A Lighted Life to Live

"Chase the sun around the world
I want to look at life
In the available light..."

–Rush, Available Light

I wanted to get a family picture under the rainbow balloon arch before we headed into the awards ceremony, but that didn't happen. First we tabled with other local organizations supporting LGBTQIA+ student groups to promote Bryce's upcoming We Will Not Be Erased March coming up this week on May 13. Then I was recruited with a few of the other school board members who attended to help serve food, which we gladly did. Then we enjoyed the watching the Queer Youth Leadership Awards (QYLA), celebrating some amazing kids demonstrating empathic leadership sorely lacking in today's world.

Once the event was over, our kids and their friends were talking away while our youngest Bryce and their mom Amy worked on recruiting other students to speak at Bryce's march. I was tired but was still determined to get that dang family picture. 

I'm the family photographer. Always have been. That was one of the many positive attributes my mother instilled in me (pummeled me with sometimes, actually). I love Amy, but if it wasn't for me, there would only be a handful of family pictures. Every once in a while I take a journey through all our photos, most of which are now on my computer. It's always a wondrous journey, one where I can relive our family story over and over again. From the day I met Amy, to the birth of Beatrice, then Bryce, to all the things we've done in the nearly 17 years since. 

The pictures (and videos) I've taken over the years are the permanent representations of our love letters that last. They haven't all been love letters, mind you; there have been some bittersweet and painful moments that perusing our pictures remind me of. But those are few and far between. Looking at our family pictures just reminds me how much I love Amy and our children. 

Like I need reminding. I'm so grateful for them. This Mother's Day I awoke and again checked out our pictures before Amy or the kids were up. I was intent on picking some out for a last-minute collage, but I became overwhelmed and was happily lost in our memories. What struck me was something I was already aware of: my eye for light. I'm only a photo hobbyist, so no professional photographer careers in my future, but I do have an eye for light. 

Prior to meeting Amy I struggled with darkness and depression. I preferred emoting in the shadows because that's what I grew up with, what I knew. Too much stress and trauma that fueled anxiety that fueled fumbling through life -- until I started chasing the light. I wanted to finally be happy. To live in abundance and love, and not scarcity and sadness. Like my dear friend Robby who passed away earlier this year had said to me more than once over the years, "You know, sometimes I wish this would all end, but then I think, I still really want to see what happens next. You know what I mean?"

I do. And we did, my friend. After Amy came into my life, she reminded me every day -- and reminds me and our children every day -- with every word and action -- there is always a lighted life to live. There is abundance. There is love. There is grace. We don't always see it, but the light is always available, it's always there. 

And yes, I got my latest family picture -- a BhivePowered rainbow 🌈 by Mom.

Happy Mother's Day, Amy. We love you. 

A Gift of Grace

The four of us sat around the campfire -- me, my wife Amy, and our two daughters, Beatrice and Bryce. We talked about anything and everything. We talked about the nice Thanksgiving we had at my sister's, the first time in three years. We talked about Christmas being our favorite time of the year, especially for Beatrice (who already had me listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving, again). We talked about going to Disneyland again after the holidays and what we looked forward to. We talked about school and what they looked forward to and not looked forward to. Like Monday after a holiday.

As we sat around the campfire, I watched our kids' animated faces in the firelight, and again witnessed the years that had already rushed by since they were babies. A joyful journey of multi-dimensional universes: from holding their tiny bodies close, to  toddler-ville, to childhood, and now to today's sassy teen world. I looked at my wife, the firelight highlighting her beauty as if she hadn't aged a day since we met.

But I knew our faces were older, softer, with deeper lines etched along our foreheads, eyes, and mouths where there none years ago. I smiled at her as I listened to our daughters share. I imagined us sitting there together 20 years from now, always comfortable sharing our lives with each other. Our girls all grown up with lives of their own sharing the adventures they've had. Their ups and downs. Their hopes and fears. Their passions and dislikes. Their loves and heartbreaks. Maybe they had spouses of their own, and children of their own, and we now all sat around the campfire together (God, let that be a long time from now). 

Back to our campfire moment at hand, though. The flames danced below us and the stars shone brightly above. Our girls were teens again and we talked and laughed and the smiles kept coming. I'm grateful every day for my family, but there was something more magical this time about that campfire time. A closeness that transcended the bounds of time as I traveled from the past to present to future to present again. Being everywhere all at once would usually be overwhelming for me, resulting in tears, but this time I embraced it all with a joyful smile, living lifetimes in moments, and moments that felt like lifetimes. 

No matter where I went in time, I felt tethered to the love that surrounded me, one that kept reminding me that every moment I experience with my family is a gift of grace. 

Reenergizing Our Hearts

"A tired mind become a shape-shifter
Everybody need a mood lifter
Everybody need reverse polarity..."

–Rush, Vital Signs

I thought I was going to die. After the first lap, my asthma kicked in and I struggled to breathe. After the third lap, my lungs felt like they were filled with hot mud; I had to fight for every single raspy gasp of air. After the fourth lap, my skinny body was drenched in sweat and my face a pasty white. 

But I did it. Every year when I had to run the mile to pass physical education in grade school, I did it. Even with the asthma attacks I used to get. 

Fast forward to today – Beatrice has to run a mile every week in middle school PE, and she decided she wanted to work on improving her time. She asked her mom (Amy) to go with her, to run to the ocean about a mile from where we live. I told her I wanted to go, too. Her sister, Bryce, said no way. 

So, the three of us left the house and began to run. Immediately Beatrice sprinted ahead and Amy kept pace. I was left in the dust. I don't really run anymore since I had knee surgery, but I do run on the beach once a week at Natural Bridges State Park. As I ran the best pace I could, I felt every ounce of my body weight and I kept thinking about our recent decision to cut back on caloric consumption (food and drink).

Amy and I are in pretty good health, but as the pandemic wore on this past year, we both put on what has been jokingly called the "COVID-19". Thankfully it wasn't literally 19 pounds, but it was enough for each of us. We exercise nearly every day, and yet, our metabolisms are slower than ever.

Beatrice and Amy were over 50 yards ahead of me when we hit the half-mile mark. I thought I was going to die. No adult asthma this time (although it has come back over the past 15 years during fall and spring), but I was still sucking air. The weekly beach runs were not my conditioned friends at this point. I kept going though. Amy and Bea doubled back to be with me, but then Bea zoomed ahead again with Amy right there with her.

It wasn't just the weight that was the issue. Like so many working parents with kids distance learning (not this year so far thankfully), sheltering in place, wearing masks everywhere else, waiting for the vaccines (which we got once available), and the contrary extremes around us going completely bananas on nearly every aspect of life, we compartmentalized the daily grind and didn't really care for our mental health. 

We thought we did with our morning meditations and positive communication practice. And while it may have been a temporary mood-lifter, sedating with food and drink every night isn't really good self-care. It's just turning "off" until the next day starts everything all over again and the compartmentalizing continues. Even so, we remained grateful throughout for our circumstances and took care of our children and their emotional needs, just not our own as much as we should have.

After Beatrice, Amy and I finished running the mile together, and after I caught up to Amy and Beatrice who kept their 50-yard lead most of the way, I looked out over the ocean and to the Natural Bridge below where I'd finish my workout. My chest heaved, my big body was drenched in sweat, and my face was a pasty white. The air tasted so very sweet though, and was filled with a clarity and grace, without judgement, for ourselves and for others who have struggled with pandemic life, even when we think we didn't. We're finally reversing the polarity of our fatigued spirits and reenergizing our hearts. Blessings to you all. 

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. 

All These Things Can Lead to Grace

We had watched Serpico together, the real-life story of a NYPD office who went undercover to expose corruption in the police force from 1960 to 1972. Our family always watched police dramas together, nonfiction and fiction alike. My sister and I were in high school, and at that time, our father was a police detective responsible for forgery and fraud, and our mother was the police dispatch supervisor. 

After watching Serpico, I remember asking my dad if there were any bad cops in our hometown police department. He paused, then gave me this answer:

"Well, son, there are good cops, and there are bad cops, just like there are good bakers and bad bakers. Unfortunately there are always some who don't play by the rules and hurt others. But for us, yes, there are mostly good cops."

I responded, "But bad bakers don't kill other good bakers, or other people."

My dad smiled and nodded. "You are correct, son. You are correct. They do not. Not usually."

They never do. They just go out of business, I thought.

Our dad wasn't without his own biases, or our entire family for that matter, but time and again while he was alive and after he passed away, and after 32 years on the force, good guys and bad guys alike couldn't help but like him. He taught us a lot empathy, inclusion and forgiveness, even when it wasn't intentional. Our mom did the same. They both loved their families and God. 

And then in the summer of 2012 he was gone, and four months later she was gone. It's hard to imagine them here today, in the middle of pandemic with all the health issues they used to have, of what we'd have to do to care for them. 

But I do want them both here today -- I know my sister does as well. I want my dad to be here and to tell me why there are still bad cops doing the wrong things in our communities. Why they hate so much and keep using such excessive force killing black and brown men and women. Why supposedly good cops stand by and do nothing. Why so many of them are never arrested or prosecuted. Why so many police reforms are never sustained. Why the normalcy of racism in this country continues.

The recent killing of George Floyd by a white police officer who kneeled on his neck until he stopped breathing, has incited protests and violence across the U.S. This because George Floyd, an unarmed African American had supposedly tried to use a counterfeit bill at a convenience store. George Floyd, one more name in a sea of names that, when I think about, I couldn't name, other than Ahmaud Arbery. He was another unarmed black man who was jogging and then chased by two white men and gunned down because they said they were trying to make a citizen's arrest, when there is no such thing. 

Thankfully there are those who help us remember, like the daughter of an old friend from high school who created a poster with all the names. 

I want my dad (and mom) here today to help answer the why questions, because I struggle to answer them for my own daughters. My wife and I have be teaching our girls about slavery and how people of color have been treated poorly throughout American history since they were little. 

Both girls listened and ask legitimate questions like "why would people do that" over and over, questions that aren't hard for us to discuss, but hard for us to answer being a white family who have not experienced systemic discrimination like non-whites have in this country for hundreds of years. Which is why, at the end of the day, my dad probably wouldn't be able to answer them either, no matter how hard he tried. White supremacy is the legacy of the modern day police force and it needs a bigger condemnation than "good cops and bad cops," and more serious reforms than have fizzled out to date. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, I just wish we would've gone deeper on this subject together. 

The other day I told my daughters about George Floyd and what's been happening in our country. They didn't know because we don't watch the news with them. 

"I don't understand why skin color matters!" said Beatrice, after I finished.

"I know," I said. 

"They just need to get over it!" said Bryce.

"Who?"

"White people." 

Wow, Bryce. Sadly, that's the argument made by too many whites today, that they have nothing to do with racism, that black and brown people have more rights than they do, that they need to get over it, especially if all they're going to do is burn everything down. This continues to be the dividing sentiment of the day. 

Thankfully my wife works for Kidpower and I'm so glad that Kidpower community reminded me of their commitment to safety and justice for all: 

At Kidpower, we believe that everyone has the right to safety, respect, peace, and justice. We are heartbroken about the suffering and tragedy caused by racist attacks and discrimination against people of color in our communities, at our borders, and around the world. We will continue to speak out and take action to protect and empower all people. 

Yes, continue to speak out and take action to protect and empower all people. Always.

But then I also keep thinking about the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. quote someone posted on my Facebook wall that ended: 

Riot is the language of the unheard.

I am privileged. I am biased. I am white. I am male.

I empathize. I sympathize. I fight the good fight. 

Everyone has the right to safety, respect, peace, and justice. 

I hope that Minneapolis police officer is prosecuted and locked up for the rest of his life, and that the officers who were with him are arrested as well. 

I'm tired of the commentary that includes, "Well, I don't like what happened to that black man, but I don't agree with violent protests."

I don't agree with them either; our family has been a part of many peaceful protests. Those committing the current violence in our communities and looting and destroying businesses should also be held accountable. So many business were already on the brink of bankruptcy because of COVID-19. And one of my employees and his wife and family live not more than a mile from the violence in Minneapolis. 

My sister was also a police officer for many years, and we both still have friends and family who are in law enforcement, good people who's lives are now in danger.  

But, imagine being subjected to 400+ years of institutionalized systemic racism and violence. Of being afraid of walking down the street and being harassed by the police because you're a black or brown male. 

Then imagine bringing a bazooka or an assault rifle into a sandwich shop or a state's capital building. Of law enforcement not doing a thing about it because you can, and because you're white. 

I want to be part of positive change. I don't want my city burned down.

I empathize. I sympathize. I fight the good fight. 

And I miss my mom and dad. I miss talking with them about life and current events that affect us all, even if we didn't always agree on them. Our girls didn't get a chance to know them like I wanted them too, since they were so young when my parents passed away. 

What we did agree on was the fact that positive change starts with our children and grandchildren. That we should teach them compassion, empathy, forgiveness, inclusion and understanding. All these things can lead to grace, a new normalcy desperately needed today.