A quick excerpt...

I wish I could capture one moment with my parents of myself being  younger on the beach of Macinaw with and feeding seagulls. Those feeling swell within my soul as we speak, but I cannot express them or truly tell you what they feel like. It is a warmth that over takes me at specific moments, moments usually associated with endless love. It is how I feel when certain holidays roll my way, it is how I feel when I think of the past. Some probably call it nostalgia, which it probably is, but it feels like a built up happiness wanting to explode, but you can’t quite reach it which brings a moment of sorrow to it. A very bitter sweet feeling.

Putting a Parent in the Ground

here is the first chapter of something I am working on for National Novel Writing Month...it also explains my absence the past few months (right after I started this)...it has not been edited yet.

Sixty-Two is two young. That’s the truth. I would love to give you all the explinations and reasons for that. I would love to get into human life-spans and what is consciousness and what makes us tick. I am guessing I don’t have those types of philosophy in my right now, and I guess if you read between the lines, you might find some of this, or maybe in fact, I might be able to find some of this as well, but for the time being, at this moment, I will say sixty-two is too young. 

At sixty-two you have much life yet, at least another good twenty years. In many situations and jobs sixty-two isn’t even a retirement age.  Sixty-two is supposed to be when you are going out on a cruise around the Meditarrianian. Sixty-two is when you start thinking about becoming a snow-bird and having a four month house in Florida or Arizona. Sixty two, yes is the twilight of your life, but it is time to ride into the sunset peacefully and slowly. Notice the word slowly.

At thirty-two you are supposed to be at the prime of your life and just kicking things into gear. You have now reached a point that you and your parents can communicate about things in life. You understand where they came from and where they are going. It is your time to shine, you should be straigting out everything that you’ve ever had concerns about. There are many things that you should be doing at thirty-two. But there are also things that you should not be doing at thirty-two.

There are also things you shouldn’t be doing at sixty-two.

One of the things that you shouldn’t be doing at thirty-two is putting your parent in the ground.  Especially when your parent is sixty-two.

Sadly enough, this is something I just had to do almost three months ago. 

Now, I’m not going to start saying that my story is something amazing, or important. Yet, at the same time my story is very amazing and very important. I am wondering why I am even going to try and accomplish to write this, or how this is going to come out, but the truth is this is something I feel like I need to do. I am quite aware of all of the greivence books out there, and all of the “I love my dad” books. Hell, I’ve been reading a few as I write this, but the truth is, I do love my dad. The truth is our story is unique to us, and I want to share that story to the world.

I will admit, I had a very fortunate life growing up. I am not going to go on about how pitiful my life was and how strong and great I was to overcome amazingly hard circumstances, because that isn’t the truth. I was raised very middle-class from a middle-class working family in the mid-west. A lot of mid, aka average talked about there. I went to a Big Ten school in-state and graduated with bachelor degrees, and went into the world looking to join the workforce.

This is exactly how my dad would have wanted it. At my dad’s funeral one of my friends in an eulogy talked about how “Michigan” my dad was. I had never thought about how “Michigan” my dad was until that statement, but he was. He worked for the auto industry, he loved to go up north, he loved Michigan sports teams, and I think he even liked the very testy weather that the mitten state has.

He worked hard to make sure that I wasn’t “Michigan”, at least I think. I think he knew I had larger dreams and goals than the suburban life of an auto worker. Maybe the years of sixty hour weeks and first shift hours is something that slowly made him tired, and he wanted more for me. Regardless, ever since I was born I knew I was going to college, and I knew that my parents would sacrifice everything if needed be to get me into a University. They didn’t have to sacrifice that much, at least from what I could tell, but they did instill that into me, that I was going to go to school, so I didn’t have to be my dad.

This would be the reason that I stood heartbroken in a Michigan hospital room, unemployed, just being laid off from not one, but two jobs, spending my last two weeks with my father. Now, I could get all Mitch Albom on you, and say that in those two weeks I learned some heartfelt lessons, or some great insight to life, but honestly, I didn’t. I realized something I already knew, and that was how much I loved my dad, and how much I was going to miss him.

We watched TV, talked about what my wife and I did during the day, asked him if he thought the Tigers would win a game, and he made some Budwieser frogs joke, and that was all we really did. We hung out. Many people told me that I should feel lucky that I didn’t have any employment  to hold me back from these moments, which I was. I got to spend as much time with him while I had a chance, something that many people never get. Yet, knowing how much he toiled and struggled with at work to be able to send me to get my education, it left me feeling saddened, and disappointed in myself.

I did learn that everything would be ok. He told me that. He told me that everything would be ok. I still don’t believe him, and I am three months out. It probably will, I am a worrywart, which I pick up from my mom and not him, but it is difficult at the time. Those two weeks of watching my father die was probably and probably will be the hardest days of my life, and sadly I have had some hard times in my life. My father was the third person extremely close to me that I had lost in the past three years, and this one would prove to be the hardest.

I will admit my luck. My mom and dad were just coming into that age where they were becoming my friends. We would go to Las Vegas together, eat together,  and share stories. There is something magical when you reach a point where your parents become your friends. I feel bad for the people that never reach that, yet I understand that every situation is different, and I was just amazingly blessed to be born to two wonderful people.

Yet, this is a double-edge sword. When you lose your dad quickly after you realize that you have become friends with him, it cuts your heart into pieces. I wish I could tell you how long it takes to heal those pieces, but I can’t. I haven’t reached that point yet.  Yes, I know that people grow up in broken homes, and I know that people never reach a complete understanding or love of their parents until well after they are passed. My heart goes out to those people, it really does. For a second, I try and find a way to make those moments easier, and think of situations like that, but that would just be worse. I am privliaged to be able to even become my father’s friend, and to realize at a young age that he was a good guy.

And a good guy he was. I was amazed at the turn out of the funeral and how many people said great things about my father, and you could tell that it was the real deal, and not just some crap that people say at funerals when someone passes. I never understand why people do that, I understand paying your respect and not speaking ill of the dead, but at the same time, people can tell when people are sincere or not, even in a weakened state of losing someone. 

This love at my dad’s funeral was real. 

The last time I saw my dad at a funeral home before his own was two years earlier, when my grandfather (my mom’s father) passed. I remember a gesture that my dad gave to my grandfather as he laid in wake. He grabbed his folded hands and held them in his, and slowly squeezed them.  He went right before me giving final respects, and I noticed this for some reason. That look on his face, and his gesture of respect, and it stuck in my mind. Maybe he knew in a few months he would be diagnosed with something that would in two years have him joining my grandfather. Maybe putting my mom’s dad in the ground was harder than putting his own father in ground. Or maybe he was just a classy man and was truly moved at the time. I could also be just reading way too much into that gesture. Regardless, I made sure to give my father the same gesture while at his casket. I still can picture it clearly, and holding the waxy skin, not so much how I imagined a dead person feeling, and this was a big deal for me, since funerals, caskets, and wakes  freak me out. I grasped my father’s hands and told him once again that I loved him. 

This book might be a form of healing for me, and maybe a form of healing for you. It doesn’t have a clear direction yet, just a collection of stories and memories that I feel made me and my dad special. I have a need and want to get as memories written down on paper before they just fade in to obscurity and hazy pictures in my mind as many of my other memories as I get older.  Maybe through this process I can figure out what my father is all about, and learn more about him, or even myself, which is someone I would truly like to discover at this point.

My Wife Returns Home Today, just some random thoughts

So, today after four months living four and a half hours away, my wife returns home. This is a good thing. With all that is going on right now, probably need some support. My wife is a wild-life biologist. It is a hard gig to live with. I love her, and I love her work, but there are many months that we spend apart, well, I see her usually on the weekends, but still, it is hard to live by yourself for a third of the year, and then live together the other two-thirds. It’s like living two different lives. It’s something that I am striving here to explain how it feels, but I can’t; you just have to live it. It is nice, it is just different. Do I wish she was here all the time, yes, but after seven years of doing this (maybe 8), you just get used to it. What it does mean though is massive cleaning of the house, which in turn will just be more massive cleaning after she moves back in. Which is kinda funny, but I like her coming home to a semi-clean house, or a clean house. It is her home as well, and when she is here I would like it to be nice for her. 

Hmmm, this whole post has taken an interesting turn, I guess there is not much witty or snarky to say today, so my viewership will probably go down. I will try better next time.

Gooooooood Morning Af-ghan-a-stan!

Why am I starting this blog on July 4^th? That is a great question, since it is a day that has haunted me for many years. Am I doing something “symbolic” and “declaring my freedom”, well I might be. It is true that me and July 4^th have had a rocky past, and to be bluntfully honest, I cannot say that much that I am feeling especially patriotic this year. That last comment I probably just lost three-quarters of my newly found audience, but for those that are still there, thanks for reading past that comment…

Now, what is the point of this blog? That is a good question; this blog is being born out of what many of us have started calling “the post-college blues”. I have quickly realized that life is harder than I thought or was promised to me than it is. Because, man, even as an educated man, life is hard. I did the right thing, I went to college about a decade ago, right after high-school and now I am sitting in this early-thirties funk of what the hell am I supposed to do with my life. Here’s the secret though, I really don’t think I am the only one in this.

So, being what society is today, what do I do about this. Well, I guess I take it to the internet and air out all of my bitches and moans to a generally anonymous public that will flog me or praise me (or more likely not even read me) in more anonymity. “Well,” you say, “why don’t you just air out your bitches on Facebook.” Here is the truth of the matter that, Facebook doesn’t give me enough space to air out my issues, plus my family is on Facebook. Could my family find me here, probably, but I would rather not have my grandma read my overall disappointments and bitches in the society that has been created by the generations before me. Now, now, now, I am not blaming those in-front of me, because honestly, besides being unemployed in t-minus 27 days. I live a pretty ok life style, even though it is barley poverty level. I mean, obviously I have a computer that I am typing this on right now. So, things aren’t as bad as they seem, but instead of spending hundreds of dollars on a shrink so I can just rattle babble off, I am going to use you guys for my “post-college blues” analysis. I figure you guys have them too, so I am curious to hear your rantings back to me.

Now, I am no one special. Well, we are all special, but in all honestly I have lead a pretty mediocre life with a few ups and a few downs. I had a really awesome job a decade ago in an industry that no longer exists to the extent it was, have hovered from job to job since then, letting my wife pursue her graduate degrees in a much more promising field. I have had some extraordinary moments, hell I used to be the self-proclaimed “number one underground writer of Detroit,”, but overall I have lived a pretty average life for someone in their early 30s. I have fairly liberal leanings, and have lost a little faith in my country, but continue to plug on. I have two degrees that are both liberal art degrees (even though one used to be considered to be a real degree, aka Journalism), and have realized that I can’t go back 12 years to fix mistakes. My first social network was LiveJournal, and that is why I am returning to personal blogging. Just to throw it out there, just to see what people think. 

I am a grandpa hipster hanging on, trying to get through the America that is now before us.  I still dwell in obscure pop-culture references and snarkiness in the generation that doesn’t seem to want to grow up, or maybe just isn’t allowed to grow up due to the current economical-social structure of America. I dunno. I’ve racked my brain on that for ages. Regardless, I hope you follow me on my journey and give me some insights to what you are experiencing, because honestly, I think we are all in this together now.

p.s. To show how much I hate the 4^th of July, here are some LiveJournal entries from 2001 and 2002 respectfully (horrible spelling and grammar left in on purpose, I was probably drunk)…

“Sunday, July 1st, 2001

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10:34a - love me now, because in a year i'll be gone
The past, prestent, and future always messes with my mind. THis is what i was thinking about as i sat in my hometown watching bursts of colour spray across the sky. A year ago at this time , A****a wasn't even a glint in my eye. Now what i wouldn't give just to see her smile at me once more. A year ago at this time i was lonley, much like now, re had just walked out on me a month earlier and i found myself drowning in the helpless game of pool night in and night out, much like right now. THis time next year i will not be repeating this cycle. I refuse. I will be gone. I will have been graduated and working out of this state. i will also finally be grown up and the old me will have died in a sense, which is good because i am ready for the old me to die. Luckily i don't matter right now. People dont have to worry about my problems. they all have their own and honestly i dont have any problems because my old problems were other peoples and i dont have anyone. i just cant beleive how little i have changed in the last 6 to 8 years and looking back at what happenes year in and year out in my life and my cycles that i go through i am exactly the same. only special holidays with bombs bursting in air makes me realize this as i think and think and think. i used to love the carnival downtown. now i hate it. i hate the people there. i hate my past. i hate it with a passion. it sickens me. just like my own soul does right now. i think ill just sleep for about a week and see how i feel. hopefully better. i cant wait for school to start again.

current mood: determined
current music: i hate music”

Friday, July 5th, 2002

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12:02a - "...come lay on the couch with me..."
tonight i escapped from my apartment, which doesnt seem to happen very often. I journeyed down to Lansing to watch some fireworks in a park. I do not know why i did this. Maybe looking to recapture some childlike innocenence, or maybe just too see thousands of dollars explode in front of me. Whatever the reason i journied down into a social world. I sat and read while listening to my head phones on the grass near a calm river waiting for the fireworks to being. I ran into Ryan, who had moved here receintly and said hello and talked for a few and then escaped into my own little world. its weird that i ran into him, considering how i met him, and now in a place where i know no one, i run into him at fireworks...odd...anyways...
while watching the fireworks, i relized that this is how the rest of my life probably will be. doing stuff by myself. my lonliness has decreased emencly over the last few months, and ive only had little bouts with it here and there. i guess i am fine with not talking to many of my friends anymore. the person that i have the most contact with out of anyone is someone in pennsylvania that i dont even know what her voice sounds like. weird, i guess i could pick up the phone and call people or come to my parents house, but at the same time, i have things to do. yes i miss them, yes i am lonley at times, but at the same time i am scared of anything remotly like the past. i want to start anew and move on and i feel its starting to work...i'll return when i am needed too...

jesus...

figuring all of this out from watching some colours in the stary sky..

current mood: scared of the spotlight
current music: fiona apple- when the pawn...