Being What Happens Next

"Mommy, Daddy -- let's watch the superheroes!"

Those words, paying homage to The Incredibles, echoing in my head as I run at a decent clip, one step after another, one breath after another...imagining my girls running around house, outside, down the street, jumping in the air, standing on their tippy-toes to pick sour apples...me running a little faster to keep up with them...

I am able-bodied. I can walk and run. So are the Mama and the girls. That shouldn't make us superheroes, and it doesn't really, but to those who can't, it's different. Much different.

Different for those who live an alternative afterlife post injury or illness or birth defect, paralyzed from the waist down, the sternum down, or even the neck down.

Like my best friend, Robby. We've been friends since we were 12 years old. A long, long time ago...

And then there was a fateful spring day at a swim meet our senior year in high school. Him wanting to go with a group of us to the coast instead of his swim meet, knowing perfectly well he wouldn't miss his meet for anything. Us returning early that evening to discover shockingly that he broke his neck and crushed his spinal cord on a third false start, then us rushing to the hospital to see him, his mother claiming we were family so we could see him in the ICU the next morning when he was conscious.

Three months later he's brought by ambulance from the hospital rehabilitation center to graduate with our senior class, the class of 1984, me having the honor of pushing him into the football stadium and standing by his side throughout the commencement.

Thirty-five years I've known him, and even after the accident, no matter how many times he's relived his life pre-paralysis, and wished to have it all back post, he keeps saying to me:

"I want to be around to see what happens next."

No matter how hard it's been or it gets, I want to be around...

The superhero mythos is about having extraordinary powers and using them to do good and help others (unless you're a villain, which I hope you're not). Unfortunately we take for granted the extraordinary powers that move us forward every single day, physically, mentally and spiritually, to see what happens next. But not just seeing what happens next -- being what happens next.

Prior to my run this morning, I was up looking around Robby's house, the house that we've been coming to see him in since he moved here five years after his accident. He's an artist now, and a comic book collector, an aficionado actually, and his collection is quite extensive. He's also has shelves and boxes full of comic book figures and figurines -- both heroes and villains -- in nearly every room. It's a fascination with amplified characteristics from hyper-reality fiction, an alternative afterlife of how imaginative minds tell our human story, the one we live everyday, to see and hopefully aspire to be everyday.

The irony isn't lost on either of us that he dressed like Superman for Halloween our senior year, six months prior to his accident. No matter how much we joke about the past, or long for it, the irony is never lost.

The Mama and I want our girls to "B" what happens next, regardless. To be an everyday superhero like my best friend, Robby, no matter the kryptonite we keep.

In Light and Shadow

I stood up from the couch and then a little voice said:

"Stay, Daddy. Sit here."

I looked down. There was youngest's bright, smiling face and clear blue eyes beaming back at me like a lighthouse on a foggy summer morning. And so I sat in safe harbor next to Bryce, the Mama on the couch next to her and Beatrice on the floor in front of us, just a few minutes from leaving on another work trip.

My flight, diverted from San Francisco to Oakland due to the Korean airline accident yesterday at SFO, nagged at me. I have no fear of flying and never have. I'm sure there were many passengers on the flight yesterday who felt the same way. But it's not the flying, what may or may not happen in transit or at the final destinations, or the business travel itself -- it's the being away from the girls. Fortunately they are powerful homing beacons; signals so strong that I will always find my way back, no matter what happens or where I'm at.

I love them both so much, and while neither is a favorite as parents of two-plus children joke about, there is a little stronger affinity with Bryce, probably because there's a "male" energy in her, much more than Bea has had to date. Bryce is a rough-and-tumble, no-fear, highly expressive little girl. Bea is not (although being around Bryce all the time has helped Bea with her own confidence). And while Bea has made huge strides with her processing delay and her communication skills, Bryce has no such similar issues that we've identified so far.

However, she's had her own physical problem that's become more prominent during the past year. She has exotropia -- a vision problem where one eye migrates outward and binocular vision can be difficult. It affects only about 5%-10% of children and show's itself between 2-3 years of age. There are exercises we've encouraged her to do via our visits to the eye doctor, with limited success (because it's hard telling a two-year-old to work her eye), but it may be something that will self-correct in the next few years, especially if she works to strengthen the weaker eye and her visions aligns. She does make a conscious effort with or without our prompting, although glaring light on foggy/overcast days really bothers her. We've even bought a viewfinder to look through to help her work on the weak eye. Otherwise, if it doesn't self-correct, there's surgery, something we don't want to have to do, since multiple surgeries tend to be the norm before the correction takes hold.

One thing I've come to know quite well in my lifetime is that we're all imperfect. It's the tiniest of flaws, a mere matter of degrees, failed cells and synapses, that force us to adapt, fusing survival with everyday struggle and success. It's in these imperfections where our love can grow stronger if we so choose, forever tethered in light and shadow.

Celebrate the Nonna

At first my heart hurt watching the little boy carry his little suitcase through the airport security line. In front of him stood who I assumed was his grandfather, behind him his grandmother. She said something loving to him and rubbed his back. I couldn't see the little boy's face, but I could feel his warm smile radiate around him.

My parents won't ever travel with my girls like that. Even when they were alive, they were too ill to do much other than us come to them, which we're thankful for. The time spent with them was more precious than precarious, especially the past few years, and Beatrice will remember them, even though Bryce may not.

But then my heart lifted, because of another grandmother in our lives: Nonna as she's known to the B-hive, my mother-in-law, the Mama's mom. Nonna has been a blessing to us all, living with us and helping with Bea and Bryce. The girls adore her and I cannot imagine the time when that changes, will not imagine. I've been gone so much of late that having Nonna with us lifts my heart even further 

No mother-in-law jokes here. Sure there are "wait, what?" head-scratcher moments, but there were many of those with my own parents, and them with me. We've all got 'em, kids. It's what we do with them that makes all the difference in the moment and beyond.

This Father's Day, when I'm on the road yet again, I will celebrate the Nonna. Thank you for all you do. We love you.

The warm smile radiates around me.

Let's Unimagine and Untangle Together

It all started with Tangled, this need to unimagine.

Our girls love the 2010 Disney movie. L-o-v-e it. Rapunzel let your hair down and all that -- singing and dancing and independence and love and happily ever after. It's loosely based on the Grimm fairy tale, which if you know that one, it's a depressing one that eventually ends happily. There have also been different interpretations and iterations through history, but the one twist in the recent Disney adaptation is the one that bothers me the most.

Why? Because of the abduction of the little girl, Rapunzel. That's the part that twists my heart into a knot of what if's and why's.

Like the Elizabeth Smart's of the world, or the Amanda's and Gina's and Michelle's of the world held captive for years, and many other much sadder stories of girls (and boys) and young women (and men) kidnapped and killed and all the horrible things in between that can and do happen, many of which globally never make the mainstream media coverage, much less any coverage.

A little girl Rapunzel kidnapped because her hair kept selfish Mother Gothel young and beautiful. Finally, years and years later when Rapunzel is a young woman, the horrible Gothel is destroyed and then Rapunzel is finally reunited with her mother and family (with her loving Prince Charming by her side). 

I know it's just another sweet family movie that doesn't have to explain the years of counseling Rapunzel may need, the constant nightmares she may experience and how long it may take to trust others again (regardless of how resilient she remained and how much love she had for the good guy).

Last night as I read to and played with our youngest daughter, Bryce, laughing just as giddily as she was, I couldn't imagine that happening to her (or our oldest, Bea). More accurately, I refused to imagine it. 

But as parents who strive to create and maintain a loving, safe home as well as a collective mindset in their community at large with other responsible parents, we do everything we can to unimagine it. According to the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children, in the U.S. alone, the most recent comprehensive research reveals that over 800,000 kids are abducted every year with thankfully a recovery rate of 97%. Globally the numbers are a lot more dismal -- according to the International Centre for Missing & Exploited Children, an estimated 8 million children are report missing every year.

The what if's and why's aren't as important as the focused diligence to prevent them today and tomorrow. This includes the fact that from 1981-2010 the global economy has lifted 1 billion people out of poverty. If you don't think there's a correlation between economic stability (food, healthcare, shelter) and loving/nurturing caretakers and future generations of children reducing the number of their missing compatriots, then you'd be wrong. Time and again. 

Let's unimagine and untangle this ongoing narrative together. The B-hive thanks you (and loves to dance at the end of the movie, living happily every after).

Fueled By Girl Power

I remember the disappointment, the questions of why not, the remarks about legacy lost and lack of family pride. All because we weren't going to have children.

But we weathered it all anyway, because we really didn't want to have children. Ever. Even after being together six years and finally getting married (which we're now on our way to 10 years of marriage and 16 years since the day we met), we still didn't want children.

Let it be known though that we didn't disparage any couple of any combination who did. Ever. Living fairly free and independent in a country like ours, these are choices we made, and those we knew with kids made. We still celebrated all our choices; we celebrated life, nurturing it together without judgement. We had many friends and family who wanted and had children happily, and those who struggled to have them, happily or not. But again, it made no never mind to us.

Of course, my family probably blamed the now Mama somewhat, my lovely wife, since she was the woman in this man/woman union equation, the one with a supposedly fertile uterus with eggs o'plenty just waiting to co-mingle and bind with Daddy's DNA. Although they were a little shocked that I was even more adamant about it all at times.

We still celebrated our own mother's, even with differing family struggles as children in each of our own camps. We celebrated family and embraced most of the times as adults we could spend together in both camps, however difficult it was at times -- and God knows how difficult it was at times.

It ain't all hugs and kisses, kids.

And yet, so it was. Without children. Without being a father or mother. Until it wasn't. Until we changed our minds, without judgement for those who never did, and never will, whether because of horrible childhoods or something simpler, less traumatic.

On this Mother's Day, I celebrate my young daughters, the Mama and her sister and her mom, my sister and our mother (who passed last December), our grandmothers and great-grandmothers and other family and friends alike. I celebrate all the women who have had mostly positive impacts on my life, mothers or not, because of teaching me love and patience and mindful presence and a balanced life and empathy and communication skills and team-building skills and community-building skills and --

But for those who don't celebrate it, who say they despise it's very commercialized lie (I'd argue that Valentine's Day, Easter and Christmas are worse), and/or because it perpetuates the myth that women must have babies because it's God's will and/or it's biological and unnatural if they don't, and/or because they had crappy moms and families they want nothing to do with, then I get it. No judgement. Just walk away from today and wait for tomorrow. It'll come soon enough for you to embrace your Zen.

I, however, am fueled by girl power. Happily.

In a fair and equitable way, of course.

Play that Funky Music, My Girls

"Hi Daddy, I went to the music store."

"Right on, Honey."

Because Bea's kind of digging the violin, something I just learned while away this week. And so it begins...which would be fantastic if she really wants to learn how to play. Thank you Little Einsteins, because the Mama and me play rock, pop, classic disco, soul and R&B, baby. Sometimes cool kid music too, but never classical. Do the Star Wars soundtracks count? What about that funky Meco version?

No? Well, that's all right. There's a musicality in our B-hive that's upbeat, elevating and moves our hearts and souls; both Bea and Bryce bang on the life drum all day and those sounds meter my longing for home.

And that's why it's especially poignant when I miss it all, going from 0 to 60 mph this last month with work travel again, relegated to phone calls and FaceTime. But the sweeping crescendos are no less powerful when I hear:

"Love you, Daddy! Are you flying on an airplane?"

Yes, my sweet B's, I'm flying home for a jam session with you both and the Mama (and Nonna, too).

Play that funky music, my girls.

Crossroads Lit In The Morning Light

In the paralyzing anguish of watching crossroads vanish like an oasis mirage, I doubled over suddenly from sucker-punch knowledge only moments old, curling fetal on a hotel room bed in the dark 3,000 miles away from home and family.

The boy who bobbed along manhood's sandy surface called out for his parents, but they had already passed months earlier. I called for them yet again, a futile cry for solace, and then I prayed, something I don't do very often.

I prayed for insight and guidance, protection and continuity, stability and resilience. The yellow light from the streets below seeped through the sheer curtains and caked like pollen in the corners of my swollen, wet eyes.

Moments later I wiped them clean and called my wife, my friend, my lover, my confidant, my muse, the sun to my moon, the mother of my beautiful daughters.

I recovered and said, "I love you so much."

"I know. It'll be all right," she said. "We always have what we need; it always works out."

"Yes, you're right. I just want to be home with you and the girls. I'll see you tomorrow," I said.

"I love you," she said.

"Give the girls a kiss."

"I will."

Prayer answered, I fell fast asleep and dreamt of crossroads lit in the morning light...