Field of View

If you've never done it before, wherever you are, stop and focus on one area without moving your head or your eyes around. You'll soon become acutely aware of every swaying blade of grass, every crawling ant,.. every movement, every change, in your field of view. I think the same is true of friends and family and anyone or anything close to us.

Everything normal about these people and relationships slips out of focus and every... single... flaw... in our friends and family members sticks out like a sore thumb, no matter how small or insignificant. This is natural, but it is also something to be cautious of.

Let's not take the best of these familiar people and places for granted so much that all we can see is the worst in them.

Pup vs Stairs

This is disgusting - both in the cuteness of the pup and the sap behind the camera.

But I just couldn't help myself.

The Passing Ritual

Okay. Three funerals in three weeks is enough.

One thing I think I've gained from the experiences, though, is a greater appreciation for practical value of the ritual. While I didn't attend any wakes, I did attend two of the funerals and three of the "repasts"*.

Wakes are almost completely foreign, to me. I don't think I've ever experienced one and I never plan to. Not that anyone's ever excited about attending a wake, but the funeral experience -and its distance from the deceased- seems much more emotionally useful. Maybe I just don't get the true purpose of a wake, though.

I've attended my share of funerals. Even when I didn't know the deceased, the aura of sadness and loss are often enough to make my throat swell and my eyes water a little. Anyone who hadn't had the chance to openly mourn the loved-one's passing can get that extra emotional "push" - the kind that helps you have a "good cry." There are people are to lean on, hold onto, speak for and about the dead, and there's a pastor to slowly bring us back down from the emotional apex of the event. The internment is that last opportunity to say good-bye.

After all that, the repast and procession is like a big, collective hug. A time that may or may not involve much reflection on the life of the deceased, but that can almost be a celebration of life, family, and loved-ones. Seeing those who can't or don't visit often makes us feel good. Eating together makes us feel good. Seeing how our lives are connected and how we affect each other makes us feel good.

It can be hard. In some cases, unfortunately, it can be full of drama. It may even seem to be too much, at times, but I think it helps us all heal from the pain of another's death and grow closer to the living.

I don't think I ever truly "got it," before. Maybe I still don't, now, but I think I'm closer.




* - Apparently, this term has different meanings among different people. I'm generally talking about the after-funeral gathering and consumption of food.

A Looming Heirloom

It's sadly ironic that a person can suffer abuse, recognize that it was a bad thing, then embody the traits of the abuser, and eventually become one. This post is about my cousin.

Apparently, the same thing happens on a smaller scale. I've been absent recently to attend some funerals (yes, "some"). At one of those funerals, a couple of attendees displayed behavior so abhorrent that I'm embarrassed to full detail it, at this time. I mention it, though, because one young attendee's behavior was a direct response to that of an older attendee.

They were young, female cousin and my father.

I imagine she was responding not only to what he did, at that time, but what he's done over the years. The problem, though, was that her response to his behavior was so loudly inappropriate that all eyes were on her and almost no one knew what my father had done.

Despite the fact that she and I aren't close and barely recognize each other, I stepped to her when she was alone (except for her best friend, who'd witnessed the whole thing, anyway). We'd just finished eating, after the funeral, and people were preparing to go their separate ways.

I began, "So, how old are you, now?"

"I'll be 23 in a month or so."

"Ahh. Well, I know it's about 23 years too late for me to be trying to offer up some "cousinly" advice, but I did want to mention something to you. Please don't let the traits you dislike in others upset you so much that you adopt them and become the person you hate so much. I wouldn't want him to have that affect on you."

She responded to this pretty well, at first, but it was clear by her later comments that more than one person had whispered in her ear about the day's events... and she didn't appreciate it.

I'd already apologized to my cousin and several others for my father's behavior (which I'm sure would've pissed him off to NO END if he'd heard me do so), but I still felt the need to tell her, "Now, I'm not saying he was right - by ANY stretch of the imagination. Please know that. It's just something I thought was worth saying. I hope you understand and aren't offended."

She said she wasn't offended by my words, but, she continued, "I don't let ANYbody disrespect me or my grandmother, so if they do I'll get with them, WHEREVER they are!"

I tried to gently express to her how her own behavior, at our grandmother's funeral, six feet from her casket, might be considered disrespectful, but to no apparent avail.

All I can hope is the seeds I (and whomever else spoke with her) planted in her mind and her heart will bear fruit, someday. She's young, so there's still time.

I can't help thinking, though, that twenty years from now, her own children might be apologizing for her the way I've repeatedly had to apologize for my father. I hope not.

I also hope this terrible cycle doesn't get passed down from one generation to the next like some kind of family heirloom.

Indignity of Persistence - Part II

I'm not trying to overwhelm you with negativity, but recent events made a "part 2" almost a necessity.

Indignities Defined
First, I'd like to explain what I meant by "Indignity of Persistence." I think there are often a lot of similarities between infants and the elderly. In many cases, both are bald or balding, incomprehensible, toothless, need constant care to survive, and have trouble managing their excretory imperatives.

Among the difference between them is the fact that babies have no sense of dignity. This is why we can them up in cute little costumes and laugh hysterically when they do really silly things. We interpret the things they do as signs of who and how htey will be, but their overall future identities aren't strongly defined by how much they drool, crawl backwards, or babble. They have no concept of embarrassment and would probably have no time for it if they did - there's too much drooling, crawling, and babbling to get done.

Elderly adults, on the other hand, have already established a sense of self and broadcast an identity to those around them. Dignity and pride are usually well-established and deeply-ingrained. Wetting themselves, cursing out loved-ones for no reason, and forgetting who and where they are, can encroach on that dignity - especially for Alzheimer's patients.

Getting sick is a part of life. Surviving it is seen as a triumph. But advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease can be seen like flipping the identity switch. And, even if the patient him- or herself has already lost or forgotten what it was to be embarrassed by soiling oneself or forgetfulness, their loved-ones still remember. Living in Alzheimer's can be seen, by one's loved ones, as an indignity upon the patient and, I'd imagine, many of them feel that death would be a far more merciful fate the persistence of life.

My Own Crazy
There have been a number of events, over the years, that have left me very concerned about the chances that I'll be (or that I am) facing my own flavors of crazy. Diagnosed mental illness in blood relatives, my own interaction with other human-beings, and undiagnosed, but somewhat apparent, mental and emotional issues that plague my father's life.

I've not researched the topic in some times, but I think one can be genetically predisposed to developing Alzheimer's. So my family history concerns me. There are Alzheimer's sufferers on both sides of my family, but the only ones related by blood are on the paternal side.

I watch and listen to them, wondering if the different varieties and flavors o' crazy are the diluted version of whatever their parents had. I smell a little blueberry crazy over here - maybe some obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There's some crunchy pistachio over in the form of anger management issues. Lime-flavored crazy tastes a lot like persistent paranoia.

I don't now which flavor I'll end up with, if any, or whether I'll "luck out" and get a triple-scoop - the terrible trifecta. I look back and see a far-reaching path of burned bridges and I wonder how many were lit by own tendency to flame versus those that sparked from other people's hot heads.

My saving grace, right now, is the fact that there are still SOME positive elements left in my life and that those who think the most of me are the people I respect the most. The rest are often those whose traits are... less than enviable. Still, it's not like I can honestly say all people who dislike me are bad. I've raged against quite a few machines and I don't know that I was always right - even in how I went about expressing it.

What I don't want is to find out, decades from now, that I've been wearing my pop's brand of people repellent and that the failed relationships in my life aren't just due to natural selection, but are in fact due to my bull-headedness, stupidity, or assholery. My own crazy.

Persistent Ends
Just last night, I got a call from my aunt, C. She said that my paternal grandmother, who suffers from Alzheimer's, began having seizures and other strange symptoms. They took her to the hospital for tests, but she seemed mostly okay except for having trouble breathing.

While they were trying to make it easier for her to breathe, she apparently had a massive stroke - a fatal one. She died some time yesterday afternoon.

This the second Alzheimer's sufferer in my family to die in as many weeks.

I didn't have a relationship with my paternal grandparents for most of my life. When my grandfather passed a couple of years, ago, I wasn't sure how to feel. Now that my grandmother has died, it was a similar experience - although she always seemed to be a sweeter person, to me, anyway.

In her later years, she'd reached the point where she didn't know who some of her children and grandchildren were. She'd be introduced to me, think I was my father (since we have the same name), have it explained to her, embrace me, then forget me and start the whole thing all over, again.

So, I have a fondness for her, but there was no relationship to be had over the past few years. Despite that, I think I was on the edge of SOME kind of emotional reaction, but I never go the chance for that to fully develop. I was too busy trying to contact my father, who wouldn't return anyone's calls, to give him the news that his mother had died... then trying to get him to stop yelling at me because of his frustrations with... damn-near the entire world. This post is long enough with getting into the multiple layers of erraticism my dad displayed in that 25-minute phone call. At least I can say that he apologized for taking his frustrations with the rest of his family out on me. He even said I'm a very good son, which touched my heart, despite the seething anger I was suppressing, at that moment.

"I figured it was going to go down like that. I knew she was gon' die. Y'all didn't have to tell me that! I ain't stupid!"

I had to (ironically) yell, "Stop yelling at me! This is not an indictment of you or your intellect. We're not calling you stupid. We just thought you should know that your mother died!"

That's just a taste.

Anyway, by the time I got off the phone, I was a wreck... for a few reasons. I'm feeling bad for my family members who were closer to my grandmother, dealing with my own, undefined feelings about her passing, pissed-off at my father for yelling at me while repeating the same things over and over and over, again, and afraid that my grandmother's fate and my father's future might be my own.

And if it is, I may never know... but the people around me will.

Indignity of Persistence

My aunt was diagnosed with diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease some years, ago. At first she just seemed really sweet and kinda silly. Later, she became more easily confused by things, although she was still fairly aware. She had a regular caregiver who helped my uncle take care of her since things like bathing herself became too much for her.

By the time my grandmother's 80th birthday celebration came around a year and a half, ago, my aunt was still mobile, but unexpressive. Making eye-contact with her caused her to turn away.

In her eyes I thought I could see ... something like what you feel when you experience deja vue. Everything about your surroundings in that moment, seem very, very familiar, but you don't know how or why. Being confronted with one of those familiar faces, in an up-close and personal way, was uncomfortable, I guess.

The next time I saw her, about a year later, she was bed-ridden and unresponsive, needing others to take care of her every need. My uncle took months off from work, to take care of her and make arrangements for others to help.

From what I understand, my uncle was told that the care he could provide her was insufficient so he was forced to put her in a home... where they could take better care of her.

Within a year, she was dead. Some type of infection set in her body. From what we're being told, the city, state, county or whomever is saying that this infection shouldn't be been fatal - the facility should've caught it.

So, my uncle was forced to send his wife away for better care and signs indicate that she received the exact opposite.

I believe an autopsy has been ordered, so we'll see. Either way, the people who loved my aunt have to deal with the mixed-emotions of being sad that she's passed but maybe embarrassed by some sense that the indignity of her persistence has come to an end.

Happy Valentine's Day, Unc.

R.I.P. Aunt Ethel

On Friday, I had to choose between going to my aunt's funeral and attending class.

I decided to attend class (the last one before our exam) then drive out-of-town to see the family for the post-funeral gathering.

My aunt's funeral really drew a lot of family members. She was my family by-marriage, but all of my uncles siblings (except one frequent exception) traveled from around the country to attend. Cousins I've not seen in twenty years showed up. Even my uncle's co-workers came to town to support him.

It was really a sight to see.

I wasn't able to stay for long - not even 24-hours - but it was good to see the family, despite the circumstances. I noticed that various uncles, cousins, etc. went out of their way to reach out to the rest of the family on this occasion. Maybe it reminded them (and me) of how lucky we are to still have each other. Maybe it'll inspire us to do what we think about doing after holidays and other special events - take the time and make the effort to stay in-contact and in each others' lives.

I guess, if you've got to go, it might be nice to know that your passing brought your family even closer.

Rest in-peace, Aunt Ethel.





More on the circumstances of her passing, later.

Blood Transfusion - Christmas 2007

I haven't been active since before the holidays, but I've thought about you all regularly. It's been an interesting time.

I thought I'd ease back into the swing of things by starting from back then and working my way forward - probably one post at a time.

This Christmas, I planned to stay in town and earn some money so I can keep my head a bit higher above water. It didn't work out quite like I planned so, instead of saving travel money and earning extra, I spent money traveling to Granny's house.

I'm glad I did.

After this first semester (in years) and so much negativity in my life, I was in need of the familial fix:

• The closeness of too many people talking too loudly in too small a space. Playing spades and dominoes like there's no tomorrow.
• Sweet, spoiled, harmless, aging, little dogs getting in the way, sometimes losing their minds and chomping people's feet like hamburgers, kicking their feet when they're rubbed. I actually bought a dog whistle to shut'em up, but that met with mixed success. I'm not sure what to make of it.
• Babies crying, drooling, staggering like winos, getting their cheeks pinched by the usual suspect - me - while spitting utterances that actually resemble words in the English language! I can already feel the sorrow adults feel when a kid stops saying "fender" for "thunder," "Wimberdon" for "Wimbledon" and "shep pup" for "shut up."
• Seeing family members I haven't seen since they were 5 years old, now young adults... Or young adults, now older with streaks of gray... Or older people now good n OLD, with pieces falling off of them, every day. The reminder that I'm not completely alone in the world, despite how it sometimes feels, was right on-time.

It was a good reminder of what blood means to me and, sadly, how much more I could do to demonstrate that fact.

This "blood transfusion" was wonderful and is just what makes Christmas, a holiday that tends to lose a certain something as we get older... and get fewer (i.e. almost "no") presents, an absolute joy.


Besides, I also brought my new-to-me bicycle (more on this later) on the trip and dorkily rode it along-side all the young kids sporting their brand-new, X-mas bikes. That, plus one of the gifts to myself, which I'll post about later, made for quite a bit of fun.

And then, there's all the GPS'ing. More on that later, too, of course.


I hope yours went as well. Sorry I missed out.

Hit It and Quit It

This was some holiday break. So much happened, it's hard to know where to begin. I guess I'll just start with something random.

Let's begin with "traffic."

My mother and I were on our way to my little cousin's birthday party when we saw emergency vehicles in the distance. Obviously, we don't wish anything bad on anyone else, but we were really hoping it wasn't a member of our family. As we approached, we noticed that none of the cars were familiar, so we breathed a sigh of relief. Until...

I saw my aunt's forehead. And my uncle's face. Some other family members.

Damn.


Apparently, this three-car accident was caused by a driver who ran three successive traffic lights, crashed into a second car, sending two people to the hospital, and causing the second car to hit my aunt and uncle's car.

One car received a face-lift and the other a full about-face. Scary.

Luckily, my family was fine. The car they'd just purchased two days earlier? Not so much.

Frig.

To top it all off, the offending vehicle's male driver and female passenger grabbed their baby, exited the vehicle, and hauled the requisite amount of ass.

They left so quickly that they forgot their mobile phone.

I don't know what the hell kinda illegal crap caused them to drive so recklessly or leave the scene of an accident, but I'm almost afraid to find out.

Last I heard, the cops were still combing the surrounding area. Meanwhile, my aunt and uncle have parked their now no-longer-road-worthy vehicle.

Happy Day After Thanksgiving.

Pop Corn

During a study session from a couple of weeks, ago, somehow my father was mentioned in-conversation. I responded by sharing the fact that I hadn't had contact with him in about three years.

I don't remember if my classmates reacted with mouth-gaping expressions of incredulity or not, but I felt the impact of their hypothetical stares, anyway. I imagine they stared, searching my face for signs of hurt because of this estrangement, callousness perhaps marked by my casual mentioning of this sad fact, or maybe they were wondering what trait I might possess that'd make me one of those people who doesn't realize that family is much more important than any petty squabble you could have with any of them at any given moment.

It wasn't an expression of hurt that I was sharing and I'm not completely unmoved by this voluntary paternal absence. It's just become a part of my reality - one that I occasionally feel the need to verbalize, perhaps because it's too big to hold inside all of the time.

My father and I have suffered these communicative droughts multiple times over the years. Sometimes we stumble upon a familial oasis where logic and plain ol' good manners dictate that we converse on some level and so the drought is broken for a day or maybe even for as long as a year, but the relationship always dries up and cracks.

Typically, at least a couple of Christmases pass before we somehow make contact, again. I've called him on one or two of his birthdays, but he didn't answer or return the calls.

Until this week.

Yes, I spoke to my father for the first time in a loooong time, the other day. The conversation drifted in the usual places and was carried by what I consider to be his usual aggressive, invasive tones, but because it was his birthday and it WAS the first time we'd spoken in so long, I was determined to do what I could to maintain a bit of positivity. So, I didn't openly react to the words and implications that once would have and one day may, again, sparke mile-high flames.

For his part, he didn't immediately, openly indict me for my noncommittal response to his open invitation to visit and see his new home. From my perspective, we need to take baby steps. We are, after all, two people with the same name who've been unable to hold a civil conversation for any reasonable length of time. I wouldn't recommend diving back into that pool without first testing the waters - or at least making sure there's any water, at all.

From his perspective, though, it could very well be another example and sign of my rejection of him, my mother's inexorable influence, or our generations-long paternal curse of incompatibility. In any case, it's often painful and causes a knee-jerk reaction from him.

Not this time.

So, in the end, we got through a bit of small-talk, shared little, but accomplished a lot. In our relationship, we don't have the luxury of measuring the success of our interactions by the number of positives, but instead, by the absence of negatives.

I'll take it, for now, for as long as it lasts. If nothing else, as corny as it may sound, I've found a something to be thankful for, this year - my Pops.

I wish you the same and more.

Gephyrophobia

When I was a kid, I remember my father picking me up for weekend (or it could've been a weekday; I dunno) visitation, one time in-particular. While driving across a bridge, he noticed that I'd tensed up. He asked me why and I told him, "I'm kinda afraid of bridges."

He asked why, again, and I struggled to find the will and the words to express my fear that the bridge could collapse or something. His response to his seven- or eight-year-old first-born son's fear was basically to say, "That's stupid."

I felt pretty stupid, too, but I was still afraid of bridges.

Now, it's many, many years later and I've largely conquered this, gephyrophobia, an offshoot of my fear of heights (acrophobia). I still have my moments of knuckling the hell out of the steering wheel as I cross a large body of water, especially, but it's certainly manageable.

I've got other family members, though, who don't $^&* with bridges - period (almost). They drive the long way around or whatever it takes to avoid'em. In some cases, that means they don't get to leave town all that often - either because someone they really trust has to be driving for them to come NEAR a bridge.

I think that's going overboard and I'd really like to see these adults conquer their fears - to some degree, at least. (But I'm biased since I drove a bunch of hours to pick up family members and take them out-of-town, simply because no one in town was available and/or WILLING to cross the I-10 bridge!)

I try to stop short of thinking that they're "stupid," though. After all, I'm sure recent stories of collapsing bridges (in Minnesota, California, and elsewhere) just cement their decades-long phobias.

The Son Becomes the Father...

I'm not sure if any of you have ever experienced this, but if you'd be willing to share your stories, I'd be interested in reading'em.

I sometimes think about what it must be like to reach or pass your parents' age(s). A big part of how many of us define parenthood is by the age difference and wisdom we assumed had accumulated during that time.

So, what happens when we not only lose a parent, but eventually reach that parent's age?

Do you feel that you know them better or maybe understand them a bit more, now that your shoes are just as big as theirs?

Does a son find his father in every mirror? Does he begin to think of his father as a young'un compared to himself - almost as a little brother?

How does a daughter greet the persistent image of a long-lost matriarch? How does affect her impression of her own adulthood - or womanhood?


I'll always remember my father telling me, as a child, that I'd understand stuff when I got older - even if I already understood, at that very moment. I bookend that memory with the more recent recollection of him admitting to the grown-up me that my opinion would never be worth much because it would always be based on fewer years of experience than his own.

It makes me wonder if, a couple decades after he dies and I'm older than he ever was,... I wonder if he'll respect me, then, from six feet underground.

EDIT: This post isn't really about me. I just thought about a relevant element of my life before I finished typing. Comments about my experience are welcome, but comments about the issue of reaching our parents' ages are enthusiastically encouraged.

Thanks.

My Father Figured

*continuing what was a too-long comment from African-American's Dad's recent post about his father*

I think my Pops thinks I hold a grudge with him because of his role or lack of a role during my childhood. My problems with my him have more to do with who he is (and who I am), now, than the craziness (and absences) of the past.

It's kinda of sad to say out-loud (or electronically), but I've given up on us having a real relationship. I may send him a lower-tier card or something to acknowledge Father's Day and the fact that I'll always love him, but interaction is fueled by interlocking personality traits or simple compatibility. We lack that - almost completely.

Without it, we either 1) lie and tolerate each other through clenched teeth or 2) we avoid each other. I reject the former and so am left with the latter.

It's too bad, really, because his relationship with his father was $#!+, too. He says he wanted ours to be better. So did I.

I'll tell you, though: if my Dad ever cared enough to just look me in the eye, or even call, and tell me that he loved me, I'd be "a puddle of water," as my Mom says.

Surreality Bites

Something odd happened the other day. Well, a lot of odd things have happened in my life, lately. Below is one of the latest.

Quick background for those that are just tuning in:

My dad and I have no relationship. We've not spoken in about two and a half years and before that short period of communication, it'd been about two years. And so on. And so on. One strangely ironic reason that we have no relationship (i.e. can't even have a 5-minute conversation) is due to my father's insecurity over the fact that he wasn't there for much of my life, for various reasons. At different times over the past several years, he has taken in a couple of young people that he claims as his children (we'll leave it at that). I've met them on and off since they were babies, but we don't really have a relationship, either. One of them, an 18-year-old we'll call "R," lives with my dad, now. I think Pops sees this as his second (/last) chance to be a "real" father.

We now return to our regularly-scheduled program.

So, I was checking something out on the laptop one evening when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw the name of my half-step-brother-kinda-sorta, R.

R and I are cool enough with each other. We don't talk often, but we call or text each other once every six months or so. That said, I was shocked as shit to hear from him - especially since I'd been thinking about him and my Pops over the past week or so.

I answered the phone and we did the quick greetings and howyoudoin's when he threw me a curveball in response to my "How're you doing?"

"Not so good."

Shit. A ton of possibilities zipped through my poor brain in the 1.76 seconds following his reply. The one that endured the most was one of my fears - that my Pops would die or something and, because of our lack of a relationship, I wouldn't find out until it was too late.

Luckily, it was nothing so dramatic. R told me that he and my dad hadn't been getting along all that well. (Although, when I say that back to him, he downplays it, as if it's not that bad.)

Anyway, he shocks me some more by more or less telling on himself. He's not saying that my our father is difficult (which Pops most #$T#! DEFINITELY is!). No.

R is saying that the problem is his own behavior. He says he lies and procrastinates and disobeys and he needs to start doing better. He placed zero blame on my our father.

He goes on explaining how he's not doing what he's supposed to do and I have to ask him the obvious, "If you know what you're supposed to do and you want to do it, what's stopping you from doing it?"

He didn't have an answer for that, which left us both in mild fugue state, trying to figure out where to go from there. I recovered first:

"I'm going to tell you an old joke. Now, I'm not trying to make you laugh, so don't think that. I'm just using a joke to illustrate my point:

A man walks into a doctor's office. The doctor says, 'What seems to be the problem?'
The man says, 'Well, Doc, I really need your help. It really hurts whenever I turn my head like this. Ow!'

The doctor replies, 'Well, stop turning your head like that.'

'. . .'

'That'll be fifty bucks.'"

The point of that story as well as much of what I said to him for the next 45 minutes or so, was that his actions, his reputation, and his life are largely in his own hands. I wanted him to know that he has more control than he might think.

"Ultimately, it comes down to what kind of man you want to be," I told him. I told him that to get from point A to point B requires effort and commitment along with the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. Baby steps, even.

I'm not sure if this made a dent, but I hoped it would at least make him feel better. I had to remind myself of a lesson I've learned and forgotten many times before: Sometimes, it's not what you say so much as the fact that you cared enough to say it.

I asked him what kind of man he didn't want to be and he laid that out pretty well. I told him that most men who possess the negative traits he described, used to be 18-year-olds just like him. (Or is he 17?) And at that age, I'm sure none of them planned to be an undependable, lying, rotten so-and-so... well, not most of'em, anyway. Yet they ended up there regardless.

I asked him a question, "You know the difference between them and you?"

"No."

"The difference is that you've got me... and your dad... and the rest of your family and friends, along with the desire and the ability to do better than you've done before." Or something like that."

Eventually, I gave it a rest because it was hard to know, from his feedback, whether any of it was doing any good. I figured that I'd done about all I could for the evening and I told him to feel free to call me again whenever he liked.

I also recommended talking to other people he trusted, including his pastor - not to mention good old-fashioned prayer. It may not be my thing, but it's his and that means something.

I don't know if I can relate it properly, but this whole thing was insanely Twilight Zone-ish. For a variety of reasons:

1) I don't know why he'd turn to me for advice. He never has before and I don't know why he'd think enough of me to consider me. (Not a put-down of myself but an acknowledgment of our limited interaction.)

2) My Pops can be sneaky. I've long suspected that he's told R to call me, but to pretend that he did it on his own, so that my dad could find out something about me or promote interaction between the young man and me.

3) I've never known a young person to come to someone saying he's a problem and wants to stop doing bad things - especially when those bad things have nothing to do with anything big like crime, drugs, or sexuality.

The delivery and content seemed so artificial (and similar to my Pops' past comments) that I had a hard time believing they were genuine. At the same time, I realized that I could be wrong. That's why I treated him like he was dead serious.

Besides, he may not have been telling me the whole story. That's why I threw in some stuff about sex and drugs and crime in there. Just in case.


If this is all rather hard to swallow, imagine a co-worker of yours - one that you're not all that close to, but you've met his/her family at various time throughout your tenure. Now imagine that co-worker's kid, whom you've only met a handful of times, calls you up asking for advice about what kind of detergent to use on his clothes.

This isn't quite that, but it's a good example of how out-of-the-blue and .... just surreal... the whole thing was, for me.

More Than We Know

I mentioned, last week, that I visited my family in Pensacola, Florida, for Mother's Day.

During that visit, my aunt asked her son (my cousin) if he'd shown me the invitations to his high school graduation. He didn't have one for me, then, but he offered a verbal invitation for the middle of the following week. I told him I'd see if I could get the time off.

I had quite a few reasons not to go:

1) I'd just spent a lot of money for Mother's Day.
2) I'd recently traveled quite a bit.
3) My cousin and I have only seen each other a handful of times and, although I have nothing against him, we aren't very close.

The list goes on.

I had one reason to go:

1) He asked me to.

Now, to be honest, it seemed to me that my cousin only invited me at his mother's urging and it seemed clear that she hadn't considered inviting me prior to my arrival the week before. That doesn't offend me at all, but it appeared that I wouldn't be missed if I didn't show.

However, I wasn't completely sure about that.

I should mention that this cousin is adopted. Now, that doesn't make a difference, to me. It's been almost 20 years since my aunt took in a troubled child (a troubled baby, actually) in need of a warm home and a loving family. So he's been a part of the family long enough that I rarely think about the fact that we don't have the same blood in our veins.

Quick digression: It's funny how family, often defined simply by genetic chance, is largely a social construct with boundaries that are only limited by how far we open our hearts and minds.

Anyway, despite the fact that he's family, he may not always feel like he is - especially since he's got troubles that've carried over from his past. That plus the fact that my "real" cousins, whose lives I've tried to be a part of from the beginning, have often left me out of such milestone moments in their lives... made this invitation matter a bit more to me than expected.

He's a young man trying to forge a bright future and he asked me to be a part of the ceremony that initiates this. I couldn't say, "No." After securing the leave time, I agreed to go.

My girlfriend hadn't seen my family in a while (and vice-versa) so it was especially nice that she cared enough to take time off and accompany me.

We arrived in Pensacola, went to my cousin's graduation, noting how few of us (the family) showed up, took a bunch of pictures, loved him up, then went to an "after-party" of sorts, at a local restaurant. This get-together was organized by a member of my aunt's religious assembly, for lack of a better word. Besides my aunt and cousin, my girlfriend and I were the only attendees who weren't members of that religious group.

That's another thing. This religious group, to which my aunt and cousin belong, isn't quite "mainstream." My aunt changed from the predominant religion in our family to her current religion, decades, ago. My family's response to this was between extremes. Not great, but not terrible, either.

"Lukewarm" sounds about right.

So, members of my aunt's biological family (my girlfriend and I) interacted with my aunt's religious family, which I don't think has ever happened before. It went well.

I found out that my cousin had told people that I was coming and how happy this made him.

This surprised me. A lot.

In the end, we all laughed, filled our bellies, and generally had a good time. After it was over, I began to re-evaluate how much this event meant to me, to aunt, and to my cousin.

For me, it was nice to feel wanted and welcomed by family.
For my aunt, I think it was nice to have a positive interaction between her two families.
For my cousin and my aunt, I also think it was nice to feel that someone else in the family was taking an interest in his happiness and future.

So, I guess this was my long-winded way of saying that the choices we make and the things we do for and with our loved-ones can matter much more than we realize, at the time - even to ourselves. I'm glad that, in this instance at least, I didn't pass on an opportunity to bring some of the family even closer together.

For that matter, I'm also very happy with my girlfriend's choice to be a part of the whole thing - even when my grandmother's health was a concern and we accompanied her to and from the hospital, yesterday.

Mother's Day

This Mother's Day was pretty nice (if expensive).

I got my mom something she'd wanted for a while, but probably wouldn't get for herself, and an uncle and I took five or six moms out to dinner. It was a nice outing and I was especially glad it included one of the younger mothers in the family. Otherwise, I doubt she would've received any Mother's Day acknowledgment.

The only downside, really, was the fact that we couldn't do that for more family members. One doesn't want to have to pick and choose between family members, but we couldn't afford to take everyone. (I chose based on those who were around at the time we began finalizing the plan.)

It's a special day for mothers, so I hate the idea that there are mothers out there who didn't feel special - maybe because no one acknowledged them on that day or maybe because they spent the day worrying about or dealing with approaching forest fires in California, Georgia, or Florida.*




* - In our case, the closest fires are about 300 miles, away, from most of my family, but we could still smell it. At first, I thought someone left the oven on. Then I thought someone was burning leaves (which is a smell I associate with Pensacola). Eventually, I realized it was the forest fire(s)... which have resulted in a smoky haze in and around Tallahassee (100 miles away).

Good for the Goose

One-time for two-parent households.

Returning the Favor

As I've said before, I've got a lot on my plate, these days. I'm trying to make professional obligations work to my advantage by also taking care of some health/personal concerns. To that end, I'm spending some time in Georgia for... I don't know how long, exactly.

Anyway, last night, my Mom asked how long I'd be here and I told her there's some chance that I could be around for as long as a week. We'll see. She asked if I could take a look at their high-speed internet set-up, at some point.

This morning, I went back and forth between taking care of my business and checking out their internet set-up. After quite a bit of multi-tasking, including running my mobile phone battery down, I was able to install a new ethernet card and successfully get them online. (By the way, if you're ever having trouble with a cable modem's usb connection, try the ethernet option, instead.)

As much as I've blown their mobile phones up, asking for advice on car repairs or whatever, it's nice to be able to return the favor, in this way. That's all.

Have a great day, folks.

Hug Them

Just the other day, my lady got some very good news about a loved-one. She was pleased for and proud of him. Today, she finds out that he's battling a life-threatening ailment that has yet to be identified.

As we all know, sad times can strike without warning. Go grab, call, or find your loved one(s) and give'em a big ol' hug because you never know what tomorrow will bring.

Luckily, my girlfriend's family member knows how much she loves him, but times like these are good reminders of how much we should appreciate and express our appreciation for those we care for.

Hopefully, things will turn out well and he'll fully recover, but any positive vibes or well-wishes or prayers would be welcome - whether you choose to do so on- or offline.

Take care.

Erin's Choice

The following is inspired by Nikki's latest:

I just thought I'd share something my mom mentioned to me, recently.

One of our family members, "Erin," has a grandmother (not mine) whom she'd allowed to move in with her.

One day, there was a family event at Erin's home. Almost everyone else was outside participating, but she was taking care of something in one of the back rooms of her home.

Erin heard voices and, upon investigation, realized it was her grandmother's and her sister's voice she'd heard, coming from the front room. Apparently, they thought Erin was outside because they were talking about her pretty badly.

I'm guessing Erin wouldn't have liked that, BUT that she might have been able to deal with it... IF the grandmother hadn't also talked badly about one of Erin's sons.

Reportedly, the grandmother thinks the world of the half-white, baby boy, "Noah." "Unfortunately," the other child, whom we'll call "Tyrese," has a dark chocolate complexion. It's the chocolate one the grandmother was dogging out.

By the end of the day, Erin had put her grandmother and her belongings out of the house. Can't say I blame her.

It was bad enough that Erin's grandmother disrespecting the person who'd let her live there, rent-free. Considering the fact that Noah and Tyrese could've ended up with screwed-up self-images and self-esteem, due to the grandmother's extreme affection for one and extreme distaste for the other purely based on skin-tone, I back Erin's decision all the way.

The grandmother will land on her feet. It's the babies that need protecting, the most.


There's no punchline or anything. I just thought I'd share an example of how this kind of thing (bias against darker-skinned Black folks) can even break up families.