Choosing To Do Is How It's Done

"You may be right,
it's all a waste of time.
I guess that's just a chance I'm prepared to take,
a danger I'm prepared to to face,
cut to the chase –
what kind of difference can one person make?
Cut to the chase..."

–Rush, Cut to the Chase

As we drove by, the strikers were gathering again for another day of protest. Soon their numbers would be in the hundreds to over 1,000 people, the UCSC graduate students working as professors’ teaching assistants demanding a cost-of-living raise. They would also again block the intersection of the main campus entrance, one that we use everyday to take our girls to and from school.

"What are they doing?" Beatrice asked.

I was taking our oldest to school. Our youngest, Bryce, was home sick.

"They're protesting for more money, to be able to afford to live and work here. Sometimes we have to speak up for what we want, what we believe in, to take a stand on something, to make right something that's wrong, and that's what they're doing," I said.

"Oh," she said. "I hope Bryce feels better."

And there you have it. She's still a kid in the pre-tween shadows, Bryce even more so, neither truly comprehending the weight of the world's problems yet. As it should be, because they'll come soon enough.

They feel them, though. The strike has impacted the way we take them to and from school, sometimes having to circumvent side streets. They also live with two parents who have chosen to speak up and we've also taken them begrudgingly on the women's marches, science marches, Martin Luther King Jr. Day marches, Walk a Mile in Her Shoes Marches, and community awareness and prevention events I've helped organize called Transforming Together. We talked about racism and and sexism and harassment and bullying and how the skills taught in Kidpower can keep them safe.

We've given them our rational within simplified contexts as to why we've spoken up for what we want, what we believe in, why we've taken a stand on things, to make right things that are wrong. And someday they'll develop their own rationale to speak up and for what, or not. That will be a choice for them as they move from childhood to young adulthood and beyond.

We hope they choose to speak up and give voice to those who feel they have none, and to do things that others tell them couldn't be done. Maybe Beatrice will do it with writing, like her dad, and someday combine art and writing and create a series of graphic novels for kids and teens, helping them to understand their lives and the complex and sometime unforgiving world around them. Maybe Bryce will be the astronaut she now longs to be and the first person (not just a woman) to land on Mars someday, inspiring other girls and boys to reach for the stars.

We want them to get off the ground, activate, participate and make a positive stand happen, and to encourage others to do so. We want them to understand one person can make a difference in their own life and the lives of others. And while not doing anything is always a choice, choosing to do is how it's done.

Safe and Kind Kids

We were watching Zombies 2 when the lesson ensued. Really, we were. If you're not familiar, Zombies and Zombies 2 are Disney movie musicals about high school life where humans, zombies and now werewolves live together. Our girls love them, the messages are positive, and the music is toe-tapping, light-rapping, poppy-smooth, cheerleading and monster-movie fun. Yes, cheerleading.

There's a part where Zed, one of main characters and a zombie, runs for student body president so he can change the rules and take the girl he likes to the prom (monsters can't go to the prom). The person he's running against, the popular cheer captain named Bucky, is quite the narcissist and doesn't care for the zombies; he only cares about himself.

They prepare to have a presidential debate, but the campaign posters hanging in the room have been altered. Zed's have been changed to make him look like a monster. You see, the zombies turn into real brain-eating zombies if they don't wear their electronic bracelets that keep their inner monster contained. So, the posters look like the zombie Zed is without the bracelet on, which freaks the humans out. Yes, a cheer captain named Bucky did it with the help of his popular human entourage.

"Wow, that was mean," I said to Beatrice and Bryce.

"I know," Bea said.

"That happened to me in high school," I said.

"Really? What happened?"

I told them that when I was in high school, I ran for student body president. One day when I arrived at school, there was a huge banner hanging from the second floor of one of the main buildings right in the middle of campus. The banner read something like "Kevin Grossman for President -- ha, ha, ha -- what a joke." Lots of ha, ha's that I remember, actually.

"They were teasing me, but it wasn't very nice."

"Did you cry?" Bryce asked. My family knows I'm a cryer.

"No, but it made me feel bad."

"That's mean," Bea said.

Yes, it was, I thought. I was a nice enough guy in high school. Kids from all kinds of backgrounds liked me and I also liked to be liked. Who doesn't? It also doesn't mean I didn't make mistakes with friends and hurt their feelings, and ex-girlfriend feelings, since they were the ones who made and hung up the banner at school that day. The banner was only up until school started that morning, but it's something I've never forgotten.

Our family proceeded to finish the movie. Our girls seem to get it, though -- that there's a difference between inclusive teasing for fun and intentional teasing to taunt -- and a lot of gray in between (that they'll have experience for themselves throughout teenage-land and beyond). They also have a Kidpower education, to throw hurtful words away, to walk away from teasing to stay safe and sane, and get help if needed.

According to one large study, the following percentages of middle schools students had experienced these various types of bullying: name calling (44.2 %); teasing (43.3 %); spreading rumors or lies (36.3%); pushing or shoving (32.4%); hitting, slapping, or kicking (29.2%); leaving out (28.5%); threatening (27.4%); stealing belongings (27.3%); sexual comments or gestures (23.7%); e-mail or blogging (9.9%).

And Beatrice starts middle school this fall. Mercy me.

Research indicates that persistent bullying can lead to or worsen feelings of isolation, rejection, exclusion, and despair, as well as depression and anxiety, which can contribute to suicidal behavior.

Bullying sucks. And it's a slippery slope to go from inclusive teasing for fun, to intentional teasing to taunt, and to bully for control and power and to intentionally hurt. This starts when we're young and extends into adulthood, the workplace, and all facets of life. Saying it's okay to say whatever you're thinking or feeling when you're thinking or feeling it, especially when it degrades someone else or a group of people you don't like or agree with, only empowers and emboldens bullying further. Adding that we need to just toughen up and deal with it when bullying happens doesn't help either.

Protecting ourselves by not letting those words or actions affect us (throwing them away and/or telling the perpetrators to stop and/or getting help) is a much more appropriate way to handle them. And no, toughing up to just deal with it and/or punching back are not the same things. Raising safe and kind kids is where it starts for zombies, werewolves and humans alike.

Some Place to Feel Safe

"Dorothy? Dorothy? Where are you? It's me, Auntie Em! We're trying to find you! Where are you?"

–Auntie Em, The Wizard of Oz

Year after year it scared me. Year after year it made me feel so completely alone and scared. I knew it wasn't real and I knew the story overall it had a happy ending, and yet, every time I watched it seemed to mirror what I was feeling at the time.

First, the tornado: even as I grew into my teenage years, The Wizard of Oz movie tornado was such an ominous presence of dark, destructive power. I never lived in an area with real tornados, so this was the closest thing I had ever seen, with the exception of a strong dust devil once in awhile. So the part where Dorothy tries desperately to open the storm cellar door and enable to do it with Toto held tightly under her arm always freaked me out. Then she tries to find shelter in the house, which we all know gets swept up into the tornado. It gave me such a feeling of helplessness, and black and white film beginning added to the grim reality that there was nowhere for Dorothy (and me) to go.

Second, the race against time when Dorothy is trapped by the witch: after the creepy flying monkeys capture her and take her to the Wicked Witch of the West's castle, Dorothy is so scared and alone and she imagines Auntie Em is calling to her from inside the witches crystal ball. But then the witch appears mocking Auntie Em and Dorothy, and the sands of time are running out in the hourglass...

When I watch it today, it still gives me chills. And I still cry at the end when she clicks her ruby slippers together and says, "There's no place like home..."

Because there really is no place like home. Decades later my wife and I are grateful every day that we have our own lovely little family. One where love, empathy, honesty, support, safety and stability are the pillars we surround ourselves with. At a time when cultural, political and hateful -ism twisters abound, and things we find repellant and absurd are flying around overhead and snatching away what were once grounded sensibilities and morals, we're thankful that our daughters are still young enough not to ask too many questions about current events.

Because soon they will, and then we'll have to start explaining things like why a conservative radio personality and long-time racist and misogynist received a Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is usually given to men and women who have made an especially meritorious contribution to the security or national interests of the United States, world peace, cultural or other significant public or private endeavors.

And what's even more conflicting for us is that there are millions who felt he was quite appropriate and deserving. By contrast, my wife was just watching the moment when Dr. Maya Angelou -- an American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights activist -- received the same Medal of Freedom in 2010. Maybe there were millions of people who felt that wasn't appropriate either. What a world we live in today.

Then a family member reminded me to focus on what matters the most -- family and friends and the good things that do happen in our lives and good deeds we do for others in our lives. And then Deepak Chopra reminded me in his latest podcasts how to be a karma yogi and only say something when it’s useful, kind or helpful. And then Matthew 5:43-48 reminded me that “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others?” 

Yet, like the old scene out of And Justice for All, when Al Pacino's character lights up the courtroom and rants "You're all out of order!" -- I feel like some are quite "all out of order," and it's scary and frustrating, like a tornado heading for me and my family and there's no where to go.

But there's always somewhere to go. Some way to feel good and to do good. Some place to feel safe.

Years ago I remember telling the girls about the movie version of The Wizard of Oz. They sat riveted while I told them about Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion, the Wicked Witch and the flying monkeys. The flying monkeys and the Wicked Witch freaked them out a bit, and at the time, were not quite ready to watch the movie classic just yet, or read any of the fabulous L. Frank Baum Oz books from which it is based on. But hearing pieces of the story transformed them into their own animated storytelling mode, when they used to play with cut-out felt people, objects and shapes on a felt board to create their own Oz-like fables of brave princesses battling dragons then drinking refreshing rainbows.

"Why is Oz only two letters?" Bea asked way back then.

"Because it's that simple, Bea," I answered, not aware then of how wrong I was.

She smiled and then both Bea and Bryce continued their storytelling with the felt boards. I watched them both, Bryce gesturing even more so with her hand and arms while she spoke, while Bea laughed and played along, adding her own commentary.

Years later, Beatrice is again doing musical theater after school and this time they're doing The Wizard of Oz (Bryce is taking a break from this one). Bea wanted to be Glenda the Good Witch, or the Wicked Witch of the West, and instead she's going to be Auntie Em. And she's very happy with that part (plus, she gets another smaller part in the middle, too).

These days I feel like we're the ones trapped in the witch's castle, the adults in the room that feel helpless and scared, and in the crystal ball both Beatrice and Bryce are calling out "Mom? Dad? Where are you? It's us, your kids! We're trying to find you! Where are you? You're going to be okay; we're going to be okay."

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. 

Someday soon we'll do our best to answer the questions we struggle to answer ourselves. Someday soon we'll know if we've empowered them to fend off and even take on the evil -isms that rip through communities far and wide, leaving nothing but angry heartache and hate in their wake. And no matter what, that they'll love their enemies and always be useful, helpful and kind. Because there's always somewhere to go. Some way to feel good and to do good. Some place to feel safe.

A New Dog's Life

"It seems to me

As we make our own few circles ’round the sun
We get it backwards
And our seven years go by like one..."

–Rush, Dog Years



We used to have to take him outside in a bag. It was cumbersome, but there was no other way to keep him out of view, especially from the apartment manager who lived on the property. Our dog put up with it, too, since each time it was his opportunity to run free and go to the bathroom in the Lighthouse Field next to our apartment building.

I don't think we fooled many of our neighbors, though. And even the manager found out eventually we had a dog. Of course, we didn't get rid of our little black and white Shih Tzu named Joshua. My ex-wife and I had found him abandoned nearly a decade previous, and my then soon-to-be wife Amy and me kept him.

Amy also had two cats from the same litter, Charlie and Chelsea, since they were kittens. Chelsea was a beautiful Calico and her brother Charlie was white with back patches. Together we made a little family, even if the cats did not like the dog at all (eventually they just put up with him). And it was all wonderful, even having to take our dog out in a bag to go outside for walks and to go to the bathroom.

Until it wasn't wonderful anymore. Pets like people get old, and Joshua was the first in our little family to get really old and unwell. For years he suffered seizures where he'd fall over on his side shrieking and pee. It was so hard to watch and we never found out what exactly what was wrong. He also became arthritic over the years and in his last few years he had trouble running and then even walking was difficult. We even got doggy acupuncture for him at one point, which seemed to help for a little while. We never knew exactly how old he was, but according to vets over the years, he was at least 16-18 years old at the end of his life.

And then shortly after Amy and I got married, we had to put him to sleep. That was followed by Charlie, who we found was diabetic and just got sicker and sicker in his old age, and then Chelsea, who actually lived to be 21 years old. Chelsea lived to see our new house, and our girls, Beatrice and Bryce. Bryce doesn't remember, because she was a newborn at the time, but Bea remembers. She used to pull Chelsea's tail and shriek "Kitty!". In the end, Chelsea couldn't clean herself very well and she began to track dirty litter everywhere, including our bed.

After 21 years of life, we had put Chelsea to sleep, and our little pet family came to an end. We loved them all, but swore there would be no pets again for years and years to come. Especially no cats or dogs.

Until the girls worked and worked on us in the years since, and we gave in. First, to a fish. And then to another fish. And then to two guinea pigs and a bunny (that we ran a science fair project with).

We still have the bunny, named Dragonlily. All the other kid pets are now gone. We still swear there will never be any cats in our family again. And we still wanted to swear there would be no dogs for years to come.

We did. Until we didn't, and then Amy had a great idea: if we all really wanted a dog (after all these years), then the girls would have to research dogs, how to adopt a dog and the process and costs (we'll only adopt a shelter dog in the end), the feeding and care costs, how to crate the dog at home, walking the dog every day, who could help take care of the dog when we traveled, and so much more. And who would pick up the dog poop -- everyone including the girls -- no matter how much Bryce has already protested.

Beatrice has done more of the research to date, but Bryce is helping as well. Amy has been searching them for shelter dogs online, and recently took the girls to see one the other day named CC. She was sweet, and she could've been a good dog to us, but that evening the shelter called to say she'd been adopted.

That's when my old dog Joshua's life flashed before my very eyes. From the first moment the shaggy little muppet dog ran excitedly up to me with a tiny pink tongue poking out, to the all the years in between running and playing and barking through Lighthouse Field, to all the snuggled up lap-time, to the thousands of trips in and out of our apartment in a bag, to witnessing all his painful seizures, to the end days when he slowed and seemed to be in constant pain, to when I held him close as the vet put him to sleep forever, tears pouring down my face.

It's been over 16 years since we've had a dog. And someday soon, a new dog's life will flash before our very eyes, and we'll do it all over again.

Thank Goodness for Trade-Backsies

The more I watched them trade their L.O.L. Surprise Dolls, the more I thought about losing my marbles.

Don't worry. I'll explain.

First, about the L.O.L. Surprise Dolls (Lil Outrageous Littles -- not laugh out loud). For parents who have kids who long for these little mysterious dolls with big eyes and sparkly outfits, we empathize. A big part of the collecting fun is the anticipation of which doll you get when you unpack them, plus all the fun related accessories that come with each doll. And you can buy (of course) all sorts of separate accessories and collectible cases for them.

To date, based on what I can find, there are multiple series of these dolls and well over 250 total different dolls in all (with many more on the way since they were some of the most popular toys in 2019). Our girls have about a dozen each. They've gotten them as gifts and they've spent their own allowance, each one starting at about $7 each. There are different categories of L.O.L. dolls that include common, fancy, rare and ultra rare.

Now, every generation has its pick of fun collectibles, created by businesses that can make bank if they hit the right kid craving nerve. And this L.O.L. doll craze has definitely been making bank. But what's fascinating to watch is the intense L.O.L. doll trading and negotiating that goes on after the unpacking.

Both our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, have been developing their negotiation muscles with each other and with a core group of friends consumed by the L.O.L. doll craze. Serious negotations. Like Wall Street, executive boardroom, "you compromise and give me this for that because it's the best deal" negotiations. Especially when trading for rare and ultra rate L.O.L. dolls. And there's a special trading clause they call trade-backsies, used if and when someone gets buyer's remorse on a trade, she can ask for their L.O.L. doll back within a day of trading. It's serious business.

Which is why it made me think about losing my marbles. Not going literally crazy, no. Actual real-life marbles. Cat's eyes, red devils, aggies, allies, tigers swirlies, steelies, clearies and so many others. Trading marbles was big business when I was in 4th grade. But what started out as fairly innocent marble trading turned into a booming marble casino.

It started small at first. During foggy fall recesses, a couple of kids would set up marble pyramid stacks along the smooth grooves of playground dirt worn in the grass from repetitive running and playing. Then, other kids would shoot marbles from a specific distance to knock the marble pyramids down. If they did, they got all the marbles, but each time they missed, the pyramid stacker would collect the marbles and keep them.

Usually the pyramid stacks were topped with premium marbles -- clearies or steelies or other rare marbles -- which sweetened the pot of winning the stack. Our marble enterprise grew and soon there were fewer kids playing four-square, tetherball, dodge ball or nation ball (a faster and more complex version of dodge ball), and more kids bringing their marbles to school. It was mostly boys who played at first, but eventually there was a growing group of girls brining their marbles to school.

It flew under the yard duty teacher radar for awhile; we had lookouts to ensure we weren't attracting too much attention. However, human nature took over and the passion of grade school kids overtook some of us. More and more marble fights broke out when kids would lose their most precious ones. There were also some kids who tried to glue their marble stacks to prevent them from being knocked down, which didn't happen often because they were immediately banned from play. And through it all, there were no trade-backsies; when you lost your marbles, you lost your marbles.

Loose lips sink ships and eventually the yard duty teacher radar picked up on what we were doing. Even our primary teachers overheard the marble rabble-rousing during class, with kids having withdrawals because they couldn't wait until recess to gamble away. Plus, it was hard to miss the growing clump of kids kneeling on the ground shooting marbles over and over again, along with the cheering and the yelling. Eventually, our entire marble operation was shut down and marbles were banned from school. Not even my mom knew about it until she got the note from school.

So in a sense, we did all lose our marbles, so to speak. Compared to that, the L.O.L. Surprise Doll negotiating and trading seems pretty tame. In fact, it's valuable skill-building for our girls and their friends, learning to negotiate while keeping cool heads, for the most part. Thank goodness for trade-backsies.

In All My Available Light

"I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." 

—Neil Peart, Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road

Every time I look back on it, I can't believe I said no to Rush. It was our sophomore year in high school, 1981, and one of my friends, a budding musician himself at the time, came up to me one day and asked me if I wanted to go to Fresno to see the sold out Moving Pictures tour. Which, according to my new fancy-schmancy Rush: Wandering the Face of the Earth: The Official Touring History, was June 7, 1981, and tickets were $9.50 in advance.

$9.50 -- and I told him I couldn't afford to go. That was a lot for a high school kid in 1981, but I'm sure I could've scrounged up the money. The truth was, believe it or not, I wasn't quite the fan then that I eventually came just over one year later when Signals came out. I did already dig all the big hits from Moving Pictures and some of the earlier albums, and knew that Geddy Lee (bass/keyboards), Alex Lifeson (guitar) and Neil Peart (drums/lyricist) were amazing progressive rock musicians, but I wasn't quite the huge fan yet. Plus, I didn't think my parents would let me go to a concert yet either and was afraid to ask them.

"No, his mind is not for rent
To any god or government.
Always hopeful, yet discontent
He knows changes aren’t permanent –
But change is..."

However, something was brewing within me during those formative teenage years, something that would connect me more and more with Rush's music. The stormy angst of lower middle-class white teenage-land, the longing to succeed, to be the best in everything I did, to be liked by everyone no matter what, and to never fail. Ever. At any and all costs. The pressure I put on myself then combined with growing up in a broken family, domestic violence and sexual abuse circled me like a category 5 hurricane.

"Look in
To the eye of the storm
Look out
For the force without form
Look around
At the sight and sound
Look in, Look out, Look around..."

I felt safe in the hurricane's eye for the first two and a half years of high school, until the high winds drove me into the brutal storm. Anxiety and severe panic attacks ensued, my grades suffered (I had been a straight A student until my senior year), and the dreams of going away to college crumbled, at least until a year after high school graduation.

"Growing up it all seems so one-sided
Opinions all provided
The future pre-decided
Detached and subdivided
In the mass production zone..."

I rarely talked about what I experienced at the time with anyone, even my closest of friends, and definitely not my family. I was close to my mom but I couldn't articulate what was happening inside me -- that I didn't want to be what everyone wanted me to be at the time, and in the years after high school. That I desperately needed to heal the scared and broken child inside me, so afraid to become the me I longed to be. My withdrawn anger turned to depression and even further anxiety.

"Anger got bare knuckles
Anger play the fool
Anger wear a crown of thorns
Reverse the golden rule
Then you learn the lesson
That it’s tough to be so cool..."

But no amount of reading (including the Bible, Orwell, Fitzgerald, Conrad, Lee, Ellison, Baldwin, Salinger, Faulkner, Golding, Steinbeck, Swift, Woolf, Hemingway, Huxley, Beckett, Kafka, Lessing, Poe, King -- Martin Luther and Stephen -- and so many more), nor the music and lyrics of Rush, or the unsure but kind words from my family and friends could fully console me. Much anxiety, let downs and failures later, my awakening to being me and living life on my terms would take another 15 years to be fully realized.

"When we lift the covers from our feelings
We expose our insecure spots
Trust is just as rare as devotion —
Forgive us our cynical thoughts..."

The music and lyrics from Rush did help along the way, though. Neil Peart, the drummer and primary lyricist and eventual writer of non-fiction works such as The Masked Rider, Ghost Rider, Traveling Music, Far and Near, Roadshow and many others, inspired me to be a better human, to be independent yet inclusive, pragmatic yet hopeful, loving of self and others, and to be present and always be adventuring and learning, to keep living a full life.

"If I could wave my magic wand
I’d make everything all right..."

I didn't see Rush for the first time until May 24, 1986, in Sacramento, California. General admission then was only $16.50 and it was another sold out show. I was with my best friends from junior high, high school and college. The hot valley sun beat up on us that day, although we were feeling no pain, that's for sure. The show was fabulous and I never in my life have seen musical prowess on stage, then and now, all coming from three individuals. Ever since that first concert, I've seen them many times with the best of friends, and each show has elevated me to new emotional and spiritual heights.

"Against the run of the mill
Static as it seems
We break the surface tension
With our wild kinetic dreams
Curves and lines —
Of grand designs..."

Neil's words definitely contributed to my spiritual therapy over the years and solidified my fandom for sure. Especially from the albums Signals, Grace Under Pressure, Power Windows, Hold Your Fire, Presto, Roll the Bones, Counterparts and Test for Echo. However, all the albums now are important to me today pre- and post-Signals (yes, I keep saying albums, because I'm old school that way), each of them inextricably linked to so many moments in my life.

"I believe in what I see
I believe in what I hear
I believe that what I’m feeling
Changes how the world appears..."

And then in 1997/98, Neil's daughter and wife passed away within 10 months of each other, and for many of us devastated fans, that was the end of Rush. Even his bandmates Geddy and Alex thought it was over. But it wasn't, and after reading Ghost Rider, Neil's healing road that included riding 55,000 miles on his motorcycle throughout North America, Mexico and South America, helped to bring him back to life. He remarried, had another daughter, and Rush played once again, giving us all another four albums, many live shows and a few more books. Plus, there are these fantastic documentaries available as well: Beyond the Lighted Stage and Time Stand Still (a true love letter from fans).

"Surge of energy, spark of inspiration
The breath of love is electricity
Maybe Time is bird in flight
Endlessly mocking
Here we come out of the cradle
Endlessly rocking
Endlessly rocking..."

I never got to meet Neil; he was wary of the public eye and not comfortable around fans. I did get to meet Geddy, though. That was quite a treat. Last year one of my work trips to Toronto aligned with Geddy Lee's book tour promoting his collection of electric basses (titled Big Beautiful Book of Bass). He interviewed on stage and then did a book signing. I even got to fist-bump him after he signed my book! Maybe one of these days I'll get to meet Alex.

"He's a rebel and a runner
He's a signal turning green
He's a restless young romantic
Wants to run the big machine..."

My last show was with my best friend from college in San Jose on July 23, 2015, where tickets started at $49 each (although ours were a lot more than that). My friend was sure he saw Neil riding his motorcycle outside of the arena earlier in the day, although I'm not sure it was him (but we can still wish it was).

Shortly after that last tour, Neil said he was done and the band officially retired. And that was it.

Years pass and then I'm on my way to see my dear friends of 30-40+ years in early January, 2020, when my nephew texts me:

I’m sorry to hear about Neil Peart.

What? I thought. That led to me calling my wife and asking her to look up this news online.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Yes, he passed away. It says he had brain cancer."

"Suddenly —
You were gone
From all the lives
You left your mark upon..."

I tried to voice text my friends to tell them the news that Neil Peart was dead as I was driving, but Siri couldn't get the words right, so it kept coming out:

Which, in a strange fandom way for many, he was. I hope other fans find humorous solace in that. As I wrote recently, listening to favorite old songs (and albums) is just like looking at faded cherished photographs -- the visceral memories attached to each are forever bound to our hearts. We relive them through our ears of today, the past pleasures and the pain, one song at a time.

"Run to light from shadow
Sun gives me no rest
Promise offered in the east
Broken in the west
Chase the sun around the world
I want to look at life – 
In the available light..."

This morning we were up early, as my family always is, and we drove down to the ocean just before sunrise to catch the birth of a new day. Glorious in rich burning colors, the glowing sliver moon basked in its birth along with us. We held each other, because every day we live our best lives, my wife and daughters, a loving promise we make to each other without compromise.

Neil Peart's life and work has always inspired me to chase the sun around the world and look at life in the available light. To not waste my days just existing, but instead, to use my time well.  Sometimes I can still feel broken, and darkness can creep in, and yet, I keep working on living my best life in all my available light, ample with love and respect for myself, my family and for others. Amen.

Thank you, Neil. 

"The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect

The way you live, the gifts that you give

In the fullness of time

It’s the only return that you expect..."

Men of Our Present Age

This is dedicated to those who have had lifelong friendships, including Geddy, Alex and Neil of my favorite band Rush. Bless you and your family, Neil. You will be missed. 

The entire restaurant joined in on the birthday song. Afterwards, everyone applauded, and then Robby, my best friend since junior high, was all smile from ear to ear.

"We made it another year," I said.

"Yes, we did," he said.

Then the core of our dearest friends of the past 30-40+ years sitting around the table concurred. We'd been coming to Chico since 1989 to visit Robby at least one to two times per year. Many other dear friends in our overlapping rings of friendships had also been coming to visit for decades as well. If we included the five years post high school when we'd see him, and each other, in Visalia where we grew up, that included a lot of memories of friendships as thick as thieves; we know where many of our bones are buried.

There's also something new revealing itself every time we get together, like this time our friend Rob finding out that Robby had kissed his old girlfriend back in high school. Something he didn't know, and didn't really bother him now, but yet, it kinda did. That conversation went on a bit too long during our meal, as many of our sometimes obsessive, bared-soul conversations can do, but hey, there's always another confession to make and then a bone to bury.

As we got up from the table and headed out for the rest of the day, Robby wheeling himself out in his wheelchair, I thought of an earlier what-if conversation we had. What if we had convinced Robby not to go to the the swim meet that Easter break day in April of our senior year. He was a swimmer and a water polo player, and a handful of us were heading out to Morro Bay for the day, about a two and a half hour drive one way. He thought about it, but really didn't want to miss one of the first swim meets of the season that year. I remember trying to work him over about it, but in the end, he didn't want to miss the meet.

And at that very swim meet was where he broke his neck. Ever since, he uses a wheelchair for mobility. For decades he's lived fairly independently, with regular home health care and help from friends and family.

What would've happened if he never went to that swim meet and went to the coast with us instead? Where would he be now and what would he be doing? He's been an amazing artist over the years and a fervent comic book collector; would he have become a successful commercial artist working for Marvel or DC?

And the even bigger question -- would we all still be friends? Robby has become the cathartic center of so many of our concentric rings of mutual friends, but would we all still be getting together year after year and celebrating these very loving friendships?

That's not really the right question, though, nor a valid one, because the lifetime journeys we've experienced and shared together over the years are real and intact. My dad used to say "should-ofs and could-ofs don't mean squat," only where you're at today and the decisions you make daily are of any consequence. And while there's no one who thinks about the what-if of not breaking his neck more than Robby himself, knowing that he'd trade all the things he's acquired over the years to un-break it, we are all men of our present age, and the years since junior high, high school and beyond of our shared histories are the memories that bind our friendships together today. We've made it another year and have all become the cathartic centers to each other with a present awareness we've never been more grateful for.


Other past posts about these friends of mine:

• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Men of An Unremarkable Age