My Big Sister

I want to share a few words about my big sister, Veronica.

She was my mother's first born. And she wasn't expected to survive. She was born with two holes in her heart, under developed lungs, and a physical deformity of her hands and arms.

She underwent one of the very first open-heart surgeries in South Texas. At the age of 3, they opened her chest and surgically closed the dime-sized hole in one of the upper chambers and the quarter-sized hole in one of the lower chambers of her heart.

Her lungs were a different story. There was nothing they could do about their condition. They were underdeveloped and produced a never ending supply of thick, choking phlegm. Veronica would struggle with every breath for the rest of her life. 

As a result, she was always required to take medications to loosen the phlegm so she could get it out of her lungs. She was also required to do regular steroid treatments to open her constricted airways.

Despite starting life with these issues, she was strong. And she fought. My parents were also relentless about keeping up with her medications as a child. And as a result of all that effort, Veronica's condition was so well managed she grew and thrived.

In fact, she did so well she even found some rebelliousness in her teen years.

By the time she was 18 she was so well that she moved out. In fact she couldn't wait to leave. She wanted to make her own rules and much like her rock idols from Motley Crue, she lived for the party and people who just wanted to have a good time.

For the next several years she put herself and my parents through hell. Veronica wasn't taking care of herself the way they thought she should and was surrounding herself with questionable characters. But Veronica loved her independence and loved living by her own rules.

And as every parent learns one way or the other, you can't live your child's life for them. 

As for me, all I knew is that I missed my big sister. She was a great big sister to me.

I remember when I was little, walking down the hall to her room whenever I was lonely or bored.

She'd be there sitting on the bed, usually writing, either poems or stories or elaborate notes to friends. Despite the physical limitations of her hands she had incredible handwriting.

There was also always music coming from her room. Her favorite band was Motley Crue. She loved rock and at that time Hair Metal was big. Whether is was Poison, Cinderella, Bon Jovi, Ratt or whatever--she loved it all. But no one more than Motley Crue. She had their posters all over her wall and should often times have their music blaring--much to the dismay of my parents.

I loved going in there. Sometimes I would just sit with her. She was always willing to talk or just let me hang out. She was also the only one always willing to play games with me.

If I was tired she'd put her things aside and let me cuddle up with her and take a nap.

She would soothe me and make me feel like I wasn't alone, and at times I really needed it more than I understood. She took such great care of me as child. She was a great big sister like that. So even though I was much older and had grown somewhat distant from her by the time she moved out, I still missed her when she left the house.

I don't know the details of the wars she and my parents had, or what happened between my brother and her but we just kept growing apart from her.

Veronica was determined to live her life her own way. She surrounded herself with people who I think made her happy and made her feel like family. But they were much different than our family and lived a much rougher way of life. As a result, she drifted further from us.

I think she would have liked to see us more often, but her lifestyle made it very difficult. For me, it was hard to see her begin struggling more and more. We all tried to help her at one time or another but none of it seemed to make much difference. Some of this had to with the fact that Veronica was never going to give up having a good time.  She was never going to do what we wanted her to do, including taking better care of herself. And she was never going to give up the life she made for herself. She wasn't going to give any of it up to move back in with my parents.

I've realized it may not have been the path I wanted for her, but it may have been the path that brought her some kind of happiness and personal satisfaction. Whatever the case it wasn't an easy path in terms of the toll it took on her health. But that can't be the only measure of wellness in a person's life. And success for one person will never be the same for another.

She sought out her own life. And she was dedicated to it and would not compromise it. And that's just the way it was going to be.

When Veronica was born my mother was told to prepare for the worst. Veronica was not expected to live more than a few years. Well as my aunt says, "She was a miracle from the beginning," and I believe it. She was a survivor. And she lived a hard life but she took from it everything she could in the time she had. And in the end I think that's all that matters.

I'll miss my sister. I'll never forget the tenderness she showed me as a child. I'll always be inspired by her strength in living with her health problems and physical limitations.

I sometimes play with the crazy idea that she took the bullet for my brother and I. What if it had been one of us that was dealt that hand of being the first born with those challenges? Would we have handled it with such strength. Would we have shown as much caring for our younger siblings despite all of it? And it makes me grateful for her and feel fortunate for the life I have. She started out behind in the race. There was nothing she did to deserve it and nothing anyone can say to make any sense out of it or reason for it. It's just the way it was.

Now, my sister's journey on this Earth is over. I don't believe in supernatural things. I don't believe in any gods or in an afterlife like Heaven.

But now I think I understand why some people would hope a place like Heaven existed. Where a loved one, who struggled so seemingly undeservedly, could go and live eternity in peace and happiness.

Believe me if there was a place like that I'd definitely want my sister to go. No doubt about it. She'd not only deserve it but she'd have earned it.

In the end I think all we have is the life we lead. The good things we do, the lives we touch, the people we love, and the memories we leave behind in the minds of those who remain. And probably most important of all, the feelings we leave in their hearts. That's our afterlife.

I could go on sharing more memories of Veronica. Believe me, so many have flooded my mind in the past few days. But perhaps that's best left for another time. For now I'll just say to my sister, thank you for being my big sister. Thank you for showing me what it's like to let your heart lead the way without fear. You were a miracle to me and I'll miss you dearly Veronica. Love you always sis.

Happy Birthday To Me!

It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to. And I would say if you aren’t crying on your birthday for one reason or another, than you’re doing it wrong.

I’m 38 today. It’s a good 38. It’s filled with mistakes, with regrets, and with what-ifs? It’s chock-full of realizations, embarrassments, and humiliations. There’s more than it’s fair share of pain and suffering. Loads of misunderstandings. Some that have been resolved and some that will never see that day. And if I could, maybe I would go back and fix everything that I needed. But I can’t and so I move on but never forget about it.

There are people who believe it’s a waste to dwell on the past. Especially on the “bad” parts. But after 38 years I’ve learned a few lessons. One of which is there is absolutely nothing wrong with feeling bad things. Trying to avoid them is the primary source of unhappiness and a major obstacle to living a full, satisfying life.

So never forget your past. The uglier or more disappointing thing you can remember the better. For one thing, you will experience the actual feelings which is far better than always running from them or trying to avoid them. The only way to get over them is to feel them. Trust me, you will find you are stronger than you ever imagined as a result.

(I don’t mean to be preachy here, but it’s just the easiest writing style for me.)

Another lesson that has benefited me greatly is that I understand there are only a few things that are within my control. The rest is up to fate, circumstance, coincidence, etc. So when I’m able to focus on the things I can control and let go of the futile grip on the things I can’t, life is amazing. It is exactly what it’s supposed to be, pure potential.

That’s right, on this my 38 birthday I am firmly secure in the realization that life is simply potential. As long as you are still above ground anything within the known and unknown realm of possibilities is possible. Keep in mind, this is different from what is likely to happen. They are very different and dictated by circumstance.

Nonetheless, I find this perspective exciting and filled with possibility. And so that’s my life at this point. That’s where I’ve arrived.

One other thing I’ve found is that I’m happier the further I get from religion. I mention this because it’s been a bigger thorn in my side (pardon the pun) than I have realized. Religion is the yoke that keeps people on one path filled with empty promises and false teachings, at best.

At worst, religion teaches pain, suffering, inequity, violence, anger, and hatred beneath the promise of salvation. It’s accepted as a standard of reality so the hardest part of no longer participating in it means being endlessly surrounded by it in every aspect of life.

I do not fault anyone who finds peace and solace within religion’s borders. But the only way that I’ve ever found this to be possible is when a person ignores parts of it that are in disagreement with their own view. But there’s no need focus on that bag of rocks that I’ve finally let go of.

As I mentioned at the outset, shedding tears on your birthday is a sign that things are either going in a good direction or that you’re missing something. Either way, the feedback is enormously helpful. Any captain will tell you, they would rather know they were going the wrong direction than not know at all.

Fortunately, my tears are of deep appreciation and joy. I love my family. My partner in life is my best goddamn friend in the world. She’s a decent person to a fault who loves with me with the entirety of her weird little soft heart which she protects fiercely. My son is healthy and happy and I have the good fortune to spend my every waking minute with him during his sweet and innocent childhood.

I don’t have any secrets from the people that I love and call my friends and family. So my conscience is clear. My dog listens to me most of the time and likes to spend time with me most days. I have a roof over my head. I have food in the cupboards and there’s clothes in my closet. Thankfully, I have my health. I could not ask for more.

But I will make a wish on my birthday. I wish for being able to spend more time with loved ones. For them to be comfortable being themselves around me, just as I am with them. To connect and continue making warm memories and having good times. That’s my wish. Happy Birthday to me! Now where’s the food?

You know it's bad when the restroom's the nicest part of your store

The other day I decided to extend my search for Halloween decorations to a well-known big box style craft store. It was located in a fairly decent part of town, so I was absolutely caught off guard by the completely depressing condition of the store.

Walking in the front doors, the sadness was palpable. It only took me a few steps into the aisles and a weird encounter with a confused old lady, that I could've sworn had a cart full of dead cats, to realize I had made a mistake.  You could've cut the despair in the store with a knife. Right about the time I was ready to call this particular adventure over, Camden tells me he has to go potty. So I thought, okay Dan, looks like we're going to kick this situation up a notch. Because nothing turns up the volume on a potentially bad situation like taking a child to a public restroom.

Now, I didn't want to go wandering around the store any more than I had to, so I asked the nice lady at the checkout with the tattoo of a tear drop under her eye and some kind of dragon on her neck if she could point me in the direction of closest men's room. She was very helpful which was off putting for some strange reason. It was like the one thing that didn't match in this situation, and it messed with my head a little.

Equipped with the location of the restrooms, I parked the cart by the giant pallet of off-brand mayonnaise nearby and headed into the men's room with Camden in my arms. Upon opening the door I, as they say, hoped for the best but prepared for the worst. Much to my delight it wasn't terrible. There was only one stall but thankfully it wasn't occupied.

Let me give you a quick rundown of the amenities. It had everything on a hobos checklist including, running water, soap, and a flushing toilet. There was not one but two toilet brushes, a giant fake plant situated in front of an empty paper towel dispenser, and a stall door with no locking mechanism. I must note here that the toilet wasn't bad. It was clean and in fine working condition.

So I sat Camden down on a nest of toilet paper and he did his business which luckily was your basic number one. Then it was my turn. I figured I'd go real quick while we were at it.

As soon as I had my situation on cruise control, I turned to check on Camden right as he was reaching for one of the toilet brushes--and not the handle part. He was reaching for the bristles and he was only centimeters away when I saw him.

And a curious thing happened at that moment. Before actually pushing out the words "Don't touch that," I began thinking about how I could help him overcome having a hook for a hand. They say in intense moments people report time slowing down. Well this was definitely my experience, for everything but my thoughts. I imagined the filth of that toilet brush. Then I pictured poor little hook-handed Camden playing with his toys, all while he continued, in slow motion, to get closer to that toilet brush.

Somehow I managed to form the words I needed and stopped him just in time. And he just looked at me without a clue as to why dad was all of sudden covered in flop sweat. I closed up shop with myself as quickly as I could then we washed our hands and air dried them as best we could before making our way directly to the store's exit.

As we walked to the car, I noticed wet sprinkles on the front of my shorts which I hoped were from air drying our hands and not collateral damage from having to deal with the toilet brush incident midstream. Nonetheless, we made it out of there without the gifts of a used toilet brush and have agreed to never speak of those events again. Okay, except maybe for this and if anyone asks about it.

We're having Nemo for dinner, wait where are you going?

Like a lot of kiddos growing up today in America, Camden is a big fan of animated movies, television shows, and books with talking, human-like animals. Everything from Dora the Explorer to Finding Nemo has some kind of anthropomorphic animal. Our personal library alone has several books with some kind of talking pig, dog, bear, or worms. Some are just regular free-ranging animals while others , live in houses, go to work or go shopping, and wear clothes just like us.

And it's cute and everything. Like on Chicken Run, where those chickens are not only human talk and build stuff they also live in coops. And they spend pretty much the entire movie trying to avoid being eaten by humans. So their constantly running around scared with the ever-present threat of becoming food for humans.  Cute right? And that's just one example. So you're probably wondering what's the problem? Well I don't know if it's a problem, see what you think.

Could it be possible that all these images of anthropomorphic animals are sending some kids a mixed message at dinner time? Hey kids, check out this talking chicken and his family. They live just like us and wear clothes and think and feel just like us. Oh, you love them? Well now eat them. Yeah, it's a little weird don't you think. 

It's no wonder Camden refuses to eat his food whenever we're serving one his cartoon friends. Why would he want to eat Nemo, or the cows from Barnyard, or the pigs from the Three Little Pigs who spend the whole story trying to avoid being eaten by the villain, the bad guy, the Big Bad Wolf? I mean in the story he's supposed to empathize with the pigs right? Why would he eat them then? Why not just make him eat our dog?

So I wonder, does he think it's the same? I don't know. All I'm saying is that it's possible. That when he sees personified animals he may get the idea that they aren't food. 

Of course, meat isn't the only food that Camden refuses to eat. He won't eat broccoli. But he's never liked broccoli. He's also never seen a talking stalk of broccoli with shoes and a hat talking about how his dream was to be a famous rockstar, so I think it's a little different. Plus, he used to eat meat, before he reached the point in development where he started figuring out more things.

So what's the answer? Should I keep him from anything that personifies animals? Yeah, that's probably not going to happen. I mean I don't really think he thinks Will Smith's character, Oscar, from Shark Tales is real. But maybe he can't stomach eating "fish" when he associates it with one of his cartoon buddies. Maybe. 

Good Enough For Me

Powering through a sink full of dishes with the help of strong coffee and Johnny Cash on the ipod, my experience as a stay-home dad is one of plugging holes in a dam of a large reservoir of shit that needs to get done. And there's never enough time to do it all.

Thankfully, I have the support of a special lady that can somehow stand my dark, prickly guts for more than two seconds. I am also fortunate to have a little kiddo who is content enough keeping himself busy managing his fleet of cars and trucks, books, and puzzles--of which he is absolutely crazy about. And then there's the dog, who of course would much rather be running alongside me on a bike ride than being stuck inside with us all day, but is also happy enough curled up on whatever couch Camden isn't using to inventory his toys on.

Unfortunately, what I also have is a propensity for procrastination with a generous side-helping of laziness. Well perhaps it's not really laziness. It's more of a deep-seeded need to see how much goofing off I can get away with before the stacks of dishes and laundry reach the ceiling. Luckily, I have a fairly low tolerance for messiness so it's kind of constant internal struggle--laziness versus my need for order. I know, sounds fun being me right? Well, it has it's moments.

When I've knocked out a large load of dishes, or have had a few weeks of not running out of socks or underwear because I've kept up with the laundry, or not received a letter from the over-reactive HOA telling me it's time to cut my grass, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment. Hell it's more than that, it's like I'm conquering shit. I'm like Cortez and his Spanish buddies stepping on the necks of the Aztecs with in their metal armor with muskets and horses. The Aztecs in this analogy being the laundry of course.

Okay, maybe that's a little overboard, but staying in the black with the household responsibilities is a huge accomplishment for me. And if you are one of the people who's been my roommate or co-worker, you would know firsthand this news is somewhat noteworthy. Now things aren't spotless, but the baby and I aren't wearing burlap sacks over here, so score one for dad. A low bar you say? Well, then I haven't clearly explained my almost clinical aversion to manual labor. See, even my explanations don't work. But the dishes are done, the wife is fed before she leaves for work, and the baby's had his milk in a clean-ish glass. And that's good enough for me.