Monday, September 25, 2006

Instructions . . or rather . . Directions

I went to LA this weekend. I had some business to take care of that I'd been putting off for quite some time. Since my ex-wife left me 2 years ago, I've been desperate for help of some kind. I've had kids for 14 years, but didn't realise how taxing it is to raise them until she was gone and I was all by myself. Its not just the work, which is substantial, but the burden of responsibility.

Saying that though, I did know how hard it was, as I remember being overwhelmed before she left me, but it was easier then to recover from it. Being a single parent makes those moments come more often and the recovery seemingly never begins.

Well, thats one of the reasons why taking little breaks to LA is so beneficial for me and why I always find an excuse to head back home for a day or two every couple months. Thing is, when I get there, I have this huge void or emotional cloud that envelopes me. I feel so alone and useless and quickly that turns into guilt for not being tough enough to deal with the responsibility better and not allow myself to be overwhelmed. I mean, I love my children more than anything, so why can't that satisfaction be enough for me?

After taking care of my business, I was in my mom's house in the living room, just relaxing. She was in the kitchen, as usual, cooking mountains of food for me as if I were a party of 8. Part way through her slicing and dicing she sat next to me and said "I need to tell you something". Shock and horror!!! What was she going to say? I knew in my heart what it was. I'd been denying it for a couple months as my own personal problems kept me from accepting anyone else's reality, but it was time for me to face something else and my mom deserves my attention so I listened as she told me about how Rubin, her boyfriend, had asked her to marry her and he was going to come over to ask me if that was OK.

She was so nervous. I could see it in her eyes as they welled up and nearly overflowed, but didn't tear as if in anticipation of my response. I told her that if he makes her happy then of course it was OK with me.

Rubin and my mom have been dating for about a year. She's known him since she was a child and after my dad died a couple years ago, she started seeing him more due to her new frequent trips to see my ailing grandmother.

Rubin seems like a good man. Nothing like my father in any way. Rubin is quiet and respectful. He blends in to a crowd and doesn't force his persona onto you. He's a hard worker and blue collar. The thing that strikes me most about him though is that his intentions seem so plain. When he is with my mother, she is the only person in the room. He speaks with her, not to her. He listens to her and doesn't just wait for his turn to speak but engages.

On Saturday I was recovering from a very good night out with my friend Bernie and woke up late. Normally, my mom is fluttering about like a bee cleaning or cooking, but I couldn't see her anywhere. I looked outside and saw her working with Rubin. She's putting a new fence in the front of her house made of brick and iron. Quite a big job.

The two of them were finishing off the job as the person she paid to start it wasn't doing a ver good job. So there was my mom and Rubin, making this wall. They weren't saying a word to eachother, but were working as if they'd been building walls forever, placing mortor on top of the brick pillars, spounging the asphalt white caps before placing them on top and smooothing the edges. So simple but so perfect. I was overcome with emotion.

I've been struggling for so long to find what I wanted in life. My identity has been attached to being a father, a provider and a husband for so long, with how well I measured up to others with those titles. When my ex left me, I didn't know who I was anymore or what I wanted, but when I saw my mom there, it was clear as day. I was so happy for her. She is at peace with herself and she spends her time with someone who cares for her and values her.

This is what I want. I've spent so much of my life looking for an event, symbol or marker that would prove that I had "made it" or reached some prescription of happy. Its not a list or milestone. I want happiness, but happiness isn't a place. Its not something that you can say "If I can just do this or have this or attain this, THEN I will be happy" Happiness is found in moments and is a realisation not a destination.

I don't have any instructions, but I hope now I have a direction. I have all the elements around me now for happiness, I just need to open my eyes and feel.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Why 9/11 means nothing to me . .

The tragedy of 9/11. Its such a hot topic right now. It was a tragedy. It was horrible, not just for those that died, but for so many people that continue to live with the pain of it, but . . . . I can't feel sad about it. I can't feel sad about it because everyday people die and starve and suffer and we don't seem to mind it because it isn't "celebrated" or memorialised or shown to us in revealing articles.

I imagine if I lost someone that day, it would mean something to me. But for the millions of people that didn't know someone personally who died in the attacks that day, its just another day on earth where people are abused or killed and even more tragic than 9/11 they are forgotten.











Everyday is a tragedy for someone, somewhere.

It makes you think about how lucky you are, or how quickly things can change.

It makes me think about what real suffering is. Is it worse to die or to live a life of suffering?

I remember, when I was 10. I was a cub scout for a year. My parents didn't have enough money to really put me in properly so I never had the right things to bring with me. Used uniform, dues always in late, field trips missed because I never had the money to pay for things.

One time, I paid to go on a waterslide trip with some money I made passing out flyers and running errands at a local lawnmower shop. Not much, just 10 bucks I think.

A couple days before that, a Mexican kid had joined our scout troop named Javier. He barely spoke English and when his mom saw that my mom was Mexican, I was the defacto friend of the kid. I hated it. I had to translate all the time and all the kids made fun of him and me because of it. Like my life wasn't already hard enough!

When we went to the waterslide, Javier was there. We all changed and went up to the slides, everyone but Javier. He didn't have any money so he was just standing there watching all of us with his dirty jeans and used blue cub scout shirt on all by himself.

I asked him why he wasn't coming and he just lowered his head. I felt awful. I was torn. I couldn't leave him there, but I so wanted to finally participate. I walked away and went to the top and saw him just watching everyone. I thought "Why the hell didn't anyone pay for him?" There were other parents there. They didn't do anything. NOTHING. I couldn't believe it. It was one of many experiences I've had of racism, but this time I was more horrified in the lack of humanity in these people.

I got so pissed off. I asked one of the scout leaders to help and he said, "his parents should have given him the money, he's not my son." What??????

I went to the video arcade attached to the building and jimmied the door of one of machines and took some money out and paid for him. I felt no guilt at all. To this day I don't believe I stole, well maybe I do. It haunted me though. How can people see suffering and not do something about it?

This to me is tragedy. Not that Javier couldn't go on a fucking waterslide. Not that 3000 people died on 9/11, but in how everyday so many of us can make a difference and don't do a fucking thing.

Javier ended up in prison, armed robbery and killing 2 people in a shop for a lousy 100 bucks in the register. What a goddam tragedy.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Playing with my babies

I come in the door weary and fatigued
another grain of sand drops with a thud
three smudged faces greet me

play with me, play with me, play with me
a deep groan swells within
play? whats that?
does it have a cushion?

play with me, play with me, play with me
their cries begin in unison
then break apart like chirping birds

down goes the briefcase
fling go the shoes
swish goes the flown off tie
off goes the phone

OK, lets play . .
screams of joy
sharp pains in my throbbing head

one hour turns to three
stealing a moment mid giggles I see
the next grain of sand is hovering
how lucky I am
why don't I play more?

Make every moment count . . as we never know which grain will be our last.