REJECTION LETTERS

            NO.

            NO.

            NO.

            NO.

You still here? Still sane? Can you handle it? If you’re reading this, chances you are an adult. Chronologically speaking, at least. Mentally, who knows? But, if you are a chronological adult, chances are you’ve heard this two-letter word quite a few times.

            NO.

            NO.

            NO.

            NO.

The better question is, how many times have you used it? How many times in a day? A week? A month?

    YOUR LIFE?

    Some people have to deal with it more often than others. We hear it from our parents, siblings, teachers, employers… everyone. Do we have the right answer? Do we have the right qualifications? Do you have this brand of toilet paper?

Actors hear it from directors. Writers hear it from publishers. Doctoral candidates hear it from their departments.

            NO.

            NO.

            NO.

            NO.

Males hear it from females.

            YES.

  Am I being misogynist? In reality, yes, women ask out men, but how often does that scenario happen? Ladies, when is the last time you asked a guy out on a date? There is pressure and stigma that goes with guys who are unable to get a date.

    Yes, I know women have to deal with rejection, and that’s a different story. Rejection for females is different than it is for men, and since I am not a woman, I cannot attest to that feeling or the thought process that goes with it. I’m going to talk about being rejected as a man.

    When I was in sixth grade, I developed a severe crush on a girl in my class. I thought she was absolutely beautiful, and her personality was amazing. I was smitten. I invited her to my bar mitzvah simply so I could have the pleasure of holding her in my arms and dancing with her. I did my best to charm her, get on her good side, imbed myself in her heart and mind.

    Seventh grade. We took a bus once a week to Central Grammar School in the middle of town for Industrial Arts. I had been building up the courage all week and had the support of the other guys in my class. This was it. I knew if I could get her to go out with me, I’d finally, at long last, be accepted as one of the Cool Kids. After all, you couldn’t be a nerdy outcast with a girlfriend, right?

    “Hey, Do you want to go out with me?”

    The cheers from my classmates drowned out her response. I was positive the response was positive.

    “No, no thanks.”

    Everything stopped. My happiness was gone in a heartbeat. My focus was off the rest of the day.

    It was the first of many. I asked other girls, both in my school as well as a couple others. My main focus remained this one girl. She was everything I wanted, and I felt that if I was persistent, I’d win her over. I made her tapes, wrote her poems and letters. I composed one letter with the help of my mother, who saw and was aware of my affections for this girl. She edited my work and even mailed the letter for me. Two days later, a police officer showed up at my parents’ house with an admonishment from the girl’s parents warning me not to bother her any more. My folks were flabbergasted and asked why, and the officer told us her parents had intercepted the letter and found it disturbing. My mom had the cop read the letter, who shared our confusion once he finished. He even asked me to write a similar letter for him to his wife. Either way, I got the hint.

    No more letters.

    I was depressed. Writing was my strong point. Words on paper were much more elegant than my speaking voice. My parents assured me there was someone out there for me, I simply had to keep looking and keep trying.

    I did so. All through the remainder of grade school I tried, and one by one the girls in my class, both at my school and others, turned me down. I attended all the cheesy 8^th-grade make-out parties only to leave quietly after everyone had paired off. I watched enviously as my friends held and kissed all the pretty girls, girls who had once and again rejected my affections. The trend continued in high school as I got to know a wider range of people and tried my hardest to win some hearts, all to no avail. Those two letters, over and over again. NO. NO. NO.

    I finally got a yes near the end of sophomore year. She was a friend, we had many friends in common, she was smart and pretty… we lasted two weeks. She said I was smothering.

    I had a date during the summer. I gave her my football jacket. Mom made me take it back, and that was that. There were more shoot downs, including a small handful at summer camp. A memorable one was a belated rejection. The camp I went to was in the Berkshire mountains, a sleep-away camp for Jewish kids. I had gone in 1992 and returned in 1993. Camp consisted of two four-week sessions. At the end of each session was Banquet, a semi-formal dinner, song session and cultural dancing to celebrate the last night of the session. Traditionally, you could ask someone to be your date. It was a fairly big deal, like asking someone to prom.

    In 1993 I asked a girl in my unit to go with me. Again, she was nice, very pretty, and I figured what the hell. And she said yes. I was thrilled. I had gotten a pretty girl to say yes to a date with me. I wrote home to my parents, who were equally excited. They wanted pictures. I told them I’d get some. The day of the banquet, maybe two hours before the event (I had showered and shaved, so it had to be soon before), one of the girl’s friends came across Olim Hill and informed me the girl would not be attending Banquet with me. You see, there as a guy she liked, and I had beaten him to the punch in asking her to go. She didn’t want me to feel bad, so she had said yes. But now she was afraid of how HE would feel, so she was leaving me alone so she could go with him. I was stunned. Shocked. I was humiliated. I politely asked the friend to relay the question “How does leaving me abandoned an hour before Banquet not make me feel bad?” and went to my bunk. The girl came by herself to apologize and explain, and I didn’t want to hear it. My unit heads came by and asked me to come to the dining hall. I refused, explaining: “It’s humiliating, to have someone say yes and then to shoot you down after everyone in the world knows you’d be going with someone. Why face those looks by showing up alone?” They told me the girl felt “really bad” about it, and I didn’t care. “I don’t imagine it’s any worse than what I feel, and she shouldn’t have said yes in the first place. This is worse.” I’m friends with this girl on Facebook now. I wonder if she even remembers this event. I sure do.

    The next yes was at my first job. I was working at Miami Subs Grill in the parking lot of the Post Mall. I was a line cook, she was a cashier. We flirted, she gave me her number, we went out, I was elated. We lasted a year and a half, during which time she gradually patronized and degraded me. In our last three months we broke up three times. First me, then her, and finally me again. My first real girlfriend, and I broke up with HER. The feeling of rejection was still there, though. Somewhere along the line she had stopped returning my affections, and to me, that was unacceptable.

    Rejection had become a part of my life. I barely even bothered because I felt it was futile. I stopped asking girls out because I knew, knew, knew they would turn me down, so why bother? I don’t remember them all. Not every one of them. There are too many. Some, for some reason, are forever etched in my memory. I don’t know why. I don’t know why that incident at camp sticks the way it does. I don’t know why the girl I dated for three months college is so vivid. Maybe it’s because she says she dated me to make a friend of mine jealous. There’s the girl who broke up with me over IM after I had moved back to Connecticut. There’s the abusive relationship I was in for two years and managed to escape.

    All these experiences are a part of me. It has been a long time since any of it has happened. I’ve moved past them, but I never forget them. They’re always there. As a young man, as a boy, you’re expected to do and be certain things. We’re led to believe that by doing certain things, performing certain acts, we will assert our masculinity and win over the female.

    Is that misogynist? Is that thought, “winning the female,” misogynist? Is it an outdated concept? From children, it’s what we’re taught to do, that primal aspect of masculinity: flowers, candy, poems, cards, sweetness, love, and affection, all these things will show the female that we deserve and are worthy of their attention. See that word?

WORTHY.

A lot of people forget that part. WORTHY. Most people focus on the DESERVE and forget the WORTHY. We are taught from very early on that we are to earn the affection and attention of the fairer sex, that is it up to them choose us based on these feats. We are told that showing how affectionate and attentive we are to them is how we get them into our lives.

    So, are we innately misogynist? What are the little girls taught when they’re at the same age? Are they told to win us over with gifts and tokens and shows of affection? Or to simply “let the boys fawn over you and take your pick?” Because I’ll be honest with you, that’s what it feels like most of the time. It is ingrained in us from a very early age, mostly by our peers, that if we cannot win the princess, we are failures as men. We are raised to believe that if we cannot provide for and care for “our women” that we are failures as men. We are raised to believe that we are to be the breadwinners, the providers, the hunters AND the gatherers. Are women considered chattel? We are raised from very early to believe that love and affection are prizes to be won by the best and strongest. Not only does the media perpetuate this, but yes, THE WOMEN perpetuate this.

    Again, how often do you ask US out? Let the pressure be put on YOU. Here’s an example: BIG BANG THEORY. Penny and Leonard are not longer dating, but they decide to hang out: go the movies, hit a bar. She still expects him to buy the tickets and the popcorn, she still expects him to spring for snacks and drinks at the bar. How often are the tables turned? It happens, I know it does, but let’s be honest: when you go on a date with a guy, who asks who? Who opens the door and pulls out the chair? Who pays for the meal, the event? Who picks up who in whose car? Let us consider these facts. Is it misogynist, and if so, whose fault is it? Our parents? Their parents before then? Or is it our own fault for continuing it?

DADDY'S BOY

            Let me tell you about my father.

            He’s more than a father. He’s a Dad. And more than that, he’s a Daddy. I am the oldest of three, and he has never let me forget that I was here first. My memory is long, and while not all of the ones I hold are pleasant, I now know and understand why I had to have them.

    My father worked multiple jobs when I was younger in order to sustain us. I have vague memories of him coming home, showering, eating, napping for 15-30 minutes, and heading right back out the door. I have memories of him riding a bike down Pond Point Ave in a suit because he had lost his license for too many speeding tickets. I remember my father waking up at two and three in the morning for service calls, and working weekends for the bus company. I remember some of the sacrifices he made, but not all of them.

    I remember good times. I remember how involved he was, how present. ALWAYS PRESENT. I know some of my friends didn’t have that. And I felt fortunate to have my dad involved in so much. Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, Talented And Gifted, class trips, projects… so many activities in and out of school. Soccer, football, drama, writing, any interest I had. Movies, TV, music, anything.

    My dad took me to sports events. Yankees/Tigers at Yankee Stadium in 1981. Yale/Harvard. Harlem Globetrotters. Lakers/Celtics at the Civic Center. Nighthawks in New Haven.

    My dad took me to see E.T. at the Capitol Theater in the center of town was when I was 7. That experience changed my life. It gave me guidance to what I wanted to do. MOVIES. To this day, if that movie is on, I am compelled to watch it, and I always cry. ALWAYS. I even tear up when I hear John Williams’ score.

    My dad would listen to me read. I learned early and fast. He always encouraged my education. If I didn’t know a word, I was told to look it up. If I was asked a question and didn’t know the answer, he would tell me to read about it. When I spent time with him, regardless of what we were doing, he was always teaching. If he was working on one of the cars, he would hold up a part and ask if I knew what it was and what it did. If I didn’t, he would explain it.

    My dad taught me what it means to be a man, and how to do it properly. He taught me about priorities and obligation and responsibility. He told me what it means to take care of your family and those nearest and most important to you. He also taught me that not all family is blood, and that family is always the most important thing in your life.

    Our parents take care of us when we are young. They teach us and guide us. What we don’t realize when we’re that small is that we’re also teaching THEM. I didn’t understand that back then. As I watch my brother with his kids, and watch my sister prepare for hers, I also watch my parents. They look over their children with the same look of pride as a teacher watching their students as they graduate.

    My father cried at my bar mitzvah. He cried as they dropped me in North Philadelphia in late August of 1995. Each time, he embraced me tightly, held me, and looked at me as he let me go: “My baby. You’ll always be my first.”

    I’m looking forward to our time tomorrow. We don’t get much of it. When the opportunity arises, I try to take advantage of it. I wanted to take him to Alumni Day at CitiField when the Phillies played the Mets, but the schedule didn’t work out. A new opportunity has arisen, and I’m taking full advantage. Just me and my dad. 

IT'S A FIVE O'CLOCK WORLD...

            I’ve been getting up early the past few weeks because of work. I don’t want to. I enjoy waking up to daylight. It feels more natural than waking up in darkness. Let me explain “early:” my alarm goes off at 4am. Otis usually wakes me around 3:30. Your brain isn’t quite functioning, the synapses are flickering like shorted light bulbs, your eyes are twitching because they don’t want to be open yet, all your joints are creaking…

    And nothing is happening.

    Nothing. No traffic. No cars passing. No kids playing. No people walking their dog. Just dark silence. During the week, you can almost feel the anticipation as The Day prepared to pop and wind out, that silent drumroll before everything gets moving. Wake up at 4am on a Saturday to go to work and feel the difference.

    There’s nothing open by the time you get on the road. No Dunkin Donuts. No McDonald’s. No Quick Stop. Even a couple of the stores at the rest stop on 95 South are dead: Sbarro’s and Panda Express and Moe’s are shut down and dark, but who would want a burrito or chow mein at 4am anyhow? The Dunkin being closed surprised me. Where would you get your coffee? Granted, most of the gas stations are 24-hours now, at least the ones around here. The Forbes Station by my house sells Green Mountain, which is pretty damn good. I’ll make a cup once I get to work, otherwise the stuff they have at Pilot is OK, and in a crunch there’s always the Newman’s Own at Mickey’s.

    But what if you’re hungry? Food choices are extremely limited. The time between 3am and 5am is a limbo period for most 24-hour eateries. I have stopped at the mcDonald’s on Route 80 on several occasions on the way home from when I worked nights, only to find they had very little or no food for me to bring home for myself and my wife. “Whaddaya mean you’re out of burgers? How can you have no nuggets? YOU’RE NOT MAKING BREAKFAST YET?!?” A lot of places are like that. I’m supposed to be at work for 5am until further notice. Occasionally, I will stop at the Wendy’s inside the Pilot truck Stop for breakfast. Wendy’s has some awesome breakfast choices… if you get there after 5am. No breakfast or burgers until after 5am, so anything you get either has to be chicken or meat-free. Spicy Chicken Sandwich for breakfast. Yum.

    You can’t even stop by 7-11 and grab a buttered bagel. Before 5am, the guy is still making them. I’ve asked him to put a couple aside and been told he can’t do that, he has to finish them all before he can earmark them for sale. That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve heard. Through the Saran Wrap around the bagel and take my $1.15. Are you kidding?

    So, here we find ourselves at 4:35am inside the Pilot Truck Stop, Spicy Chicken Sandwich in one hand and trying to decide on a 20oz coffee refill or a 64oz soda refill, mentally debating whether or not to grab one of the overcooked quickly-hardening Bacon-egg-cheese croissants in the little heater cabinet by the hot dogs. You try and ignore the guy conked out in one of the booths inside the Wendy’s but his snoring is distracting. You try not to notice the State Trooper conked out in his car in the corner of the parking lot or the hookers grabbing a smoke outside the hotel next door. Traffic lights are still flashing in rhythm, no cars on the road and the only vehicles on the highway are construction vehicles and tractor-trailers. You can hear the highway from my backyard ay 4am, you know. Kinda weird and eerie.

        There’s not even anybody really broadcasting at 4am. Throw on the news and you get the weird, awkward Early Morning shows like America This Morning with the gawky preppy guy and the hot racktacular Latina making jokes about movies and trying to be serious while discussing whatever disaster has recently occurred. Howard Stern doesn’t even come on the radio until 6am, and that’s only three days a week these days. The terrestrial stations play the same dozen songs over and over until the regular DJ comes on between 5-6. Hell, even the Army doesn’t get up until 0530.

    Sometimes, the quiet is appreciable. No stress, to anxiety, no panic, nothing but the wind and the dark and you. If you’re well-rested and wake up on the right side of the bed, it can be a good thing. Solitude isn’t always bad. The good things about getting up early and going into the world before everyone else: you have the time to stop, stretch, take a deep breath, and appreciate the cool calm before the chaos sets in at 5am.

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND?

            In this advent of social media, it’s interesting to observe how social interaction has changed. So much has been removed from actually being social in the past few years and the funny thing is that the younger generation does not and will not even know it.

    Remember the days when you picked up a rotary phone to make plans with your friends, or when you had to go up to the door of a house and ask someone’s mom if they could come outside? The days when you the streetlights were your playtime timer and you could camp outside without fear of someone coming to steal you or your friends or your kids?

    We go on dates and have dinner without talking now. We don’t get those little paper invites with a phone number to RSVP any more, except for weddings. There’s no face-to-face communication anymore. Even with work, you’re asked to email or text everything, no more verbal communication, it all has to be electronic. The one thing that has changed the most, the one thing that is actually sort of frightening, is the concept of friendship.

    In the olden days we made friends the hard way: by meeting people. Sometimes you got along, sometimes you didn’t, sometimes it was forced on you, other times it just sorta happened. We grew up with people, we became close, we became family. You met people through other people, a constant domino-effect of social interaction. I was always fascinated by the way a society builds itself, the way circles and spheres of influence are born and spread, widening and shrinking, ebbing and flowing like a tide. Sometimes, friendships would end, usually over a lack of communication, miscommunication, or even too much communication. Relationships died over infidelity exposed by perfume or cologne on clothing, mysterious stains, letters hidden in dresser drawers. Friendships ended over petty things and complex things alike.

    Not any more.

    Now, friendships are made by who knows who on Facebook. Oh, you have sixty-seven friends in common with someone else? Well then, WE must be friends too! It doesn’t matter if we’ve met or not, if we’ve hung out or not, if we even have any common interests or humors, we know four dozen of the same people so we have to be friends! Oh, but wait, you have a different political view? You don’t like TWILIGHT? Well then, we CAN’T be friends. You’re UNFRIENDED. Relationships are killed by emails and text messages and Tweets and Status Updates and who responded to whose Event Invitations. You have to worry about who is looking at what pictures on whose profile and what you say about what you’re doing because God Forbid some ex you still talk to see that you have a life.

    We put our entire existence online for the whole world to see, and there’s no way to get rid of it. You can’t burn the letters, you can’t bleach the laundry, it’s out there FOREVER. This is an innate thing for the younger generation, but for people my age and older, maybe even a little bit younger, it’s difficult to grasp some of these changes. Well, for some. As with all generations, there are always those for whom adaptation and evolution comes easily. My grandfather was one of those, a WWII vet who easily accepted and learned new technology as it came. I think he was even becoming familiar with HTML in his final days. Pop taught other seniors how to use basic computer applications and the Internet. Compare that with my father, who has difficulty even sending a text message or taking a picture with his phone. Doesn’t stop him from picking up his land-line and calling someone.

    I find it somewhat amusing to look at my Friends List on my Facebook profile and think about how many people with whom I actually interact on a regular basis. Surprisingly few. Out of more than 2000 “friends,” I can count fewer than 100 that I speak to, hang with, interact with on a daily or even weekly basis, and sadly that includes family, immediate or otherwise. They call it a Friends List, but I look at it as more of an Accumulation, a digital Rolodex (there’s an oldie for you) of people whom you’ve met, associated with, learned with, played with, slept with, drank with, cried with… I have people on mine I haven’t seen in years, even decades. I have teachers I haven’t seen since I left their classrooms. I have bunkmates from summer camp I haven’t seen since my parents picked me up. I have friends from college I haven’t seen since that party that one time at that place… you get the point. How many of us are like that? How many of us have hundreds, even thousands of “friends” that we never see? Isn’t that the whole definition of “friends?”  I have a small handful of people I have regular activities with. I have a slightly wider circle of people I consider close friends or chosen family. The circle again widens with people who comment or talk to me fairly often on facebook and with whom I return the favor. Other than that…

    It’s also amusing the way relationships die because of social media. If you text the wrong person the wrong things, if you email the wrong person the wrong things… these are the digital equivalent of lipstick on the collar. What’s interesting is how much smaller things, much more petty things, contribute to the death of a friendship. All it takes is the click of a button, and not only are you eliminated from a digital registry of acquaintances, this person will never again speak to you face to face, in Real reality. Maybe you differ on your opinion of the President. Maybe you stand on different sides of Gun Control. Or Gay Marriage. Or Syria. Or Israel. Maybe you’re just tired of someone’s constant Tweets or Status Posts or Game Requests. POOF. No more friend. I remember when you had to steal someone’s favorite Star Wars figure or make a nasty comment about their mom to lose a friend, now all you have to do is ignore the invitation to a cookout or birthday party. Blow somebody off that’s invited you to play Candy Crush and suddenly BOOM, they see you on the street and completely ignore you as if you had something to do with killing their dog.

    Of course, that’s if they recognize you on the street anyhow. Ever notice that, how we can be friends with someone on Facebook, be sitting right next to them at a bar, and have to look four times because we KNOW we recognize them from someplace? That’s why I’m very careful about who I “Friend” on Facebook (and who ever thought that Friend would ever be a verb?). I don’t send someone a request unless we’ve either bonded very quickly or have spent actual time together. If I meet you once, I’m not gonna send you a request and I find it disturbing if I get one from you. We need to hang out, get to know each other, find out if we actually ARE friends before I make that call. I’m not one of these people who accepts just anyone. If I were famous and thousands knew who I was and liked my work, yes, that’s different. But I’m just a guy. I’m just a regular everyday schlub who works for a living and relishes my down time. So, if a friend introduces us at a party, just in passing, no I’m not gonna Facebook you. I believe in actually being FRIENDS with my Friends, and that’s one of the good things about BEING FRIENDS: even if years have gone by, even if you haven’t spoken live or seen each other in person for years on end, if you SMILE when you finally DO see that person IN PERSON:

                                                                                YOU’RE FRIENDS. 

The Oldest Profession, The Newest Media

    Because men are men, there will always be demand for flesh- and sex-related entertainment and jobs: exotic dancers, peep shows, dominatrices, pornography... and hookers.
    Doesn't matter what you call it. Hookers. Prostitutes. Call girls. Escorts. Whatever. It amounts to the same thing: "dates" for money. These dates don't ALWAYS involve sex... but usually they do. It's funny how often you hear a woman say "not if you paid me" when referring to various men, suitors, what have you. And then you hear a commercial on the radio or see it on TV: bidding for dates.
    I laughed the first time I heard it. The first one I heard was whatsyourprice.com. It advertised that ANY guy could guarantee a date with a "hot woman" simply by "bidding" for her affections. The site was advertised as "a site for generous men to find and date attractive women, guaranteed." It doesn't get any more blatant than that, and they were advertising on satellite radio.
    There were a couple more I have heard over the past few months, which means that the success rate of one must have been high, and the demand had increased enough to warrant the creation of multiple site by enterprising young folk.
    I find this amusing. Not only are guys hiring hookers online, they're VYING for them. Competing. WOW.
Are guys really that desperate? Have we become so far removed from interacting with each other that this has become the way to go for so many people? Kinda sad, but kinda funny all at the same time.

The Suck

            I lost another friend today. Not in the traditional we-don't-speak-anymore kind of way, but actually GONE. As in dead.
    Alex has been sick for quite some time. Almost since I've known him, actually. It didn't start out that bad. Not really. You remain optimistic about things, regardless of what you hear, at least I do. You want to believe the world is an inherently good place regardless of what you see and hear. The thing to remember is that we're all somebody else to Somebody Else.
    I met Alex in the summer of 2009 when I started working at Abatement Industries Group, running the warehouse in West Haven. Alex was one of two guys who were supposed to work for me. He had pretty much been running things as far as supply line and obtaining material and equipment, so he was a tad salty when I took over the position. Over a few weeks, though, he softened up a bit and gave the me the help I needed to get the hang of things. Once he realized the kind of person I was and the kind of supervisor I was attempting to be, things got much easier, and when I chose him to be my #2, everything was sealed.
    In late fall 2009, Alex was concerned about a bump at the base of his skull, so he went to the walk-in to have it checked. The doctor wanted to do a full body scan, and found a tumor on one of his kidneys. They made arrangements for the surgery, and Alex was down. I went to visit him a couple times, and when Lucia first was admitted into the hospital, I would go see him while I visited her. Once he was able to move around, he would come see her, as well. She was appreciative, having met him when he was first diagnosed. We had gone out to dinner at Chili's and invited Alex and his girlfriend, Cindy, out with us.
    When Alex came back to work, he covered for me when I would go to the hospital to see Lucia. He made sure the right people knew what was going on and where I was. He always had my back and defended me to the people who had issue with how much time I was spending away from the warehouse.
    Alex didn't like where he was living in West Haven. Someone had died in the house and it was full of mold and other problems, and he was looking for a way out of there. A friend who had been living at our house had moved out, and I asked Lucia if we could help out Alex. She said yes, and Alex moved in. It was May 2010.
    As Lucia deteriorated, Alex always tried to talk me up and keep me strong and positive. When I had my weak and dark moments, he gave me comfort and told me to stay strong, for her if not for myself. When she passed, he was home waiting, and he went and bought a new suit to wear for her service.
    He helped me clean the house. He helped fix things. When the grief would hit hard, he'd lift me back up again. As with many other friends, he helped me work my way back to society and finding a way to continue with my life. When I met Erika, he encouraged me to pursue her, and he became very fond of her.
    In late 2010, Alex became positive that my job was in jeopardy and that cuts would come into effect, so he took a voluntary lay-off to save my job. He started working for a friend, doing handy-man work and office work. As time went on and his illness becmae more and more apparent, Alex had less energy to work and was spending more time in bed.
    He qualified for an experimental chmo study which lasted a little less than a year, and when they pulled him from the study he was brought back onto the older chemo. His strength began to deteriorate. He was weak and in pain, and was having a great deal of trouble breathing. In 2012, they put him on oxygen and he was declared Legally Completely Disabled. On a routine follow-up, the scans came back worse than expected. The doctors said it was "a matter of time."
    He fought for months. Each hospital stay was longer, until a month or so ago when I received a panicked phone call from Cindy informing me they had taken Alex to the hospital by ambulance. Neither of them were optimistic about him leaving, and when I went to visit him, he was in fairly good spirits. They moved him out of ICU a few days later, and Erika and I went to see him. A few days after that, he was back home.
    They gave him information about Hospice and sent a nurse over to get his info and explain things to him. He was home for a little less than a week as he grew weaker. Wednesday morning, he asked me to help him call Hospice to come and pick him up. He had to know his time was short. Over the weekend, they stopped his chemo treatments. They upped the dosage on his pain meds. This morning, Cindy called me and said he was on the way out. I left work, hopped in my car and headed up there, but by the time I arrived, it was too late.
    He was gone.
    He was pale. It looked as if he were sleeping. I held his hand. It was still warm. I spoke to him. I closed my eyes and thought to him. I thanked him.
    I've been in this place before. It was different that time. I feel for Cindy, who has to go through now what I went through 3 years ago. The slow realization of what has occurred, trying to wrap your head around the reality. It's difficult, even years later. You can accept something and still not believe it. You can believe and not accept. That's where I am, again. It doesn't seem real. Another empty room, another person my boys will never see again. I feel for them. I feel for Bailey, who has already lost his sister recently and now must cope with this. Mostly I feel for Cindy. The newt few months will be very difficult for her, but she won't be dealing alone. This has affected more people than even I can know or account for. sadly, death has a way of bringing people together...and splitting them apart. You never know how people will react to a death, or what the coming days, weeks, months, and years may hold. All I do know is that everyone affected needs to be strong and look to each other for that strength and support. Even me.

One More Time...

        I know I've said this before. I KNOW I have. I hate being grouped in with people. Singers. Actors. Jews. Fat people. Democrats. Liberals.
    One of the issues that really got under my skin while Lucia was sick was the way the "care" staff treated her. It was like they had a rigid set of guidelines that was universal to all patients regardless of their life, lifestyle, or situation, and it bugged the living hell out of me when they tried to treat her like a cookie-cutter case.
    EVERYONE is different. The ways may be subtle, but we all have our nuances. So, when people make comments about a specific group, it bothers me. Last year's election split the country in a way not seen since the Civil War. We're in another right now, although it's a Cold War. Since the shooting in Newtown in December, the issue of gun control has once again polarized the country. The decisions of the administration have polarized the country. Everything that is said or done splits us right down the middle, and people have a tendency to group everything in black and white. That's it. Black and white. Right and left. Right and wrong. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
    I'm a liberal. I believe women have the right to control their own bodies. I believe a person in love should be able to spend their life with the object of their affection, regardless of race, religion, or sexual orientation. I believe in legalizing marijuana. I believe ANYONE should be allowed to serve their country, regardless of race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation.
    HOWEVER.
    There are foggier issues. I don't have an answer to them, but I don't think that either liberal OR conservative sides are giving good responses, either.

GUN CONTROL: there is something wrong. I don't believe we should ban all weapons, as the conservatives believe the liberals are trying to do. The problem is not the guns that are available, although that's part of it. The issue is the guns that are already OUT there, the ones the bad guys already have and CAN get. The conservatives are right, regulating legally obtained weapons is not the issue, it's defending against the ILLEGALLY obtained ones. But how? Neither side has given an answer that to me is satisfactory.

OIL: Again, something is wrong. yes, we need to protect the environment, but we need to make it so we can afford to get to work, as well. $5 a gallon for gas is rigoddamndiculous. There's no reason for it. If we have it in this country, we need to be able to obtain it. Make it safe, make it friendly, and get it. You want to protect the people of this country? Prevent Big Oil from putting us into another Great Depression. ExxonMobil can buy Europe and North America four times over, but Joe Paycheck needs to sell a kidney to put 15 gallons in his tank. NOT. FUCKING. RIGHT.

TAXES: It's never gonna be right. Somewhere along the line between Washington and... I don't even know when, something got fucked up. Don't blame Obama, don't blame Bush, this shit was fuzzuckled before either of them. We're spending too much, but there are things we need to spend on: providing for our children AND our elderly, providing for our sick and disabled, education, defense... do I think everything should be free? of course not. I believe in working for a living and earning your keep. However, for those who are UNABLE to provide for themselves, or for those who NEED HELP, help must be provided. The elderly, children, veterans, those who have been injured or disabled in an accident, THESE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO DESERVE HELP. Addicts, lazes, people who keep pumping out kids because they're too stupid to do otherwise, THESE PEOPLE DO NOT DESERVE HELP, those who take advantage of the system. However, NOT EVERYONE WHO APPLIES FOR ASSISTANCE IS A SLACK-OFF DEADBEAT SCUMBAG. A lot of truly needy people apply for help every year, and because of a slimy minority number of bad apples, everyone suffers. THIS IS WRONG. Focus the money where it needs to go, not where the special interests, corporations, an those wealthy enough to fund an election campaign want it to go.

    This is what I feel. This is what I believe. I don't have answers. I don't pretend to. I don't like some of the answers I'm hearing. Everything sounds too extreme, there's too much far left and far right. there need to be decisions made in the middle, but nobody is willing to talk, or more importantly, LISTEN. People need to stop saying NO to an idea simply because the other side said it. "Wow, the Red Sox played a good game tonight." "I don't care, THEY FUCKING SUCK." "Yeah, but they fought hard, their offense was flawless, and their defense was stalwart." "I don't care how many home runs they hit and how many batter sthey struck out, THEY FUCKING SUCK." Welcome to today's politics.
    People need to learn to listen. listen to BOTH SIDES. Don't like what you hear? Tell me what works better. Explain it clearly and logically. When I ask why you disagree with something, give me facts and a logical reason why you disagree, not an answer like "because he's an asshole" or "he's an idiot." Explain to me why you disagree with it, and then give me a logical, thought out alternative. Be informed. Don't give me "They're trying to make it so nobody can legally buy a gun and then only the criminals will be armed and we'll have to rely on slow-responding police for defense" and when I ask what you would do tell me "put militias outside our schools, arm all the teachers, and allow citizens to carry M-60's in their SUVs." Know the proposed legislation and give me an alternative if you don't agree. Same with your opinions of other issues. Against same-sex marriage? Why? How does it directly affect you? Don't like the proposed budget cuts and spending measures? What would you do in the situation if it were your call?
    Think. Listen. But know that not everyone is going to be the same on all the issues. Just because someone is liberal doesn't mean they agree blindly with everything being posed by one side. Just because someone is a conservative doesn't mean they're going to be all militant and hard-nosed.
    LISTEN.
    KNOW.
    Generalizing is BAD. Grouping is BAD. We're different. All of us. MELTING POT. Remember that.