The Little Wooden Reindeer

 "Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
Time passages..."

–Al Stewart, Time Passages

After we went downtown, the song crept out from the shadows. I couldn't help but sing some of it while our family played Apples to Apples. Then I listened to it while fixing dinner. It's one of many older songs from my childhood that always takes me back decades. 

Or, just one year ago to 2019. One year pre-pandemic, when we were downtown with much of our community celebrating the season with our annual holiday parade. Our oldest Beatrice played flute in the school band, marching down Pacific Avenue, our Main Street, playing Jingle Bells, over and over again. 

I walked along with the band with other parents, and my wife Amy and our youngest Bryce waved to us from the side of the street towards the end of the parade route. There was finally a break in the rain, and all us parents who traveled along with the band took tons of pictures and videos. The community clapped and waved, we clapped and waved, some danced in the street like Bryce and even the chief of police, and for a couple of hours the local social spectrum shone like a rainy day rainbow -- with Santa riding in at the end on a city fire truck.

We were all so looking forward to 2020. It was going to be a year like no other.

Well, it was and has been, that's for sure. But not even close to what our expectations were -- coronavirus, economic downturn, millions out of work, social and racial injustice and inequity, political upheaval, fires, missing family and friends, and much, much, more. A year later and there's no downtown holiday parade, no school marching bands, and the Bay Area is again on the cusp of locking down further due to surges of COVID-19. It's been tough on local businesses everywhere and our in our own local community many businesses have closed forever. 

The shop local campaign has never been more important, and we've tried to do our part, ordering goods locally whenever possible. The Downtown Association of Santa Cruz has worked with local downtown merchants to make it easier to buy online and in store. That doesn't mean we haven't defaulted to ordering stuff online from Amazon, because we have, but we do try to strike a better balance when and where we can.

This year the Downtown Association of Santa Cruz launched a Reindeer Round-Up hunt (which runs through December 23), where kids (and adults) visit participating businesses displaying a small wooden reindeer, and then when enough reindeers are spotted, fun prizes are given away. Our girls loved it. We got some treats to eat, did some window shopping and then bought some downtown dollars for gifts to give away that can be used later at participating businesses.

Amy went to get the car and I walked the girls to the downtown information kiosk to turn in their reindeer forms. The woman working the kiosk wore a sweet candy cane elf hat and was thrilled that the girls did the reindeer round-up.

"You know, there's one more in here that you girls could find and add to your list," she said.

The three of us circled the kiosk but couldn't find it.

The kiosk employee exited and said, "I'll let you know when you get warmer. Try again."

We circled again.

"Ah -- you're getting warmer!" she said.

Then I looked up, and there on a little white shelf was the little wooden reindeer. And then the girls saw it, too. 

They both pointed and said, "There it is!"

The kiosk employee literally jumped in the air, her candy cane elf hat bouncing on her head. 

"Yeah! Great job!" she said.

The girls got to pick out a little gift, and they chose a small stuffed elephant and zebra. We got in the car and they told Mom all about it as we headed home. On the way home we drove along the ocean and as I looked out across water, I thought about how much we all looked forward to 2021, on how it could be a year like no other, how maybe we might be able to put this pandemic behind us, and much, much, more. 

We should all look up more often. 

"Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these time passages..."

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

A Well-Being Worth Practicing

A Grateful Tree

It's This Moment That Matters

The Bank of Mom and Dad

Something to Celebrate

The Haunted Garden

Mapping the Way

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

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 

All Because of One Day at the Beach

"Somehow we found each other

Somehow we have stayed

In a state of grace..."

–Rush, Ghost of a Chance

Picture by my friend Doug Ross

I never remember our exact exchange, but the visceral memory of that moment is permanently etched in my mind and my heart. 

"What did you say to me again? 'So, do you always come here alone?'"

It's the morning of our 23rd anniversary of when we met. 

"No, Sweetie, I asked, 'Why are you always here alone?,'" my wife Amy says and smiles. 

"Right," I say. "I always remember it differently." 

"Oh, it's your anniversary? Happy Anniversary," says Bryce our youngest. 

"Happy anniversary," says Beatrice our oldest.

"Why does your anniversary have to be on a Sunday?" asks Bryce.

"Because that's where the date fell this year," Amy says. 

"Oh."

"Thank you both. That's why we went to the water yesterday, to read our vows," I say.

"Oh."

Kids, I think. 

The day before our anniversary we did go to the water to read our wedding vows, something we do every year (our wedding date being on the same day when we met, just six years later). Some of the parking lots near the lighthouse and close to the beach where we met are closed due to COVID-19, and the ones that are open are always full. We parked down the street and walked toward the beach where we met all those years ago. Beatrice rode her skateboard, Bryce had on her roller blades and we had our dog Jenny in tow. 

It was a lovely afternoon as it usually is in October where we live. Windier than usual, but still lovely. The girls sat on a bench as we looked out over the beach where we met October 11, 1997. The waves kept time with our vows and the sun lit up the sea...

Amy and I had been coming there alone for weeks during that El Niño late summer into October. The weather was beautiful and the ocean much warmer than usual. I'd hang out closer to the water and write in my journal, and Amy would sit in her orange beach chair against the cliff wall. I noticed her the first time I went down to the beach, shortly after I had moved to Santa Cruz, but never approached her. I was in the early stages of a separation that would ultimately lead to divorce (something that would challenge our relationship early on), and had no interest in approaching her, or anyone at that time.

Then one day I looked up from my journal and there were two sun-tanned legs in front of me. I looked up higher, and there she was, awash in sunshine, wearing a two-piece bathing suit and a baseball hat. She was so beautiful (still is), and it was the baseball hat that actually wowed me more than the suit (okay, a close second). I had never known a woman who could wear a baseball hat so well. 

"Why are you always here alone?" she asked me.

Every time I think of that moment, I remember not responding immediately. Not because I didn't want to respond. I just wasn't sure how to. Her question was confident and direct, and at that time, I wasn't so confident and direct, and again, wanted to be alone. Seconds passed. Whatever strange and exciting connection I felt in that moment was already slipping away. The weight in her legs shifted, indicating she was about to walk away. The universe taunted me and my silence. C'mon, Kevin, I thought. You'd better saying something.

"What exactly did I say to you again in response?" I ask Amy.

"'Because I like to,'" she says.

"That's really what I said?"

"Yes, but you can make something up if you want," she says and smiles

"Ha. No, I want to get it right. But 'because I like to'? Subpar, Kevin."

"Well, that's what you said."

"I love you, Amy."

"I love you, too. Happy Anniversary."

That was only the beginning back then. Since then our journey has brought us to today, 23 years in the making. We've had some amazing experiences together, and travels, and had two daughters along the way. We've also had our own challenges, too, and throughout it all it's been a loving journey of forgiveness empowered by grace. We are grateful for each other and our family every single day, awash in love and hope, and we choose us, always. And all because of one day at the beach.

"There's a new sun arisin'

(In your eyes) I can see a new horizon

(Realize) That will keep me realizin'

You're the biggest part of me..."

–Ambrosia, Biggest Part of Me

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Awash in Love and Hope

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

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 Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

We couldn't look away from the still smoldering burned out trailer camper. It was just outside of the city limits on Highway 1, and mask-wearing fire crews had surrounded it and were spraying it down with frothy fire retardant. 

"Homeless," I said.

"Yes, I'm sure," my wife Amy said. "I hope they got out."

"I know, although I don't see an ambulance or another vehicle that would've been towing it, so I'll bet they got out."

We have our own camper now, I thought. Scary.

We continued with our morning walk down the bike path to Wilder Ranch State Park, where just north of the park was the southern end of the CZU August Lightning Complex fires, the ones we nearly had to evacuate from in Santa Cruz. The ones that thousands did have to evacuate from. 

Over 900 homes were destroyed in these fires -- and there continue to be fires burning everywhere along the West Coast from Washington to Oregon to Southern California. These combined with the impact of COVID-19 on our economy and too many people out of work and renters nearing eviction, and the complexity of people experiencing homelessness may increase dramatically. The lack of affordable housing, social and economic inequity, mental health and substance abuse problems only exacerbate a problem that's not new to the Bay Area and many other communities through the U.S. 

During the Great Recession just over 10 years ago, we nearly walked away from our home before being forced into foreclosure having sporadic income at the time and being underwater with our mortgage. We had a newborn and a two-year-old and very little savings. The fear of not having a home for our family weighed heavily on us. We fortunately didn't lose our home and were able to make it work. 

According to the 2019 Santa Cruz County Homeless Census & Survey Comprehensive Report, a survey that's done every two years, there were 122 families with 419 individuals experiencing homelessness more recently (19% of the total homeless population). Slightly more than half (53%) were living unsheltered. Who knows where that number is now -- or where it might be in the next six months. 

We have a trailer camper now and it was ready to go when we thought we had to evacuate due to the fires. We also had multiple friends and family who said we could park it in front of their homes indefinitely if we needed to. We've learned a lot about camping in an RV, living in an RV at least for a few days at a time, and based on our own life experience, I can imagine having to live out of one for who knows how long. And wouldn't want to have to do that. What if our home had burned down? What if we lost our jobs and couldn't pay our bills anymore? So many what if's. 

And our daughters ask us "why are those people living there?", those people experiencing homelessness living in tents and RV's throughout our city and on the edges of the city, and the answers aren't easy to give. Many don't have a choice because they can't afford rent, although some choose to live this way. Plus, there aren't enough homeless shelters available in the city, there aren't any sanctioned and supervised safe parking/camping areas, there are those suffering from mental and emotional problems, addiction, just to name a few. 

Where we live there's a growing RV/tent encampment across the highway from us, still within city limits, but technically under the purview of Caltrans. Just a year and a half ago our city was grappling with short and long-term solutions on how to deal with this growing complex crisis where we live and elsewhere, with city staff researching successful communities dealing with their own homeless crises. At the time, we were also not supportive of any "safe sleeping areas" near us or anywhere in the city. 

According to our city website, The city of Santa Cruz invests millions of dollars each year in a combination of homeless services and reacting and responding to the externalities of homelessness. From law enforcement interventions for people in behavioral health crisis, to clearing encampments, to providing direct funding to local non-profit service providers, the City has addressed this issue from many angles. Despite this significant investment of City resources and time, the problem of homelessness persists and is growing. 

Persists and is growing. According to a 9th Circuit Court of Appeals legal decision from a few years ago, it's "cruel and unusual punishment" to enforce rules that stop homeless people from camping in public places when they have no place else to go. That means states across the 9th Circuit can no longer enforce similar statutes if they don't have enough shelter beds for homeless people sleeping outside.

A lot has changed in the past year and a half, and my wife and I are now advocates for safe sleeping areas in and around our city. There has to be a safe place for everyone in our community -- if they are sanctioned and supervised by the city and county. That was always supposed to be the plan, with millions available in funds from the city and county and multi-layer plans researched and recommended -- and then COVID-19 hit. 

That's the confusing part now. So much fo the information our our city website about homelessness is years old, and when we reached out to Caltrans, they passed responsibility back to the city and county. After reaching out to our mayor, city council, chief of police and one of the county supervisors, only the county supervisor responded. But we do know that law enforcement can't be responsible for it all. 

However, there are seemingly no plans in place, no fully functional transitional camps, not enough shelters to accommodate those in need of housing. And if they're are, we can't find the up-to-date information. There are local non-profits assisting the homeless and that's another channel for us to investigate further, like Housing Matters. 

What are we supposed to do? And what should we do? Of course we empathize, but these unsanctioned homeless encampments are a health and safety issue because there are no wellness checks that we're aware of, no animal control and no sanitation control (trash and sewage). They're a safety issue for the homeless, especially those families, children and young adults experiencing homelessness, and those of us with families and secure housing.

Here's the biased perception I'm working hard to move past -- the fact that we don't know who these people experiencing homelessness are (as of the 2019 census, 74% of respondents reported they were living in Santa Cruz County at the time they most recently lost their housing), and the same census shows they're not all criminals, addicts or mentally ill. They also don't know who we are, those of us secure in our homes, and the fact there are some of us who may be criminals, addicts and mentally ill. 

So, how do we build a bridge and help as community members beyond donating to local organizations and food banks? How can we volunteer more to help? Voting helps too, but the impacts aren't immediate and are also so polarized today. With local government budgets taking huge revenue hits going forward, a daunting fire recovery only just beginning, and with the weight of today bearing down more and more each day, what else can we do? It's not clear to us -- where's the clarity bridge for homelessness, hope and action? 

We love our community and we've survived earthquakes, fires, high cost of living, economic devastation, a pandemic (still surviving) and more. While many people may be leaving California for all of the above reasons, we are staying and raising our children here and will do what we can to help it heal, to build those new bridges and move forward. We empathize with those experiencing homelessness, because everyone deserves to sleep safely and to have access to the resources they need to improve their lives whatever their circumstance. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

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

No Shoes, No Shirts, No Problem

After nearly two months of cooking and eating at home because of coronavirus (COVID-19) shelter-in-place orders, we finally succumbed to eating out. Not literally going out of course, at least not in California, which is still pretty locked down. Instead, we ordered something yummy for home delivery. Oh, how we've missed it.

My wife Amy and I first wanted our favorite taqueria not too far from where we live, but even though the open sign has been lit every time we drive past it, and we see people inside, we called and called to ask how their food was currently being prepared and packaged, and how they were managing their salsa bar, which is critical for the food we used to order from there. And how we can order and pick up the food, something we were willing to do. But alas, they never answered their phone.

The next choice for our two daughters was pizza. And not just any pizza either -- Pizza My Heart -- a local pizza place founded in Capitola, CA. There's a lot of yummy pizza locally, but our girls have always loved Pizza My Heart, especially going to get a big slice of cheese for Bryce, pepperoni for Beatrice, combo for me and pesto for Amy. We used to go together sometimes and meet friends, which feels like decades ago now.

Also, when Amy would teach a Kidpower workshop on Saturdays, it was my turn to go to Trader Joe's for the grocery shopping. When the girls would complain about having to go to the store with me, then I'd bribe them with pizza slices from Pizza My Heart, and they'd cheer "Yay!" Although I always wanted to go to the store first and then to pizza, they would ride me until caved into going to pizza first. I'm such a softy.

For now, those days are long gone. So, why did it take us so long for us to get to the point of ordering out again? Like many people, we were freaked out early on about coronavirus. We stocked up on groceries and couldn't imagine ordering any food prepared by others for fear of getting the virus.

Locally we've bought art supplies for the girls from Lenz Arts and books and gift cards from our favorite local bookstore Bookshop Santa Cruz, with the latest gift card purchased at a great online music event featuring local musical artist Keith Greeninger and sponsored by Ride Out The Wave (a site dedicated to supporting local businesses by encouraging people to by gift cards).

However, supporting local eateries was a health care conundrum for us. Even buying restaurant gift cards was a tough choice because we weren't sure if and when we'd be able to use them. Instead, buying groceries and eating at home, all the time, was what we did.

We haven't made these decisions lightly; local businesses continued to be decimated, especially restaurants and bars, and too many people have lost their jobs. Our favorite old watering hole and pub restaurant 99 Bottles closed back in March. While the sudden economic impact of coronavirus hasn’t been immediate for the nonprofit research firm I run, now headquartered in Santa Cruz with remote employees all over the world, we’re only six months from shuttering if the economic devastation continues.

This means the ripple effect for all of us continues to be more tsunami than little waves over time. Now over 30 million people are unemployed in the US, many of whom won’t be able to work until the economy fully opens again, and many more still who won’t have a business or job to go back to even when it does. Even those small businesses that have applied for the SBA Disaster Assistance, which we have, if received may extend the safety runways a bit.

However, the total number of reported coronavirus infected and the overall death rate is still most likely unknown and underreported. Just over a week ago it got personal for us, as Amy had to be tested. Thankfully she was negative.

This existential conundrum of saving lives versus saving livelihoods continues to widen our already great cultural and socioeconomic divide. It’s completely overwhelming to think of all the lives lost and the businesses big and small across industries laying off a few people to a few hundred thousand. I understand all the frustration and anger; so many of us are breaking under the weight of today. We need to continue to be kind to each other and help where we can.

Which now means eating out at home sometimes and supporting local restaurants and all the employees who continue to make the yummy magic and deliver it. We've recently read many experts have stated that there is no evidence that food is a carrier of the coronavirus, there is currently no reason to avoid any foods. Just take the food out of it's containers when you get it home or it's delivered home and dispose of the containers properly (recycle when you can!), then wash your hands well before you eat. Easy peasy.

We love cooking at home, and are practicing all the social distancing and wearing masks and more, but now we want some local restaurant food once and awhile. For as long as we can afford to do that at least. And because we can afford to do that, and haven't had a date night in nearly two months, we continue to donate a date night each month to the food banks for those families who need food assistance now.

So, be safe and order in. Open signs are lit up and waiting for your call. No shoes, no shirts, no problem. Enjoy.

My Birthday Wish

I'm exhausted. I never imagined that community service would take such an emotional toll. Even after serving on the Santa Cruz Commission for the Prevention of Violence Against Women (CPVAW) for nearly three years, and now being its chair, my involvement in the past three weeks has eclipsed anything I ever imagined this work would entail.

Yes, I'm naive. Especially when it comes to the local politics that have now completely consumed the results from an independent investigation into allegations of sexism, bullying and harassment made by five women against two Santa Cruz councilmembers. Two complaints were substantiated, multiple others were unsubstantiated (but not unfounded), which still indicated a pervasive pattern of harassment and disrespectful behavior for all the victims.

I haven't slept much. I'm quick to anger. I've been resistant to nearly every step of this recent journey. Plus, I still have to run my organization day to day with its own set of stressors. I still have to be Dad to our two girls. I still have to be a supportive husband to my wife, who's done nothing but support me the entire time.

And yet, none of that really matters. This is about the victims. This is why I do this work. Those who are brave enough to come forward share their stories and who long for healing and justice. Those who have endured weeks, months and years of all kinds of abuse. How I respond to it all this does matter, but not the fact that I'm tired and stressed about it all, because this isn't about me in the first place. I chose this and took a leadership position to help shepherd corrective change. It's like I've taken a pressure washer to my very soul and blasted away the years of biased emotional rust. Not all the bias, that's tough to do, but enough to understand my current convictions that connect me to my childhood of domestic violence and sexual abuse and back again.

Our president has been accused of rape, sexual assault and sexual harassment by at least 24 women. He's retaliated against many of these women, threatening to sue them or insulting them. The president himself has admitted, on the now infamous “Access Hollywood” tape, that he forces himself on women. And yet, many of his conservative supporters, including Republican congressman and evangelical Christians, are doubling down on his denial. That this is all politically motivated and that the victims are lying.

Our two local city councilmembers referenced above have consistently stated they didn't do anything wrong after 5 women came forward. One of the men, who's white, said he's sorry, that he was misunderstood. The other, who's black, said the reaction of "fragile white women" is one of systemic racism, that their reaction of feeling disrespected and harassed was their fault, not his. And yet, many of their progressively liberal supporters are doubling down on their denial. That this is all politically motivated and that the victims are lying.

Of course, the above two examples aren't the same. They are, however, two sides of the same coin; the same problem we see around the world. That this is about male power and control, patriarchy, and anyone who challenges that status quo, who challenges rape culture -- a society or environment whose prevailing social attitudes have the effect of normalizing or trivializing sexual assault and abuse -- is immediately minimized, trivialized, shamed, blamed and not believed. I was raised in this culture and it's been an eye-opening journey to get to where I'm at today, raising two young girls with my wife.

I cannot speak to what it's like being a person of color and the racism that is still pervasive today, but I can speak to being a victim of sexual abuse and domestic violence, and how they can be shamed and blamed. Which is why, when victims come forward, I have to start by believing, because the research is clear about the prevalence of false allegations around harassment, domestic violence and sexual assault -- it's between 2% and 10%. But even with this small incidence, it's the real victims, those who have actually been harassed and/or assaulted, have the much longer road to healing, if they ever truly can. They're also the ones who are in fear of reporting what happened, due to the way we victimize the victims, like what I witnessed at our last city council meeting. If more came forward, then most likely it would reduce the percentage of false allegations overall. It's takes a lot of courage to come forward and say that you've been harassed or assaulted, for women and men alike.

When victims come forward, we have to believe. Especially when any allegations are proven, those who have abused need to be held accountable. To not do so perpetuates patriarchy, power and control, and victims will not come forward, and harassment, disrespectful workplace behavior, domestic violence, sexual assault, rape and yes, murder, will go on and on.

Societal change is hard. We just finished our second annual awareness and prevention symposium called Transforming Together where we invited the entire Santa Cruz community -- women, men, and gender non-conforming citizens -- to come together in a collective effort to generate awareness and help prevent sexual harassment, domestic and intimate partner violence, sexual assault and rape, and respond more effectively when they do occur.

There are some amazing people in our community working to end sexual assault, sexual harassment and domestic violence. They are providing support services and healing resources for victims who come forward, and push for accountability of those accused of abuse. And now there's an ever-increasing focus on continuous awareness and primary prevention programs that start with healthy relationships, better communication skills, boundary setting and more. Programs that can also help prevent these issues before they start. This will be a big focus of our commission work going forward.

For those who have been bullied, harassed, abused, assaulted or worse, I hear you, I see you and I start by believing.

We all deserve to be safe. We can all help stop it before it starts. Men have to be part of the solution.

That is my birthday wish. That is what I'm fighting for.

Be Part of the Solution

One minute I was happily serving drinks, and the next minute I blacked out. And I don’t think the Mickey was meant for me.

Neither of us did. A few years before our oldest Beatrice was born, the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and I attended a coworker’s Halloween party. Dressed as Han Solo and Princess Leia, we volunteered to help run one of the backyard bars.

We were having a lot of fun chatting it up with dozens of different people dressed in all sorts of great costumes, most of whom we didn’t know. The Mama was a much better barkeep than me since she’d worked in restaurants over the years and did some bartending. She helped me mix the drinks and I mostly stayed with serving beer and wine.

Maybe two hours or so into the party, I felt wasted. Literally shitfaced. And I shouldn’t have been. I’d only had a few glasses of wine.

“Are you okay?” the Mama asked.

Thankfully the crowd had thinned at our bar, because the world spun way too fast for me at that point.

“I feel really drunk,” I said.

“Wow, you're slurring. You haven’t had that much to drink. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good,” I said. Although I probably said, I stone fee goo.

“I have to go to the bathroom now.”

I af to go to da bamoom now.

We went to the bathroom and then went back to bartending. A while later it was time to go and that was when the world became an acrylic swirl of black and yellow light like Van Gogh’s Night Sky. I barely remember the Mama putting me in our car and driving us home. Then I vaguely remember stumbling into our house. She knew something was definitely wrong at that point.

The next morning we reviewed the night. I had a killer headache and there was no way it was just from the wine I drank. After some research online, we agreed that something had been put into my drink, probably what’s known as a rufie, the date-rape drug.

But again, we don’t think it was meant for me. Probably another woman. Whenever it happened, however it happened, and whoever it was intended for, I happened to be the unlucky victim of a drug-induced blackout. Thank God my wife was there to take care of me. Again, most of the party goers were strangers to us, so it could have been anybody.

After telling my coworker about it, she was mortified and said she’d look into it. These people were her and her husband’s friends, and sure enough, she uncovered someone they knew who had tried to drug someone at a previous party, but denied having anything to do with what happened to me. Without proof, there was nothing she could do about it, or we could do about.

What if I was a woman and the intended victim? What would’ve happened to me? Would I have been sexually assaulted? Would it have been someone I knew, or a stranger?

Today I’m an appointed volunteer on the Santa Cruz Commission to Prevent Violence Against Women (CPVAW) and part of our mission is to partner with local law enforcement and collect data on a variety of CA penal codes to better understand the nature of sexual assaults, occurring within Santa Cruz, and distribute this information to our community. Some of our findings from 2014-2016 of non-juvenile cases to be released soon include:

• In 40% of the incidences of reported rape or attempted rape, the suspects were acquaintances of the victims.
• 86% of the victims reporting sexual assault are Santa Cruz City locals.
• Women between the ages of 18-29 make up 45% of the victims reporting sexual assaults.
• Suspects were 59% locals, 32% unknown and 9% visitors to the area.
• Alcohol was involved in 42% of the cases reported between 2014-16.

One of these days our girls will be young adults and may go to parties like this, whether locally or at college or wherever they end up living. Wherever that will be, according to RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network), the nation's largest anti-sexual violence organization, 7 out of 10 rapes are committed by someone known to the victim. Mix in alcohol and powerful sedative drugs and you've got a very dangerous combination for potential victims. We can't be there all the time to protect our girls, but we can educate them to be aware and protect themselves.

The work we do at CPVAW has a broader mission of ending sexual assault, sexual harassment, and domestic violence in the City of Santa Cruz through prevention, programs, and public policy. October has also been domestic violence awareness month, and 1 in 3 women have been victims of some form of physical violence by an intimate partner within their lifetime and an average of 3 women die every day at the hands of a current or former intimate partner. Growing up, my sister and I witnessed my mother suffer continuous verbal and physical abuse, another reason why I speak up about it. To give voice to those who need help.

Recently on Facebook a friend asked why men don't speak up about the #metoo movement (the sharing on social media by other women who have been sexually harassed and/or assaulted), and also why so many men stand by and let harassment and sexual assault happen (and anything related to violence against women).

My response was simple:

I have stood by. I have called out. I have harassed. I have been harassed. I have never sexually assaulted anyone. I have been sexually assaulted. 

My wife and I have two young daughters who we are empowering to be strong and be part of the solution. As parents, we all have an ultimate responsibility to instill in both girls and boys their own sense of personal responsibility, empathy, compassion, to be safe with their bodies and their minds, to not react inappropriately and violently, and to encourage all of the above with others. We need to be clear with our children that violence against women and girls, men or boys, including sexual assault, harassment, bullying or anything related is never okay.

So let's be part of the solution, today.

Just Another Saturday

I just needed to pee when the Mama called to me from downstairs.

"Kevin, where are you? I need to talk to you about something important right now."

Her voice sounded off, odd, like she was uncomfortable about something. There was also an accusatory tone, as if I should be reading her mind to understand whatever the heck was going on as she bounded up the stairs. What did I do? I thought. Wait, nothing. All I knew is that we were getting ready to go to Bryce's soccer game.

"Kevin, where are you?"

"Going to the bathroom!" I called back at her.

That's when I heard a helicopter overhead. Then a plane fly by. Then the helicopter again. Then another plane. The Mama, what I lovingly call my wife, came into our bathroom where I was.

"There's a fire in Moore Creek down the street. We have to go now."

The "go now" part stung, as if the Mama had wagged her finger in front of me and then poked me hard in the chest. Her very being was all resolve and purpose betrayed only by the fear in her eyes.

"Sweetie, we have to pack some things and go," she said. "Our neighbor said they'll be closing the road soon."

We heard multiple firetrucks and police cars scream by us down the highway. The helicopter and planes flew overhead again. Moore Creek was right at the end of our street, where other friends of ours lived, whose children went to school with our girls. The property behind us lined with eucalyptus trees had ground cover as dry as kindling and most likely ready to go up in flames if the fire reached it. One of the eucalyptus had fallen into a neighbor's house over the last rainy winter, and when we saw the two feet of tree debris all over the ground soaking wet, we knew at some point it would dry out and be quite combustible.

"I have to pee first!" was all I could say to the Mama. Because I did, before I did anything else. Then I could get moving.

She went into our closet and came out with our home safe, full of important family paperwork among other things. It's a heavy little sucker, and yet, it was if she were holding a newborn close to her chest.

"Okay, that's fine," she said. "Then help me get some things together. We have to go before the road closes."

"Wait, have you heard anything on the news? Do we have to evacuate? What do we know? Let's not overreact if we don't know exactly what's happening."

"I only know that we have to go," she said.

That was enough for me.

Ten minutes earlier it was just another Saturday. Soccer games and errands and family time in between. Now there was a fire down the street, how serious we didn't really know yet. We do get local Nixle alerts, but there had been none yet notifying us of anything including whether or not we should evacuate. And considering all the wildfires north of us in Santa Rosa, killing dozens of people and destroying thousands of homes, we weren't going to take any chances.

Because what do you take when you don't know how much time you have, when you may not have any time at all? We have disaster plans, at least frameworks to work within in order to get out, to meet up elsewhere if separated. Extra food and water in the garage if trapped at home. And so on. I carried the safe downstairs.

"Sweetie, get the suitcase for me," the Mama called down.

"I will. I'm going to pack the computers and devices for us."

"Yes, please do."

The girls had already been calmly tasked to pack a few things they wanted to bring. They were stuffed animals and a few toys, of course.

"Is our house going to burn down?" Beatrice asked.

"No, honey, but we need to be safe and go somewhere else for a while just until the firefighters put the fire out."

While the Mama kept packing I started to load our car. The Cal Fire helicopter and planes kept circling and dropping water on the mountainside and I could see the smoke for the first time, although I couldn't smell it. More first responders raced down the highway with sirens blaring. Many people were outside including our neighbors, some of whom walked down the street to investigate further. A Nixle alert did appear on my phone, but only to say the highway was now closed due to a fire and to stay tuned for more updates. Nothing about evacuation.

After getting everything into the car except the suitcase, our neighbor called us and said she and her son were at the end of the street and the firefighters had just put the fire out. But another Nixle alert told me that the highway and part of our road would be closed for awhile. At least we were safe for now and the firefighters had quickly contained the blaze.

"What about the guinea pigs?" the girls had asked.

Prior to knowing the fire was more or less out, the question of what to do with the guinea pigs came up. Their cage would fit in the car, that wasn't a problem, but if we ended up stranded somewhere, there was no way we could keep them in the car. It would be too hot. And the eventual smell of course. Maybe we could drop them off at a friend's house. Or maybe we just couldn't take them with us. Thankfully we didn't have to end up making that call.

Because what do you take when you don't know how much time you have, when you may not have any time at all? Your family, maybe your pets if realistic, and a few critical items like important paperwork, medicines if any, computers and/or devices, some clothes and toiletries. Everything else has to stay -- and you have to go. Now. While we packed our stuff I remembered looking at all our family pictures hanging on the wall and thinking I have all of these digitally, so we can print them again. 

We did end up going on with our day as planned, but it felt off, odd, like the tone of the Mama's voice when she first called to me upstairs only 30 minutes earlier. Should we have stayed and waited to ensure things didn't flare up again and that we'd really have to evacuate? Once we were away from our house without the stuff we packed, there would be no way to get back if things went south, and everything could've been lost.

But it wasn't. It was just another Saturday. God bless those who have lost.

The next morning the Mama said to me, "You know what?"

"What?"

"We forgot the key to the safe when we packed everything up."

"Again with the keys," I said.

The Mama laughed. "But it's not like we couldn't have broken into it. It's not that great of a safe."

"That's comforting," I said.

Because We Could Be Them

“The future disappears into memory
With only a moment between.
Forever dwells in that moment,
Hope is what remains to be seen…”

—Rush, The Garden

We did our best to stay focused on our strategic planning, but the raucous laughter and marijuana smoke kept distracting us. The nightly homeless encampment outside city hall was bigger than ever and it had nearly blocked the entrance to the conference room where we met.

It was our planning retreat for the prevention of violence against women city commission. At one point an especially loud but indecipherable argument outside the door silenced us. One of our city advisors broke our silence.

"It's sad and ironic that only this wall separates us from where we could be. Many of us today are still only a paycheck away from being out there; we could be them."

I nodded and said, "I know. We're still crawling out of our last economic crater from what seems like a lifetime ago. But it was only a few years ago."

The painful memory of that distress welled in my throat like bile. What I didn't share is that we almost walked away from our home and our community back then. While I wasn't one of millions laid off from their jobs during the great recession -- one poor business decision by me, followed by a severely compromised income, and with two very young daughters in tow, we had to make some very difficult decisions.

Over 9 million people lost their homes in the U.S. during the great recession. In the development of 15 homes where we bought in 2006 near the height of the housing bubble, one-third either went through a short sale or foreclosed. At the time we could afford it until we nearly couldn't, and so we weighed our options on what to do next: either stick it out and work on keeping the house, or walk away and move to the midwest to be close to extended family. We didn't qualify for any of the public assistance plans at the time and our mortgage lender would not work with us at all. Even our accountant recommended we walk from the house, to get out and start over. Many economists echoed that sentiment for those of us underwater at the time.

But in the end, we never missed a mortgage payment, and we were never late with a payment. The unrelenting stress at the time of keeping a roof over my family's head motivated me to hustle, hustle and hustle some more. Both my wife and I hustled. Apocalyptic visions of living on the street were enough to keep us inspired to stay off it.

Of course homelessness is much more complex than that and a recent Santa Cruz City Council subcommittee analysis highlights just how complex it gets on a local level. And although homelessness is down today overall where we live, we're still living in a community with 60 percent of the homeless population living unsheltered within the city limits. Also, over half have been homeless for a year or more and also suffer from one or more disabling conditions like substance abuse, psychiatric conditions, physical disabilities and more. Sadly one in three have been in jail within the past year as well. Then there's the harsh reality for too many homeless is that there is a potential violence and sexual abuse that comes from living on the street.

The noise quieted a bit outside and we continued with our commission meeting. Afterwards we went went home and went on with our lives. The city of Santa Cruz has since converted the public spaces around City Hall from an open-access “park” to more restrictive office grounds, citing a purported escalation of homeless use and aggression. Which has certainly been the case. But everyday we witness the plight of what any of us could become at any time. We empathize and count on the fact that assistance from local organizations and countless volunteers, family and friends can and will help, along with sound public policy empowering safety nets from all levels of government that includes a continuous investment in public safety.

And the argument that dismantling most business and financial regulations today will free up the economy to keep us all employed, our savings intact and safe from being decimated by the greed of a few, and ultimately to keep us all off the streets, is simply ludicrous and ignorant.

Again, it's really complex and I don't know what the answers are. I only know that ignoring it, chastising it or criminalizing it won't solve the long-term homeless problem.

Because we could be them. And then what?

Not cool to trash Baby B’s city. Not cool.

This week we had our annual homeowners' association meeting. The past two years we've lived here I've been on the board and Amy and I have been very involved in the neighborhood.

One problem we've had to deal with is the land across the street from us – and the landowner. The land is unkempt, weeds rampant, trash accumulates, homeless use it as a weigh station locking up their bikes and washing up (which has decreased dramatically of late thank goodness), and the landowner just doesn't care.

We tried the diplomatic route to get him to clean it up, we hired a lawyer to try to force him to comply via the city of Santa Cruz, but to no avail either way. In fact, the city told us that since no major ordinances are being violated (although the landowner has been cited multiple times in the past), we should deal with it elsewhere because the city has too many more important issues to deal with.

Like the fact that the city budget shortfall will reduce the number of officers on the street, marijuana's been decriminalized in the city and now we have a grow house around the corner, and this kind of out of control crap is tolerated downtown (our nutty, eclectic downtown we love). Granted, the article points out that almost 200 arrests have been made downtown over the past year, but at the expense of local partiers and homeless addicts trashing corners and making it unsafe for families. And did there really need to be 200 arrests? C'mon.

I embrace diversity and am progressively tolerant – but not for those who aren't personally responsible, who aren't getting help and taking advantage of the city's services. And it's not cool to trash Baby B's city, whether it's across the street or downtown or along the beach. And it's not cool to not take care of your property.

So there.

Who you lookin' at?