A story about my father

So, it's been 9 years since my father died. 

I figured that I'd lighten the mood by telling a story about him.

Warning: graphic content about cancer, a penis, sex, and death.

When I was young, dad got prostate cancer. It was operable, and he came through it with flying colors, except for the fact that he couldn't hold his bladder. For a short time, until he healed, he had a clamp. You can guess where that went. 

Later on, he got a pump for his prostate, so he could get an erection. Just because he was divorced and 42 years older than me, it didn't mean he wasn't gonna get laid.

Flash forward to 2011.

He dies of a heart attack in his sleep. 

His 4 sons go to the funeral home for the viewing, and we all break down crying. We pull ourselves together enough to talk to the funeral director about the disposition of his remains. She explains to us about the cremation, and what's going to happen.

"Any medical devices will be removed from the ashes, and you will receive the ashes in a bag, in a box."

We all get quiet, and stifle laughter. She doesn't know what's going on, and why we're all trying not to laugh. 

Finally, George asks, "What's gonna happen to the pump?"

We all fall out laughing for a solid 10 minutes. The funeral director doesn't understand. 

When we can finally compose ourselves, we explain about the cancer, and the pump, and our father's noteriety for being a bit of a hound. She explains that it was probably silicone or plastic, so it would melt, and become part of the ashes. 

It's been many years, and his ashes haven't been spread, but remain in that bad, in that box. So, naturally, they're a brick now.

At the time, we just went with it, but recently, I realized something...

My father got a pump so he could get hard.

It melted, and became part of his ashes.

Now, his ashes are brick.

That horn dog gets to be hard forever. 

What

I wake up every morning, not remembering where I am. I see the room around me, and nothing is familiar to me. After a few moments, it all comes back to me. I'm home. Safe and sound.

But, that's not where I wanted to be.

I look in the mirror, and I don't recognize the face looking back at me. He's a handsome fellow, with sad eyes. "Nice beard. Crooked head, but the baldness works." I think to myself. After a few moments, I remember. That's me.

But, that's not who I wanted to be.

I go to my job. I punch the clock. I try to be important. And I am. But that importance is negated by those that think they know better. They tell me that I'm lucky to have a job.

But, that's not what I wanted to do.

This is not where I wanted to live.

This is not HOW I wanted to live.

You see me as a guy that has a lot of friends, is wildly popular and, perhaps, has women fawning over him at all times. Perhaps you see me as a social butterfly. That is partially true. I do talk to a lot of people. There's nothing meaningful about these interactions. They're just playful banter.

The truth is, I'm very lonely. I work. I go to the same places where people "show me love". I have very few "friends", but a lot of acquaintances that I only talk to when I'm at different places. Hell, even those people that I consider good friends only talk to me over text, or when I send them a message. Most of my interactions either occur on Facebook, or in a bar.

I don't feel anyone else anymore. I used to be able to feel everyone I've known at all times. It was like there was string between us, and I could always tell how they were feeling. Not anymore.

I'm alone.

And it's terrifying.

People say, "How can you be alone? I see you talking to people all the time!"

Do you see how long those conversations last? Maybe a minute or two. Then, they're on to someone else.

I'm an afterthought.

I am the epitome of "Hey! It's that guy!".

And they move on.

I see you.
I help you.
I love you.

All of you.

Everything is late today.

No matter what I did today, everything ended up late.


I woke up late.

My bus was late.

Then, he took a wrong turn, and we ended up going about a mile and a half out of the way. So, he decided to turn around. Since I was running late anyway, I got off the bus, and tried to catch the next one that would come by.

That bus was 20 minutes late.

When I got on, there were two people in wheelchairs. It always takes a while to get them off the bus.

On the way downtown, we ran into EVERY red light.

I went to a bar to meed up with some new friends, and it was so busy, it took 45 minutes to get a drink.

By the time it showed, I had to leave.

I went to another bar to get a trophy and sing a song, and when I was done, I had JUST missed the bus. So, I had to walk to work.

The only thing that was on time tonight was me. Getting to work.

There just seemed to be a lot of things that were trying to keep me from my plans, or to make them very difficult.

How much do YOU care about someone?

There have been times in my life where I didn't want to do it anymore.

Live, that is.

I've attempted suicide four or five times in my life, but never actually finished the job, as you can attest to, since you are reading this now.

At least once a month, my depression takes over. I lose interest in everything. Eating. Sleeping. Drinking. Sex. Work.

I've known 27 people that killed themselves. Think about that number for a minute. 27. Each one of them was alone when they did it.

I'm almost always alone. I could be in a crowd of people, and still feel like everyone keeps moving their chairs away from me. Because they do. I see it. Even without realizing it, or doing it on purpose, they move farther and farther away from me.

I go to the bar to sing karaoke, and sit next to some acquaintances of  mine. We're all good bar friends, and have a good time together. Singing, drinking, cavorting. Next thing I know, they have excluded me from conversation without even trying. Their backs are turned to me.

Anyway, back to my point. A couple of years ago, I was in a very dark place. I didn't want to keep going, but I knew I had to. So, I posted a status on Facebook. It simply said that I was having a very bad time with my life, and I needed some help.

You can probably imagine the response I got from that post. Dozens of people commented on it. Essentially, they all said, "If you need anything, I'm right here." The problem was "here" was not where I was. I got a couple texts from other friends saying the same thing, but that was it. Nobody actually spoke to me, or tried to help at all.

Except for one. My friend Angie. We were kind of dating at the time, and by dating, I mean that we tended to hang out in the same bar, and occasionally have sex together. We were never very serious. She was a sweet girl, and we had fun. 

15 minutes after I posted that status on Facebook, there was a knock at the door. It was Angie. She came inside, sat me down on the couch, handed me a beer, and proceeded to make me dinner. Steak, mashed potatoes and broccoli. My favorite. We talked about the Army, and my family, and what songs I was thinking about trying at karaoke next time we went. We shared some jokes. After we ate, we watched a couple movies together. I was surprised to find that I felt a thousand times better.

She never asked me what was wrong. She never tried to fix anything. She never explained why she came over.

She just.... showed up.

That's it.

And, it was more than enough.

That's all I really wanted. Someone to be there. I didn't want or need therapy. I didn't want someone to come hold me and let me cry on their shoulder. I didn't want to talk about what was wrong.

I just didn't want to be alone. That's all. Everyone else left me alone. Unless, of course, I was willing to make a trip to see them where ever the fuck they were, so it wouldn't inconvenience their schedule.

Angie did an amazing thing that night. She saved my life.

The next President of the United States

Ok, guys. Enough is enough. This is one soapbox on which I cannot help but stand.

 

You may not think that President Obama has done a stellar job, and that's fine. You have the right to your opinion. 

 

However; I have noticed that several of my friends are fans of, and will probably vote for, Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan in the upcoming general elections. Please tell me that you only like them because they're not Obama. Because, if you are one that actually AGREES with their politics, I will have to stop being friends with you. I will delete and block you on Facebook, block your phone number, and basically cut you out of my life entirely. Besides. After reading this, some of YOU might not want to be friends with me, anyway. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a Democrat or an Anti-Republican. I'm an Independent. I don't vote for someone based on their party affiliation. I vote for what I believe in. I actually considered voting for John McCain four years ago. I even thought that it was pure GENIUS to choose a woman as his running mate. Mostly because it put a question to the American people:

 

"Are you racist who or sexist?" 

 

Well, we got our answer, didn't we folks?

Once I saw interviews of Sarah Palin, I changed my mind. She is dumber than a wet bag of hammers. I don't know how she became Governor of Alaska, either. The fact that she was running that state is a blight on the intelligence of the Alaskan people. Check out the movie Game Change. It will give you insight into this woman's psyche.

Should have gotten Glenn Close. He might have won, then.

 

Back to the rant at hand.

 

These two men will turn back the clock in our country by 50 years. They don't want gays to marry. They don't want women to have a say in whether or not they can have children. They don't want people without money to be able to have more. They want to take away Social Security. They want to tax you. They want POWER.

 

Of course, this is all conjecture.

 

This is not: Mitt Romney has flat out LIED to the American people, been called on it, and basically said, "So?. He sold his home and moved away from Massachusetts, of which he was Governor. A year later, he voted in elections in that state. What? Don't you have to be a resident of the state in order to vote for ANYTHING in that state? In order to be a resident, you have to have lived in that state for the past 6 months.

 

The thing is, people have been watching too much mainstream media. Do you remember when Fox News used to be called "Liberal Media"? The GOP really didn't like them. Now, it's flipped. Any time you turn on that news channel, nearly all of their newscasters are spouting some kind of Anti-Obama rhetoric. And it's not like they come up with different things to tell us. They keep spouting the same stuff. 

 

Over.

And Over.

And Over.

And Over. 

I don't know how many times they can mention "Obamacare" is a negative way without sounding like a broken record. Guess what, folks? Before he was elected, nearly everyone was all but screaming for health care reform. You know what? That's what he did. Exactly what he told you he was going to do. Reform health care. Now, you just don't want it. How about you read the law before you start attacking it. 

Here is a site with the full text of the law. Read it.

Again, I'm ranting.

Sadly, I know what's going to happen. Mitt Romney will become President. I was an Intelligence Analyst for the Army for 13 years. This may sound egotistical, but I was paid to be the smartest man in the room. I was taught tactics, capabilities, situations. I was taught to think outside of the norm, and ask questions. They kept me doing it because I had a knack of seeing the most plausible way that our enemy would do things.

I have just over 300 friends on Facebook. 8 of them like Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan. I see people all over the place. I'd say that less than 10% of them like Mitt and Paul. When I talk to random people, very few of them agree with these two men. Yet, I look around the net, watch interviews, read news publications. From what I have seen, Romney is behind President Obama by a very small percentage of the vote.. 

What? 

How the hell did this happen?

My main point is: Don't vote for these two men just because they are someone other than President Obama. This whole "lesser of two evils" thing has got to stop. They are NOT the lesser of two evils. They will take away your money. They will take away your rights. And you will thank them for it because they're not a black man who did what he said he was going to do.

One Year

I haven't written anything in over a month. I feel like a failure at this whole "writing" thing.

A couple of days ago was the 1 year anniversary of my father's death. Many people have tried to help me through this time, but it hasn't really helped.

I had a friend come over today, and we watched a movie. He encouraged me to talk about my dad, and I cried.

I miss him more that I can put into words. He was the greatest man I have ever known. People knew him. He had influence. He treated people with respect, and expected respect in return. And he got it. Not because he was demanding, but because he knew that to earn someone's respect, you have to give it.

I spent every day in awe of the amount of love people showed him for no reason other than he was genuinely a good man. He helped those in need. He ran the Yakima Bowling association for 15 years. He ran the Washington State Bowling Association for 5 years. He planted huge amounts of crops in his garden every year, and when they were ripe, he gave them away. He would go to apple orchards just after picking season, and get the leftovers from the trees. Then, he would give them away.

Nearly everything good that I have ever done in my life was to make him proud. I started playing trombone at age 11, because he wanted me to be into music. I found a natural flair for the instrument.

I graduated High School with a 3.3 GPA, Honor Society, School Senate, President of the Chess Club, Drum Major of the band, best shooter on the rifle team.

Joined the Army.

Every time I made something good happen, I would call him and tell him about it. I wanted him to be so proud of me.

On his birthday several years ago, we had a party for him at Hoops in Yakima. My brother George told him that he wasn't going to make it, but he was going to be there. He asked us all to keep it a secret. A little after the party started, George showed up. We all hung out for a few, and dad asked him, "Don't you have a show to do tonight? You said that you couldn't come because you had an acoustic show that you were doing?"

"I do. Hang on."

At which, George got up on stage, grabbed his guitar and starting playing music for my dad. It was wonderful. George asked me to get up on stage with him, and we sang a couple of songs. Later on, Dad confided in us that, at that moment, he was the most proud. His two sons on stage singing such beautiful songs just for him on his birthday.

His last birthday was just over a year ago. He threw a little shindig at the Eagle's Club in Yakima. Most of our family showed up to this one. The only ones that weren't there were my brother Allen and his family. They, however, had already been there a week or so prior, and celebrated with him then.

We partied the night away, and everyone had a great time. George played some more songs. My nephew Tom played some as well. We got drunk, and had cake, and generally just had a great time. Dad ended up driving home, even though I told him not to. I thought he was a little too drunk. However, he's the one that taught me how to drive drunk, so I let him.

Don't get ahead of me. Dad didn't get in an accident or anything. He made it home safely.

A month later, I get a call from my Aunt, telling me the news. She didn't have any of my brothers' numbers, so it was up to me to call them and let them know. Fantastic. I just lost the most important person in my life, and I now have the responsibility of calling other family members and telling them.

We had a wake for him that weekend. Not one person I talked to said, "I wish I would have told him how I felt about him." Everyone was at his birthday party the month before. Everyone loved him, and told him so. He always returned that love, in spades.

My Dad and I talked to each other nearly every week. I called him at least twice a month when I was in Iraq. He sent me care packages, and encouraged everyone he knew to pray for my safe return.

I miss him. Every time something good happens in my life now, I have nobody to tell. Nobody to really be proud of me. All I have left is a few distant brothers, a lot of "bar friends", and nobody to tell me that I did well, truly mean it, and to understand what it means to me to hear that.

I love you, Dad.  I wish you were here.

Museless

So, it’s 8 Am. I’m sitting on the roof of my new apartment for the first time since I moved in. I’m lookin over the cityscape, and this is what I see:

Not bad, eh? I look at all these people below. Many are heading to or from work. Some are just wandering the streets in the morning, not completely sure of where they are going.

And the only thing I can think of is:

Man, I have to take a crap. Be right back…

Ok, better.

I’ve started to get to know the people that work in my building. Lupe works day shift. She sees me when I come home after work. Chris works swing shift. He sees me when I leave in the evening. I’ve met a couple of the other employees, but I don’t know their names.

Lately, I haven’t written anything. My life has become pretty dull. I go to Hula Hula for a drink before work. All the bartenders and managers there know me now. I go to work, play on Facebook and watch movies all night, then come home. Sometimes I go right to sleep, but most of the time, I stay up and either watch movies or play video games. I’m just trying to wear my brain out enough to get some damn sleep. 

The problem is that even if I do wear myself out enough, my brain never shuts off. I wonder too many things. Things like “Have I really done anything with my life?” or “Were there really 28 people that I’ve known that have killed themselves? Could I have done anything more to help?” or “Why am I still single?” They just seem to jump from one topic to another.

My point in writing this today is that a friend asked me when I was going to write again. Well, here ya go. Just a little something that is innocuous enough to be flippant, but deep enough that I don’t feel like a complete waste of time. 

In fact, there are so many different thoughts running through my head right now, that it is difficult to make complete sentences. I’ve had friends of mine that are writers tell me, “Don’t force it. Just start writing, and don’t stop until you have to. Oh, and don’t edit it. Just let it flow. It will all come out in the end.” That’s good advice for someone who has writer’s block. 

Here’s the thing, though. I don’t have writer’s block. I just don’t know what to write about anymore. Oh, there are plenty of stories left in this black hole I call a brain, I just can’t seem to remember them. 

My life has gotten so boring lately, that I even bore myself. 

So, I’m just going to ramble for a minute.

Why is a mouse when it spins? A friend and I were talking about something random, and she said to me, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Well, I certainly don’t know. “Because Poe wrote on both.”

That’s deep. It took me a minute to completely comprehend it.

I think that’s what’s bothering me lately. It takes so long for me to figure things out anymore. I used to be the guy that understood everything immediately. Now, I’m just a regular Joe. I truly have become “extra medium”. I used to be exceptional. I used to be able to calculate standard deviation in my head. I used to be able to remember things that haven’t happened yet. I used to be special. 

Now, I’m just…. Ordinary.

That would be okay, if it wasn’t for the fact that I remember the times when I helped honor students with their homework. I remember when I used to be able to sing a song note for note without any mistakes. I remember when I used to heal pain just by touching someone. I remember when I used to be known by people I had never met.  I remember when I used to…  <sigh> You get the point.

Now, I feel like I’m nothing. I don’t understand things as quickly as I used to. And my social life has gone to shit. I’ve met some new people in the past couple months. They’re fun and all, but they’re just bar friends. I don’t see them outside of the bar. I haven’t been to an SCA event in 2 years. I just don’t have the time off. 

I have First World Problems. I have White People Problems. What I don’t have is any idea how to pull myself out of this rut in which I seem to be stuck. I would get a girlfriend, but I wouldn’t be able to see her but once a week. Maybe twice. I’d get a hobby, but I know that I wouldn’t keep up with it.

So, I’ve tried my hand at writing. You’ve seen how well THAT is going. I haven’t written a story in two months. I have no inspiration. No Muse. 

Perhaps I’ll just go to sleep.

 

Nah. 

I’m gonna go play video games until I pass out.

Oh, and if anyone is interested… I’m thinking of having a house warming party on my roof deck. I’m not sure when it will happen, but it will have to be this month. Otherwise, it’s not a housewarming, is it?