Facebook is like a brother to me

Facebook, you're a funny thing.

And not in a funny, humorous, "Am I a clown, do I amuse you?" kind of way, but in a fickle friend, somebody-please-give-me-a-warning-if-you're-having-a-bad-day way.

Blogging and tweeting are similar, but not in as personal a way as Facebook is.

For example, a couple years ago I remember talking to my friend about how we love Taco Bell so much and how if we were a Taco Bell menu item we would be _________.

This spurred a Facebook status post asking "If you were a Taco Bell menu item, what would you be?"

I'd say in about two hours there were 50+ comments and at least 75 likes.

BUT

When I share something about Support the Arts, or pose a question of something, dare I say, serious or (for fear of sounding condescending or snooty) intellectual, I'll maybe get three likes and people rarely comment on it to share an opinion or have a conversation about it.

Occasionally, when I see someone else's status and it pertains to something I don't agree with, or would like to learn more about, or have some opinion on in any way, I tend to keep scrolling because who likes getting into actual conversations or (the horror!) an online argument.

I totally get that, by nature, most of us are non-confrontational, but does that mean we can't have conversations through our laptops and smart phones? I know that having a round table discussion about marriage equality, abortion, vaccines, immigration, politics, or whatever can be intense for many people because of volume, interruptions, eye contact, body temperature...whatever physiological reactions may occur, but online you're safe behind your computer wherever you're typing. No one can interrupt you, and you have as much time as you need to think things out, present them rationally, and breathe through whatever nervousness you have.

I guess what I really mean is...

Why have we drifted so far away from actually talking to each other? And why have Like buttons and Shares claimed plots in our land of communication skills?

And why has social media become such a factor in sharing feelings, asking questions, relationships, jobs, and essentially every aspect in life whether it's interpersonal, individual, happy or sad, joyous or sadness?

Why is it so simple for friends/followers to Like, Share, RT or double tap for like anything devoid of emotional response or critical thinking, but when there's an actual discussion that could be had where questions could be asked, viewpoints can be shared, and knowledge can be exchanged, we clear the road like a wild west duel at high noon?

Maybe this is more a question for Facebook programmers' algorithms for News Feed sharing. How do you decide what's important to share in my friends' feeds? Is anything relating to food, sports, or pop culture highlighted? Is it based on #NowTrending topics? Or is there a filter that actually hides posts with emotional/inquisitive words like "feel" or "help" or "why?"

Facebook, you're like a brother to me.

But in the way that I know "brother" as I was raised and not as I learned to use the word brother as in "my brothers were in my wedding party" or "I served aboard a submarine with my brothers".

You're like the older kid that lives in the house with me but doesn't really talk to me. You're that guy that is  used as a model for excellence for when I screw up, and as someone who takes credit for when I succeed. I share with you in hopes of conversation, but all you really want to know is what I had for lunch, how many games of Words With Friends I'm playing, and how many other social media apps you can follow me on.

You don't really care that I have a job, as long as you know I have one. Nor do you really care what's on my mind, how I'm feeling, what I'm watching, eating, reading, listening to, or what. You don't what to know why anything is going on, but more so just what.

Or maybe this is really about people I think I connect with on Facebook.

So I'm taking back control of my life online as I am taking back control of my life in the sunlight with my feet on the ground and the warmth on my face. I'm not worried about Likes or Shares or updating my information or if you care how many firsts, or places I've been, or relationship status, or hometown, whatever.

I'm calling the shots. I write my own chapters. I ask my own questions. But if you really care what Taco Bell item I am, then ask someone else. I'm a Sonic Chicago dog with cheese tots and a strawberry limeade. I'm a fresh funnel cake with powdered sugar on top--straight up classic no frills. I'm a chocolate Frosty with fries on a summer day while you sit on the curb with sweat dripping down your calf from the back of your knee.

And yeah, if you care, I love my job as a Service and Training Manager at Old Navy. My hometown is TBD because home is home wherever it is. But I was raised in Oakland and Antioch, California. I don't specify that as my singular hometown, though. The LBC is also my home. As is VB back east. And does it really matter if I select Separated, Single, or Divorced? Because anyone that really wants to know could probably have a better conversation with me than your drop down menu.

My life is my life and sometimes I'm more raw and open about it than some people are ready for.

But the cool thing about social media--whether it's a blog like this, or a tweet, or a Facebook status--is that it's like leaving a postcard on the floor of a club. Most people will probably step on it or over it, but every once in a while, something will catch someone's eye and they may read it.  Someone may even pick it up and share it with someone.

Whatever happens to it, I got it out in the open, and for me, that makes it more real. That puts my thoughts down "on paper," for public consumption, and I stand behind what I say. That's really me. And as much as I don't fulfill the stereotype for musical-loving theatre geek...

Take me or leave me.

PBDC Day 11/31: Something Good

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A friend of mine shared an image on his Facebook page that stated something to the effect of, "1 song has the power to reignite 1000 memories." So true. So very true.

While searching through different versions before going with the one used above, there were so many comments of attributing That 70s Show to their introduction to this song. Stuff like that makes me cringe, but I try to stay open. Television shows often make references to past events and memorable media, the most recent example coming from my wife, who, before a couple nights ago had never seen Dead Poets Society, but had heard about it in a reference in HIMYM, and from other instances when I had brought it up having seen it before.

Professor Keating has found his way back into the minds of a new generation of students thanks to this iPad commerical:

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Sidenote: Robin Williams is freaking amazing.

Music is wonderful. Movies are fantastic. But today's prompt doesn't ask for things that are wonderful or fantastic, it urges to look for something good. And when I got home from work today I knew what I wanted to capture.

It was a hug from my wife when I got home. Yes, she did know I was taking this picture when I did, and I gave her a full-on hug, focused on her aside from the one in the shot.

I love hugs. I always have as far back as I can remember. I want to say at one point in high school (or somewhere) I was voted (perhaps unofficially) as one of the Best Huggers. Being shorter than most of my friends and classmates throughout grade school, hugs were fantastic (but sometimes dangerous if the group hug gets a little out of control). They're simple, readily available, and one size fits all. But for myself, going back to little kid-sized Marlon, hugs from my much taller friends were great. I felt safe. I felt protected. Well, actually there's no reason to make that past tense. When it comes to a good hug, I feel safe. I feel protected. I feel cared for and loved.

It's a simple act that you can pretty much share with anyone who's open to it. It isn't overly aggressive, and it isn't linked to romantic exclusivity like a kiss or sex. Still, some aren't comfortable with hugs, and that's ok, but I am. I love hugs. Handshakes are professional. Hugs are friendly.

Have you hugged someone today? Why not?


Hugs are definitely something good.

PBDC Day 2/31: Something Borrowed

New tenants moved into the apartment across the hall from us. Haven't officially met them, and with the group of folks that were helping them move, I couldn't tell who the new tenants were and who was just helping. And with the anticipation of meeting the new neighbors, a peculiarly-phrased question arose in my mind.

"Could I borrow a cup of sugar?"

My answer would have to be, "No."

I was more often faced with a similar request outside bars, or in smoking areas on base or on campus, "Could I borrow a cigarette?"

To which, I would still reply, "No. But you can have one."

American English is my primary language, and I feel that I am an above-average wordsmith in the company that I keep. That being said, there are numerous occasions in which certain uses of common words make me cringe. The aforementioned request for a sweetener leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Most people I know wouldn't bat an eye, but today it's about semantics.

What does "borrow" mean to you? For most people, myself included, it would mean using something that belongs to someone else with the intention of returning it. According to Merriam-Webster online, an auxiliary definition of "borrow" is

"To take and use up (something) with the promise to give back something of equal value"

Meaning, technically, "borrowing" a cup of sugar, or a cigarette, or any other consumable, is not incorrect phrasing.

But really, before you read that secondary definition, did you ever use the word "borrow" with that definition in mind?

I didn't think so. In any case, here's my photo for the day:

Last month's Day 3 post, Metal, shared a little story about my first apartment in Long Beach, and this month's Day 2 post is about my current apartment. Most folks would use the term "renting" in regards to living spaces, but renting is really just borrowing with a monetary exchange included.

Borrowing this place is a great idea for now because we don't have any kids or pets, and we don't know how long we'll be living here. There's a lot to consider when it comes to moving: jobs, weather, schools, timing, family, friends, the list is monstrous. But as of right now (with the exception of winter spanning across five months), we're right where we need to be.

We'll give it back eventually, but for now, it's home.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 28/28: Up

I love seeing the sun rise. As I ready myself for March, having the long winter we've been experiencing here in Indiana, seeing the sun, even for just a few minutes is a sign of warmth to come. The sun coming up symbolizes so many things: new beginnings, a reminder of how the world operates in cycles, you've been at the strip club too long, the list goes on.

Typically, I view the sunrise in a positive light, accepting it as day greeting me with warmth, illumination, and a brand new start. Lately, because of the clouds, there have been plenty of mornings where the sunrise has been blocked from view, but I know it's still there.

I also enjoy a nice sunset. This next picture I captured just over a month ago as I leaving work. Enjoying a break in the clouds as the sun shared some warmth in the frigid Indiana air, I felt a sense of relief with the vision of an oasis of seasons warmer.

Whenever I look up at the sky, even at night when I see if I can find my favorite constellation, Orion, I take a couple of deep breaths and think for a few moments to bask in the concept of how large our world and universe really is. And most times, I smile about it because the perspective helps me refocus myself and realize that there are things I can directly affect and things I cannot.

Perspective is a wonderful thing, and as I got home today after work I paused for second to capture my view when I walk into our building.

Just a simple set of stairs, leading up to our second floor apartment. Here are the same stairs after completing the journey up one flight.

The latter of the two stairs photos I like more, and I think it's because of the red front door, appealing to the eye, inviting me to adventures of the day. But the first photo, the one looking up, it literally lifts me off the ground to a place where my wife and I call home. 

And when I think about that, us living on the second floor of our building, it shows me that where we live is literally separated from the ground we walk, drive, work, and spend most of our days. When we are home, we are somewhat isolated and above much of what goes on (but not in a condescending, "we're above you" in regards to social class manner). I mean that in regards to safety and security. As I take the stairs up to The Farm (as we like to call it), I am granted a physical indication that what happens at home is completely separate from any stressors in the outside world. Together, at home, we can rise above all the garbage and negativity and hate to create a safe place for ourselves where we alone can forge our identity as a married couple.

Perspective really is everything. How you look at things in your everyday life can truly alter how you view your own life. From a new pair of shoes (Day 21: Tiny), to pocket-sized tokens (Day 15: In My Hand), or even the music you allow yourself to be swallowed by (Day 12: Can't Go Without), these last 28 days, 28 photos, and 28 blogs have become a journey in finding my voice.

I absolutely love being able to find positivity, motivation, and encouragement in things that are shared by everyone, things that I am surrounded by every day. And furthermore, I am so thankful that I am able to share this message and these stories with anyone that feels curious enough to peer inside my soul for a blog post here and there.

But what I love the most about writing is that, as my friend Angela and I like to put it, as writers, we are gods of our literary worlds. When a writer shares their imagination on paper, or a screen, or a couple of napkins, or on the walls of a subway station, they bring you on a journey that you had no idea was even there before you saw it.

And the most accessible example of how creative writers can be is at the top of this blog, because both of the pictures I shared are of sunsets. But if you take a picture of a sunrise or sunset and show it to someone who has no perspective of the environment in which the photo resides, they leave it up to you to provide context, either in a caption or a well crafted introduction.

But I really do love sunrises.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 24/28: In Between

You can thank me later, but I refrained from taking a picture of myself in bed. #TheSheets

And as I sat in the break room at work today I found my victim for today.

Symmetrical sandwich art, ah thankyouverymuch.

Turkey pastrami, colby jack cheese, and mustard on wheat. Pretty simple. Awesomely delicious. Filling and satisfying.

I like sandwiches. Hot or cold. Sliced bread, rolls, subs, you name it, I'm down. I'm a simple guy when it comes to many things. I'll enjoy the occasional grinder, everything on it Eat Fresh masterpiece from Subway, or Freaky Fast JJs sub, but most days I'm cool with the made at home simpleton like the one above.

It's easily identifiable, clear, and straightforward.

Far from what Anderson Cooper got from Republican Senator Melvin on AC360 tonight.

Short intro: Arizona. Senate Bill 1062 (#SB1062).

The Arizona State Legislature passed the bill last Thursday, February 20th. Governor Jan Brewer's desk met it this morning. She has until March 1st to sign it through or veto it. Sen. Melvin calls it a "religious freedom bill." Anderson Cooper (and many of the protestors) are calling it out as a bill that legally allows business owners to discriminate because of sexual orientation.

Melvin goes on to juke and jive around Cooper's questions in cringe-worthy fashion. See the full interview here.

Yes, I'm disgusted at the view that Senator Melvin has in support of this "religious freedom" bill, but as Cooper goes on to state in the clip, it isn't about having the same views, but moreso just being able to state your view and own that shit.

For me? I support equality. Gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, any of them. Discrimination is discrimination whatever or whomever you believe in.

If you're leaving someone out you're discriminating.

If you pick someone to be on your team because they're better than another, that's discrimination. If you  prefer Coke over Pepsi, that's discrimination.

If you don't like gays, blacks, Jews, Asians, Muslims, then by all means, that's on you. But when you start dancing the line like a bullshit politician who has openly stated he's running for governor, or any president or world leader, or CEO, or professor, or coach, or professional athlete, then  you're a coward. You're a classless, spineless bitch.

Own your shit. Stand up for what you believe in and tell the world that you would rather deny people that have no negative affect on your lifestyle privileges than support equal rights.

In a tweet from three weeks ago, Ricky Gervais shared, "Same sex marriage isn't gay privilege, it's equal rights. Privilege would be something like gay people not paying taxes. Like churches don't"

All these folks who are going to end up on the losing side of historical progress are throwing out "traditional marriage" and "Bible this" and "Bible that".

You know what we could use some more of from these suits that we Americans have elected? Some Phil Robertson. Back in December I wrote this post about his controversial statements.

Ducking questions pisses me off (#seewhatididthere). Own your boy's bill, Senator Melvin, Own your views. Own the fact that there is discrimination in Arizona just like there is in any other state.

I was raised in the East Bay Area in northern California. I've lived in South Carolina, Virginia, and now Indiana. I went to college in southern California. Discrimination is everywhere. In the first year that I moved back to NorCal after I got out of the Navy, I experienced more racism and discrimination in the "oh-so-diverse" state of California than I did the entire six years I spent in Illinois, South Carolina, and Virginia.

People talk about how diverse California is, and how it's not possibly nearly as racist as the deep South.  I'll give you the first one--California is diverse, but that doesn't mean everyone gets along. Chinatown. Japantown. Koreatown, Little Italy, projects, affluent neighborhoods, you think they all talk to each other? We may not have as many train tracks, but you know when you've crossed into another territory. Don't kid yourself with that shit.

So there. A little heated tonight, but that's because we're in a time where the bullshit just doesn't cut it anymore. There are no clear divisions like in my awesome turkey pastrami sandwich. The in between won't hack it for intelligent, rational folks. Pick a side. On anything. Everything. Just have an answer and own it.

Own. That. Shit.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 11/28: Two.

Two. Not a difficult prompt since I live with my wife. But finding something I want to capture in a photo was a little more challenging. Two chairs. Two mini tables. Two bookshelves. Pairs of shoes. Two towels. And then I saw them. Our toothbrushes.

One blue. One pink. Objects so simple and relatively small, but powerful and indicative of what I wanted to say.

One blue. One pink. One for my wife. One for myself.

Of course there are plenty of things that are shared. Things that don't come in pairs.

One refrigerator. One stove. One water pitcher. One dishwasher. One washer. One dryer. One bathroom. One shower. One bedroom. One bed.

One husband. One wife.

And each of us have our own pairs.

Eyes. Ears. Cheeks. Nostrils. Arms. Hands. Legs. Feet.

Feet. Each of us have a pair of feet.

In one couple, there are two individuals.

For each individual, there are two feet.

So although we stand together, we do not always lean. We stand on our own. There are obviously times when I lean on her and she on me, but as long as one of us can stand strong on our own two feet, then we do not both fall. Although we are a unit together, we must not lose our identities and individuality. (Within the word "individuality" is "duality." Interesting.)

I can remember a time, a few times actually, in the Navy, high school, junior high, and even back to elementary school when either myself or someone I know would say that there's a hole in their heart or life and that they "need someone to complete them." Maybe you've thought it yourself, maybe not, but you've probably heard it somewhere. Perhaps in a movie where someone's crying in the rain saying that they can't think of life without the other. Or where someone returns from a self-inflicted absence saying they were not whole when they were away from the other.

I love love as much as the next open soul, but we need to cut that shit out.

Love yourself before you can love another. Learn to love openly before you love exclusively. Love without boundaries. Love your life that you make for yourself. Love yourself that you make for yourself.

Love yourself.

Because if you don't, love from another is almost a waste of time. Yours and theirs. Not saying they still won't, but you're simply cheating yourself of what the love really could be.

Love yourself.

Two is better than one, but to have two, you need two ones.

So become one before you can become one.

Be one in love with yourself before you can become one with someone else.

It's easy to feel appreciated by other people. It's easily recognizable when others praise you and compliment you. But how often do you do that with yourself? How often do you praise yourself? How often do you compliment yourself?

How often do you love yourself?

Don't confuse someone loving you with loving yourself. And it's horribly easy to mix up. When someone is giving you all their time, praising you, caring for you, honoring you, appreciating you, it's like you don't even have to do any work to feel good about yourself. But when it's gone. Or even when it disappears for a few minutes, you can feel it. And you become addicted because you've created a dependency for yourself. The need to feel loved by others.

Depending on who you are, feeling loved or appreciated by others can be easy to find. But the more you blind yourself with the "happiness" you think you're living in because of the compliments and free drinks and jewelry and shopping trips, the more it'll crush you when it isn't there.

Now take this out of love relationships context.

Friendships. Family relationships. Professional relationships. Any type of relationship where you interact with another person. It still applies.

Love yourself.

Loving yourself allows you to be a better friend. A better son or daughter. A better husband, wife, sister, brother, uncle, or aunt. A better leader. A better follower.

Love yourself and you release yourself of the addiction for validation, praise, and attention. Love yourself and you will see more clearly. The tasks at hand. The people around you. The things you really should be focusing on. Your safety. Your family. Your advancement.

Love yourself so there can be two.

Two ones in a pair.
Two feet on the ground.

Two sides of the brain and two hands to type collaborated to create the words that two eyes will read these words as one.

Two.

And by the way, the pink one is mine.

Routes about Roots-Beer beats pudding

http://www.unc.edu/~tammyj/Viscosity.htm

Blood is thicker than water. I mean really, in scientific terms, blood is in fact thicker than water.

As far as the saying goes, well, sayings are about quips and concise wit. This one in particular, is exactly that for me—just a saying.

In typing the last two entries (Cycling and Negative Instructions, one specific word continued to stand my hairs on end as I typed it—biological. I use the qualifier at length because that’s how I feel about said connection (read: “not a relationship”). Biological…father, mother, brother, sister, sibling, what have you.

Internationally speaking, family is something that has been cherished for centuries. Wars have been waged and vendettas have been vowed. Tribes, villages, colonies, empires, the list goes on, and because of this innate cultural gravity, I feel like what I’m about to say in this blog is as blasphemous as any God-fearing soul can imagine.

I respect my elders. I acknowledge the past, and I learn as much as I can moving forward. I know it’s a privilege to drink clean water and have a warm bed under a roof. I get that any self-respecting parent would want the best for their child.

But what I refuse to hand over is an entitlement of blind respect, unquestioning submission, and an attitude to bend over and bow down to selfish cowards.

I do not have to respect someone that blames, blackmails, lies, and alienates. I do not have to love someone who manipulates trust and uses immature tactics. And I definitely do not have to deal with someone who does not listen.

It’s a rough moment when you realize that someone you thought was strong, rational, mature, and above all else, a friend, turns out to be a conniving coward who can’t answer simple, straight-forward questions or communicate without feeding a chemical dependency first.

I don’t feel bad them, nor do I pity them. I don’t waste my time trying to reach out or do anything else for them. I focus on my safety and health and realize that I now know the true meaning of disappointment.

I feel bad for my friend who has never met his father, for my friend who doesn’t know she’s adopted, for my friend who’s afraid to get married because they don’t know how a marriage is supposed to work. I feel bad that I can harbor these types of feelings for a figure that someone I care about only wants to have in their life.

But that’s just it. These biologicals? They’re figures. These genetic roommates? They just happen to have the same set of sperm and egg donors as you do. That doesn’t make you an emotional family. It makes you a statistic, and it gives you a template that you can decide to follow or not.

You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your friends…

So choose your family to be your friends,

or choose your friends to become your family.

The latter is the choice I’ve made, and it’s a decision that’s often difficult to defend because so many people choose the former and feel it’s the only way.

NOTHING IS EVER THE ONLY WAY.

My biological older brother got married a few years ago, and because I acknowledged we were never that close, I did not assume (nor ask to be) in his wedding. My mother already assumed I would be, and I came to find out he thought the same. If he wanted to, sure, but I just wanted him to ask me like any grown man would ask anyone he would want in his wedding. By the way it was handled, you’d think George McFly was asking Biff to borrow his truck.

When I got engaged a couple years later, my mother assumed both my biological siblings (there is a younger sister as well) would be in the wedding, and she was disappointed to hear that I requested neither of them.

However, I did have my brothers and sisters in the wedding, and those that weren’t standing up there with me were probably in the seats and hung around for the whole reception.

Yeah, my side of the wedding party looked more mixed up than Peter Klaven’s in I Love You, Man, but dammit, my family was in my wedding.

My kids will have cool uncles, aunts, and cousins, and that’s because all the parents will get along too. Not because we’re supposed to because of some invisible-to-the-naked-eye double-helix structure, but because we want to.

Blood may be thicker than water, but water’s in beer and what does blood make, pudding? I’ll take beer over pudding most days.

Routes about Roots-Cycling

Last week I found out via Facebook post that one of my uncles had passed. The last time I saw him was…over 20 years ago, but I still felt it. I wanted to reach out to my two cousins who just lost their father, but at the same time I felt grossly awkward for wanting to feel so close after being so far for so many years.

A couple months ago, I received an email invitation to a wedding for a cousin I have never actually met. I’ve met her sister (for the first time just two years ago), but not her. I appreciated the gesture of inviting my wife and I, and I felt guilty for not inviting them to my wedding just this past January.

When I was seven, I think, I went to New York with my parents and older brother and we stayed at my (mother’s side) uncle’s place. Aside from him being “really tall” (because who isn’t when you’re a seven year old Filipino?) I don’t remember much else. Not if he had a wife, children, or anything.

1. As a child, I only saw my cousins, aunts, and uncles of our parents coordinated it.

2. My parents’ relationships with their siblings affected my relationships with my cousins, aunts, and uncles.

3. Now that I’m older I’m able to contact my cousins, aunts, and uncles on my own.

4. It’s awkward, but (compared to before) it’s better than nothing. (Or is it?)

5. I have a one year-old biological nephew, which means I have the opportunity to be a cool uncle.

6. My (non-existent) relationship with my biological brother affects my (non-existent) relationship with my nephew.

7. As my wife and I have kids, my decision to not communicate with my biological siblings affects their knowledge/relationship with their biological uncle/aunt/cousins.

8. They will have chosen uncles/aunts/cousins with my chosen family.

9. As our children get older, they may want to reach out to their cousins, aunts, and uncles.

10. It may be awkward.

History does repeat itself, and although the reasons may be different, the result is the same. This feeling does not sit well with me.

My goal as a husband (and eventually, as a father) is for the health, safety, well-being of my family. Right now this is centralized on my wife and myself. My decision to maintain a safe distance from my biological siblings and parents has been made clear. As kids come into the picture, there are new relationships that must be acknowledged: uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents.

There may be some blood-related folks out there that I do not wish to have involved in my child’s life.

I don’t make a lot of wishes, but I wish it could be less complicated.

Rest in Peace, Uncle Art.  Arthur Edward Ponce 6/25/54-10/1/13

--Art will never die, and without it there is no heart or earth.

Routes about Roots-Negative Instructions

In an open confession with my Youth Pastor before my Confirmation, I shared with him that a lot of my troubles had to deal with my parents. He then said to me something that we all know, but am definitely glad he said—when kids are born they don’t come with instructions.

We all know that this is true, but to some extent, growing up with whomever we’re raised by, we just kind of slide into the understanding that they’re supposed to know what to do, and we maybe think they’re a little bit invincible in the fact that they’re supposed to protect us.

In the last year, I learned just how human my biological parents are, and as I’m newly-married and thinking about raising a family in the (relatively) near future, raising kids without instructions is something I think about quite often.

I was raised in nuclear family: father worked, stay-at-home mother, older brother, younger sister. Throughout grade school it was rare (for me) to know someone that didn’t live with both of their parents, and I definitely didn’t know any openly gay couples, or people for that matter. From an early age I wanted to get married and have a family of my own, and it just felt natural that I would feel that way.

After high school, while in the Navy, and even more so after I got out, moved back to California and started in community college, I met so many people who were felt strongly about “never” getting married or having children. Many of these opinions were followed up with a statement of how they didn’t have a good example growing up of a good marriage or healthy childhoods, so they didn’t feel comfortable going into a marriage or raising kids, let alone even entertaining the thought.

Who did have an excellent/perfect/normal childhood or have indestructible/flawless parents, though?

Exactly.

And even though I realized this at a fairly young age, the more I thought about my life growing up, the more I realized I had a clear blueprint of how not to raise children. Bad times and scary stories stick with us more vividly than good times, right? Well, after so many you start to think that you just don’t want to deal with it, but I flipped it and realized I had the perfect template of what not to do.

Now that I’m married, I’ve started reflecting on aspects of marriage, and I’ve found it to be just as helpful, I know that there are certain things I don’t want to do in a marriage.

About a week ago, I wrote this blog (click me!) and talked about how I caught myself early emulating a life that I observed growing up. How did I refocus myself for I really wanted? By recognizing what I did not want.

My wife and I do want to have kids, and I know there won’t be instructions on the placenta, but I have, in effect, written my own instructions by living my life and listening to my past. How that turns out, I’ll have to let you know in a few years.

Until then, I need to figure out how I’m going to branch off this family tree stuff into the local weather—leaves of different trees strewn about the yard.

I am Mr. T.

If this isn’t your first visit to my blog, you may have noticed that my style of blog-writing is very blunt, honestly raw, and (to put it in terms of my theatre-brethren), very stream-of-consciousness. It may be hypocritical of me, but when I share a story on my personal blog (versus a professional online column like the Long Beach Acting Examiner or via website content at work), I tend to tell a story in words as I would say it aloud as if you were sitting next to me at a bar top. To me, this blog is similar to what happens when I’ve had one too many drinks and you aren’t doing anything but listening…

I’m a first-generation American, middle of three children, to a couple of folks that were born in the same country, but didn’t meet until they were both in the California. Being a first-gen kid is an interesting thing, and I’ve thought about it a lot over the last 13 years (since I moved out after high school), but with some new realizations in the last couple of weeks.

I’m getting married in a little over two months, and my wife-to-be comes from large family with many as many similarities as there are differences in comparison to my own. I’ve met members from four different generations on both sides of her family, and it’s quite an amazing thing to really take notice of. Recently, we had celebrated the birthday of one matriarch (on her father’s side), and at one point in the evening, we all gathered in one area of the house so that the parents could share stories of their father, the birthday celebrant’s late husband, so that the younger generations could learn a little more about their family history.

As interesting and engaging as many of the stories were, it was a little challenging for me as learning more about my fiancée’s family ignited the self-interrogative spark and I began thinking through my own family tree.

All four of my biological grandparents have passed, and truth be told, I never met my maternal grandfather because he never came to America and I never went there. My maternal grandmother, Mama, passed shortly after I turned eight years old, and my father’s parents passed in the first decade of this century.

Listening to the stories at that recent birthday party and looking around at the multiple generations and varying ages, with my upcoming nuptials on my mind, I can’t help but realize the magnitude of what I’m actually going to do (very excitedly, thank you very much). We want to have kids (but not right away), and as we’ve been planning our wedding, it really makes you look at your life and your friends, and as sad it is to say, forcing you to choose about who you can afford to invite. (This could be a perfect segue into why people should charge to attend their weddings instead of paying for their friends to come hang out, but that’s another story…)

I digress. First-generation American, getting married, kids. Yes, kids and passing on traditions. However, to pass on traditions there have to be traditions already in place. This is where I get tripped up. I’ve led an interesting life that has included a lot of firsts. I was a member of the one of the first-ever sixth-grade classes at Jack London Elementary (I think the time capsules we buried might still be by the flagpole, but I’ll have to look into that). I was a part of the first graduating class (yes, ever) of Deer Valley High School. (This would also make me the first mascot of DVHS, but I don’t think that’s recorded anywhere, and it was definitely before there was a wolverine suit, so it’s my word against yours, haha.) My dad did serve in the U.S. Army for a couple years before he was married, but I believe I was the first one to join the Navy. I wasn’t the first one in my family to graduate from college, but I am the first Beach Alumni (and my fiancée is also Beach Alumni, as are both her parents, and one of her brothers-in-law…).

Point being, all these firsts, thanks to the opportunities I’ve been privileged enough to grasp, are starting what could be traditions in the family that my wife-to-be and I will grow together. I don’t plan on forcing our kids into the Navy or to go to CSULB, and I definitely don’t plan on moving back to where they would go to DVHS like I did, but what I have to offer them is a very unique blend of American gumbo I’ve picked up over the years through several states.

Let’s just talk about sports. Here’s the list of where my fandom lies:

• NFL—SF 49ers
• MLB—LA Angels
• NBA—Los Angeles Clippers
• College Football—Oklahoma
• NCAA everything else (but primarily MBB and WBB)—LBSU
• NASCAR—Tony Stewart (yes, I’m calling NASCAR a sport…shut it)

And to think in a few months I’ll be living in the heart of Fighting Irish country, closer to Colts, Bears, Bulls, White Sox, and Cubbies fans…at least I already know my neighbors are NASCAR fans.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a wonderful example of carving your own path, traveling wherever the fair winds and following seas take me (Go Navy!), but now that I’m getting married, my perspective has drastically shifted and I can no longer float on the wind like a feather in Forrest Gump or like a plastic bag in American Beauty.

And this is where the oversized gold chains, mohawk, and poor fool pitying comes in—I’m the T in “tradition.” Where will our family’s traditions start? With my fiancée and I. With the ones that we share and tell them about, and you know what? Maybe they’ll change. I can’t say I’ll be a fan of all of the aforementioned teams together, I can’t promise that. Say for example, we end up having kids in Indiana and we start going to Bulls games, or Cubs game, or Colts games…those memories I could be making with my family could shift the thoughts I have now as we start our own traditions.

So yeah, I’m Mr. T in my future, and that’s no fault of anyone, that’s just how the decades and generations landed. Someone had to start somewhere, I just realized that that someone is me. I probably won’t go for the mohawk, but I may pity the poor fool who doesn’t realize that anyone could be that T in “tradition.” Don’t be that fool. Be that badass.

Are we there yet?

The best part of knowing people who have kids is that they’re usually willing to let you babysit and play with the kids while they go off and do something else for a little bit. They get some time away from the munchkins, I get to be a five year old and run around the grass for a little while. The best part of playing around with other peoples’ children is that you get to “give them back” when you’re done. All the fun stuff, none of the responsibility.

Don’t get me wrong, I wholly intend on being married with children—just not now. I guess the best part of playing with other peoples’ kids is that it really lets you know how you feel about kids. With cheese pizza on plastic plates being attacked by a three year old to my left and a five year old to my right, I look across the dining table at my girlfriend, smile, and say, “later,” and she laughs and agrees. (Oh, I forgot to mention the 5 month old in the swing.)

Lately, I’ve been noticing a lot of babies and marriages around me (fortunately, no babies getting married, that would be weird). Maybe that’s because I told myself I wouldn’t get married while I’m still in school, and I just graduated. Or perhaps it’s because I know a lot of people that are currently pregnant, just had a baby, or talk about it all the time. The marriage portion? Well, I’ve always wanted to get married, so of course it’s always on my mind. Maybe my turning 30 this year has a little to do with it. Maybe I just like asking questions.

Thinking back to my blog about control a few days ago, there are some things that can be prepared for and some that cannot. I can plan and save and wait for the right time to get married, have kids, go to grad school, whatever. I could always defer for better conditions, I could always look back to worse conditions. I know kids don’t come with instructions, and neither do marriages. There are hundreds of books out there: how-to manuals, surveys, questions, 29 different levels of compatibility, but I think the real things that keep the marriage together, the real meat and potatoes (or boca and tofurkey products) that keep families together, just have to be experienced. No books. No one else telling me how to do it. Just our family keeping ourselves together from the inside out.

Nothing like bringing up a bunch of questions before I go to bed. That’s nothing new in my world, though.

I’ve been thinking about making the switch to Wordpress. I may keep it here though and start a new one for WP. Something more focused, less journal-ish, something more streamlined on one topic. I don’t know. I’ll keep you…wait for it…posted.

Don't suc. succeed

"What is success?" was a question that came up in my Theatre Today class last week. The same question was posed to me before I moved down here. A good friend suggested I find my own definition for it, and that's been rolling around in my head ever since. In class, the responses were very American, driven by consumerism: money, power, materialistic trophies and financial benchmarks. Meanwhile I'm sitting in my seat with my answer in my head, waiting, hoping that someone will be on the same wavelength and say that we should define "success" for ourselves. I felt that if I had offered my answer, I would want to continue the conversation in that direction, at which point we would be completely sidetracked; so for my own cowardly justification, I sat quietly and listened to my classmates' discussion contributions. 

I've heard many times that Theatre is a selfish industry, and that can be taken in many ways. It can be in the manner that you are "competing" against actors, designers, techs, and directors for the same position, and even though you're friends with them, you want that job and/or that paycheck as much as they do. In a more personal light, the theatre can steal your life away from your family, from your ability to even have a family, and even from your friends and social life in general. Those of us that are wholly dedicated are usually split in multiple directions: classes, rehearsals, multiple part-time jobs, relationships, children, the list goes on; but how selfish should you become to progress in the direction that you wish to? I've asked myself that question multiple times in the last few years, and my answer has developed in my work ethic-I belong in the theatre. There have been numerous relationships that have suffered because of my theatrical obligations, no, not obligations, determinations. "Obligations" sounds negative, and being in the theatre is far from negative, it's my choice, and I've been determined to move forward everyday. I digress. Relationships are sacrificed for my dedication to the theatre. If I try to put more time into the relationship, something else has to suffer…the non-theatre classes. Well, that wasn't a good idea either. Over the last couple years the relationships have fallen by the wayside and the Theatre has become my main squeeze. This has come to power through choices I have made, and I don't regret what I have done, nor have I ever, but I have learned from all of them. The more I have become involved in Theatre, the more I withdrew from my social life. There should be a balance, and I'm working at it every day. 

[my brain just stopped, and my thought train was AMTRAKed. if you were watching television you would currently be seeing static, perhaps a pixelated screen if you have a new plasmafantasticLCDmonitor, if you're used to regular tube TVs you would see the black strip across the bottom and the vertical color stripes across the screen.] 

I am not defining "success" as a destination, I am treating it as a journey. I have succeeded already, I am going to succeed in the future, and I am currently succeeding-right now, at this very moment. "Success" seems to be as complicated as love, and it also feels as if it has been as commercialized just that same. Lil' Kim had a song a few years ago entitled "Money, Power, Respect" and that, for some, is as good a definition of "success" as they need. According to <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/success> 

• Main Entry: suc·cess 
• Pronunciation: \sək-ˈses\ 
• Function: noun 
• Etymology: Latin successus, from succedere 
• Date: 1537 
1 obsolete : outcome, result 
2 a : degree or measure of succeeding b : favorable or desired outcome; also : the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence 
3 : one that succeeds 

and it seems that Merriam-Webster agrees with my idea of success as a journey at not a destination, as you'll notice that the first definition is obsolete, and the working definitions refer to the degree or "the attainment of" 

My definition of success has two parts, a concrete aspect that can be portrayed in examples and benchmarks, and an abstract side that will be just that, abstract and conceptual. Success has never been about money, having the newest gadgets, nicest car, or having a trophy wife. When I was 19 I transferred to the USS Hyman G Rickover, SSN-709 (Hoorah!) and, only two years in the Navy at that point, senior enlisted members were already plugging reenlistment packages and bonuses. My division chief, the late EMC(SS) Sean Bednarz had educated me on all the wonderful opportunities that would be available to me if I stayed in for "only" ten years-supervisory positions at power plants, paychecks upwards of $60,000 a year, moneymoneymoneymoneymoney. After he was done with his commercial I looked at him and told I'm rather make enough money to "just" get by and support my family teaching high school drama than to make an exorbitant amount in an industry that I have no desire to stay in for the rest of my life. Quality of life is more important to me than money. And he looked at me in amazement and after asking how old I was said, "kids like you don't talk like that anymore," and he's completely right. 

America is a consumer-driven populace, and there's no one party solely to blame, but younger people just become more focused on money as the years go by. Don't get me wrong, I like to have money available as much as the next person does, but, as I've stated in earlier FB Notes, being here in Long Beach with very little money (for now) has helped me recalibrate myself in many ways. There are too many luxuries that I took for granted, and living here has shown me that I don't need them. They're still nice every once in a while, but there really is no need to eat out for every meal, go to a bar every night, and aimlessly drive around when I can eat at home, not drink all the time, and take the bus or even walk somewhere. Just like I told my Chief, if I can provide for my family, or depending on how our family situation is coordinated with working parent or parents, I simply want my family to be provided for. I don't want to scrape by, and I don't really need six cars and a house in every state (although a private jet would be welcomed). If we're healthy, with food on the table, clothes on our backs, and comfortable living conditions, things are good. 

On the abstract side of success, if I can do what I love, and I mean truly enjoy what I'm doing for a living, then I am a success. Whether I'm teaching, working on Broadway, London, Oslo, or Kansas City, if I can head to work in the morning and know I'm going to enjoy what I'm doing, I'll call myself a success. This is where the selfishness comes in. I dedicate myself to the theatre, my passion, my craft, my art, and I need to achieve a balance with my family. That second part is what's been eluding me. This past week marked what would have been the fourth anniversary of matrimony had we stayed together. Stay with me, I'm not getting emo and regretting my "practice engagement." So, obviously I'm not married, and do not live in Virginia, and because of this separation and move back to California, I was able to get back into theatre, train at DVC, work with Shotgun and DTC (then DLOC) and arrive where I am now, CSULB, getting ready to start the third week of my junior year on track to achieve a major milestone with a BA in Theatre Arts. So yes, everything happens for a reason, I get it, and those reasons weren't apparent to me four years ago when I was leaving Virginia Beach, but they are now, and I can definitely say I've succeeded since then. 

I don't know what the future will bring, and I'm not going to plan too far out. There are things I want to do, but I know life happens, and sometimes it doesn't go the way you planned. As long as keep doing what I love, and am making progress towards what I want, I'm succeeding. It's not about the money, the fame, or the prestige. It's about doing what I want and enjoying every bit of it. A college dropout who went back to school later in life said that if he ever hears you say you're bored, he'll crush you (it may have been "pummel," but I'm not sure, that's why I paraphrased, but there will be life threatening danger). He's absolutely right, there's too much cool stuff to be bored, learn something, look back, reflect, regroup, create and recreate. There are plenty of ways to succeed at something, and if you don't, or say you can't, you just "suc."