Whatever's Right

My good friend Matt's father, Ervin Conens, passed away today at the 'ripe old age' of 87. Since the age of 13, I've been friends with Matt, and his family, and they've seen me grow up over the past 40 some years. His father, whom we affectionately called "Mr. C." in our close circle of 4 friends, was always welcoming, engaging, and quick with a story or odd tidbit or observation.


Matt and I have remained friends all our lives, despite more than once having had enough of each other's quirks and characteristics. His home was always open to me and I would visit frequently, weekly in my youth and several times a year as age and responsibility took me on my own path. My children met his parents on more than one occasion as they too grew up. Beyond my own parents, I've likely known his the longest of almost all my friends. And of all my friends parents, Matt's mom and dad were as close to family as I have had outside of my own.

 

As I came to understand it through the occasional conversation about deeper matters then Springsteen and spring fever, Matt's father was the source of both pride and frustration for him, as I expect it is for all sons including myself. And likely my own. From my own experience with the conflicts of parent/child relationships, having been on both sides of the fence, the love between a father and a son is a battle of wills and control for both sides. Neither really wants to win yet nether really wants to lose. The independence of the child is the natural goal and heartbreak of adolescence, while adulthood brings the recognition of the father as not just a figure head, but a man with all the qualities and shortcomings of any human being, including yourself. Bringing up a child ready to stand tall and resolute against forces in the world far more daunting then the shadowy figure of a blocked doorway at bedtime enforcing a curfew regardless of one's need to finish the last 4 pages in order to find out what happens to Magneto and Titanium Man is just one measure of success. Another is bringing up a son with the right values, character and judgement to make choices in life that choose right over wrong. He did so. And he influenced me in many positives ways with his character, charm, approachability and good nature.

 

During the past decade I've been to see Mr. & Mrs C somewhere between 25-50 times. Some were short visits while dropping by to pickup Matt or drop something off while others were opportunities to visit with the full family, all seated around a small round kitchen table telling stories and sharing thoughts. I've memories of pulled pork sandwich dinners, of a night without power spent listening to music on a wind up victrola, and of watching the last Johnny Carson show with them in their living room. There's plenty more yet one stands out as key. I visited in January of 2013, after a medical scare had taken place and my gut told me the opportunities to spend some quality time with him would be diminishing. So on that visit I sat down, and focused my attention and dialog on Mr. C., asking questions, bringing up history, and laughing a great deal all the while. It was not my last visit but one of the more 'rich' ones and the one I have in my mind as i write this. I remember leaving that night, doing 'the secret handshake' and thinking silently to myself that if this was the last time I saw him, I'd feel good about his knowing he was an important part of my life.

 

I have joked for decades with he and his wife that I was the son they really wanted, but didn't get. They always made me feel, from way back in 1973, like a part of their family. That never wained, even up to having the opportunity to visit him one last time in the hospital last week. I learned of his passing earlier today and although expected, It took me by surprise to have been so saddened by the news that I had to take time in my car to regroup from the tears. Tears for my friends family's loss as well as my own.

 

The burial is to be a small group, mostly family, of which I am honored to be considered an extended part of.

I'm grateful that I have a friend letting me stay with him while I sort some parts of my life out. I'm grateful for the opportunity to use the camping space my kids helped me build to add some adventure and fun into their lives and make memories. I'm grateful for the positive feedback I received today doing some strong management of personnel and projects. I'm grateful to have had a chance to hear some interesting radio discussions that touched on issues relevant to me. I'm grateful that I took the time to capture a note to myself this evening later brother who recognized as a being powerful.

I am grateful for the opportunities I have to do things that affect others positively. I am grateful for my ability to feel compassion and empathy. I am grateful for the willpower that is allowing me to set and achieve goals. I am grateful for the creativity and dry since of humor and I am instilling my children, as it was instilled in me. I am grateful for my capacity to always be thinking and coming up with ideas and solutions to numerous circumstances or problems.

Choosing The Right

When I started dating a woman years ago, she had a "CTR" ring on her hand. I asked her what it meant and she said it was a principle that guided her decisions in life. We were making out at the time and it soon explained why things never progressed further. She was Mormon and CTR meant "choose the right". As in making the right decision.

I had a great weekend with my son and daughter but when the time for me to leave came, earlier then is usual, things got difficult. She seemed fine but he was clearly upset and struggling with my incoming departure. It went from anger to challenge to tears and ended in a clearly painful concession and statements of love for me through an obviously forced smile.

It broke my heart. I did not "have to leave" then but I would have eventually. As has been the case a few times of late, a really great time ends with a struggle at the time I have to go. He wants me to stay. And I want to stay for him and for his benefit but I also leave for his and my own benefit too. Staying is not an option, at least not a healthy one, for either of us.

 It's a horrible situation and his sensitivity to it seems to have increased in parallel with the quality of the time we spend together. It makes perfect sense to me but at his age, it makes none at all. He wants me there. What child would not?

 Choosing the right is extremely difficult in this situation. The right seems to have "the wrong" tied to it in any scenario, and that is something I struggle to balance daily. I left because situations become unbearable and those have not changed. Yet there is now something else unbearable and unless I am completely and inexcusably cruel and self-focused I can't let it go unaddressed.

We sat and talked before I left. When the forced smiles began. I did all I could to convey that I love him and will be back tomorrow. But he's 10. He can't understand why. And I can't make it so he does.

I am grateful for having reached a point in my life where I chose to take a challenging path, stopping behaviors and changing scenarios that may have been keeping me from being true to myself. I am grateful for the support and generosity of friends that have given me just the right amount of opportunity to make this change. I am so grateful for the love of my children. I am grateful for the knowledge that anything I choose to do I honestly can accomplish as long as I keep my eyes on the goal and not the obstacles. I am grateful for the interest I have an understanding the natural world around me which is both fascinating and humbling.

Evacuation Alarm

I found myself with some friends this evening and over the course of the conversation, the topic of home alarms came up. I relayed that there'd been some neighborhood issues and that my wife had expressed significant concern about safety at the house in my absence, as if my presence would somehow prevent an attempted break in. As if I'm some hulking and intimidating figure that would strike fear into the hearts of wrong-doer's. I said to my friends "Why does she thing my being there would make a difference? What's going to happen, is the burgery expected to slip on my urine?"

Write When You Thought You Were Through

I am, deep down and at heart, a writer. I'm not saying I'm a great one, but I believe I am a decent one, and I certainly have long had an ingrained yearning to do so. I have many thoughts to share, many statements to make, many observations to... uh... observe.



I was on a roll a few years ago. I was writing like a mad dog, but with better dexterity on the keyboard, and less foaming at the mouth. There was foaming, though. Look back. Oh, there was foaming.



Then things changed. I wrote some deeply personal things and discovered through my wife and my friends that on occasion, It felt weird and awkward to them. I would rant about how difficult a day of juggling my workload was only to be cautioned by my wife (a former HR rep) that it might not be good to do so. I'd write about deep heartfelt issues related to parenting or fatherhood only to be surprisingly approached by a colleague who'd read it and had some thoughts to share. This wasn't a truly close friend, yet now they knew something about my personal life I might not have otherwise shared.



It was a time of change, too. I lost my job. We'll, I didn't lose my job, I mean, I know where it is and everything, it's just if I go there, there's this other guy doing it*. I got laid off. It was a tough time. My focus was not on writing, but on surviving.



I shut down the blog and in it's down state, I methodically removed all references to myself. I didn't want to encounter another co-worker who wanted to debate my political observations as I was standing in line for lunch. Sure, being let go helped avoid that specific issue playing out, but you get the idea.



Life continued. I went off, I did my business, I established a new career path, and I've since thrived. I've climbed, grown personally and professionally, and have spent the past year embarking on a soul searching effort that has been life changing for more than just myself. I hate to categorize it as a mid-life crisis but after turning 50 something clicked and I started question not only what I was doing in may aspects of my life, but why, and if it was really what I wanted to be doing with whatever time I might have left.



All along the way, the thoughts, rants, humor and observations have been building up inside of me like a latex balloon attached to a high pressure fire hose. The time has come to release this backlog and pop that sucker. My outlook has been up and down, my self esteme has been up and down, and my sense of any purpose or possibilites about the life I have been living has been very up and down. Yet my blog and my writing, the cathartic process wherein I worked out and focused on all the things that make or break my success and contributed to my own personal self worth, has just been down.



Until now.



I'm setting an aggressive goal. I want to try and quickly reach a goal of writing once a day for a full year. I was doing that before, it's not unachievable, but it will require a significant effort on my part to do so. I may need a little ramp time but if I can't find the time to jot even a simple paragraph or two once a day, I'm not taking care of myself. And that's bad.



I have decided to stop thinking about what I needed to do to get the ball rolling again. I would typically obsess about getting the right tools, a theme of images, specific formatting and style, and all that other crap that would have otherwise gotten in the way. None of that matters more than writing.



So here I go.



No pre-thought, no strategy, no established plan of action. Just writing. Again.