To Be Empathic Allies

“Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.”

―Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“We must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope." 

―Martin Luther King, Jr

My wife Amy and I have always loved "end of the world" stories. When we first met, we discovered we had both read Lucifer's Hammer, a 1977 novel about a comet breaking apart and striking earth and the survival story afterwards, and still talk about it to this day. Then there was The Stand by Stephen King and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, and television shows like The Walking Dead (based on graphic novels), Station Eleven (based on a novel), The Last of Us (based on a video game), and The Handmaid's Tale (based on Margaret Atwood's novel, and now a little too close to home). Plus, many more novels, movies, and TV shows in between. 

Ultimately for us both it was less about the why of the end, no matter how horrible the aftermath, and more about the how of human perseverance and survival laced with empathy and love. As long as there was a thread of hope and love in the story with empathic protagonists, then it reaffirmed our own hopefulness and love for humankind. Of course, that was just as true for us in everyday nonfiction stories, too. 

Including reelecting a convicted authoritarian president (and a congress majority) who only leads with misogyny, racism, anger, and fear, reaffirmed again and again by constant misinformation and lies for the past decade. Over half the U.S. who supported him may disagree with that, and/or overlook it, and/or not care.

The world may or may not end with a cataclysmic bang because of this; maybe it'll only end in a whimper and we'll survive this real-life dystopian future that's coming. In the meantime, it's still soul-crushing to believe that so many of us are driven by that much grievance, anger, and fear. Because ultimately it was never about the price of eggs. That was simply an unfortunate by-product of supply-and-demand economics that most of us don't even understand or care to. 

We're all fallible, feeling beings who sometimes think, not the other way around. It's always been easier to have scapegoats, others to blame for our misgivings and misfortunes, but history has shown again and again how this all ends. That's what worries me the most. Not the end of America or World War III, but the more immediate danger of a newly empowered harassment and violence escalation against women, the LGBTQ+ community, people of color, immigrants, neurodivergent people, people of different religions, and empathic allies like my wife, our children, and me (and many of you). The targets on our backs have never been bigger. And it's not just coming -- it's already here. 

Thankfully a dear friend reminded me that we do need to continue to fight the good fight on the ground in the communities where we live. To be empathic allies who lead with love, hope, and understanding and help ensure basic human rights and safety equity for all. And that's exactly what we're going to do. Blessings to us all. 

Listening with Empathy and Love

40 years ago I was a mental mess. I had finished high school and graduated, but had trashed my stellar GPA the last semester. I remember barely keeping it together as I pushed my best friend into the stadium for our graduation ceremony. He had broken his neck our senior year; I had broken my spirit. It was still a special moment, but a painfully bittersweet one.

Thankfully I was only just beginning to talk about how I felt, even if I didn't fully understand what was going on with my mental health. I was over a decade away from the grateful and mindful path I'm still on today, but at least it was a start. Childhood trauma combine continuous self-imposed pressure to succeed in school led to crippling social anxiety and panic attacks for me my last year and a half of high school. Once I could finally talk about it with friends, my family, a caring high school counselor -- it helped, but the damage at the time had been done. Suicidal thoughts crept their way in at times, but I knew in my heart life would be different someday. 

And it is. Us Gen X kids may have been tougher and survivors growing up (at least it makes a great social media meme), but some of us had our share of mental and emotional train wrecks along the way. Now, with Gen Z teens, my wife Amy and I have been riding the parental roller coaster, again, of teen anxiety. Anyone with teens today knows what I'm taking about. 

Depression, anxiety and behavioural disorders are among the leading causes of illness and disability among adolescents. Ugh.

Teen anxiety may be a common crappy rite of passage, but one difference for our kids than for me at that age was earlier self-awareness, more accessible empathy (from within and from others), and the ability to articulate how they feel. Listening to your kids without judgement, and/or without trying to always solve their problems or telling them to toughen up and deal with whatever it is they're dealing with, is super critical. Encouraging hobbies, sports, theater, music, and physical activities can help, too. 

Sure, I grew up riding in the back of pickup trucks with nothing strapping me in (literally and figuratively). I also literally fell out of the back of one of those trucks when I was 16. Good times. 

Our kids will go through what they go through, have their own bittersweet journeys just like we did. But there should never be any stigma in listening with empathy and love and giving them the resources and support they need to learn how to adapt and thrive in life. And parents need a lot of that empathy and love, too. 

Making a Dent

Watching the wedding was wonderful. We listened to the bride and groom read their vows to each other and held hands the entire time. It was the daughter of a dear old friend getting married and I'm so grateful my wife Amy and I attended. Two other old friends were there with their wives as well, friends that go back over 40 years. As always, it was great to catch up on our lives, since we only get together a couple of times each year. We continue to invest in our relationships and reap the benefits of friendship, and I'd argue, more loving relationships with our spouses and significant others. 

However, research has always shown that men struggle more than women with sound friendships, love, and intimacy. And now they're lonelier than ever. An article I found referenced a recent study showing nearly one in five Americans reported having no close social connections. And men are faring the worst: More than one in four men (28 percent) under age 30 reported having no close social connections. The percentage worsens as men age.

The pandemic didn't help us here either – women, children, and especially men – all struggled with social interactions and relationships. We're grateful that we had a "pod" group of families that helped with each other's children and still ensured multiple opportunities to socialize. 

But for men in general, it's gotten more and more difficult to maintain long-term intimate relationships and/or friendships. It's gotten worse because for decades, toxic masculinity has defaulted to giving up on these relationships and has fueled a larger global antidemocracy movement that's an unhealthy and destructive reaction to changes in society that make many men feel lost, marginalized and searching for meaning and community in their lives.

Women have always been more of the connective tissue in the social and relationship fabric of today and past generations. Plus, more women are going to college than men today, and more women today are the primary financial breadwinners (even though women still make less than men on average). Unfortunately, it's been easier for disenfranchised men to aggregate to social and political movements that encourage patriarchal dominance through violence, celebrating misogyny, sexism, and racism, while severely discounting and diminishing inclusivity, love, and empathy. 

I've tried to understand the why of this, but I continue to struggle with it, and this is why I'm scared. Scared because of the willingness of so many men to bond indiscriminately in this rage and hate to feel empowered to be in power, jeopardizing the health and safety of women, children, those who are in the LGBTQIA+ community, immigrants, and people of color (except those who are part of the bro bonding above). Jeopardizing the health and safety of families of all flavors who continue to invest in loving empathic relationships across genders and generations. 

Thank God my friends of 40+ years don't think this way, because if they did, we wouldn't really be friends. It's up to those of us who don't think this way in making a dent in this growing gender divide, starting with inclusive joy and love for all. And on that note, please make sure you vote. 

Let Them See Us Love

She took a bite of the limp waffle fry and threw the remaining piece back into the bowl. It was so natural, as if that's what you do when you don't like something you've eaten, you toss it back to the table. That and spitting out the piece you bit off, which thankfully she didn't do. 

"Did you just throw it back in the bowl?" I asked my wife Amy.

Amy thought about it for a few seconds and then started to laugh. I laughed as well. Soon we were both laughing hard, the kind of laughing that brings tears and makes you pee a little. 

"It wasn't crispy enough," Amy managed to say between her crying laughter. 

"Oh my goodness," I said, laughing just as hard. "You just threw it back in the bowl."

Our laughter continues for a few minutes, with our two teens Beatrice and Bryce seemingly oblivious to our funny experience. Seemingly being the operative word, because we know they pay attention to more than they let on. Because they're always analyzing every single thing we do and calling out our mistakes. All. The. Time. 

I rarely take it personally anymore, though. Even when I hear, "Dad, you always do [this] all the time." This being a variety of Dad and guy behavior that I'm judged on daily. Even Mom isn't immune from the call-outs. This is normal development for teens and the beginning of them finding themselves and their own voices.

And now that they're finding themselves they're asking us all sorts of questions about our past -- before we met, when we met, after we met and before they were born. We answer most of them, but not all of them, especially the ones about when we were teens. Our teens are good kids. Amy and I, weren't so much. 

Since we've had our kids, they've watched us and absorbed much of what we do and say. Yes, they've seen us laugh until we cry and nearly pee our pants, like with the recent waffle fry incident. They've also seen us kiss and hug too long for their own good and cry, "Ewwww, get a room!" (Yes, they do know what that means now. Ugh.)

But they've also seen us upset. They've seen us cry. They've seen us mad at them and at each other. They've seen us fight. They've seen many of our high and low moments over the years. A lot of modeling moments, most of which were always grounded in love.

In fact, over 14,207,040 minutes have passed since Amy and I first met one day at the beach. Every minute with Amy and now our children adds to my heart’s coral reef.

And if I've learned anything during those millions of minutes, I've learned to let them see us love. 

One Picture Imperfect

"We are young
Wandering the face of the Earth

Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time..."

—Rush, Dreamline

There's one picture from my past that crystallizes our fragile mortality and constant change. It was a one from our sophomore year in high school when six of us dressed up as cheerleaders to cheer on the girls' "powderpuff football" team. It was goofy and fun and we really enjoyed it. 

Decades later, two of the six have died (one had been my best friend in junior high), one vanished from social media shortly after the 2016 election (which I don't blame him), one had parents who were concerned about his life choices that very same sophomore year and had him taken away to one of those "therapy" camps in the wilderness (but he ended up doing well with a family of his own), and one who used to be one of my best friends (another story for another time) who didn't take care of himself, losing both his feet. 

And then there was me. I was telling our kids about the picture and what happened to all the guys and they both said that it was sad. But that was all. Beatrice is at the age that we were at in that picture and Bryce isn't far behind. They have their own friends, their own fun, and their own teen angst, and to them, life is boundless and seemingly endless.

But for only a limited time. Because then the decades go by, and the reality of immortality slips away, even when you'd be willing to do it all again, as I would. As I stare into the face of turning 60 next year, I have no regrets after hitting 59. I'm grateful for all joy and sadness, for all the failure and success, and for all the grace throughout the journey. 

When I think about those friends from that sophomore picture dressed as cheerleaders, I'm grateful to be alive and healthy and wish blessings upon those who aren't. When I think about the friends I have today, friends from high school, college, and friends whose kids have gone to school with ours for years, I'm grateful I actually have them, especially being a man in a super-polarized and very lonely male world today. It doesn't have to be that way and I've ensured it's not for me. 

The picture of me today after turning 59 in one of my favorite places in the world is one picture imperfect. A mere mortal who still dreams big for himself, his wife, and his children. And I'd do it all again to be here today. 

Because I'm Proud to be an American

When I look at our children, our daughters, our teens, I finally see who they'll be as young adults. Really see them. Never in a million years could my wife Amy and I imagined who they'd become. We do the best job we can of parenting them, and the rest, well, it's all them. 

It's enlightening and it's scary simultaneously. Literally to the bone. Enlightening because I couldn't be prouder of the strong, independent, no-nonsense, and empathetic humans they're becoming. Scary because of the world they're becoming all of this in. 

We live in a country that's always held the promise of equality, equity, liberty, and freedom for all, to live and be who we want, within the bounds of our constitution and bill of rights, regardless of our gender, our age, or our race and ethnicity. 

In practice, our history reveals again and again how beaten and bruised that promise has been. But we keep trying to get there, and there are those who keep trying to hold us back. I believe the majority is in the getting there, otherwise this grand democratic republic experiment would be over.

There have been those moments when the experiment teeters on the edge of authoritarianism, where ultimately unchecked power costs us our personal freedoms and works to require strict obedience to those in charge. I'm grateful to have been around the world with my wife and my children and not once have I thought, I do not want to live in a place without inclusive freedom. So, here we are today with our children/teenagers/soon-to-be adults (in a few years -- because time flies) in the middle of another divisive national election. 

What I've always loved about being an American is that, within our Constitution and Bill of Rights boundaries, we can all believe what we want and live the way we want. We may vehemently disagree on the current issues in front of us, but we still have the freedom to disagree, debate, and again, believe what we we want and live the way we want. Maybe along the way we learn to compromise and fully appreciate our shared experiences. At least that's always the aspirational goal and one we impart on our children. 

However, when the ultimate goal is to limit and even eliminate my family's personal freedoms and rights so that we must believe and live the way others want to us to, and compromise all that's afforded to us in the promise of America, then it's no longer an inclusive democratic republic. And here we are again, teetering on that razor's edge.

I have to believe that the majority of us, with or without children, will work together to keep our grand ol' democracy, with all its continuous contradictions, flaws, and historical scars, alive and well. I know my wife and I will. I hope our children will, too. 

Our youngest child, Bryce, a fiercely independent teen who's a little too cynical at this age, always asks why I keep our American flag out on our front porch. 

My response is aways the same (as was my parents), "Because I'm proud to be an American."

Bea's Sweet 16 Beach Party

She loved Teen Beach and Teen Beach 2 when she first watched them years ago. So much so that she still watches them today and sings all the songs verbatim. Fun old school rock and roll musicals with silly plot lines, puppy love, and teen friendship and fun, light and sweet. 

So it was no surprise that our oldest child, Beatrice, wanted her Sweet 16 birthday to be on the beach with her friends. With a fire to gather around and cook hot dogs and s'mores. And to watch a movie on the beach using a projector and a big screen. 

We're grateful that we her parents could do it. And we did, but it didn't quite go as planned. Nothing too bad, just different, the way things can change even with the best of plans in place. My wife Amy is an amazing planner and packer, so we had everything we needed on the beach. Beatrice also helped her mom pack and also put together her big lit up "16" numbers. One of Beatrice's best friends' father, Andrew, also came early with me to set up. 

We've never done anything like this, having a gathering on a beach with a fire pit. Most of the beaches where we live don't allow fires and we had to drive across town to get to one that does. When Andrew and I arrived early to set up, the beach was more populated that I would have anticipated, especially on a cool foggy day such as this one. Plus, all the fire pits were taken. 

The good news was that where we ended up setting up our party "camp" was near another teen party being set up and the family offered to share their fire pit with us. That was great news, and we had the best of both worlds, because we also brought our propane fire pit, so now we had two. We set up the rest of our party area and were ready to go.

Bea's friends arrived and all went well until 45 minutes into the movie when the projector battery ran out. It was supposed to last up to three hours on a charge. Nope. Didn't happen. Luckily the 25 teens who came to celebrate with Beatrice were just fine talking, laughing, running around, listening to music, and snacking on hot dogs, chips, candy, soda, and cookies -- perfect teen grub. 

Originally, the chairs we brought and the propane fire pit were supposed to be for Amy and I and our two pod families of old (friends and their kids we hung out together with during the pandemic), but the teens claimed them immediately after they got there. We could've kicked them out, but we were just the caterers, and this was for Beatrice and her friends. We all survived and did get a couple of chairs back later in the night. Our friends brought their own fun "air" bean bags to sit and lay on. 

Even though not everything went as planned, Bea's Sweet 16 beach party was still a hit. Her friends had a blast and thanked Amy and I over and over again. Like Bea's favorite old Teen Beach movies, she made her own memories of teen friendship and fun, light and sweet. That's all we wanted for her and we're grateful the universe obliged.