Only One Text Away

I was already rattled sitting in the corner of the ice cream shop full of ghosts when a guy with a knife in his head pushed the door open and screamed. Right after that three laughing zombies slapped their rotting hands against the store window right in front of me. While this was going on, my wife Amy and I waited patiently (or impatiently for me) for our youngest Bryce to get her ice cream. 

It was Saturday night before Halloween and downtown was frenetically hopping with ghouls, goblins, and creative costumes of all kinds. Bryce had finished two shows as the ghost "Nun Ancestor" in The Adams Family musical with her cast mates and they all wanted ice cream. We'd seen the opening night the night before and it was fabulous, but this also meant that there would be other nights where we'd have to pick Bryce up late after the shows we didn't go to.

We survived the pick up and got home safely. Because we're not usually out this late anymore being home-body parents who like to be snuggled at home watching TV before bed, it was wild to see so many people young and old out (mostly young, though). We kept joking with each other driving to and from picking up Bryce as to where the heck are all these people going. Where were all these college partiers going? Amy kept threatening me that we'd go get our Halloween costumes back on and go find the parties.

Woot! Nope.

Now that both our kids are doing more things independently and are out and about more often, we're having to transport them here and there and everywhere. All, the, time. Now that Beatrice is in high school she has a different schedule than Bryce does in middle school most days during the week, so that means different pick-up times during the week. It gets more complicated when Bryce is in theater and choir, and Beatrice might do theater in the spring. Beatrice is also hanging out more with her friends socially, meeting downtown or going to parties (not college parties yet, thank goodness). And then there are special events the kids want to go to and so much more. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. Fortunately Amy and I have flexible schedules and we can make it all work. And we know there are much busier families than ours with kids who play competitive sports, have after school jobs, and more. Beatrice will be working next summer as a paid camp counselor, which is something she very much wants to do. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. There's the occasional reprieve because Bryce rides her bike to and from school at least once a week, although collectively we're just not a ride-your-bike family. The kids also ride the city bus in town as it's free to students, so that's another positive reprieve. Amy also coordinates with other parents sometimes to share rides with their friends, so that's helpful, and we're the family that is always willing to give the other kids rides when needed. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. With gas prices as high as they are, this is when we wish we had an electric vehicle, at least for in-town driving, but even that doesn't pencil out in the short-term. We may be the Uber parents without a paying app, but we're still only one text away and wouldn't have it any other way.

No Matter What We Believe

It always feels easier when our kids don't ask about horrific world events. About why some people do something awkward or horrible to others; or denounce others because they don't like a specific group, how they live, what they believe in; or push their beliefs on others because they feel they're right and everyone else is wrong. We'd rather them stick to their normal day-to-day friend drama as is. 

Thankfully our teens don't listen to or watch the news regularly like my wife Amy and I do, but they still hear about local and world events through friends, social media, school, and us. They can also experience them directly, and that's when we need to talk with them about it. 

For example, recently a group of men from Gideons International, a Christian Business and Professional Men’s Association, came to the middle school unannounced where our youngest daughter Bryce attends, and distributed Bibles to students while on the public sidewalk, which was their right. The Bibles however had a table of contents pointing to verses about abortion, sexual temptation, adultery, and many other topics, which I wasn't happy about. I remembered when I was in high school and a Christian group distributed a pamphlet denouncing the music I listened to and why it was evil. My favorite band Rush was supposed to mean "Rangers Under Satan's House." Good God, please. 

Bryce thought it was funny though and brought the Bible home. We ultimately weren't that upset and were happy about how the school responded. The school staff was respectful to the missionaries as were the middle schoolers themselves. The principal sent a note to all parents letting them know what happened and that the bible distribution was not a school sponsored event. Even better, social studies teachers made time to discuss the First Amendment, which is under attack on all fronts more and more. We also don't practice Christianity, but still had a discussion with our teens about both. 

When our teens do want to talk about something significant and/or traumatic that's happened globally or locally, we listen to them first, without judgment (which isn't easy when you're fighting with your own world-view parental demons), and then have a dialogue about it. We help them understand as much as we can the greater context as to the why of the something that happened.

We also talk all the time about verifying something we've heard about or read about with multiple "objective" credible sources if at all possible. Because if not, that's when the adulting complexity of biases and -isms of all stripes can also be dangerously impactful on our kids, directly and indirectly. We've seen enough destruction of late of what it can do to grownups and children alike. 

Talking to our teens about why people believe what they believe and do what they do is still really hard. It's hard because everyone sees what they want to see, which we have to be okay with, even in the face of sometimes unsurmountable evidence to the contrary (which we're not quite okay with), but we remind them we will always lead with love and empathy. 

The difference, we also remind them, is that when beliefs intentionally cause harm to others socially, emotionally, and/or physically, that's where we draw the line. That's when there must be accountability for that harm, no matter what we believe.

A Poetic Place

"Oh, my music makes you dance
And gives your spirit to take a chance
And I wrote some rock 'n' roll so you can move
Music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start
It's from me, it's for you
It's from you, it's from me
It's a worldwide symphony..."

–Barry Manilow, I Write the Songs

26 years later and here we are...

Months earlier, I remember seeing the social media ads and thinking, That's corny.

The service is Songfinch, a platform that allows you to choose a musical artist/songwriter and then provide content and stories for the musician to write you a song and record it for you. The end result is a special song for someone special in your life. 

So cool, I thought. And corny.

I kept kicking that musical idea down the road, thinking about it, and finally realizing it was the perfect anniversary gift from me to my wife, Amy.

Because we like corny love things. Our teen daughters know we like corny love things, too. Painfully so. 

While I've never forgotten our wedding anniversary (or the anniversary of when we met, which happens to be the same date), when I decided to have a song made for Amy, I couldn't help but think about one of favorite holiday movies, The Family Man. 

There's a part where the husband/father (Nicholas Cage), forgets his anniversary with his wife/mother (Téa Leoni), and then their young daughter (Makenzie Vega) commiserates with him.

Daughter: "I should have warned you. Dad always does something really special for the anniversary."            

Dad: "Like what?"

Daughter: "One year he had a star named after her."         

Dad: "He had a star named after her? Well, that's nice, but isn't that a little... corny?"        

Daughter: "Mom liked it."

And I knew Amy would like it, too. Flowers and jewelry haven't been our thing over the years. Instead, music and travel have been. At our wedding we gave away our curated list of songs in a CD we titled "A Lifetime With Happy". It included songs from Ambrosia, Jennifer Lopez, Phoebe Snow, Train, Lionel Richie, Journey, Little River Band, and many others. 

I've written Amy poetry over the years as well, and when I decided to have a song made for her, I compiled romantic highlights, pieces of my poetry, one of my favorite Rush songs called "The Speed of Love", and other life anecdotes. The Songfinch musician I picked is named Tommy P, and within a week he had written and recorded a song for me. After a few edits, it was done. And because I've been drumming now for three years, I wanted to drum to it for Amy. I didn't play the drums on the originally recording of course, but I thought it would be fun to do so. 

It's been 26 years since we met and 20 years of marriage. Early on in our relationship we were clear with each other that either we were all in, or we weren't. All in was our choice. It wasn't without work, though, and we also always knew that sometimes it doesn't work out. We grew up with divorce, I got a divorce myself, and early on with Amy and me, we were never going to put children through that, which was why we weren't going to have them. Until we changed our minds and did.

We've been celebrating our anniversary all week, and we want our daughters to understand that whatever relationships they end up having in their lives, they had to be all in and continuously reinvest in those relationships to make them work. To be all in, you have to be whole, because if it doesn't work, then it's not the end of world (even if it feels like it, which it will). Through it all, it should always be about loving yourself first and keeping your soul whole enough to share with another. That's what we've practiced over the years, a poetic place with spiritual grounding that elevates our love. To be grateful for our love for as long as we have it. 

So, having a song produced for Amy for our anniversary might've been a little corny, but if music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start. (Thank you, Mr. Manilow.)

A Perennial Bloom

It was a lovely evening. The heat wave dissipated somewhat at sunset and a balmy ocean breeze washed over us all. We don't get many days like this in Santa Cruz during the year. One of the few heat bumps we can get usually comes in late September into October, even with all the drastic climate changes of late. It reminded my wife Amy and I of the late El Niño warmth when we met one day at the beach nearly 26 years ago on October 11, 1997. 

We were hungry but the food truck line moved slowly. We were there with our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, to enjoy the "Block Party on the Bluff" and new climate solution exhibits at the UC Santa Cruz Seymour Marine Discovery Center. We told our friends who met us there with their kids that this was where we were married nearly 20 years ago on October 11, 2003, six years after we met. The wedding ceremony was outside on the patio overlooking the ocean and then our reception was inside the main hall room. We'd been there with our kids since they were little many times since, and it never gets old reminiscing.

When we had decided to get married all those years ago, we wanted to do the wedding ourselves and find a reasonable venue on the water as close to where we met if possible. We had thought about having our ceremony literally on the beach where we met, but the logistics of that and then having the reception elsewhere weren't feasible at the time. There weren't a lot of options for what we wanted. The Seymour Center ended up being the best bet for us being right on the water. Plus, it had a small aquarium that our guests could visit prior to our wedding. 

We sat together at a picnic table with our friends and ate our yummy food truck pupusas. Darkness settled in and it felt amazing outside. It reminded us so much of how pleasant the weather was when we were married. Our friends who were with us didn't know us then, and it was still years away from us changing our minds to have kids. I gazed toward the patio and room where our wedding ceremony and reception were held and again remembered how special that day was. 

We had decorated the reception room ourselves with the help of some family and friends. We wanted to string lights overhead to convey a starry night. With only a few hours to go before the wedding, I was the only one in the room hanging the little white lights, or trying to hang them. Suddenly some of the lights stopped working and I couldn't figure out why or where. I kept fiddling with them, rearranging the strings, and at one point stood at the top of a wobbly ladder holding an extension cord in one hand and a string of lights in another, trying to plug them into each other, and I felt like Doc Brown on the clock tower from the movie Back to the Future. I'm lucky I didn't fall and break my neck, but the end result was lovely. 

And then there was our first dance together at the wedding reception, one that we had practiced and practiced to our wedding song, "The Biggest Part of Me" by Ambrosia. We put it together ourselves and it was such a special moment of loving movement that everyone there could share with us. 

Prior to all that, we were married overlooking the ocean by Amy's father. We had written our own vows, too, and reading them to each other solidified our loving commitment to each other that our two halves made two wholes. That we chose us. Every year since on our anniversary we go down to the water overlooking the beach where we met to read our vows to each other. 

I smiled at these anniversary memories as we finished eating and said goodbye to our friends. These memories, a perennial bloom, poetic place and déjà vu, are relived again and again this time of the year, and throughout the year. We headed home, and I was grateful that we share these memories with our daughters, that they know how deep our love roots grow, from beach to sea to our family. It may be a tad teen cringeworthy for them today, but they're grateful for our love nonetheless. 

Listen More Mindfully

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be Quiet Inside And Enjoy The Ride

"And nothing seems to fit
And things don't go your way
You know you've had enough
You can't take another day
Where to go and what to do
You've got those bills to pay
You're really not alone you know
'Cause everybody says
Why me?
Why me?"

–Styx, Why Me?

The ceiling fan remote was gone and not where it was supposed to be. I always left it right on the second shelf next to my side of the bed. But it was gone. I scanned all the shelves. Nothing. I looked on the floor in and around the shelves and under the bed. No fan remote.

I wanted to turn the ceiling fan on because I was warm and I had some work calls to make. The office nook in our bedroom is a great place to make video calls because of the lighting, and my wife Amy and I both use it. But the only way to turn the fan on is with the remote. There is no wall switch. It was just easier to install that way. 

I called downstairs to where Amy was working. "Amy, where's the fan remote?"

"Isn't it where it we leave it? On the shelf?"

Sigh. "No, it's not there. I can't find it anywhere."

Now, if anyone can find anything in our house, it's Amy. Mom always knows where everything is. Usually. And if she doesn't, she has an idea of how to find it, like with our oldest daughter Beatrice's phone recently. Just like my mom did when I was a kid and a teenager. Usually the thing I couldn't find was right in front of me, and my mom always found it for me and reminded me it was right in front of me. Beatrice and I both still do that today and Mom always comes through. Our youngest daughter, Bryce, doesn't have the same debilitating lack of awareness that me and Bea have. 

To be fair, it isn't always that we can't find something, it's that we've gotten lazy and overly dependent on Mom, because Mom usually knows where that something is. That's not something to be proud of, but mercy me, that's why we love Mom so much.

This time she didn't know. She looked everywhere I looked, and more places, but didn't find it.

I was frustrated and mad. "Where the hell could it be, Amy? I leave it in the same place every single time!"

"Me too," Amy said. "Maybe it was the house sitter recently who misplaced it. Or maybe one of the girls."

"So frustrating," I said.

"I know," Amy said. 

My head swirled with questions: Can we purchase another ceiling fan remote and program it?  How much will that cost? Would we have to take the fan apart again? And then what if we can't replace it? How the hell are we going to use the fan if we can't? Why do I have to deal with this now?

Why me?!?

And there it was -- why me. Amy had already left me alone knowing there was nothing she could do to console me. This was my process. Immediate frustration that constricted endless possibilities and viable answers to a thin red line. A line that lead to nowheresville. The reality was that the ceiling fan remote most likely could be replaced and that it was just a transitory inconvenience of time and money. It was really more about the world imploding with uncontrollable chaotic fallout, burning my brain and tricking me, once again, into believing that this would cause me unending angst.

I purged the chaotic fallout and realized, yet again, this was nothing to lose my head over. Relax. If you can't find it, there will be a solution (what Amy always says, which is why I love her so much). That's when I checked in our bed, and buried snugly in between the mattresses was the ceiling fan remote. Later I would find out that Beatrice was the one who left it in the bed accidentally. 

Sigh. Everything is where it's supposed to be, including me, and I just have to be quiet inside and enjoy the ride. It will all work out ultimately. 

But just in case, I tied a string around the remote and attached it to the shelf. 

Men of a Vulnerable Age

I stood in the shade of the awning with others, away from the creep of morning valley heat. A slight breeze ebbed and flowed around us as the service began. Soon after, my friend Craig shared reverent words about his mother who had passed. With the exceptions of my long-time dear friends Rob and Greg, Greg's wife Jody, and Craig's wife Noriko, I didn't know Craig's family. I never even knew his mother. 

But I did know about her through him. And for the nearly 35 years I've known Craig, he has always talked fondly of his mother. For nearly 35 years, we've been getting together with our core group of long-time friends (45+ years for those of us who went to junior high and high school together). The last time all of us were together as a group was January 2020. Then COVID hit. 

Since then we haven't seen each much. There was Rob's retirement party, and then some of us individually going to see the other mutual friend from our core group, my best friend since junior high, Robby. Pre-pandemic we've gone to Robby's as a group at least 1-2+ times a year for decades. Robby, who had broken his neck at a swim meet in high school, has been paralyzed ever since. While still living somewhat independently with home healthcare, his travel mobility has decreased dramatically over the decades, and today he doesn't venture beyond his own city limits. Also, outside of this core group, there's Troy, my best friend from college, and we've only seen each other once in the past few years. 

When Craig's mom passed away, he posted when her service and reception would be, and I knew I had to be there for him, as did our friends Rob and Greg. Listening to him talk about his mother at the graveside service reminded me of when my own parents passed back in 2012, only four months apart, and all the emotional upheaval experienced during that time. At his mom's memorial reception, Craig, Rob, Greg and I hugged, talked, and laughed freely, realizing how much we've missed our time together.  

While it may be true that men can go longer periods of time without talking or seeing each other, and don't necessarily thrive on intimacy and emotional connection as much as women do, my friends and I have shared quite a bit of our lives with each other over the years. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the meh. The stormy rainbow yak of life. 

In fact, what I've found is that the intimacy and emotional connections have increased over the years, even without seeing each other or talking to each other that often. Maybe it's simply maturity and nurturing empathy, although we still know how to give each other quite the inappropriate regular ribbing; we are a diverse group, that's for sure. Now in our mid to late 50's, most of us have our own families and children (and grandchildren!), and all of us have lots of life lived behind us, and hopefully lots more ahead. We are now men of a vulnerable age, making peace with our present, and embracing the presence of each other's love. 

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