Our Quality-of-Life Difference

In that moment, I exploded. 

It wasn't their fault. I was late picking them up from school knowing that I had a work call I had to get back to. I had sat in the car, getting more anxious with every second that passed, texting them to hurry up.

I called our oldest Beatrice. "C'mon, I have to get back," I said. "We're coming," she said. Seconds passed. Then a minute. The rubicon of me not making it back in time for my call was coming.

It was a busy time at work for me. Still is. The weight of things I had to do combined with my perception of the state of world and our country became an avalanche of glacial darkness. I could feel the impotent rage not far behind. 

I texted both Beatrice and our youngest Bryce. They said they were coming. Finally, I could see them approaching the car. It had only been a few minutes, but it felt like a span of geological time. 

They got in the car. Bryce said hi. Beatrice said she was really tired. I don't even remember what I said at first, just that my voice escalated with rage as I pulled into the street to drive home. I yelled and pounded on the steering wheel. I vaguely remember babbling about how hard I work for our family to support them, and how I have so many things to do, and how they didn't seem to care about that.

Then it was over. Neither of them said a word. I'm not even sure they breathed for a minute after that. I know I didn't. I felt horrible, but I was still mad. We drove in silence for a few minutes. I kept my gaze forward watching the road ahead. 

My anger drained away and I felt empty and ashamed. I knew I had scared them. "I'm sorry I yelled at you both," I said. "I'm just really busy and frustrated about work right now." I sounded muted, like I was on the other side of a room from them speaking quietly. No one spoke the rest of the way home.

Once we got home, I told my wife Amy that I had "flipped my lid" and yelled at the kids. I then went straight upstairs for my work call. I struggled to stay focused during the call, but I got through it. 

Afterwards I got the opportunity to apologize again to both of them. Bryce seemed aloof about what had happened (such a teen) but appreciated my apology. Beatrice and I had a positive, reflective conversation about what had happened. She appreciated my apology, too, and apologized for not hurrying to the car. I told her it wasn't their fault, because it really wasn't. We told each other we loved each other and reconciled. 

It's rare that Amy and I blow up at the kids, or at each other, but it's happened over the years. We're human, but usually centered, empathic, respectful, and mindful in how we treat each other and communicate with each other, and with our kids. I'm still the grumpy dad sometimes, yes, and we're still the parents and they are the teens. We are all sometimes overwhelmed by our own ancient limbic system and biological breakdowns. We know they're learning to adult, and we want them to model loving and resilient humans who understand life can feel overwhelming at times, but how we react to it makes all the difference in our quality of life. 

So, for my birthday today, I will celebrate my family and our quality-of-life difference.

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. 

Just Another Part That Pierces My Heart

Within a few days, it was infected. I remember it well, because at first it became inflamed and itchy. Then came the gross discharge; obviously I didn't take care of it at first. After it got infected, I had to keep cleaning it every day with hydrogen peroxide while keeping it bandaged for nearly the first month until it finally healed up. After that, I only really kept it in for about one year. 

So much for my fashion fad of wearing an earring.  When I told Beatrice I had an earring years before I met her mom, she wanted to know more. She wasn't the one interested in getting earrings, though. Her younger sister, Bryce, was. 

Beatrice had run an errand with me one night after dinner and that's when we got to talking about it. Bryce was all ready to get her earrings on her birthday, and so I told Bea about my experience. She told me she would probably never have earrings, and not just because of my story. 

Bryce definitely wanted them for her 11th birthday, though, and my wife Amy and I agreed to it. The plan was to go to Claire's in the mall to get them pierced. Claire's is a jewelry & accessories store for girls, teens and tweens that also does ear piercings onsite. And that's actually where I had my done in my late twenties. No judgement, please. The earring looked cool once the ear healed up. 

Months earlier, though, Amy and another friend of ours were talking about buying piercing kits and doing our daughters' piercings together at home, which didn't happen. Visions of using ice cubes to numb the lobes and then using sewing needles to puncture the ears came to mind for me. That's not how it's done anymore at home (I hope), but I definitely wasn't supportive of the home direction either way. I teased Amy about this, telling her she wasn't certified to pierce ears. She countered by asking how do we know those people in the mall were? 

We didn't, but I thought they had to be somehow, right? I mean, they've pierced millions of ears over the years without litigious problems that I'm aware of, so there has to be some level of training and safety. After Bryce's ears were pierced, not before, I went to Claire's website to check. According to their website, their associates are trained in local piercing policy, practice and procedures in order to deliver clean, hygienic and safe piercing environments. It went on in more detail about their training process as well. That made me feel better. 

When we went to Claire's to get Bryce's ears pierced, all went well. Bryce was nervous, but only felt a quick pinch when the piercing device made the hole and inserted the earring on each ear with one clean action. The piercer had a wiggle a bit on one ear, like the piercing device was stuck, but then it came out clean. Both ears now had lovely 14K gold peridot August birthstone stud earrings inserted, which weren't cheap. The piercing was free with the purchase of earrings, of course. You pay for it in the marked up earrings. Although when I checked online later, these earrings can run a lot more than even we paid. 

"I could've bought a home kit for 10 bucks. C'mon," Amy said as we left the mall.

"Again, you're not a certified ear piercer," I said.

"Again, how do we know she was?"

"Fair point." 

Again, I did check the website after we got home and their piercers are trained and seemingly certified, in a sense. Good to know. Now, to keep her ear lobes clean so she doesn't have to bandage them up like mine had to be. But in fact, the bigger deal is the fact that both of our girls are growing up, and are now a tween and a teen; just another part that pierces my heart. Sigh. 

Lighting Up With Love And Grace

The plan was to throw her a big party when she turned 50, just like she did for me. That one was so much fun: it was the eve of the18th anniversary of when my wife Amy and I met, and our 12th anniversary of marriage. We held it in the banquet room of one of our favorite Mexican restaurants at the time. Friends and family alike were there and we had booked the local iconic Surfing Magician perform for the kids and the adults at my party.

Then last year, the pandemic hit, and everything was never the same. We went out to dinner for Amy's birthday then, the last time at that time we could do something like that for months. 

A year later, things are finally improving. After the tragic loss of over 500,000 people, more people are now getting vaccinated for COVID-19. Cases are going down in many areas, including our own. Our two daughters may be going to back to some in-person school soon; they've been in distance learning for nearly a year now. No matter what, we're grateful because we've been safe and well. We're grateful that we would've been in the position to even have another birthday party. 

However, when we entered 2021, it was clear that there would be no big party for Amy. No Surfing Magician, no friends and family, no carefree laughter. In a country that continues to buckle under the crazy strain of conspiracy theories, the big election fraud lie, the Capitol insurrection on January 6 (which continues to haunt and anger me), the anti-maskers who jeopardize health and safety, there are still so many people struggling financially and with their emotional and psychological health and safety. So many people feeling helpless and alone. 

This is why I'm so proud of my wife and the work that she does. And not just the work she does teaching safety skills to kids and teens at Kidpower or the work she's done on the PTA for our grade school. I'm proud of how she's helped to keep our daughters healthy and sane these past 12 months. How she's helped organize our family-friend pod so the girls could continue to see and play with some of their friends while giving the parents a little free time each week. How she continues to reach out to friends and family to check in with them, sometimes across great ideological divides. How she set up a regular Zoom call with family to reconnect, to play games and share carefree laughter. 

My wife inspires me every day to be better. To lead with eyes of love and acceptance, something I have done and can do quite readily, until I don't do it, defeated. But I keep coming back, and she's there to love me, always.

She deserved to have a celebration of her life at 50. So, I did the next best thing we could do during a pandemic. Set up a surprise Zoom call birthday party for her. For nearly two months I invited old and new friends, family, colleagues and other special people in her life to a virtual celebration on her birthday. I tried to contact everyone I thought should be invited, although I'm sure I missed some people. For those who could make the call, I loved watching Amy light up with love and grace as she talked to each and every person, taking the time to introduce them all. And then, the lighting up with love and grace culminated at dinner with our dear family-friend pod and lots of carefree laughter. 

Happy Birthday, my love. I am grateful for you, always. 

Awash in Love and Hope

"But time

Keeps flowing like a river (on and on)

To the sea, to the sea

Till it's gone forever

Gone forever

Gone forevermore..."

–Alan Parsons Project, Time

Twelve years ago, shortly before our oldest Beatrice was born, I thought about when I was 12 years old. I remembered imagining then what my life would be like when I turned 35, in the year 2000. I was full of anxious hope back then. Where would I live? Would I be married? Have a family? Would I be healthy? Would I be happy? What kind of work would I do? Would I be successful? Would I be a writer? 

Back then, 35 felt so far away. Goodness, 13 felt so far away. Time is funny and fluid that way, and it eventually brought me to the sea, literally. And every day, my mental tides then wash away the remains of my experiences, leaving a few foamy bits sparkling in the sun. I pick through them sometimes, hold them in my hand and reminisce. 

When I eventually hit 35 in 2000, I don't remember imagining what life would be like when I would turn 55 in 2020. At that point in my life, I lived in Santa Cruz, was with my now wife, Amy. I had already been married once, but with no children, and kids were light years away with Amy (eight years to be precise). I was fairly healthy back then, but would become even healthier two years later after I quit smoking (although years later I'd have another health scare). I still struggled with my blue genes then, too. I wasn't exactly professionally successful either, but I was a writer and was happy. 

No, in the year 2000 I never imagined that 20 years later we'd be raising a family in a global pandemic, another global recession (the first two were already on their way), chronic homelessness, global unrest due to systemic racial injustice and social inequity, and a world filled with uncertainty, shame and hate. I also never imagined our family, along with millions of other families and individuals, would be part of affecting positive change in communities around the world. 

Time is always now again, its fluidity a constant. Suddenly I'm 55 and all of the above is here, today. But a moment later I'm swept away from mindfulness, and I briefly imagine what life will be like when I'm 75, in the year 2040. Where will our daughters live? Will they be married? Have their own families? Will they be healthy? Will we be healthy? Will we all be happy? Will I still be writing? Will the world be a better place? 

My mental tides wash away those questions and it's now again. All I really know today is that I'm grateful for our daughters. I'm grateful for my wife. I'm grateful for my life. I'm grateful for my family and friends. I'm grateful for my community. I'm grateful for your impact on me, and my impact on you. 

I'm also grateful each week to spend time on the beach in Natural Bridges State Park near where we live. We've been going there for years and we've taken our girls there since there were both babies. Whether it's walking with Amy and our dog Jenny to Natural Bridges and back again, boogie boarding in the ocean with our daughters, or doing my weekly beach workout by myself (usually listening to my favorite band Rush), Natural Bridges is a sacred place to me. It's about a mile from the beach where I met Amy (another sacred place), and only a quarter mile from where we were married. There's something about the one remaining Natural Bridge, the beach and the sea -- this place where I ask for God's grace and wisdom. 

Tides will always come and go, and although my time will disappear into the sea someday, this is where I'll be forever, awash in love and hope. 

"We still feel that relation

When the water takes us home

In the flying spray of the ocean

The water takes you home..."

–Rush, High Water

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

The Heck of Awesome

Adjective or Noun.

1. An expression recently used by the B-hive that interjectionally expresses glee about something very cool.
2. Akin to "right on," an 1970's expression Daddy reprised years ago when he's digging cool stuff.
3. An exclamation of encouragement, support, or enthusiastic agreement.

When Bryce spoke the magical words, we laughed. Later, the Mama and I asked each other, "Where did she get that?"

And then I thought, That's catch-phrase gold. I even did a Google search on it -- nothing came up that matched it.

We'd been reading bedtime stories with the girls and they both got really excited about putting play glasses on a dog named Arlo (from the book Arlo Needs Glasses by Barney Salzburg). 

First, Beatrice pointed to the dog visiting the eye doctor and said, "What the heck?"

Then, Bryce pointed to the page full of play glasses to try on and said, "It's the heck of awesome!"

The heck of awesome. Right on. That's exactly how I felt after she said it; exactly how I try to feel nearly everyday with #BhivePower. No matter the stresses of the day, no matter how Daddy Goat Gruff grumpy I may get, no matter what's happened in my life, or what may happen -- there's always the heck of awesome. 

Always.

The Mama and I are all about becoming the awesomer part of ourselves -- two scrappy halves that make up two wholes -- now proud parents proudly displaying all the figurative scars of earned failures and wins it took to get here (and still takes as a work in progress).

We've been together 18 wonderful years, but now that I've hit the half-century mark, that proverbial ceiling of time encroaches on me quickly as if I'm an aged Alice filling a house after drinking the wrong potion. Except I won't get small again no matter what I do, so I either learn to live in every nook and cranny as responsibly and comfortably as possible with my arms and legs hanging out the windows and the doors for as long as I can, or I don't. Of course we prefer the former and work hard on instilling that in the girls for their eventual house filling long run as well.

I'm blessed and I'm grateful. And while I've always joked about drowning in a sea of estrogen, the real truth is it makes me a better man and father. That's why it's all the sweeter when my girls afford me the occasional catch phrase and a daddy manhood rite of passage.

When the Mama and I were married, one of our wedding gifts was a George Foreman electric grill barbecue. I know, I know. For those of you keeping score at home, it's not really a barbecue when you plug it in to an electric outlet. However, we did use it over the years, and it certainly came in handy when the Mama was pregnant with Bryce and would've ripped my arms from their sockets if I would've cooked bacon or any kind of meat in the house.

My dad was a master barbecuer back in the day, but the golden grill spatula was never bestowed on me, and in recent years the Foreman grill usage has definitely dropped off.

That all changed on my birthday when the girls bought me a whole lotta awesome in a super-duper propane barbecue. It only took 50 years, but now my daddy manhood is complete. Somewhere in heaven my dad just shed a tear.

Amen.

Thank you for always being the heck of awesome, Girls. Right on. 

Celebrate the Wham-Bams and All in Between

"Time is passing by
I still want you
Crime is on the rise
I still want you
Climate change and debt
I still want you
Nuclear distress
I still want you
The Earth is heating up
I still want you
Hurricanes and floods
I still want you
Even more than I did before..."

—Brandon Flowers, Still Want You

And just like that, it's 18 years later. This is the part when you measure the magical moments against the realities of your life and a long-term relationship. From that moment of meeting the Mama one day at the beach...

...October 11, 1997. I usually get the words wrong, but our lover lore recounts the fact that the Mama walked up to me and asked:

"So, do you always come here alone?"

And like a fool, I almost didn't answer her; I wanted to be alone actually.

But then, "Yes, I do. And you?"

Within a few weeks we were hopelessly in love...

....to now 18 years later celebrating my 50th birthday party with friends and family on the eve of our 18th anniversary of meeting one another and our 12th anniversary of marriage. In fact, we had the local iconic Surfing Magician perform for the kids and the adults at my party, but dammit, he couldn't make me 40 again. Sigh.

But he did combine two signed playing cards from me and the Mama into one. Right on. My sweet Mama Ace in the hole.

Nearly two decades, two children, a finally refinanced mortgage, a few careers and economic ebbs and flows, and multiple family dramas later -- here we are.

None of this makes our relationship any less romantic, however. Real life may not be as colorfully dramatic and sexy as a novel or a movie, although throughout the years have been peppered with manmade and natural disasters and illness and death and -- good God, tell me to stop.

But there's one thing I know for sure, that real life can be just as super hot for long-time lovers. For example, recently the Mama read to me one of those fun sidebars from one of her Oprah magazines (which I actually had to look through to find again for myself -- ugh):

Overrated Sex: All night long
Underrated Sex: Wham, bam, thank you, man!

Add up those wham bams and you've got one hot lovin' super nova. Through all the years and a few ups and downs that even we have had, intimacy it a critical priority. Early on we made it so and told each other if we ever strayed to never come home. Seriously. Flirtation is one thing, but infidelity is the ultimate killer and actually a symptom of something missing, maybe multiple things, usually passion and intimacy, so our recommendation is don't ever frickin' lose it if you believe in it and long to keep it.

Do whatever you have to do to make that whoopee. Growing up I remember catching my Grandpa grabbing my Grandma's behind and patting it gently as he whispered something in her ear, even after 60 years of marriage. I proudly carry on that tradition today.

Of course real life gets in the way of mutual desire, like a belligerent drunk buddy who steps on your foot and leans over you to hit on your girl sitting at the bar next to you. You sulk away to the bathroom nurse the foot and the ego, and when you recover, you're either too tired or too stressed or too busy or too --

The Mama and I experience all this, but we want make it all work and keep the love simmering to a boil. Later today we'll go down to the place we met on the beach all those years ago and read our wedding vows to each other. It's a way for us to honor our love for one another, a reminder that two halves can and do make two wholes, a loving family, a continuous adventure and being the omniscient narrators of our own Rom-Com movie that goes on and on and on and on.

That's why you should always celebrate the wham-bams and all in between. Always.

Happy Anniversary Hot Stuff.

Happy 50th Birthday to Me

“I’ve gone through life white-knuckled
In the moments that left me behind
Refusing to heed the yield
I penetrate the force fields in the blind
They say I'll adjust
God knows I must
But I'm not sure how
This natural selection picked me out to be
A dark horse running in a fantasy…”

—The Killers, Flesh and Bone

Like a ship on fire in the vacuum of space, I burned helplessly mute. In space, fire is unpredictable and tenacious, burning for longer periods of time, even when it seems to be out. In space, there is literally no sound, at least none heard like we can on planet earth.

So there I was, spiraling out of control and burning blue, when finally earth's gravity wound me back in and down to crash landing after crash landing. I escaped the fiery wreckage each and every time, but not before sustaining a recurring emotional concussion, one that made me feel insignificant and unworthy. One that left me wanting to run sobbing into the unknown horizon, to the point of know return.

I was 17 years old when my anxiety and crippling panic attacks started. Mostly from the inordinate pressure I put on myself to be liked, to succeed, to not be the skinny and shy asthmatic kid I used to be. Yes, I'd survived growing up in domestic violence and sexual abuse, but I never wore those chains like radioactive bling for all to see. In fact, I didn't really connect the past to the present anxiety until therapy in my 20's.

My memories weren't repressed, just more like emotional missives written but never sent to the ones who cared for me the most, the ones who misunderstood me. My interstellar trauma trips continued throughout my life, but thankfully decreased dramatically over the past two decades.

When I was in college I used to imagine what my world would be like in the year 2000, the year I'd turn 35. Envisioning that future-scape included visions of grandeur and popularity, of complete self-awareness and impulse control, of being anxiety free, of being smoke-free and healthy, of saving children from violence and abuse, of being loved by the love of my life, of being a good husband and father, of having the peaceful popularity of being the next Lee and Kerouac and Faulkner and Hemingway and writing my own great American neo-hipster novel. All before running out of time.

Back then I would've said you were as crazy as a loon if you thought I'd someday be comfortable in my own skin, mostly impenetrable from the extreme temperatures of the ever-expanding universe and the very fabric of relative time.

Now, in 2015, you weren't so crazy after all. Although I'm nobody's hero, I am a survivor who finally learned how to cope and manage the rhythm of my own overreactions and who's navigated life's booms and busts fairly well with a sometimes witty, self-deprecating grace. Sometimes...

And although I didn't write that novel yet, I have found a modicum of success and I did find the love of my life -- and two little lovely girls later, the fatherhood I never had as a child. I've learned that you don't ever run out of time, you just learn how to run alongside it and make it a partner for life for whatever duration that ends up being.

In space, no one can hear you burn. Welcome to planet earth, Kevin. And welcome home.

Happy 50th birthday to me.

It's Your Birthday, Baby, So Let's Dance

Sometimes spontaneity sputters and burns with the white hot flame of a mindfully present love.

And those can be the best of times.

It's not a indictment on what doesn't happen day after day in a long-term relationship, complete with kids. The Mama and I love each other no matter what and through it all -- whatever "no matter what" and "it all" bring. The girls are our world and we wouldn't have it any other way.

The "romance" may not be as regular as in olden days before children (which was years in the making), but there is romance, alive and well, usually semi-scheduled but always enjoyable. (You big kids with kids know what I mean.)

And then there's the spontaneity, so precious and memorable that even the seemingly simplest of actions light up the memory centers of head and heart.

We took the Mama's mom out for her birthday a few weeks ago just before Valentine's Day, and one of the first stops we made was at a local winery. In the middle of our tasting, a mixed gender barbershop quartet appeared and entertained all us tasters with some classic a capella. Then they fired up some sweet 1950's doo-wop and that's what sparked the white flame.

The Mama called me out from the bar and we danced a little swing and a little traditional hustle, at least the moves we remember from our dance lessons years ago.

But remember them we did. Dancing with her in that moment was delightful, just as it was the day I married her, when we actually made up our own dance, years before the lessons.

Who says that an old married couple with kids can't cut a rug? We don't, and neither do our girls. We've got a colorful disco ball in the living that we light up for B-hive dance parties, birthdays and other special family occasions.

It's your birthday, Baby, so let's dance.

"I wanna with rock you, yeah, all night..."