep.  And yet that same reaction would seem rather odd coming from a 30 year old straight male.  I mean, who could imagine that the 8 year old boy who puts lizards on the backs of girls, or place gum in her hair, and who pushes her down after belittling her, would grow up to pursue them with such fervor?  Unfortunately, there are the Chris Browns of the world, and unfortunately, even worse, who still engage in such behavior as adults, but for the most part, guys try to give up such behavior before reaching adulthood.

     As a young boy, I certainly had my share of "crushes" on the fairer sex.  Well, to be more accurate, I was a bit of a "serial admirer", seemingly having a crush on a different girl or teacher every few weeks.  For the most part, I just admired from afar, being too shy at the time to do anything about it, or else I probably would've had to live down the reputation of being a 7 year old male whore.  Of course, being a comic book fan, I probably would've excused the Scarlet "A" on my forehead as my personal tribute to Captain America, but as it turned out, I had no "game", so it was quite unnecessary.  If by some miracle, graffitti had appeared on the walls of the girls' bathroom saying "For a good time, call Freddie", it undoubtedly would've been followed by, "He has Legos! :) " So while I didn't engage in any misguided rude treatment of girls as an inept way of expressing affection for them, I still had my share of incidents that would cast doubts on a future as a schoolyard Romeo.

     One of these incidents occurred when I was in the first grade, and it was during recess time on the playground.  Now normally, my recess time consisted of either seeing how far I could kick the ball over the fend during a game of "kickball", or getting into a fight and seeing if I could kick someone's testicles over that same fence.  But on this particular day, my thoughts were more concerned with being a lover rather than a fighter.  I was standing on top of a metal platform that was about 10 feet off of the ground, and you would access it by climbing a ladder.  Once on the platform, you could either hang around up there, or go down a slide, or slide down a metal pole, much like a fireman or a girl trying to work her way through college at the local Spearmint Rhino club.  Being a spirited child, I think that I had been helping a couple of my peers disembark from the platform via the express route, without the use of the slide or the pole, and with their voices trailing off with the words, "I'll get you for thisssssss..."  But suddenly, my focus shifted.  Walking onto the sandy area where the platform was located was this cute little Cuban-American girl, named Arlene.
     Arlene was adorable, with these cute little earrings, and her mother would always dress her in these cute little dresses.  To me, she just stood out from all of the other girls, enough to make me just "freeze" where I was, forgetting all else.  I was transfixed.  She appeared as is she was walking in slow motion, although not in the "Baywatch" kind of slow motion, because she was only 6 for Pete's sake, but in a living dream sort of way.  It seemed as if the world around me ceased to exist, and I wondered if that feeling would last forever, when...it hit me.  No, it wasn't an errant playground ball that hit me, or a peer exacting his revenge on me...It was the horrible, rank stench of very strong, cheap perfume.  Apparently, Arlene's mother doused her in it.  If before that moment I had been hearing the sound of Angels singing, the stench of that strong perfume hitting my nose was like someone kicking the record player and causing the needle to slide across the album playing that heavenly music.  That stench seemed as if it were everywhere, both around me, and seemingly inside me. It was as if it took form, and was an entity trying to cause me physical harm.  It was very reminiscent of that scene from the movie "Ghost", where those Demons carry off that bad guy at the end, or worse, the scene where Demi Moore had to kiss Whoopi Goldberg.

     I became extremely nauseated, and my whole body seemed to lock up.  And what was worse, Arlene kept walking closer.  I started retching, and at the same time, Arlene looked up at me, and we made eye contact.  And just as she flashed a very cute smile at me, I shot out a stream of vomit, a little of which managed to splatter on her shoes.  I think after that incident, I was the only 6 year old that Vegas was already taking odds on the he'd never father any children. After all, that wasn't exactly a Rico Suave move on my part.  Yet, it didn't discourage my fascination with the opposite sex.  Sometimes this would involve crushes on girls in my class, or sometimes my thoughts ran along the lines of how I could get rid of my 3rd grade teacher's husband, taking his place at the breakfast table, sitting in my tightie whities while my teacher served me scrambled eggs while looking ravishing in her nightgown.

    A few years down the road, when I wasn't being isolated from the rest of the classroom due to my delinquent behavior, I'd find myself more often than not, sitting where the girls sat during class. Some of my male friends would look at me curiously, wondering why I wasn't "chilling" with the guys, but I knew what I was doing.  I already discovered that there would be plenty of time to hang with the fellas, but that spending time with the opposite sex certainly had its advantages.  Oh sure, there were the obvious ones, being that they were much more pleasant to look at, coming with accessories that us guys just didn't have.  But more than that, I just enjoyed their company, even as friends.  For one thing, they often offered a wider range of subjects to discuss than most guys did.  For someone like me, who always enjoyed conversation, it was very refreshing.  And in some ways, I'd have to agree with the statement that girls mature faster than boys.  And as I was always mature for my age, that was appealing as well.

     And over the years, my confidence and proficiency in interacting with women would grow tremendously, as would my understanding and appreciation of them.  A good woman is not only a great complement for a man, but a tremendous asset as well.  And in spite of the fact that to one degree or another, we thing that they're all crazy, we men still need them. Very much.  Sure we've come a long way since we first discovered fire, with the ability to launch man into outer space for extended periods of time, the discovery of cures for illnesses that would previously kill mass quantities of people, and the ability to create great works of art, whether they are in words, pictures, or music.  But many of us are still inept at the art of communication, finding a tie to match our shirts, and we are still producing fine examples of our gender such as the male from "Jersey Shore".  Not to mention the fact, that we see fire not only as a way to cook our food and keep us warm so that we may stay alive, but also as a tool to light our farts.

     And it's very possible that all of our testosterone, as well as our lack of proficiency in positive communication and conflict resolution (again, only generally speaking) are at the forefront of the reasons why the vast majority of violent acts committed by men.  If we men took a cue from women, there would be a lot less bloodshed.  A man is a lot less likely to pull out a gun on another man, if instead of getting kicked in the crotch, he merely has his shoes criticized, or is told that his pants make his ass look fat.

     Suffice it to say, I love women.  And good women give us so many good reasons to feel that way.  And I definitely count as part of my evolution, both as a man and a human being, the understanding of that fact.  And while I may not know my wines, or be able to identify most styles of art, I consider myself a bit of a connisseur, having a keen eye for woman with fine qualities.  I deserve nothing less, and thank goodness, I know they're out there.  And even though the company of an appealing female can still be exhilarating and intoxicating, just as it was when I was a kid, I've grown in my appreciation of them, and in how to express that apprecation.  So if I ever have the pleasure of your company, don't worry, you can leave the extra pair of clean shoes at home.
 

In the Spirit of things

     It's always interesting to see the various reactions that people will have when you mention playing with a Ouija board.  Some will consider it harmless fun, while others will nearly pee themselves at the very idea, and still others yet, may try to pee on YOU, but are still intrigued with the idea that they may possibly be able to contact spirits of the dead.  Myself, I've only played with it a few times (we're still talking about the Ouija board here), and my first experience was when I was 12.

     It was on a Saturday night, and I was going to spend the night at my best friend Ronnie's house, as was another of our friends, Gilbert.  We got called in from the park that was across the street, where we had been hanging out.  I really didn't want to go, because in the park there were two chicks making out, and it was the first time I had ever seen chicks making out in person.  Of course it could've been the 100th time I had seen that, and I probably still wouldn't have wanted to leave.  But we all went inside my friend's house, where his parents were, as well as some of his relatives who were visiting.  Soon, Ronnie's mom suggested that we play with a Ouija board.  I had seen one in the movie "The Exorcist", but I had never seen one in real life, let alone played with one.  I said to my friend, "Whoa!  Is your mom serious?!"  To which he nervously responded, "Yeah..."

     So Ronnie's mom brought out the Ouija board and explained how it was used, saying that a spirit would answer any questions we might ask.  I was both curious and a little unnerved at the same time.  Would it really work?  Would we really be in contact with the dead, or an evil spirit?  Would everyone find out that "I" was the one who overflowed the toilet?

     A few different people tried playing the game, and after various questions and "answers", she then asked if the "Spirit" could give us a sign to prove it was real.  The spirit answered that it would and that we'd see the sign within the next 30 minutes.  I was a little nervous but still not completely convinced of anything.  Ronnie's mom then began to tell us stories of the supernatural, that she said she or her friends had experienced.  Then, after about 25 minutes, the lights began to flicker off and on in the kitchen!  Now I was starting to get a little freaked!  But that was just the beginning.  Ronnie's mom then convinced someone else to play the game with her, and she began asking questions like:  "Are the boys going to see anything in the room (the bedroom where we'd be sleeping) tonight?"  I looked at Ronnie and asked, "What's your mom doing asking a question like that?"  With a sad look on his face, he just shrugged his shoulders.  Then she asked "Is something bad going to happen to the boys tonight?"  "Man!  What's your mom's freaking problem?!"  "Ouija, will it happen before 5 a.m?" "What's with your mom?!  I swear, I've never hit a woman before, but..."  My friends and I were all really starting to freak now!

     After a while, since it was late, and the adults intended to keep partying, we were told to go to sleep.  We kept stalling and making excuses not to go to sleep.  Then we began to ask if we could sleep in the living room, reasoning that since "Ouija" said that we would see something in the bedroom, maybe we could somehow cheat our fate.  Our request was flatly refused, and told that we had to sleep in the bedroom.  Like "Dead Men Walking", we began to file into the room, dragging our feet.  As we were preparing for sleep, Ronnie's mom then entered the room and began to move the iron, as well as all heavy and metal objects, saying "In case stuff starts flying around..."  Now we really came close to crapping our pants!

     The lights went out, and we made a pact, promising that if something happened while some of us were still asleep, we'd leave no man behind.  And of course, our imaginations soon got the best of us, and when combined with our fear, caused us to imagine that we saw all kinds of stuff in the darkness outside, like severed heads in the tree branches, mysterious shadows, and so forth.  There were four of us, including Ronnie, his brother Jerry, our friend Gilbert, and myself. We continued talking about our fears, and then Ronnie said, "Don't worry guys, my Dad's in the living room." To which Gilbert wisely pointed out, "What's your Dad going to do?!  Beat up the Devil?!"

     While that might've made an interesting pay-per-view fight, it didn't happen.  We all eventually fell asleep, although we thought that it might be for the last time.  I have always been an early riser, and when I was the first to awake, I immediately looked at the clock.  5:05!  It was 5:05!  5 minutes passed the designated time for our doom!  We were safe!  I was so grateful to be unharmed that I wanted to kiss somebody!  Of course, being in a room full of guys, that would've been really awkward.  And all I could hope was the clock was not running fast...

   You think I would've learned from that first experience, but that wasn't the case.  2 years later, Jerry, Ronnie, and I, were playing with the Ouija board again, and this time in the bedroom.  To set the mood, we lit a candle, then turned off the lights...and then we began to explore each other's young bodies...Haha, just kidding!  Seriously, I was only kidding.

   Anyway, the lights went out and we began to ask Ouija some questions.  Nothing dramatic happened with that, and after we had finished playing the game, it was late, and we were sitting around tired, seemingly out of conversation.  I then looked up and saw Jerry's face, which was pale as a ghost, and his eyes were wide open in stark terror!  He was sitting directly across from me, and as I had my back to the window, he was the only one who had been facing the window.  As Ronnie and I turned in the direction of the window, to see what Jerry was looking at, we saw the dark shadow of a face in the window!  We shouted out as we jumped to our feet!  We opened the bedroom door, yelling, and running into the hallway and towards the front door.  I was fumbling with the door knob, and Ronnie ran up, with a butter knife in his hand and asked, "What's your problem?!  Why can't you open the door?!"  "Open the door?!  I'm trying to freakin' lock it!  And what are you doing with the butter knife?!  Are you going to make him a sandwich?!"  We finally managed to open the door, and after looking around outside in bewilderment for several seconds, and seeing no one or nothing around, noticed... that someone had toilet papered the house!  And I doubt that they were spirits of the dead.

The Ones Who Are Worth It

"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you.  You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."

     There's just no way around it.  People are imperfect.  Shocker, right?  As much as people can add to, and enrich our lives, in the way of love, companionship, conversation, support, the sharing of mutual interests, and dozens of other ways, they are bound to disappoint us at times.  Nothing new.  Yet, it seems as if we sometimes forget this very obvious and basic truth?  Why?  Well, while some of the specific reasons can vary case by case, and be numerous and individual, the most common one is because we allow ourselves to forget.  We simply allow ourselves to forget that these very same beings, who can be such a source of pleasure for us, can also be a source of disappointment, frustration, and hurt.

     And in part, it's our own perfection that allows us to forget.  And this is most true when it concerns our loved ones, who include our friends, family members, and lovers.  They have the power to hurt us most, and sometimes do, simply because they can.  Not in the sense that they say, "I'm going to hurt you because I can." (Although that sometimes can happen, and that's obviously a more involved issue)  They do it because we give them the power that allows them to.  They have that power because of the nature of our relationship with them, and because of the value that they represent to us.  This makes us more vulnerable.  An insult hurled at us from a drunken person off the street is usually going to have less impact on us than the same insult hurled at us from someone who's close to us (Unless of course, they happen to be one and the same person) . Knocking over a bottle of Pepsi in our kitchen is going to cause much less of a reaction in us than knocking over a $500 of champagne in that same kitchen.  And if you have a $500 bottle of champagne in your kitchen, then you and I need to discuss having dinner at your house sometime.

     And we can also allow them to hurt us by simply being unrealistic.  Just because we might care for, respect, and love these people more than we do most others, it doesn't make them any less imperfect or fallible.  Oh, sure, we'd love it if they were.  Now that would certainly make things easier on us wouldn't it? Ah... If wishes were fishes, the sea would be full...

     But their imperfection actions don't mean that they love, respect, or regard us any less.  Sometimes they just can't help themselves.  And we have no control over that.  However, what we can have control over is our perspective.  We should remember that people are imperfect and that often they don't understand the impact that their words and actions have on us. (Unless we let them know.  As highly as we think of those close to us, it's asking too much to expect them to be mind readers.) This can help lessen the likelihood or severity of us getting hurt.  And sometimes, people just don't communicate well or accurately with their words or actions.  We often have to look beyond the surface of things, determining what their motivations might be, or if their might be extenuating circumstances.  Sometimes a complaint about whether or not you squeeze the toothpaste from the top or the bottom, roll the toilet paper underhand or overhand, or about how you're ALWAYS late, or any number of other things, is really a mixed-up way of expressing frustration over something else that is infinitely more important to them.

     And we also have to allow for the fact, that many people simply have little or no interest in how WE think they should act,think, or be.  That was a hard for for me to learn too.  People have to decide for themselves who they're going to be.  Good or bad, whether we like it or we don't, in the end, the decision is theirs alone.  There's no guarantee that we can change them anyway, and it's more likely that all we'll get for our trouble is frustration, resentment, and hurt.  Trying to fit people into a mold of what we want them to be, is going to be like trying to fit a 400 lb. man into a 32 waist pair of jeans. Its going to be futile, ugly, and there's likely to be lots of cursing.  In the end, we learn to accept a person for who he or she basically is, both good and bad, or we don't.

     Of course, another alternative would be to just say "The hell with it!"  Then we can just detach ourselves from caring and feeling for others, and spin ourselves a little protective cocoon, sheltering ourselves from any potential disappointment and hurt.  But when we shelter or close ourselves off from the potential hurt that goes along with caring for and getting close to people, we also shelter ourselves and close ourselves off from the potential pleasure that goes along with taking such a risk. And that really what it's all about isn't it?  Weights and balances, pros v.s. cons, costs v.s. benefits... And perhaps the most fundamental question is:  "Is my life better with or without this person in my life?"  That's an individual decision, something that in the end is ours and ours alone.  For we are the ones who primarily have to live with the consequences of our decisions, whether they be good or bad.  The fact of the matter is that we were just not meant to be alone.  It's not in our makeup.  Maybe some of us feel the need for more or less people in our lives than do others, but we all need them to one extent or another.  And for all the potential headaches and heartaches that go along with having people in our lives, there can be lots of wonderful benefits that people can deliver into our lives.  As as mentioned, there are things that we can do to make that delivery go a little smoother.  There are some amazing people in this world.  I know, because I've come across them, and that may include you.  And the fact that they're out there, living among the less than amazing, is why we're having this little chat.  We just have to choose the ones who are worth it.

Thank You...

...For being you...Because I know that you've done something today, that is worth taking the time to thank you for.  And it may be something that was unique to this day, or it may be something that you do on a daily basis.  And maybe people are accustomed to you doing what you do, and because they expect it, they sometimes forget to say "Thank You".  So, Thank You.  For being a good friend, a good brother or sister, a good parent, or a good Son or Daughter, or a good spouse or significant other, a good employee, for being a good person, or for all of the above...Thank You.  If you've done something special for a stranger, even if it's giving them a smile or a kind word... Thank You.  For trying to be the best person that you can be, even when others sometimes make that hard to do... for having the strength to rise and greet the day, even when it'd be much easier for your eyes to remain closed... Thank You.  And for when you put others first, because their happiness equals yours...Thank You.  Thank You for being born, Thank you for Being... You.

FIRST KISS

     A Kiss.  What tremendous power it can wield.  It can stop time, causing the outside world to stand still, and can shut out the sound of every noise, not just from the world outside that joining of the lips, but the internal noise that often occupies our minds as well.  It can be an opiate, a magic carpet ride, transporting us from the cares and concerns of the world.  And perhaps no kiss makes as much of an impression on our memories as that of our first kiss.  It may not necessarily be our best kiss, and if may not be with the love of our lives, but it is the one that we remember the most.  The memory of it transports us to not only the moment of the actual kiss, but to a place in our personal history, that includes the music, the fashion, the friendships, activities and our surroundings of that time.  The memory of that kiss instantly conjures up a tidal wave of thoughts and feelings of what it was like to "be" at that time.

     My best friend Ronnie (not my partner in the kiss) and I were 13 years old, and walking through the West Covina Fashion Plaza on an Autumn Saturday afternoon, when we spotted 2 girls our age standing about 60 feet from us.  One of the girls was quite attractive, wearing an all-white outfit which contrasted nicely against her long dark hair.  I didn't have to think on it long before suggesting to Ronnie that we go talk to the girls.  He was all for meeting the girls, but with one catch:  He wanted me to approach the girls by myself, start chatting them up, and after putting in a good word for him, wave him over.  I rolled my eyes.  I never got that about him.  He was voted "biggest flirt" in our school yearbook, and he never had a problem talking with the girls at school.  But I guess that was his comfort zone, because when it came to approaching new girls in public, he always got shy.  Then again, that often worked in my favor.  Although at first, it didn't seem like that was going to be the case in this situation.

     But I agreed to approach the girls on my own, and after laying the groundwork, I would call him over.  Only there was another problem.  We both wanted to pair up with the girl in All-White, who's name we would later learn was Tammy.  So we were arguing back and forth as to who was going to pair up with Tammy (As if she had no say in the matter).  When I realized that the girls would probably be long gone if things between Ronnie and I progressed to the point of us tumbling down the escalator and crashing through the display window of Payless Shoe Store, so I came up with a solution:  We'd flip a coin.  Only the mind of a 13 year old boy could come up with such a brilliant solution.  I envisioned for myself a bright future as an International Diplomat and problem solver, with me being given a ticket tape parade, being invited to the Playboy Mansion, and the image of a spinning newspaper coming to a sudden stop, with the headlines reading, "Ambassador from El Monte brings peace to the Middle East."  Being that Tammy was from Baldwin Park and I was from El Monte, Peace in the Middle East probably would've been easier than bringing peace between our two cities.
     So we flipped a coin, with each of us agreeing that the winner would be the one who got to talk to Tammy.  We flipped... I lost.  Ronnie was beaming, and I was scowling, but I began my trek over to where the girls were (remarkably) still standing.  But somehow, in the 10 seconds that it took for me to reach them, I totally forgot about the coin flip.  And as I flashed my big Rico Suave smile, I turned to Tammy's friend, and I pointed to where Ronnie was standing and said:  "Hey!  My friend over there, the one who's pretending that he doesn't know I walked over here to talk to you, well, he thinks you're cute and wants to meet you!"
 
      Well it goes without saying, that Ronnie's smile turned upside down, and he was a little disappointed with the turn of events.  But sometimes, that's just how it turns out when you're content to only being the wingman.  Fortunately, Tammy and I both felt we lucked out.  After that first meeting, we exchanged phone numbers, and then very long phone conversations, and then decided that we wanted to start dating.

     Later, after Tammy and I had been dating a while, I told her about the coin flip.  To my surprise (remember, I was a 13 year old boy), she didn't see the humor in it.  "You flipped a coin for me?!  Are you serious?!  You mean the only reason we're together is because you flipped a coin?!"
"Nooooo... Baby... You don't understand.  We flipped the coin... BUT I CHEATED!"  I guess some girls just have a hard time understanding how romantic a teen aged boy can be...

     So it was a week later after we first met, on yet another Saturday afternoon, that I took the bus to Baldwin Park to meet up with Tammy.  We agreed to meet at a shopping  center which was both near the bus stop, and across the street from Morgan Park.  I called her from a payphone (remember that we had those before cell phones?) when I arrived at the shopping center, and she told me that she and her friend Lorraine would meet me there in about 30 minutes.  After a while, I got kind of nervous.  Not about meeting her, and not because I thought she might not show, but because without my glasses, I couldn't see so well from a distance.  I was a little worried that I might see girls in the distance, wave them over, and that they'd be the wrong ones.  The last thing that I wanted was for Tammy and her friend to show up, and to see me talking to other girls!  So when Tammy and Lorraine did show up, they stood across the street, in front of the park.  They kept looking my way, and I kept looking in their direction, wondering if it was them.  I'm sure that they were wondering why I didn't walk over to them, and with my not being sure whether or not they were who I was waiting for, I stood my ground, unwilling to commit.  It must of looked like two gunfighters from the Old West, standing in the middle of the street, each waiting for the other to make a move.  I could almost swear I heard the whistling theme from "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" playing in the background, and looked out of the corner of my eye in case I had to suddenly dodge any errant tumbleweeds.

     Finally, after what must have seemed like forever, Tammy and Lorraine then crossed the street to where I was.  "Why didn't you cross the street to where we were?" Being too embarrassed to tell the truth, I said the first thing that came to mind.  "Oh... Well, I always make the girls come to me."  Yeah...that was much better.  And like you,  I'm also starting to wonder if I'd get that kiss.

     So we all crossed back across the street, and sat down at a bench at the park and began talking.  After a while, it was about to get dark, and Lorraine asked us if we'd walk her home, so we got up and left the park.  After walking Lorraine home, Tammy and I then walked in the dark to the Jr. High School that she attended in Baldwin Park.  Although Lorraine was cute and fun to talk to, I was definitely glad that Tammy and I were now alone.  We sat down next to each other on a bench that was under a covered patio on the school grounds.  We were silent for a minute, and then we started talking.  Tammy pointed in the direction of a white house across the street, and said "That's a whore house."  My eyes grew just a little bit wide, and I asked "What?! Why do you say that?" She replied: "Because all of the girls who live there are sluts!"  I kept looking in the direction of that house for a minute, until Tammy asked, with what sounded like a small hint of irritation in her voice, "Why are you still looking over there?"  I said, "Oh, I was just trying to memorize the address."

     Even though I was just being a bit of a smart-ass, (A name I was quite surprised at age 18 to find was NOT part of the birth name recorded on my birth certificate) Tammy definitely didn't appreciate the remark, and she quickly turned her face away from me.  She had her head down a little bit, with her hair hanging down on both sides of her face, and she looked sad.  I said, "Hey...look at me."  But she kept her head down.  I felt bad, because I really liked her, and I had made her feel sad with my stupid joke.  She was sitting to the right of me, in her blue-grey sweater, and her grey corduroy pants.  And I put my right arm around her shoulders, and with the index and middle fingers of my left hand, I reached across and lifted her chin while turning her face in my direction.  Damn, she was beautiful.  I said, "I'm sorry.  I was only joking.  I only like YOU."  I then leaned in and kissed her.  It was my first real kiss.  It was slightly sloppy because it was my first time, but it was great nonetheless.  We sat kissing in the dark for a long time, and then my left hand started to wander, and it began to caress her right breast.  She murmured "Uhn, uhn", as if to say "no", and I responded back "Uhm, hmm."

     Now, in spite of my being a hormonally charged 13 year old, when I murmured "Uhm, hmm," what I was trying to express was "OK, I'll stop."  But she thought that I meant "Yeah, we're going to do this."  That was an easy misunderstanding, especially since my hand had lingered for an extra second before it moved away.  So she again murmured "Uhn, uhn" just as my hand had moved away.  As great as the groping felt, part of the reason that I did it was because I felt that I was supposed to.  This was my first real kiss, and I didn't quite realize that 2nd base was a lot for many 13 year old girls back then, especially on the first "date".  We continued kissing, and she later walked me to my bus stop at the end of our visit.

     Instead of going home after I got off of the bus in El Monte, I went instead to the home of my best friend Ronnie, where I would spend the night.  I called Tammy on the phone to let her know that I had gotten home ok, and then I apologized for my groping and explained what it was I was trying to say by mumbling " Uhm, hmm."  I told her that I really liked her, and although I enjoyed the touching, that I didn't want to do anything that she was uncomfortable with.  She thanked me, and for the rest of our boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, I kept my hands to myself, but my lips I continued to share.

"A Kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years."  - Rupert Brooke

THPEUDDQMVR

IT MATTERS

     "Words have power.  Just as fire can be a gift, by both keeping us warm and cooking our food, for both sustenance and life, yet still have destructive power, with the ability to take away that same life, so words can prove to be a tool for either sustenance or destruction.  Words have power.  Once they're said, we can't take them back.  There's no bungee cord on them that allow us to pull them back.  Words spoken become a part of recorded history.  So if we're going to say something, whose impression may last forever, let's make it positive, not negative.  Let's build up, not tear down."

     "While it's true that we can always ask forgiveness for mispoken words that hurt or make someone feel "less than", we can't count on the offended person's ability to overcome the hurtful words.  We can only exercise control over the words that come out of our mouths."

     I first wrote the proceeding words several months ago, in one of my notebooks, with the intention of incorporating them as part of a future book.  Ironically, and sadly, I came across them again, a couple of months later, the day after I failed to follow my own advice.  In spite of the negative behavior that I've sometimes encountered from others, for years, I've managed to show discipline in the words that have come out of my mouths.  I can't be responsible for the behavior of others, only mine.  But on this particular day, with this particular situation, I failed to do so.  And they've very possibly made an indelible impression on this person, in a negative way.  In a single stroke, I managed to undo months of effort to build someone up, to try to help them forget the negative "Ghost Voices" of their past, which were often attempting to outshout the positive voices of their present.  It can happen just that quickly.  Whether or not others may say that my words that were spoken were accurate or not, justified or not, is irrelevant.  The only things that is relevant is that I said them, and the impact that they made. And sometimes, 1000 apologies will never make up for one poorly spoken word.

     And our misteps aren't always limited to words, but often can include our actions.  I used to work in Behavior Management, working with both adults and at-risk youth. And one of the things that I would sometimes tell the clients was, "It only takes a second to make a dumb decision that we can pay for with the rest of our lives."  And I'd relate to them the story of how years before, during my less evolved days, how I had become so upset during one arguement, that I threw a bowl of refried beans across the kitchen, both striking a wall and breaking the bowl.  But of course, as so often happens with emotional reactions, thee were more negative consequences.  There were beans splattered all over the wall, and the bowl made a hole in wall.  And to make matters wores, they weren't even my bowl, my wall, or my apartment.  Yeah, sometimes people make dumb mistakes, and other people pay for them.  While I can now laugh at how ridiculous the situation was, it wasn't nearly so funny at the time.  I had to hurry off back to work, being that I was on my lunch hours, but I obviously had to come back later in order to clean up the mess that I had made.  By the time I got back, several hours later on that unusually warm Autumn night, the kitchen smelled like a Taco Bell restaurant had blown up.  After many apologies for my earlier behavior, and a couple of hours of scrubbing the walls, the beans were nowhere to be been.  But, the smell of the beans still remained, and a $50 dollar wall patch job needed to be done as well.  So long after my attempts to clean up the mess were over, the memory of my actions still lingered.  And they were more costly than anticipated.  But it isn't that the way it usually is with bad decisions?

     When we're upset, the first thing that comes to our mind as far as a response, is usually the wrong thing.  So taking a personal time out, whether it be counting to 10, physically removing ourselves from the situation, or whatever method is helpful, is always a good idea.  I advised one young person, when he would feel himself beginning to get upset, to stop and ask himself these 3 questions.  Since they can be easy to forget when we're upset or first trying to learn the new behavior, I wrote them down for him on two cards, one of which he carried in this wallet, and the other which he taped to his desk at school.

1.  Ask yourself, " Why am I upet?"

Often the answer to this question is because we feel that were not getting what we want in one shape or form.  Perhaps consideration, acknowledgement, respect, love, food, service, physical comfort, or any number of things.

2.  Ask yourself, "What do I want to do about it?  And is that the best thing to do?

3.  Ask yourself, "Will that get me what I want?"

   I find these questions helpful, not only because they can help us with our self-awareness as to our motivations and our feelings, but they also help ust to think things through.  Because behind every emotion is a thought.  Plus, the time it takes to consider them often takes 10 seconds, which gives us time to calm down some, and avoid reacting impulsively, and thus possibly avoid much regret.

     And when it comes to split second decisions, there are lots of things that are more critical and impactful than throwing a bowl of refried beans.  Some of them involve whether or not to use protection (when it comes to S.T.D. s, sharing is NOT caring), whether or not to pull the trigger of a gun, or to get behind the wheel of that car when we've tossed back a few adult beverages, and so on, and so on.

     I don't mind being candid about some of my mistakes of the past, partly because I've learned from them.  And also, because it can be tough learning life's lessons, and I often have learned not only from my mistakes, but the mistakes of others.  It's shortened the learning curve for me, and if I can shorten the learning curve for someone else, by virture of my lessons learned...then I'm glad to do it.  Every one of us is here for a purpose.  We all matter, and so does what we do.

Beautifully, Uniquely... You

6 Billion people on this planet, and still...you were created.  There must be a reason.  There must be something special about you, that makes you just a little bit different than anyone else.  Something that's unique to you, that's made you needed, necessary.  Maybe you've discovered it already, and maybe you haven't.  But I know that you've got it.  And it makes you Beautiful.  So if no one has told you that today, or showed you the appreciation that you deserve, then let me take a few moments to do that, and to remind you.  And if by chance, I'm not around to say it, and others neglect to do so, it doesn't make you any less beautiful or special.  Are snow capped mountains any less majestic, just because a day may go by where people fail to gaze on them?  Is the song of a bird any less beautiful, because no one is in it's presence to hear it? No. Their Beauty remains constant, intact, waiting to be shared.

And I also want to thank you...for being uniquely you. So many strive to be just like everyone else, merely a carbon copy.  Not only is it unnatural for anyone to be just like anyone else, it's also impossible. Just as no two snowflakes are alike, nor or any two sets of fingerprints alike, you are different than anyone who has come before you or anyone who will come after.  And the fingerprints that you leave, the impression that you make on the world that you touch, will be just a little bit different than that of any other person.  As will the footprints that you leave in any path that you walk.  That is nothing to shrink back from, but something to embrace, to revel in, to celebrate. Anais Nin wrote: "Each person presents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."

You bring something uniquely different to this world, something that until you arrived was still unseen, because there was a need that was still unmet. None of us were made to be trivial or of no consequence.  If we ever cross paths, I hope that I notice what it is about you that makes you special, unique, and beautiful.  And if we don't, then I hope that someone else notices it and mentions it to you.  And most importantly, I hope that you notice it and accept it as well.  For the voice that speaks loudest in our minds is our own.  Have a Beautiful Day.  :)

"A Noble Cause" or... "And the motherf..."

"And the motherf*#%er that's left over, you put over there, and that's called a motherf*#@en remainder!"  That's how my quick tempered stepfather was explaining to me how to do fractions, on that weeknight so many years ago.  This was only one of two occasions that I could ever remember him taking any interest in how I was doing at school, and for me, those were two occasions to many.  When it came to patience, he never gave Mother Theresa a run for her money to begin with, but he was probably even more pissed off at the thought that he probably shouldn't have had to explain the math to me to begin with.

   I had always been a good student, particularly in math, so by all accounts, I shouldn't have had a problem with the schoolwork.  Even though the teacher had explained it in class, at home that evening, it was like I was hearing it for the first time.  Obviously, it was the first time that I had heard it explained THAT way.  Maybe if my 3rd teacher had used the "f" word a little more often in class, I wouldn't have had to lose so much sleeptime that night because I was trying to complete my homework.  Maybe that's what's wrong with education these days... there's just not enough educators dropping "f-bombs".  Maybe that's what was missing in the proposal for "no child left behind".  When my Stepfather taught me how to make scrambled eggs, he said, "First, you beat the shit out of the eggs, then, you pour a little bit of milk into those bastards, and you beat the shit out of them again!"  Simple enough.  I never went hungry.  And I got a "2 for 1" lesson one Friday night when I was about 11.  My stepfather stopped by the house around 4 pm, just long enough to tell me to bake some chicken for the family dinner, before he went off to drink with his buddies.  However, the only instruction on baking chicken that I had ever come across before then, was when I was flipping channels on the tv one day, and I came across a cooking channel.  However, I never heard Julia Child say to "Cook the son-of-a-bitch in the oven at 400...", so I was a little lost in the woods.

  So I called my mom at her work around 4:30 pm, which she wasn't too thrilled about, to ask her for some instruction.  She became upset, and told me not to do anything, and that she would make dinner when she got home around 6 pm.  Hey, she didn't have to tell me twice, I just left the kitchen and went to watch a little bit of the Benny Hill show on tv.

Now 6:30 rolls around, and my stepfather comes into the house, drunk as usual on a Friday Night, and he sees my mom preparing dinner.  So I get called out "onto the carpet" so to speak, and he's cursing at me for not preparing Dinner.  "Didn't I f#**ing tell you to cook that f%**ing chicken?!  After a long day at work, why does your mom have to come home and cooking fu**ing dinner?!! " This, and several other choice words were used for a few minutes, and then  I explained that I didn't know how to bake the chicken, and that when I asked my mom for instruction, that she got mad and said not to do anything, and that she'd cook when she got home.  That I actually wasn't at fault this time kind of took the wind out of his sails, and for one of the few times that I could remember, my stepfather looked flustered, and became speechless for a moment.  And also for one of the few times that I could remember, he looked like he felt guilty for his outburst.  He then went on to explain how to cook the f'n chicken, which was lesson number one, then went on to say, as if channeling the spirit of Mr.Rogers (well, if Mr. Rogers was smelling strongly of Alchohol and had gang tattoos on his forearms) :  "From now on, if I tell you to do something, and later, your mom tells you to do the opposite, you tell her, 'Fuck you!' AND...  if your mom tells you to do something, and I later tell you to do something else, you say 'Fuck you! My stepdad told me to do something else!"

     So that night, I learned to bake chicken, and I also learned... well, I'm not quite sure what the second lesson was.  It might've had something to do with the importance of good communication, but back then, I think that I was trying to rationalize that it was ok to use the "f" word when addressing your parents in certain situations.  But I knew that the "drunken speech from a bad parent" clause, would probably kill my defense in the household courtroom.

     The most important thing that all of those experiences, and so many more taught me, was that I really wanted to use a very different communication style if I ever had kids of my own.  And thankfully, that has never been a problem for me.  I don't mean "thankfully, I've never had kids", I mean, I'm thankful that I've escaped the pitfall that some people unfortunately fall into, which is to become the kind of parent that their parents were.  I know that was true of my parents, that they repeated the cycle.  I can understand how that would be hard not to do,  because our environment, and our genetics as well, can exert a strong influence over us.  But I've found, that even more important than our experiences and environment, is how we RESPOND to them.  And that even if some of those experiences and environment negatively impact our environment, it's never too late to turn that around.  Although how we start off in the race is important, how we finish the race is even more important.

   Being a parent is without a doubt, the toughest, yet potentially, most rewarding career anyone can have.  It doesn't mean that it's a career for everyone, or that it's wrong to not want that as one of one's careers.  And we all know of some parents whose example presents a strong arguement for government enforced birth control.  Mere survival of a family, particularly in the type of social and economical climates that currently exist, can be a challenge in itself.  But what elevates the role and status of being a parent from being a big responsiblity to one of a most noble calling, is the daily effort to do more than just have our children to SURVIVE.  It's the daily effort, in spite of whatever negative influences we may have encountered while growing up, or the daily pressures that we may face, or the struggles with our own imperfections, to discover and implement methods that will provide our children with the necessary skills and tools to THRIVE as well-adjusted human beings.

Although I've got to say, that when it comes to raising my daughter, she's made it relatively easy thusfar.  She's a hard worker, very conscientious, and very respectful.  Very different from what I was at her age.  And thus, I was very surprised, and a little dismayed, when I was sent an email yesterday, showing that her grades weren't quite as good as I was used to seeing.  She had an "A" and a "B" thrown in there among her grades, but her mother and I are used to that being the norm, not the exception.  The facts that she was recently doing extra credit work for those two classes, plus her inability to "remember" what her recent report card looked like, were starting to paint a clear picture.  Although she's far removed from "delinquent" status, my daughter was becoming a little distracted with socializing in class.  Plus, now that she's in Jr. High, the workload has increased dramatically, and I think that she was surprised by that, and is having a little trouble adjusting.  In spite of that, I made her aware that she still has to bear personal responsibility. I've helped her realize that what was once considered "above and beyond" in regards to her efforts, now have to be considered a minimum requirement if she hopes to do well in school.  That was a lesson that first became evident to me back when I was trying to learn those motherf'n fractions back in the 3rd grade.  I was in a combine 3rd and 4th grade classroom, because I was considered academically "advanced" for my age.  However, I was even more advanced at being disruptive and getting into trouble.  The fact that most of my schoolwork was quite easy for me, resulting in my finishing it quickly and thus having more time for acting out, just instilled in me the false confidence that doing well in class would never be a problem for me.  But when the teacher introduced something new during math time, my overconfidence caused me to fail to pay attention during the instruction, resulting in confusion for me, and eventually leading to my stepfather's colorful instruction session.

   Fortunately for my daughter, my previous experiences and lessons weren't limited to the need to step up in school as we get older and are presented with more challenges, but also included the lesson that what we say to our children is important, and more importantly, so is how we say it.  My daughter never had to worry about me going Kung Fu Panda on her, or Samuel L. Jackson delivering a "death speech" in Pulp Fiction.  The knowledge that her parents were a little disappointed in her grades and efforts, although not in HER, was enough to motivate her to vow to do better.  Hearing of her father's experiences when he was in school (although they were appropriately censured just a bit for content), hearing of his reasons for wanting her to do well, and how education helps to give her options, and how good work habits can be transferred to any area or goal in life, and that it's possible to completely turn around a bad start, made an uncomfortable situation more bearable for her.  And that, among other things, confirmed for her that she is supported and loved. 

And those, I feel, are more important than any lessons that she'll ever learn in school.

 

I'll Be There...

In your darkest hour, during your most intense pain, when you feel your strength slipping away, during your greatest thirst, or deepest hunger... will you accept my outstretched hand, hear my whispered words, feel the warmth of my smile, lean on my broad shoulders, settle into my embrace?

You hope for me, ask for me, and if you dare believe in my possibility... be ready.  The exact time I'll arrive will be different for everyone, but it will always be at the same time for you...

It'll be when you're ready, and when you need me the most.


"Angels whisper to us in our darkest hour, because they've seen a better place."