For the Rest of My Life

There's only one person I've ever wished would die. I'm not sure if that's something I should be proud of, or admit to, or to write down here, but it's true. Not only wishing him to die, but wanting to kill him.

Why? Because he was a horribly abusive man who terrorized my mother, emotionally abused my sister, and sexually abused me. Two and half years of our lives that felt like forever every day. This was our first stepfather after our mother divorced our birth father, another broken man who was an alcoholic, abused our mother, and neglected my sister and me, who I eventually forgave decades later.

Both our birth father and first stepfather are long gone now. My vengeful hate is long gone. I'm grateful for the latter. Blessings to anyone struggling with past personal trauma, who can envision themselves striking back against those who have wronged them. Because if you act on it, you cross a Rubicon you can never return from, and it will never change what prompted the vengeful act in the first place. Decades later, forgiving and letting go were the only viable solutions for me. That was transformative for me and helped me to be a better human, husband, and father. 

But there are many kinds of personal and societal trauma today that need the positive support structures. mindsets, and skills to heal from them. Today, extreme political and socioeconomic polarization traumatize our world (again). Some are striking back and being celebrated for doing so. Killing or hurting, or attempting to kill or hurt, vilified CEOs, billionaires, Presidents, other elected officials, judges, political influencers, celebrities, and others. Those we blame for our personal woes, the woes of others, and/or those who we vehemently disagree with. 

For me, there are two problems going on simultaneously. Two problems that are impacting the lives of too many around the world. Those are the aggressive and violent overreactions to the extremism, and those who support the extremism (or selective parts of it) on either end of the spectrum. Both are dangerous to the rest of us. The rest of us who believe empathy and finding common ground are key to closing the disagreement gap, not destroying it. It's harder when things are batshit crazy and false, on either side of the spectrum. Because the rest of us in between don't revel in the demise of others we disagree with, or blame for our woes and/or the woes of others, or wish them to die, or to kill them. 

It's just as hard for me to accept the rhetoric of those who agree with selective parts of any extremist dialogue than it is to grapple directly with full-throated extremism itself. And it's dangerous that so many have demonized leading with love and empathy. I don't understand how anyone can say empathy is destroying our world, because I believe the very people who believe that are the ones leaving a path of destruction for the rest of us, especially for our children. How can the ability to understand and share the feelings of others be evil? It's this backwards alternative universe we find ourselves in that frightens me the most. 

This isn't a Stephen King novel where we can take out a supposed antagonist to prevent a cataclysmic event. But sadly we're devolving into our violent human past and the extremism is killing civility and compromise. And each other. I've always been supportive of free speech, but I disagree with "agreeing to disagree" when the "disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist" (thank you, James Baldwin). The difference is that I'm not going to counter by killing. Blessings to those lost and their families because of it.

I know I'm not without bias or incapable of consuming poisoned beliefs, but I'm going to do everything I can to counter them for the rest of my life by rising above and leading with love, mindfulness, and empathy, without shame, judgment, or retribution. Amen.

Listen More Mindfully

I felt bad. I did. It's something I've worked on for years but still fall prey to. I waited for a pause in her dialogue to apologize. At least, I thought it was a pause.

"Beatrice, I'm really sorry," I said. Sincerely, too.

All three of them laughed -- both daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, and my wife, Amy.

"Dad, you did it again!" Beatrice exclaimed. "You interrupted me again while I was talking! You always do that!"

"Dad, she wasn't done talking," Bryce said. "And why do you always ask so many questions?"

And then I felt even worse. True, I ask both kids a lot of questions about their day and how they're feeling, but they also weren't wrong about me interrupting. Bea certainly wasn't wrong. Right before I apologized to her she expressed how much she didn't appreciate it when I interrupted her. I was proud of her for letting me know who she felt, and at the same time, momentarily devastated that I actually did that to her. 

My own perception is that I believe I wait until a natural pause occurs before adding my 2 cents worth in a conversation, or ask my kids questions. I'm a humble expressive, but I do like to share my thoughts on whatever the topic at hand is, or again, ask my kids clarifying questions. It's not the first time I've been told this over the years and I have to admit I've been an equal-opportunity interrupter for whomever I'm in a room with. 

I wouldn't call them microaggressions, though, because I don't believe I'm intentionally slighting anyone, especially my own family. I've been in the room with enough literal microaggressors over the years to know the difference and have been a staunch advocate for those who experience it.

But when I do interrupt, am I really listening? Or am I unconsciously disregarding what someone is saying to me (or others in a room) just so I can express my thoughts as if mine have more value? God, I hope not, but I'm also afraid so, sometimes anyway. Maybe it's due to a lifetime of overcompensating for growing up feeling inadequate and that my own thoughts weren't worthy to express. Maybe. Still, it's not something I'm proud of, especially when I hear it from my own daughter. Again, I'm proud of Beatrice for her awareness and clarity. Bryce has the same sensibilities. 

Which I wish I had more of when I was their age (even though they are still very "expressive" teens with all that teens bring, but still). I have worked on listening more and interjecting less over the years. When I'm truly mindful of it, I clear my mind and simply listen to the person or persons talking to me or to others. I listen with purpose and only respond if and when appropriate and it only adds value. 

I'll continue to work on not interrupting, but I won't stop asking our kids questions about their lives. I am still Dad, for goodness sake, so I'll just have to listen more mindfully along the way. 

Endless Possibilities Actually

"Dad, those people are pointing at our car."

A car passed us and I could see some kids pointing at us. Right after our oldest Beatrice said that, a trucker passed us and honked. Then I saw the smoke. White smoke that billowed out from the front of our Santa Fe Hyundai. 

"Shit," I said. "We've got to pull over." I aways cuss a lot when I'm stressed out. 

It was Memorial Day weekend and we were less than two miles from our final exit and less than four miles from our final destination at the KOA campground in Visalia. My wife Amy and I had no idea what was wrong with our car, but I knew that we all needed to get out of it in case it caught fire. 

"Everybody get out of the car," I said, waving the family out. "Fuck," I then said under my breath. 

Once outside of the car, Amy said we should unhook our trailer camper in case there was a fire. Seconds passed that felt like hours. I called my sister, who we were going to see, and then I called for roadside assistance. Cars and trucks blurred past us on the highway. We told our kids to stay away from the highway and hold our dog Jenny. 

Twenty minutes later, as we waited to hear back about the roadside assistance, the white smoke finally subsided. Thankfully there was no car fire. We had put our dog back in the car so she wouldn't get more stressed and try to get away. 

"We have to get to the campsite," Amy said. I agreed and knew it would be a risk to drive again, but that's what we did. I started the Hyundai, pushed the flashing hazard lights button, waited for an opening in the highway, and pulled out. I drove white-knuckled all the way to the campground. We made it there without anymore white smoke, but the engine light did come on. Two weeks before all this we had just had the car serviced. Nothing was wrong then, although they did overfill our oil and not tighten our oil filter all the way, which was something we had to deal with before this trip. We didn't realize then how much foreshadowing that was. 

Of course it was Memorial Day weekend, so by the time we got to the campground, the Hyundai Dealer in town was already closed. We set up camp and my sister came and got us and took us back to her house for dinner. After that, she let us use one of her cars, which was actually my parents car before they had both passed away.

The next day a dear old high school friend who was a mechanic came out to take a look at my car and verified that transmission fluid was leaking from the car and that's what had sprayed onto the engine and smoked. We took our Santa Fe to a local lube and oil place and they ran a diagnostic that confirmed why the engine light went on: the might be an issue with the torque converter in the automatic transmission. And yes, the transmission fluid had leaked out. 

"Shit."

The service center at the Hyundai dealer in town wouldn't be open again until the Tuesday after Memorial Day, so we had to strategize on what to do next. The plan had always been to go home on Memorial Day Monday because we had to get back to work and our kids had appointments. But it was still only Sunday, and Amy and our daughters attended my niece's bridal shower while I hung out with Jenny and worked and wrote. After that, we hung out again at my sister's. 

We still had a nice visit overall, but the whole time I kept worrying about what was wrong with our car and what we were going to have to do about it. 

[More cussing in my head.]

But then my old friend had offered to tow our trailer camper back home and my sister offered to let us use the same car so Amy and our kids could get home. That's what we did on Memorial Day: my family made it home safely and I rode eight hours with my friend to drop off our trailer in Santa Cruz and return to Visalia. We were so grateful to my friend and my sister for all their help. 

What happened when I took our Santa Fe to the local dealer service the next day was completely anti-climatic to how the whole holiday weekend started. In the end, there was nothing wrong with our transmission or anything else. During our last car service back home just two weeks earlier, they had overfilled our transmission fluid by over two quarts. They had also overfilled our oil and not fully tightened the oil filter, which we already knew about. We'd been taking our car to that Hyundai dealer service for seven years and nothing like this had ever happened, until now. 

Two days after Amy and our girls went home, Amy drove my sister's care back to Visalia and we returned home in our car. The universe realigned.

When life goes sideways (in this case with car trouble), our first rule is always safety first for the family. Everything else is just time and money and transitory pains in the asses that will not always be recoverable, but because we're still here living and breathing, there's always the possibility of recovery. Endless possibilities actually. 

That's why the second rule is, we make the most of our moments, wherever they are and however they are. Stewing in uncertainty results in angst-filled inaction, which I'm certainly still guilty of, but endless possibilities make all the difference in the end. Reconnecting with an old friend and spending more time with my sister were moments I wouldn't have had otherwise. Again, we're so grateful for their help.

Finding Magic In Every Moment

We'd been on the same rides dozens of times over the years. This one included: The Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, which is converted to the movie theme The Nightmare Before Christmas during the holidays from Thanksgiving through the first week in January. That's when we were there this time after the New Year. 

During the ride, you're taken up above a long dining area with ghosts and goblins dancing and flying around. As I took it all in, I looked at the place settings on the dining room table and thought, That's odd, why does that place setting look so different than the others?

I stared at it for the seconds we had in that part of the ride. What was different?

Then it hit me: That's a hidden Mickey. The place setting configure as the iconic Mickey Mouse face and ears.

Supposedly over 1,000 hidden Mickeys have been recorded throughout the Disney theme parks, properties, media, etc. We've been coming to Disneyland with our daughters nearly every year since 2014. The exceptions were 2019 when we took them to Disney World for the first time, and then of course 2020 during the first year of the pandemic when Disney (and everything was closed). Years before the girls we spent part of our honeymoon in Disneyland. We're grateful for every visit we've had at the Magic Kingdom. Yes, we love going, even with the crush of rude people, long lines, occasional broken-down rides, and overpriced food and drinks.

But we've never seen a hidden Mickey until now, and we actually found three. 

We've heard about the hidden Mickeys over the years, but never found any until now. We never really looked for any either. We just enjoyed our visits as much as possible until we were done. However, every visit prior to this time wasn't without its adult and child angst, frustration, stress, and grumpy bouts with each other. Normal human stuff that happens no matter how well you think you plan and mitigate with your kids. 

This time was different in Disney, though. Yes, our girls are older now, teens, and while you'd think that would've added to the angst, frustration, stress, and the grumps, it really didn't. In fact, it was the most mellow and enjoyable few days in the Magic Kingdom ever. The girls were ready to spend more time on their own for the first time in Disneyland including going back and forth to the hotel on their own when they wanted to take a break. 

Even with the torrential storms happening throughout California and our daily worries about our community, neighborhood, our home, and our dog Jenny back in Santa Cruz (and checking in on all of it each day), we enjoyed our mostly sunny Southern California Disney in between the storms. This trip had been planned over 10 months ago and no one could've predicted getting 700% of average annual rainfall in just a few weeks. I also don't think I'd ever seen a headline before that said, "90% of California Under Severe Weather Watch."

With all that -- going to Disney, finding hidden Mickeys, and traversing the storms -- my wife Amy and I always plan for safety everywhere we go (at least for what we have control over). We've also been working hard at letting go of "things" that we have no control over, and things that no longer serve us, whatever those are, and being open to anything and everything all at once. Our daily meditations have helped us understand that the more you let go, the more new possibilities and ideas can occur; you see connections and opportunities you never saw before. Emotional, psychological, and spiritual connections and opportunities. More than that, the ability to accept whatever happens and whatever we manifest while enjoying the moments we have with one another. 

Ah, there he goes waxing philosophical again. What the heck does any of that have to do with going to Disney, hidden Mickeys, and storms? Our teens might think we're nuts sometimes, but hidden Mickeys became the metaphor for letting go and finding magic in every moment, and after all these years, we found them. 

The Beginning of the Rest of My Life

We've gazed into the open sea tank dozens of times over the years. Watching all the tuna, sardines, sharks, stingrays, and sea turtles swim back and forth and up and down has always been relaxing. Our family stands there in awe every time we visit the Monterey Bay Aquarium. 

But this time was different for me. Profoundly different. While all the fish, stingrays, and sharks swirled and swam at differing speeds and directions, it was one of the two female green sea turtles that stood out. I stood mesmerized watching her glide effortlessly through the water in the front of the tank, slowly but deliberately, as if she knew exactly where she was in the universe in each and every second, free from the chaos around her. As an animal, she still has to survive the chaos and the predators eyeing her or her eggs as their next meal, especially in the wild.

If she survives, she'll live as long as most humans do. Her seemingly confident and methodical movement soothed me. So many things have been breaking for me recently, feeling out of synch, hitting walls, things going wrong, being full of judgement, worried about my health, worried about others' health, worried about my work, taking care of my family, the state of the world, as if I'm in this mercury in retrograde free fall. 

The sea turtle's mindful freedom calmed me. I couldn't stop staring at her. My wife Amy has that mindful freedom, something she's been working on for years. I have as well but I'm still behind, although our daily meditation has helped. And our children, they continue to have their own mindful freedom, at least until the weight of the adult world starts dragging them into the deep.

The sea turtle brought it all into focus for me. While all the people swirled and swam at differing speeds and directions around me at the aquarium, I glided effortlessly in place, slowly but deliberately, as if I knew exactly where I was in the universe right that very second, then the next, then the next, free from the chaos around me. I felt like everything just wasn't going to be alright, that is was already alright. That it was always alright. That it just was, and my response to it was the true measure of spiritual enlightenment.

With my wife and two daughters near me, I felt the profound loving warmth I always feel with them, but it expanded beyond them to all the others around me. It didn't matter that I didn't know any of them. My own newfound mindful freedom expelled all my worries and all my judgement; I watched them sink to the sea floor and melt away like snow on a spring day. 

I looked up and there she was, the sea turtle swimming peacefully above me. Maybe she was God, maybe she was me, but she's why this holy weekend became the beginning of the rest of my life. 

Stuck in the Middle with Me

"Clowns to the left of me!
Jokers to the right!
Here I am stuck in the middle with you..."

—Stealers Wheel, Stuck in the Middle with You

My mind is mired in work. I'm stuck in a problem; I'm stuck at a light. We are stuck at a light. I'm driving my family somewhere. To where again? I'm not sure. I don't remember. The light's still red. 

How do we solve for our growth problem at work? The market's never been more in our favor, but hitting a wall trying to figure it out. We've created the right services, but what else was our consultative approach missing? 

Frustrating. Where are we driving to again? Down to the water? Our dog Jenny's in the car, so we must be going somewhere to walk her. To the dog beach maybe? Where everyone takes their dogs? It's not that far away; it's time to take a work break anyway. The light's still red.

It's hot. We're having a warm spell in spring. The drought is still with us and isn't going anywhere. We're using too much water at home. Have to curb what we're using each day. 

Red light. Inflation. Recession fears. War in Ukraine. Work stress. Drought. Family stress. Tweens and teens growing up—

The light's now green. There are many cars behind me and some in front of me. We're supposed to cross the road, right? Turn left? I'm not sure and I don't commit either way. My family is talking to each other; I don't know what they're saying. 

My wife asks me if I'm going straight. That's when this younger guy in a solar company work car (I can see the word "solar" clearly but that's all) goes around me on the right to cross the highway and I hear:

"Why don't you turn on your fucking signal!"

It feels like slow motion, but now I feel anger quickly. I raise my right hand and flip him off and mouth the words "fuck you." I don't say them out loud, but our kids in the back seat see what I do, feel my anger and frustration. I want to punch him in the face. My wife Amy feels my anger and frustration. It's not a great moment for me. 

"Are you going to go?" Amy asks me.

I cross the highway and the young guy in the solar car is right in front of me. He turns left and we turn right. 

As I refocus on the moment and driving my family safely in the car, I say, "I'm so sorry family. That was not how you're supposed to respond to people like that."

"It's okay, Dad. He was being mean to you," our oldest Beatrice says. 

"Yeah, how rude," our youngest Bryce says.

But I could feel Amy's eyes on me. We work so hard to manage our emotions and respond positively to even the most negative of situations, especially in front of the girls. We talk about it every week at our family meetings. Ugh, but I blew it by flipping the guy off. 

"Again, I'm sorry," I say.

"It's okay. It happens," she says. "But we should call that guys company and report him. He represents his company driving that car and cursing at us like that is subpar."

"Agreed," I say. 

Our girls concurred, "That's right!"

I smile. We've got each other's backs. As adults, we're always stuck at red lights mired in adult problems, and if we can take a break, we should take one. We can't control how others respond to us, but we are responsible of how we react and interact, no matter how we feel. Always stuck in the middle with me, that is. 

Mercy me, that beach break was nice. 

Like It’s Your Last Day Ever

“Didn't he say how he likes to make the holes?
Time melts away while he tries to make the holes
Turn it on, Salvador…”

–Toy Matinee, Turn It On Salvador

Between our two girls asking me where the other suitcase was, and my wife calling me from the fourth floor asking if I got the other suitcase, I suddenly understood: our other big suitcase was still in the apartment where we’d stayed all week.

And now it was locked with the key inside on the table, exactly where the owners had told us to leave the key. To shut the door behind us. To have safe travels home.

It was six in the morning, and we were supposed to have left for the airport by that point. The plan was to move the big bags one at a time down the tiny elevator from the fourth floor to the first, call the Uber and head to the airport, to start the long trek home from Paris.

“Dad, Mom said you brought the suitcase down, where is it?” our oldest Beatrice asked.

That’s when I got the phone call from my wife, Amy.

“You don’t have it? Sweetie, I already shut the door. It’s locked,” she said.

I took the tiny elevator back up to where she was, unable to articulate how horrified I was. I pounded my fists on my legs.

“I’m sorry, I thought you had the bag,” Amy said. “I’ll call and text the owners right now.”

“I told you I could only bring one bag at a time.”

“I’m calling them now.”

Later, I would relate that extreme sick feeling I felt at that very moment to when George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life chastised Uncle Billy for losing the $8,000 that was supposed to be deposited in the bank.

Where's that money, you silly stupid old fool? Where's that money? Do you realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal and prison! That's what it means! One of us is going to jail; well, it's not gonna be me!

Except that we wouldn’t be going to prison. And it wasn’t a scandal. It was stressful, though, and in stress I tend to run on reactive overdramatic steam, and was already running through all possible (worst) scenarios of what would happen and what we’d have to do. The reality was, at worst, the owners would respond and show up too late, and we’d have to rebook our flights home. At best, the owners would respond quickly, come let us in so we could get our suitcase and get to the airport in time for our flight.

And so, we waited to hear back. Amy and the girls were in the lobby with all but the one missing suitcase, and me on the fourth floor waiting and staring at my phone. I could hear Amy talking softly with the girls all the way down on the first floor. It was early and no one else in the building was up yet. Time hung like weights on my face, arms and legs. It pulled me downward like the superheated gravity of a Salvador Dali painting. The horrified anger and frustration I had at that moment reminded me of the day before, when we were on our way to an Eiffel Tower tour, and hit a snag with our Metro subway tickets. We were losing time, something I despise, especially when there’s something scheduled we’re running up against. Traveling as a family works pretty well for us overall – the girls are great travelers and roll with it all, and Amy and I complement each other along the way.

But I really struggle with time, and Amy does not. Time shorts me, bullies me, shames me. Time protects her, loves her, forgives her. I wrestle with time; she dances with it. For our girls? Time is an open green field under blue skies where they can run and play.

A moment of indecision, defunct Metro tickets, an Uber that would’ve taken too long, and I decided we had to go to another Metro station and try again. I just didn’t want to miss the last scheduled tour on our trip, one that wasn’t cheap.

After going back and forth about it for less than a minute, I blurted out something like, “Fine, you can stay here but I’m going!”

Not a great moment for me, and although I handle stress much better in my life these days, I’m still sometimes sucked into the black holes of selfish anger.

“Don’t fight, Mom and Dad,” both girls said.

The fourth floor was eerily quiet as I thought about the day before, waiting to hear the owner had arrived to let us in.

We made it with plenty of time yesterday, I thought. And we took the girls on the Eiffel Tower, for goodness sake. First world problems and all that. So grateful we were able to go on this trip together. First DC, now this. Such an amazing trip and so educational and enlightening for us all. 

Then I remembered that, right before we made it to the tour with time to spare, I had said, “We just have to better build in that nickel and dime time when we travel. I travel a lot more than you now.”

Which, in retrospect, was just a stupid thing to say, because Amy was traveling a lot more than me when we first met, and now that I travel more for work, it’s easier just to plan for me, and yet she’s the one who has to prep travel for two kids and a dad when we all travel together. I help of course, but she’s always been better at the prep and planning than me. So, it was no surprise when she gently but firmly reminded me of that.

Back to the waiting on the fourth floor – only five minutes had gone by. I texted Amy.

Any response?

No, I am so sorry.

Love you. Nothing we can do about it.

And that was it, really. Nothing we could do about it. I sat down in that moment metaphorically as if it were a hammock chair, fully present in whatever was to happen next, and I repeated the brief meditation I practice more often these days.

Breathe in – I am – breathe out – at peace. Over and over. Amen.

Then I thought of the picture I took of Beatrice staring at a line of graffiti along the walls of the Seine River. It read:

Live like it’s your last day ever.

I received another text from Amy: He is coming now. 

Live.

At the airport, before we boarded, Amy said, “You see, everything works out just like it’s supposed to.”

“I know, and you always remind me of that,” I said.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And then time melts away.

They Do Last Longer

We saw the lions. It was our second time on the safari, this time at dusk, and we were excited to see other nocturnal animals that were hiding to sleep the day away during our first run. There were three lions laying down high up on a flat rock. Prior to seeing them, we heard them growling and roaring and the tour guide was hopeful we'd see them.

There were two females and a male laying there on the rock as we rounded the corner. Such majestic creatures; we were so grateful to see them. I took a few pictures, knowing that the distance would mean grainier resolution zooming in.

It was only a couple of minutes, and as they started to move out of view, one of the females got up and grazed the male's face with her body, laid back down, and then the male mounted her.

It's natural. It happens. Even on a Walt Disney World Animal Kingdom safari with your family. And all the other families on the safari with you.

All the adults who witnessed it laughed awkwardly. All the kids asked what happened.

Once we were off the safari truck, our oldest daughter Beatrice asked, "What were they doing?"

My wife Amy answered, "They were mating."

"Ewwwww," Beatrice said shaking.

"What?" our youngest Bryce said.

"They were mating."

"Hey baby, you got a hot body!" Bryce said and then laughed.

What the hell? Where did that come from? These kids today.

It was funny, though. Bryce is a riot and Beatrice is growing up so fast; we're so grateful to be able to take them both on another fun family vacation adventure. One where we make memories together and share new and unique experiences. Where we unplug, at least somewhat. Even if I'm mostly checked out of work, which took a couple of days deep into vacation to get there, I'm still sharing and posting the vacation pics on Instagram and Facebook, because that's how I roll. And the girls still have some device time to themselves in between the adventuring.

During our adventuring, for the most part, we're all present and paying attention and our mindfulness accounted for. And while on vacation, early this morning, I ready a little piece in the New York Times about paying attention and noticing your surroundings, without over-analyzing. Just seeing and experiencing. All the sights and sounds and people and animals and things around us. This is where our connectivity comes from, where new ideas come from, where inspiration comes from.

I may take a lot of pictures of it all and share it all electronically, but the experiences are real. Including the experience of forgetting where you parked your rental car in one of the Walt Disney World parking lots. Of walking around hot and tired looking for our car, dragging our kids behind us, and not having a clue of where we parked. And out of hundreds of pictures I've taken so far on our family vacation, we neglected to take one of our parking spot number. We knew the general vicinity, just not the exact number. I thought of the quip you might here when staring at someone for too long, "take a picture, it lasts longer," and the irony of the quip and not paying attention here wasn't lost on me.

After walking around for nearly 30 minutes looking for our car, Amy had gone and found a parking attendant who said about the time we parked that morning, we would've been in section 301. I was looking in section 330, with the girls whining behind me. If Amy hadn't done that, I would've been walking around all night.

Yes, indeed. The pictures and the experiences, they do last longer, so take a moment and pay attention.

The Haters of Happy Should Never Be Second Best

“Toco the Toucan, he had a bad day
How the other birds teased him
When he hopped at fly play.”

—Kevin Grossman & Jerry Tanner, You Can Do What A Toucan Can Do Too!

I didn't expect to feel this way. To get emotional reading my own children's book to my daughter's first grade class. I'm a self-proclaimed crier, yes, but it was just supposed to be fun. To participate in the class "mystery reader" program where, leading up to my designated time to read, daily clues were presented to the kids to see if they could figure out who the reader would be.

And this time, it be me. Beatrice had no idea, even after I was the one who brought her to school that morning of my reading. I waited in the school office and then two of her classmates came to get me and escort me back to the classroom.

Beatrice beamed when she saw me. Some of her classmates recognized me since I had coached them in T-ball and soccer, whispering, "I knew it was Beatrice's dad." I sat down in the rocking chair the teacher uses for guests and reading and said good morning.

Over 20 six and seven-year-olds from various backgrounds, ethnicities and cultures gazed back at me with curious smiles. This budding microcosm of the greater world around us, at least of the California Bay Area, filled me with hope that positive living without the haters of happy may just prevail someday.

Aspirational I know. Always the hopeful hoper I am. But at some point, if not already, these kids will tease and be teased because of misunderstood yet reconcilable differences. That unconditional rite of passage that so many of us experience. And not only teased, since there will be those who bully and get bullied, especially in world that gleans joy from online anonymity and trashing others. Haters gonna hate and all that crap.

One of my favorite podcasts is called Reply All from Gimlet Media, and last year they did a couple of episodes about Yik Yak, the application that allows users to communicate anonymously with anyone within a 10-mile radius. The episodes revealed how Yik Yak was/is being used to target students at universities with some pretty horrific racism. Haters gonna hate and all that death threat crap.

The Internet tagline Yik Yak uses is "Yik Yak makes the world feel small again by giving you a feed of all the casual, relatable, heartfelt and silly things people are saying around you." Contradictory to how many wield their anonymous trashing power, but these kinds of applications and platforms, including the big Facebook, will tell you their just the vessel and delivery mechanism. They say they encourage positive communication and that they will shut down inappropriate and dangerous posts and discussion threads.

It doesn't always happen unless there's a lot of public and media attention around horrific bullying that occurs online (and off), and sadly it sometimes takes the victim's demise to course correct. But in all fairness to social media platforms, of which I'm a really big consumer, they can be used to share and spread positive messages by people who do reveal themselves and don't hide in the cowardly shadows.

One of my Facebook friends posted recently (and sarcastically):

I have started and stopped, written and erased, about 10 posts this morning. All of them brilliant. Take my word for it.

But I'm just not willing and able to put up with the inevitable backlash, trolling and counter-arguments.

The Facebook won.

Right on, Brother. And we're all supposed to be the personally responsible adults who don't troll and hate. Right?

Thankfully Kidpower, the global nonprofit leader in personal safety and violence prevention education that the Mama works for, offers eight important skills on how to face bullying with confidence.

Skill #2, which is all about "leaving in a powerful, positive way," recommends that the best self-defense tactic is called "target denial." In other words, "don’t be there." Or as I like to call it -- change the channel, kids. Turn the channel and don't give "them" any more power than they already have. I do it all the time, especially online. This doesn't mean I wouldn't face an oppressor and stand up for myself, and there are many options and flavors of defensive responses including physical self-defense if ever needed.

Of course I didn't think about all these things while reading my book to Bea's class, but the emotion welled up when I read the line:

Although I can’t fly like all of the rest
I believe in myself
I’m not second best.

I really believed that when I wrote it, which was a couple of years before we had the girls. I believed it growing up, through all the family dysfunction and violence, and I still believe it today. As I read the story aloud, holding the book up with my left hand so the kids could see the pages, my peripheral vision embraced the new hope in front of me that someday would know the difference between hate and empathy and positive dissension, and could help to counter incivility, bullying and violence.

Good God, I'm surprised I don't have more haters of happy with the positive approach to life I not only write about, but try to live as well, as much as I can. I know how to change their channel, or to confront when need be. The incremental mindfulness and meditation I've been investing in is certainly paying off. Amen to that. Plus, the Mama channeling Kidpower continues to remind me that, no matter how horrible they can be, even the haters of happy should never be second best.

The Years of Living Science

“It's poetry in motion
She turned her tender eyes to me
As deep as any ocean
As sweet as any harmony
Mmm - but she blinded me with science
She blinded me with science
And failed me in biology…”

—Thomas Dolby, She Blinded Me With Science

"Look at what Bryce did, Daddy," the Mama said.

We had just had the under-the-stairs closet remodeled with shelves, cubbies and hooks, so I figured it had something to do with that. The closet had been a hiding place of sorts for the girls, but it was always so full of stuff, making it difficult for the girls to really enjoy the rite of passage hideaway.

I peeked in the closet and there was Bryce kneeling on the floor with a flashlight lighting up whatever it was she had set up.

"It's her bug lab," the Mama answered before I could ask.

"Ah, your bug lab, Bryce. Very nice."

"Daddy, Daddy -- I have to tell you something," Bryce said.

"Yes?"

"This is my bug lab where I do science. You want to see it?"

"Yes, I see it. Pretty cool, Bryce. Science!"

When the girls do something science related, I always post it proudly and declare, "Science!" This being a reference to the 1982 Thomas Dolby song referenced above, when the crazy psychiatrist shouts it out throughout the song.

But that's not really what the song's about, the literal science things. No, Thomas used science as a metaphor for attraction and love. It's a campy video, complete with the "home of deranged scientists," all men of course. It was never supposed to be a supportive message about women in science, technology, engineering and math (STEM).

My apologies to my girls, although my intention is always supportive when it comes to them learning and expanding their hearts and minds, especially in the world of STEM. This past Christmas we got them fun experiment gifts -- a slime kit and a volcano kit -- both of which they've already indulged in gladly. The novelty of the robot dog and dinosaur gifts have already worn off, but the microscope kit for Bryce was a huge hit. She keeps exclaiming over and over again, "Let's do science!" And Beatrice is an artist and math fan who's now entering her school's science fair this year with a classmate (which I got to be a judge for last year). She's even cracked the physics formula of becoming a dog: kids + dog food + dog hair = dogs.

Right on.

So when's the part where they're discouraged to continue to expand their hearts and minds through STEM? When's the part where they're only seen as lovely useless objects of biology and nothing more?

Because it's coming, statistically speaking. And that's quite disheartening.

Thankfully there are kids'  books like Going Places, where a strong lead female character is highly creative and inventive, and shows like Odd Squad on PBS Kids (one of my favorites actually), an X-Files for kids, where gender diversity and all diversity in STEM is celebrated, and where two of the lead characters are girls (and there are many more in the show).

But at what point will their teachers stop picking Bea and Bryce to lead class projects and/or teams? Right now they have very inclusive and supportive teachers, women of course, who celebrate all the girl and boy strengths (just as the Mama and I do and thankfully many other responsible parents as well). But when will that stop? Middle school? High school? College? All of the above?

And at what point will employers overlook them for their male counterparts (because someday they may have children or whatever the reason)? At what point does the hostility and the sexual harassment start because of their interest in technology and science (or anything for that matter)? According to a recent survey, 60 percent of women in tech reported unwanted sexual advances. I have failed myself in my distant professional past, but haven't tolerated it since.

I read an article is the Santa Cruz Sentinel this last week about the film Code: Debugging the Gender Gap, which I wasn't aware of but now definitely want to see. The article highlighted these documentary facts:

The documentary by award-winning director Robin Hauser Reynolds, released in April, reports sobering disparities in the industry. At Apple, only 20 percent of employees are women. At Google, it’s 17 percent. And at Twitter, it’s just 10 percent. Of the 1.4 million computing-related job openings the Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts by 2020, American women will fill less than 3 percent, or about one for every nine American men, according to the film.

When do the years of living science stop for our girls? We hope never, unless it's their choice, and even then we hope their sense of mindful fairness and imaginative wonder will never cease, and that it will continuously flow downhill like glowing magma, clearing the thorny landscape below of misogyny, harassment and discrimination for generations to come.

The Now of Every Beat and Breath

“Winding like an ancient river,

The time is now again.

Hope is like an ancient river;

The time is now again.”

—Rush, Ceiling Unlimited

There were 42 episodes last year. Not the 52 I had originally planned -- one per week -- but that's because of other priorities that took precedent. Like work travel. And vacations. And family time.

There was no other cast except me. No production team except me. Only one camera to capture one single image per show. On location at Natural Bridges State Beach. One mile walked up to Natural Bridges, two miles running on the beach, one mile walk/run back home.

The show's premise was (and still is) to complete an empowering weekly anchor workout, one that still presents me with the challenge of running (at least on the beach) since my knee surgery in 2014, while listening to my music of choice and let my mind do what it will. Mindfulness. Hopeful daydreaming. Problem solving. Introspection. Forward thinking. Reminiscing. The simple bliss of enjoying every beat and breath.

One little victory at a time. Linked and looped together into perpetual resolutions of what I want to be. Of what I can be. Of what I can actually control and of what is beyond me. 

The silly part of this idea was to imagine that my weekly beach runs are a show of sorts. A social media show of my anchor moments shared on Instagram and other channels like this one from the New Year:

This week on #HappyNewYear Beach Run. #BigDaddyPower

But always with the same all temporal yet transitory anchors in the background: the sky, the sea, the natural rock bridge (the only one left at Natural Bridges State Beach), and the beach itself. And sometimes me (because we are also transitory). Really more to remind me of that particular moment of being and doing and taking care of me so I can be there and take care of my family. 

In between the beach run is a whole lot of messy life, only some of which I can personally impact. So I tend well to myself, and then to my family, and then to others, because most of the messy will always be beyond my control (some of which I'll never want to touch anyway). I've been praying/meditating for three minutes a day now for over a week, blotting out everything except me, my breath and the greater I. While not wholly transformative, at least not yet, the incremental resetting is emotionally refreshing and is giving me new focus. Amen.

The rest of living well was summed up nicely for me in this short NPR article: The prescription is simple: Get enough sleep. Move around. Eat well. Interact with others.

The time is always now again -- the now of every beat and breath and being completely well in. It ain't easy, but it's certainly worth my family's while.

Happy New Year, Kids.