A Supernova Smile

"It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living." –F. Scott Fitzgerald 

It's been nearly 13 years since both my parents passed. My dad first followed by my mom four months later. My sister and I miss them every day. 

Today on Father's Day, I really miss my dad. He wasn't my biological father, but in many ways, he might as well have been, which is why we took his name when we were in high school. 

My dad and I did not agree politically, but we did share an affinity for empathy. I learned from him that men can be caring and loving, kind and forgiving. He listened to me and heard me, most of the time without judgement, and even if he didn't agree with me, we could have a conversation about everything. 

As I revisit something I wrote about him after he died, I'm struck again about how much I miss his loving smile and the laughter in his heart. It was always a sunny smile, my dad's. A master of levity, he injected humor and silliness into most everything he did. His infectious laughter brought smiles to anyone in the room, the scar above his lip gleaming under light like polished glass. For the life of me, I can't remember how he got the scar. All I know is that it added a richness to his character, like biscuits soaked in honey and butter – you could never get enough.

This from someone who served in the Air Force and who also was a law enforcement veteran of 32 years. Anyone who ever worked with him shared the same sentiment – from the criminals he put away (who he called his customers), to literal strangers he'd meet on the street, in the store, in the campground, in the post office, in the doctor's office – everyone experienced his sunny disposition, his goofy humor, and his viral smile.

My dad inspired me to do the same – to be silly, to embrace life and all the people in it, to always give life and everyone in it a second chance, to still have a smile on my face when facing adversity and my own shortcomings. To always be loving and empathetic with a lightness of being.

I remember when I carried him to the bathroom the week before he died, his frail body still buoyed by the lightness of being he had left. 

Our meditation this morning was about fathers and how we should be unconditionally loving and giving to everyone. My dad was all that, and the love and laughter in his heart left a supernova smile in mine. 

June Gloom Is Everywhere

School's out for the summer. And like many other families, ours longs for social and economic normalcy. Our oldest Beatrice has already been hanging out with her friends and started her job again as a camp counselor at a summer day camp. Our youngest Bryce is grateful for sleeping in, listening to music, watching movies, playing guitar, and waiting for their summer camps to start. We have no big summer vacation plans since Beatrice is working all summer, and so are Mom and Dad, but there are some fun things planned.

But the dark shadows of uncertainty are encroaching everywhere. Recession fears. AI taking our jobs. Global conflict escalations. Extreme weather (again) and fire danger (again). Splintered political and social ideologies that divide people everywhere. Authoritarianism on the rise. Misinformation and elusive variable truths. And I'm still mourning my dear friend. It's like the "June Gloom" as we call it in the Bay Area has blanketed everything. 

Now that our kids are teens and more aware of what's happening around them, the pressures of the adulting world combine with those dark shadows of uncertainty -- and Mom and Dad are stressing more than ever. 

Our kids a little more too, but they're still kids who know that Mom and Dad are taking care and worrying about most things for them still. Bryce wanted to organize a march supporting LGBTQIA+ rights, and did it, with a lot of help from Mom. It was peaceful and without incident, but what happens the next time if things escalate and flash-bang grenades are deployed by law enforcement and the National Guard is deployed, like what's happening in Los Angeles? We had a safety plan for Bryce's march and thankfully didn't have to use it. What happens next time is anyone's guess, but we'll be out there nonetheless. 

Plus, there are adulting worries less potentially violent but are still safety problems that we must worry about. Beatrice is stressing because she wants to get her driver's permit soon. We're excited about that, but we're not excited about our insurance rates. Ugh. But Mom and Dad are stressing because one of our cars has a transmission problem that can't be diagnosed and has become a safety problem for our family. So, that means it's time to shop for a new car after nine years, something we were not planning on doing in this frenetic tariff-driven, high-interest-rate economy. Ugh, again. 

No matter what, our family will invest in some summer normalcy without compromising our beliefs and principles. We will continue to peacefully protest to support the rights of everyone and to keep our country an inclusive democracy.

We'll also have to pay more for things, that's for damn sure, but we're grateful for what we can provide to our family. Blessings to those families who struggle to do the same.

June Gloom is everywhere. Be wary, safe, and well. 

Because There's Always A Promise

The past few weeks have been a lot. Work changes, tons of school board activities, Beatrice's High School Musical, Bryce's We Will Not Be Erased march, Bryce graduating 8th grade, and my best friend's memorial. And yet, I've never been on a sounder emotional footing.

Thank goodness, because the world around us continues to be a proverbial shit show. But none of that mattered, especially this past week. 

First, attending the elementary school promotion ceremony where both our children went to school from preschool to 5th grade was so very sweet. Our oldest Beatrice was with me because one of her longtime friend's sister was graduating 5th grade. Most of the 5th graders all looked so tiny and young. Now they were on their way to middle school. Beatrice's memories were bittersweet because it was the heart of pandemic when she graduated 5th grade and the school did a drive-through promotion certificate pick up.

When Bryce graduated 5th grade, I wasn't there because I had work travel that week. But, because the school streamed the ceremony via Zoom, I did get to watch Bryce speak along with a few other students from each 5th grade class. 

I was not going to miss their 8th grade graduations, however. Amy and I were there for Beatrice's two years ago and then Bryce's this past week. Being on the school board, I'm grateful that I got to hand both our children their promotion certificates on stage. Plus, there's nothing better when you're the school board president and your punk rock kid puts rabbit ears above your head for the photo. Love that kid!

8th grade was a lot for Bryce. They struggled with an introverted social battery that drained quickly and led to emotional changes and anxiety challenges. Beatrice experienced similar changes and challenges when she was in 8th grade, too, but who's now thriving in high school. Bryce is looking forward to joining her in high school where they'll both be in choir and theater together. Amy and I continue to provide a loving and supportive environment for them that helps them learn to adapt and thrive. 

All of Beatrice's and Bryce's recent school activities (and anxieties) have brought back many of my own bittersweet memories (and anxieties). And since my best friend Robby passed away earlier this year, my high school memories continue to unravel like multicolored streamers in high wind. They ripple, flap, and tangle, weaving and bleeding into each other – an unreliable blend of what happened then, what’s happened in the years since, and how I feel about it all now. Memories that tatter in my heart. Memories that reconcile and heal in my heart.

And it was the healing in my heart that radiated with love and gratitude at our friend's celebration of life memorial. My dearest friends and brothers as I call them helped me plan the memorial, and many other longtime friends helped to pull it off. Nearly 50 of us came together to celebrate Robby, including his sister and niece. There were many faces I hadn't seen in person in decades. There were lots of smiles and hugs, and of course tears, and while we're all certainly a lot older now, our past youthful spirits were aglow with the promise of our lives then and now. 

Because there's always a promise, one we owe to ourselves to fulfill every moment of every day. Blessings to Robby and blessings to us all.