Read the essay below.

When Others Are Oppressed

There he was, Sean Penn, masterfully playing Harvey Milk in the current and timely film, MILK. I sat there for two hours completely absorbed, humored, impassioned, and ultimately, deeply saddened and grieved. I couldn’t help but to think about a line from a Greg Brown song: “why does good change take so long?” Why do we, as human beings, take so much joy in seeing others oppressed, others suffer?

MILK is a movie about Harvey Milk, California’s first openly gay supervisor who was assassinated by fellow supervisor, Dan White. It unfolds as an intriguing, emotionally provoking, yet terrifying, depiction of what fear can do. One can replace the struggle of the gay community with the struggle of any group that has been oppressed. I contemplated the advancement we could make as human sojourners if we stood together, if we recognized that their fight IS our fight, thus, removing the silly categories of group that limit us.

I thought about the suicides of Bill B. and the thousands of gay, lesbian, and transgender youth and adults who were hated, tortured, teased, ostracized, and/or judged by a world built out of sands of fear. I thought about parents who reject their children because they believe being gay is a choice. I thought about Jesus and how it would grieve him to see his children suffer at the hands of those who claim to know him. I thought about myself, and how my struggle as a black, heterosexual male is defeated if I can’t speak out and up for my brothers and sisters who are gay, Hispanic/Latino, Asians, women, transgender, physically challenged, elderly, Muslim, Jewish, raped, abused, hungry, or voiceless. Is not my cause their cause? Can any of us truly be free when others are oppressed?

I thought about California’s Proposition 8. I thought about how 70% of the African-American vote in California voted to uphold Proposition 8, overturning legalized, gay marriages. I thought about the forward steps in the civil rights movement when Barack Obama was elected, and then I thought about the stumble backwards on that same day. How could the African-American community, the same community who wept, wailed and bled for their equal existence to be acknowledged by the masses, be the identical group who would support a proposition that, in short, sealed the shackles of tyranny for another group? How could this possibly be?

I thought about the tears Harvey Milk, had he not been assassinated, would be weeping on this past election day. I thought about my family and loved ones who are gay/lesbian/transgender. I thought about shackles and yellow stars and closets. I thought about bombs falling and government lists and associations and accusations. I thought about my daughter, and the world we are passing on to her. And I cried. And I thought about my tears, and how I weep for the gay community, and how I stand with them because my struggle is their struggle. And their struggle is my struggle. “We are all in this together. We are all in this alone.” – Pierce Pettis

“And you’ve got to elect gay people, so that child and the thousands and thousands like that child know that there’s hope for a better world; there’s hope for a better tomorrow. Without hope, not only gays, but those blacks, those Asians, the disabled, the seniors, the Us’s . . . without hope, the Us’s give up. I know you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. You, you, and you got to give them hope.” – Harvey Milk

Tearful Republican reverses his stance against gay marriage

I was deeply moved by this Mayor's speech. I, too, felt disheartened by Proposition 8 in California. Why? It was the irony of it all. Our country saw the first multi-racial president elected, in part, due to the record turnout of African-Americans at the voting poll. Proposition 8 was passed in California, in large part, because 85% of African-Americans who voted supported Proposition 8.

For those of you who do not know about Proposition 8, allow me to summarize. Proposition 8 was a voting point to ban gay marriages. However, gay marriages were already made legal in the state of California several months ago. Why was this important to people, who are not gay, to ban? Could not the African-American community see that we as a country made leaps in civil rights with our presidential choice, but stepped backwards with the support of Proposition 8? I need to ask the African-American community: could you imagine a proposition for re-instituting segregation on the voting blocks every two or four years? How safe would you feel? And don't you realize that no one is free when others are oppressed?
Do you not see that the civil rights movement was not just a "black thing", but a human thing? And do you not comprehend that by setting back another group, you set your cause back?

Thank you, Mayor, for following your heart, regardless of this setback. I stand at your side. I speak for all who have been oppressed. All. Not. Just. Me!

Wassup 2008

This had me laughing in hysterics. Ha! Love it!

I've never quite cared for fashion, and style is in the eye of the beholder. I like how certain colors (like black) look on me. I've never been hip to all the changes in fashion. Don't get me wrong, I can dress very well, very cool, if I actually give a damn about what is labeled, "hip" or "cool". Usually, I just don't care. And I'm not trying to be a rebel, I just be who I be, and throughout my life that has been labeled everything from devil worshiper to freak to "what the hell?" to "turn down those colors!"

What's a guy supposed to do? There have been times when I have gotten in trouble for my dress assembly. I went through a phase in college where I was really into collecting knives, mainly hunting knives. Now, I've never hunted a day in my life, and personally, I don't care for the activity. My interest in hunting knives was an interest in knives, not hunting.

I purchased this very cool knife one time at this midwestern fair. I still have it today. It is this amazing, Texas toothpick, hunting knife. It's so rad. I love it. In any case, one day I was getting dressed at college, and I thought of the coolest idea. I would wear my camouflage, army pants, black boots, black t-shirt, and my knife, locked and loaded, attached to my boot. It looked so badass.

As I've mentioned in previous writings, I attended a conservative, evangelical Christian college. And it probably goes without saying, but dressing in that style and going to morning, religious services did not show a great deal of prudence on my part; although, I never thought it would cause the stir it caused. I was pulled aside by the campus police, because someone called me in, stating that my dress was very threatening, and that they were worried that I may do harm to someone.

Are you f'n kidding me? I'll tell you what, after being pulled aside like that, I most certainly wanted to do harm to someone.

Well, eventually, my camouflage clothing days faded away, and I moved on to other fashion styles, and some of them people actually liked.

Now, jump ahead with me. A couple of months ago, I was getting my daughter dressed for the day. I picked out a shirt and pants that looked good together. My daughter, with eyebrows raised, was incredulous. She said, "Daddy, that doesn't even match! Let me do it."

My daughter is three. . . .

Some things never change.

Saw my mom in the hospital today. She will be having open heart surgery on monday or tuesday. three of her arteries leading to her heart are 90% blocked. she went to the hospital yesterday for a catherization. she expected to be out of the hospital within hours. after the catherization, the doctors told her that it was not good news. they immediately admitted her to the critical care unit. though bypass surgery is somewhat routine these days, there's a reasonable chance that my mom may not make it. this makes me terribly sad and troubled. Did I see my mom for the last time today?

My friend Matt wanted to comfort me. He said, "I'm sure your mom will be fine." I said, "And what if she doesn't make it? Whether she makes it or not, her life is in the hands of God." I've never really been good at duping myself, at pretending that everything always works out for the best. It's not the way life is. My mom will die some day, and it may be on Monday or Tuesday or 20 years from now, but the one thing I can't do is pretend that this may not happen soon.

I couldn't keep a smile while with her. She's scared as hell. She's so torn, so sad. I am so sad, so torn. I couldn't do much except cry today. I wanted her to hold me like she did when I failed that test in the 5th grade. I wanted her to hug me like she did when I was busted for shoplifting, and the store owner wanted to press charges. I wanted to hold her and let her know that I am in pain, as well.

I knew when I reflected on Joan of Arcadia that God was telling me to pay attention and prepare myself.


I sat there in the hospital room and wondered if I was ready for all of this, and these tears that run down my face right now have no simple solution. The bear has jumped out in front of me and is loudly roaring.

"You can take it in stride
or you can take it right between the eyes
suck up, suck up, and take your medicine
it's a good day, it's a good day to face the hard things."
Cloud Cult, 'Take your Medicine'

Some of you know that I had an interesting few days a couple of weeks ago. I felt that my death was somehow approaching me. Then I felt that it wasn't necessarily my death, but something that had to die within me or around me.

I was feeling rather anxious on my birthday today. Didn't know why. I took a nap and I had a dream about my tooth falling out for no reason. Apparently, teeth dreams are about blocked anxiety within a person's life. Why was I feeling anxious?

I suspected that it was because my mom went into the hospital for an explorative scope; the doctors wanted to see if there was any blockage to her arteries. My ma doesn't have a crazy amount of medical problems, but she does have some concerns.

The procedure was only supposed to last a couple of hours, and then she would be released from the hospital within the same day. Perhaps I was feeling anxiety because of this. I hadn't heard from my dad, and I was slightly worried.

When I went out for dinner with Tessin this evening I couldn't concentrate on the meal. I needed to find out what was going on. I called my dad and he told me that they had to admit my mother to the hospital because she needs an immediate triple bypass on her heart. You heard me right: a TRIPLE bypass.

I don't know how I feel. I'm numb. I feel as if death is approaching my mother. I'm trying to gear up for the worse. No sense to give myself some idea of false hope. For if she dies, that will make it much worse for me, if I sit there and say, "Oh, she'll be fine." I am much more of a realist than that. I am not afraid of death. We all must die. But though I know death's inevitability, I am sad about death, and the thought that I will lose my mother one day. I just don't want it to be now; yet, I sense that this is one of the signs I was sensing a couple of weeks ago. And oddly enough, I feel as if there are more signs to come. This is only the beginning.

Dear Charlie:

Do you remember back in that April of 1993, back when I was on that desperate train that had gone far out of control? Do you remember? I called you one day because I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. I tried to call my mom and tell her that I was in pain. I tried to tell my mom that I never really wanted that boy to take advantage of me. I tried to tell my mom without really telling her, but she couldn't see that I was bleeding, so she just kept cutting. And I was almost bled out, Charlie. I almost bled it all out on that day, Charlie. My thoughts were cutting me, and I wanted to jump from that train. I was almost convinced that jumping would be fun. I almost couldn't see past the moment of my jump, but then I called you. And you listened. And you pulled out that bandage. And I cried because it hurt so bad, Charlie. And I never saw God more clearly than on that day. You listened. You prayed. You let me cry, Charlie. And I almost couldn't take it. I wanted to punch my head through a wall, so all the blood could come out at once. And you never made me feel bad for that.

If ever the time comes, I would gladly lay down my life for you, Charlie. You have always been the soft whisper of God in my darkest nights.

Dear Aine:

It's strange how timely it has been for your footsteps, your friendship to enter into my life. I know you think that you don't have the magic words to speak me out of the whirlwinds and hurricanes that beset my path, but you, Irish soul, listen graciously with heart. Your words and thoughts have brought comfort to me. It was you, in my darkest moments in the fading autumn light, who reminded me that darkness was only the absence of light; darkness truly doesn't exist within a relationship unto itself. It corresponds to the degree of light. Darkness can only exist if light dims herself; darkness can never take over light. It was you who reminded me of this simple truth. And I know I've said this to you before, but it's worth saying again, you, with laughter and truth, have melted some burden down. Ferron said it best:

And I found that all the world could love you save for one. And I don't know why it is, but that kiss will be the haunted one. You'll pine and weep and you'll lose good sleep and you'll think your life has come undone, until you learn to turn and spurn that bitter wind.

Because it'll probably be the one you least expect to, who will wager through your storm with you, who will give your fears respect... who will melt your burden down...though you probably don't want that yet, still...the odds fall sweet in favor to an open heart.

So, that's it. I'm learning to turn and spurn that bitter wind. I just wanted you to know that I am deeply blessed to have your friendship in my life, at this time. And when you do finally resign yourself to those Irish shores, know that you will always be irreplaceable within my heart.

Dear Charlie. Dear Aine. I think on you two today, my birthday, and the friendships you've bestowed upon me. And with this, I give thanks.

What more could I say? This day is cloud dust and star shine.
Mostly what I choose to make it; mostly almost done.
And yet, as I breathe, as I know,
We, (mostly I), are fortunate to dance with each other
in time, in step. Who knows what our silence will bring? Who knows if we will be awakened, or sleep with sleep, dreaming
about it all again? For now, I am grateful to curl in my bed,
returning back to that place where I almost knew all the
answers. Birthdays should not feel sad; yet, something about
the rain coming down causes me to focus on the rain coming
down. I am the perfect seven on the dice, so humbled and
gracious for all of you beautiful friends. All of you.

Happy birthday to me.

The Rubik's Cube: A theory in defense
of the existence of God

We've all seen the Rubik's Cube; that six sided enigma that has perplexed simpletons and the brain-powered. To some mathematical geniuses, it is just a fascinating equation, one that can be solved using a minimal amount of moves. To me, it was, and remains to be, a luring quandary.

I started playing with the cube when I was 10. I studied books on the cube, and would spend hours trying to solve it. When I eventually solved, (with the help of some suggestive books), I decided to mix and match different approaches in solving the cube. (I've never been quite good at following someone else's approach.) I had Rubik's cube books that claimed the cube could be solved in 45 seconds or less. I've never been able to solve it that quickly. My fastest time was 70 seconds.

When I was younger I focused on results, (e.g., how fast could I solve it, why is it so hard to turn at times). I wanted to do it faster and faster. But alas! 70 seconds was the best time I could get. Eventually, I got bored with the Rubik's Cube, and I put it away.

Within the last six months, I mentioned at a show about my Rubik's Cube abilities. After this show, a girl came up to me, holding out her cube, asking me to solve it. I froze. I hadn't seriously tried to solve the cube for more than (Gulp!) 20 years. And because the cube is not a mathematical equation to me, (geometry was the only math I disdained), I was stuck. I couldn't solve it. I couldn't remember my moves. I walked away embarrassed that I even mentioned my Rubik's Cube days.

I went home determined to solve the cube, once again. Within hours, I was able to solve the cube; I rediscovered the process. It's odd how things start to come back to you when you haven't done an activity for so long.

This time around, though, I was intrigued by the process, the "how," and not the "how fast." There are hundreds, maybe thousands of ways to solve the cube. I have my series of 20+ ways. One approach that remains consistent with me is that I start off solving the cube by working on two opposites first. The color patterns are always the same: red/orange, blue/green, white/yellow. Therefore, if I choose the yellow as my first color, the white side will follow. Before fully completing those two sides, I arrange the corners of the four remaining colors, and then I finish the rest of the two colors with which I began.

Upon completion of the initial colors, I work on completing the remaining four sides. However, in order to complete the remaining four sides, one must be willing to "upset" the order of the two completed sides. When I am solving the cube I don't even pay any attention to this disturbance; it is what is necessary when I am trying to solve the cube. I thought about how wonderful of a metaphor solving the Rubik's Cube is for life. If there is a lot of distractions and disturbances and confusion for a relatively simple cubed equation, what more can be said for the distractions and disturbances and confusions within the multi-variables of life?

As some of you are aware, I am intrigued by philosophical and religious meanderings. I love to sit and ponder; this brings me joy. Lately, I've been reading and listening to discussions about Evil. For those of you who are unaware, the problem of evil is the chief weapon for atheists in their defense that God does not exist. Personally, I believe God exists. Yet, I can't just ignore this serious premise: If God exists, why would God allow evil? If God is loving and benevolent, almighty and omnipresent, why would God allow bad things to happen to good people? Why is there suffering?

For the sanctity of blogging, and for the sanity of my reading audience, I will keep this discussion to simplicity; yet, I recognize that even simplified, this discussion can be discoursed equally as well with mushrooms, as with sobriety. By the very nature of this discussion being philosophical, some of you may bow out right about now. For those of you who are still around, let us enjoy one another's company.

I can get bogged down with themes such as the local and global arguments from evil, the idea of God, the hiddenness of God, and the suffering of animals to approach this discussion. However, time and interest is of the essence; therefore, allow me to draw upon my rediscovery of solving the Rubik's Cube as a general, but faulty, approximation of why evil exists.

Earlier, as you may recall, I mentioned two salient points concerning the cube that I would like to infuse within this discussion. First point being, there are multiple methods to understanding and solving the cube. Secondly, the process in which I take requires the disruption of seeming perfection in order to obtain holistic perfection. In other words, I must first destroy the two sides I solve in order to complete the remaining four sides.

Could not the Rubik's Cube, in theory, be seen as a working metaphor to address this question? What if life, as we know it, (or life unbeknownst to us), is working to achieve some level of perfection? And what if this journey is far more extravagant than some simple cube? What if the mathematical computations are played out through billions of years, with infinite possibilities, with pieces (i.e., people and things) that don't necessarily fit within their given time and space, and can only later be understood through reflection or the revelation of other factors? What if God is beyond the scope we place on God? Beyond the books and sermons and suicides and prayers and judgments and boxes in which God so neatly fits? What if God can only be God? What if stopping all the evil would no more be of God than stopping all the good?

When I solve the cube I solve two opposite sides first; the opposites work in tandem with one another. They work together and rarely against each other. What if these opposite sides were to be seen as love/hate, evil/good, suffering/healing? What if to God the framework is not greater and lesser evils, but rather, greater and lesser goods? And what if it is about the intentions of things, rather than the acts themselves? For example, if I say to you is a mother evil if she purposefully shoots her child? Would it matter if I told you the mother was mentally ill? A criminal? Or if I told you that the mother had been wounded during war time, dying, and her eight year old girl would be raped, tortured, and killed by her captors. Would that make a difference?

We can only see through this glass darkly. We are trapped within the immediacy of our time. We attempt to understand the pieces of this cube we call life, but we don't know the intentions or strategy of the Cube Solver. Onlookers can only gasp and remain baffled by the movement of life within God's hands, and what appears to be the destruction of perfection, what we label as evil, could in the end, be set to serve the greater good.

the unilateral decision concerning bilateral hearts

You twice asked me to completely move on,

as if it were like stretching,

and not like rubbing sand to make diamonds.

I am amazed, blinded by your persistent

faith, by your dedicated, Catholic belief

that we are wrong for each other.

I wish I could sing like a lute;

words aside, harmonizing to your lilting voice.

But alas! I have lost. I am jazz to your self-reflective pop.

I once avoided an argument with you

over the use of the word ironic by Alanis Morissette.

We both remained smitten by her song.

It appears ironic to me that you were the only

one who fastidiously held to your druthers

that my death was not rapidly approaching.

This is ironic because, in truth, it was your hand,

thrusting that heavy dagger of disbelief

up under my rib, piercing my heart, and bleeding me out.

The complete story of this strange presence of death

In my early teens throughout my early 20s, I had this strong sense that I would die young, violently. Part of this sense had to do with what I envisioned myself doing in the future. I pictured myself working with gangs, ministering to them on the streets. As I got into my mid-twenties, the presence of death subsided within me.

Within the last two weeks of February in the year 2008, the appearance of death has revisited me. I want to document its path so that all can understand that I am not just superimposing random incidents, though, some of you may still feel, after reading these words, that I am being dramatic about some mere coincidences. So be it. I'm just trying to read the signs on the wall. I'm just paying attention to a sixth sense.

Let's start.

About four weeks ago, I found a bunch of bumper stickers that I had purchased about eight months ago when I was in California with a dear friend. I had thought that I had lost these bumper stickers because I couldn't figure out where I had misplaced them in my house. I was ecstatic when I found these bumper stickers. I looked through the lot of them and I chose four that I wanted to eventually put on my suitcase. The four were:

COEXIST (with each letter being drawn with a symbol from all the world's religions)

"Why do we kill people, who kill people, to teach that killing people is wrong?"

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." – John Lennon

Homophobia is a social disease.

Those were the four. Not a big deal; they were just bumper stickers.

Jump ahead.

Two weeks later, I woke up in the middle of the night because my stomach was bothering me, and I could not sleep. I decided to watch a couple of episodes of Joan of Arcadia. Unbeknownst to me, at that time, my mother, around the same time, jumped out of her sleep, panicked, stricken with an overwhelming fear that something bad was going to happen to me. But then again, my mom can worry about all her children. That's what mothers do. I didn't hear about her concern until the next day. I heard it in her voice: she was scared. I just ignored it, at the time, because she was annoying me. But I would like to go back to Joan of Arcadia for a minute.

I've spoke about this before, but I will reiterate now. Joan of Arcadia is not just a t.v. show to me. For some reason, (this will sound crazy to some of you), it speaks to me as if God is directly speaking to me, bringing forth lessons I need to learn or to which I need to pay closer attention. The first episode I watched in the wee hours of the morning was extremely moving to me. I cried because I felt so moved and sad by the story. I felt sad because of the people I've hurt in my life and those who have hurt me. That is what I was taking away from it at that moment. However, there was a scene in this episode that struck me as well. At the beginning of the episode, God, in the form of an older woman, said to Joan, "You need to pay close attention, Joan. You are about to be tested, and I need you to pay very close attention." A similar statement was repeated later on in the episode by God, in another human form. I wasn't paying attention at this point.

Jump ahead with me.

On Friday, February 22, I had a snow day. (Yay, for me!) I watched movies all day. One of the movies I watched was "The Killing of John Lennon", a story about Mark David Chapman, John Lennon's assassin. This guy, Chapman, was most assuredly mentally ill. He became obsessed with John Lennon being a phony and felt that his life mission was to kill Lennon. And that's what he did. John Lennon died a tragic, violent death. The movie was unsettling, but I wasn't reading the signs, yet. It was just a movie that made me think about the possibility of someone doing that to me.

(Now, my friends, I'm not having a god-complex nor am I thinking that I am so important that of course someone will want to kill me. Still, at times, I pay close attention to individual reactions after I do my show. Some of the reactions that I have experienced from audience members have been extreme, not violent, but extreme. After watching the killing of John Lennon, it just gave me pause to think about this. John Lennon and I shared a similar vision and philosophy concerning the world.)

In between my movie watching, on this Friday, I was burning CDs onto my iTunes so that I could eventually put it onto my iPod. There are several artists of whom I have multiple CDs. The ones for which I have the most CDs are: Bob Dylan, Ani DiFranco, Greg Brown, 2PAC, Larry Norman, Tori Amos, and Bright Eyes. When I load any one of these artists onto my iTunes I try to load their whole collection, so as not to forget which ones I have remaining.

Friday, I decided to put Larry Norman onto my iTunes. Larry Norman brings back a lot of memories for me. He has been labeled the grandfather of Christian rock. I hadn't listened to his music for quite some time; it was cool revisiting his planet. I looked up his website to see if he had any recent CDs. He did, but I couldn't order any of them because his website was under reconstruction. I saw that he was still doing performances, but had cancelled his last show on February 1^st.

Now, as I was burning some of his CDs onto my computer I went looking for my "Juno" cd. "Juno" is a movie that was up for best picture. I found my Juno cd underneath a movie called, "Across the Universe," a musical movie using no other music except Beatle songs. John Lennon was a member of the Beatles. At this point, I started feeling those old feelings of death. They weren't overwhelming, but they were there. I started to read the graffiti on the wall.

On Saturday, I continued to burn more cds of Larry Norman. I have too many cds of the man!

On Sunday, I woke up with a more intense feeling of my own death. There was science of logic to it, but it was strong. In getting dressed and packed, I grabbed my bumper stickers and put them on my suitcase. If you remember, one of the bumper stickers was, "You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." – John Lennon. My eyes were wide open.

On the plane, flying to Minnesota, I put my iPod on randomized and just mellowed to music. Currently, I have 7,634 songs on my iPod. That's a lot of songs! So, I found it odd that within the 1^st 10 songs two of them were John Lennon songs, one of them being "Imagine," the song from where the bumper sticker received its words. My heart started to race a little bit more.

On my drive to my hotel, I called Tessin. We are no longer married, but we have remained very close to one another. I needed to speak with her about what she needed to do, if anything were to happen to me. I told her that I had a very strong sense of my own death. I felt certain that I was to die soon, tragically. She immediately said, "Please, Michael, please, don't say that. I didn't tell you this because I didn't want to scare you, but in this last week, I have had two dreams of police officers coming to my home to inform me that you have been killed." I then thought about my mother's strong, frightening sense of some danger involving me. I shared this with Tessin. I scared Tessin.

On Sunday night, I wrote a blog on my MySpace. These are the words with which I started: 'There is no simple way to say this, so I will not mince words: My death feels imminent.' I tried to briefly explain to my readers that I feel this very strong sense of my untimely death. I was reading the writing on the wall, trying to make sense of it all.

On Monday evening, I read on Randy Stonehill's blog the following words: "Larry Norman's Passing to the Next Life." What? I read it. Larry Norman had died in his home on Sunday, two days after I 'randomly' (for you skeptics) began putting his music onto my iTunes. Now, understand this, I hadn't listened to Larry Norman for more than a year. I stunned into silence.

I scanned the internet for any articles I could find. One of the article that I read said the following words: "In a message posted on his Web site, written the day before his death, Norman said he knew death was imminent." He wrote that message the day after I looked at his website.

It's strange. I felt oddly comforted by Larry's death. I felt that I was not making up what I was feeling. And then the words of Joan of Arcadia hit me, again, "Pay attention, Michael. You are about to be tested."

I don't think that I necessarily have to die, yet, but I think that something is coming that will challenge my very physical existence, and if I pay attention, I will be able to survive it. I feel as if God may be giving me a chance to make that choice. I don't think my death is what is supposed to happen, unless I am careless, unless I fail to pay attention. The writing on the wall is too great to call it random. I am comforted by this, as well. And know this, my friends, (this includes you, my dear one), I love you deeply. I do not love wisely, but too well.

Thoughts on my daughter

Pet peeve. So, people want you, as a parent, to be tied to the themes of collective parenting. You discover this before your child is born, and throughout the child’s development. It goes something like this . . .

Be Giddy

At your child’s birth, you must be giddy, blown away by the fact that you produced (or involved in producing) this wonderful gift. Happiness should abound, doubt needs to be discarded; all is well.

The Famous Question

The famous question comes in form of a question, and sometimes it comes in the form of a statement. Simply stated, “Can you imagine your life without your child?” Or “I bet you can’t imagine what you did before your child was born!” People who say these things tend to have the same dumb, annoying smile spreading across their smackable faces.

The Innocent Fantasy

The innocent fantasy comes in a couple of forms, from what I can see. People want their children to remain “innocent” for as long as possible or forever, whichever one happens last. Or they raise holy fire on sport athletes if they show their deteriorating humanity, because, you know, their kids are going to be ruined now. Their children have idolized these athletes and these athletes owe their lives, their perfection, to the generation of innocent children. Dammit!

Just you wait

“Oh, well, just you wait until they become teenagers . . .” And blah, blah, blah.

My response

The birth of my daughter was not a happy day for me; I was embarrassed. I didn’t see myself as a father. I didn’t want to be a father. Nothing about the position offered solace. I didn’t love Saskia until she was five months. Friends couldn’t understand this . . . or could they? I think some could, but they were afraid about what the pressure police would think. I was anything but giddy at my daughter’s entrance.

Yes! I can very clearly imagine my life without my daughter in it. Do I wish this to happen? By no means! However, my life was not empty without my daughter; it is filled differently, now, but it feels more like a reshaping than a mere filling. And perhaps it is best stated by this card I picked up a couple of months ago: There are lives I can imagine without children, but none of them have the same laughter and noise. My days with my daughter is a gift, if she were taken from me tomorrow, I would be less for a while, but eventually more, having known her pretty voice. And my life would continue.

I don’t want Saskia to be innocent forever. I don’t. One of my friends was asking me how I will explain to Saskia about my art and photography collection. I have paintings and photography, hanging in my house, which entails artistic levels of nudity. I have no shame about this. They are not pornographic, and I do not hold puritanical sensibility when it comes to art . . . or life for that matter. I will have little to explain to Saskia. In truth, it will be society who must explain their position: to hide that which is beautiful.

In addition, Saskia will be her own hero, her own self striving to become her better self. No idols or expectations of perfection within the human race. Failure is part of our humanity, our essence, our greatness. We can do something that supposedly God cannot do: we can fail; we can grow.

And as far as waiting until my daughter turns a teenager, I will be ready when it happens. I love a challenge, and I don’t run from fights or roaring bears. I simply breathe, hoping to calm to storm and quell the tribulation. We’ll see. . .

nine one one

9-1-1
i got an emergency
9-1-1
can you hear me?

and 9-1-1 must have been dialed
a hundred thousand times on that day
when we got played
and tall buildings came crashing down
to that terrible, but terrific silence
of sound
and there was no one around
to answer our calls
because darkness was rising
like ashes that fall
so we all scattered to hide behind
imaginary walls
of fear

9-1-1
i got an emergency
9-1-1
fear is starting to cease me

and the real irony:
the people who were early for work that day
got worked that day
without the pay
and the people who were late
were right on time
to see planes and bodies exploding
like nursery rhymes
“rock-a-bye baby on a tree top”
and just like when the bough breaks
if you jump from a burning building
you will drop
and pop
goes the weasel
and chicken little was running around screaming
“the sky is falling”
and we were all bawling like little red riding hood
lost in the woods
so the big bad wolf hung us all from a noose

9-1-1
i got an emergency
9-1-1
there’s a new enemy

and new friends were found
and new enemies were born
on the day that america’s bravado was torn
and Ha Shem and Buddha and Jesus
all drank from one chalice
but Allah was crucified
by Ignorance’s malice
and you were better off just hiding your face
if kufis or olive tones betrayed your religion or race
because a cowboy was president
and revenge was our case

9-1-1
i got an emergency
9-1-1
who is my enemy?

what languages do they speak
and in what countries do they live
the limp of their walk
their eyes, their smell, the way they talk
to you, to me
then to each other
should i kill! kill! kill!
even if it’s my brother?
or mother, or father
my sister, my child
will the pointer aim at them
when they move the dial?
i’m just asking –
the mucus is making it hard to see
which ‘them’ i should call my enemy
and wait, the dial, it’s turning again
but this time (surprise, surprise)
it’s pointing right at my friends

9-1-1
i got an emergency
9-1-1
they’re surrounding me
9-1-1
am i the enemy?
9-1-1
i am not the enemy