Doug's Birthday

A couple months before I turned two, I got the best Christmas present ever!  That’s a selfish way for me to put it, because this present had to be shared with the rest of my family.  What we got was a little brother, Doug.  No longer would it just be me against three big sisters … now we were starting to even the odds.

The novelty wore out soon enough, though.  Brothers that close in age are not destined to have a totally smooth relationship, and we fought like cats and dogs.  We fought like brothers, actually, which may have been abetted by Dad getting us each a pair of boxing gloves one Christmas.  But through all the fighting, and sibling bullshit, we loved one another as only brothers can.

From a very young age, Doug had a wicked wit.  He sharpened it talking back to television shows; it wasn’t ‘Bewitched’ to Doug, it was ‘Bebitched’, and to him, it wasn't ‘Marcus Welby, MD’, it was ‘Make-us Sickby’.  It was juvenile humor; ideal for us in our pre-teen years.  And by the standards of kid creativity, I think they were pretty damn clever.

Doug grew up to become a solid, responsible man, one I have always admired.  Doug was the definitive stand-up guy.  I know from a couple times he pulled my ass out of the fire.  And while I was ricocheting all over the place, moving to Bend, Portland, Corvallis, the Bay Area, etc., Doug stayed local, and was a solid anchor my parents always knew was within reach.  Though younger, Doug is my big brother, and I look up to him.

Doug and I were both political, and both stubborn.  We differed on many issues of the day, but it was never because he was uninformed.  He read many very challenging books on history, political theory, and anything else that captured his interest.  We often found we had read the same book - but somehow he came away with different, equally valid conclusions than I had reached.  

Doug was intensely shy.  He rarely started a conversation, even within the family, though in our safe zone, he would engage, and share the wit, humor, and intelligence he kept sharp on his own.  It always felt like a small success to engage him in conversation.  Beneath his quiet exterior was a treasure trove; unlocking it for a moment or a while was worth whatever secret sauce it required.  Then, just as you're enjoying drawing him out, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, only to find him gone when you return.  He was never into those long goodbyes that stretch for hours in many families.  He would just tell those in the room that he was leaving ... and then disappear. 

This year has been terribly difficult for so many people.  We didn’t lose Doug to COVID, but we lost him at the very beginning of the pandemic, so our grieving has not been able to include a memorial gathering to honor him.  We don't even know for sure what caused it.  The medical examiners were so preoccupied with the crush of the pandemic that, once they determined what he didn't die of, and didn't suspect foul play, they didn't dig deeper.  It felt very much like the same pattern we had known forever ... we just looked away and he was gone.

Many in my family are very private, so I have not shared much about losing our brother.  But today is Doug’s birthday, the first of them since I was one year old, without him, so I make an exception.

Doug, I love you, my brother; and I esteem you more than your humility would likely allow you to recognize.  I hope you are safe and warm, and enjoying this day when we celebrate your birth.

Agnostic Proselytizing

You know what belief system has never converted people at the point of the sword?  Agnosticism, that’s who!  Agnosticism is inherently non-proselytizing, because the core of our belief is that we just don’t know.  And how do we force conversion without a compelling message?  

But maybe doubt itself could be our battle strategy.  If we could get inside the heads of the opposing warriors with questions like … 

• *What if the emperor really isn’t a deity?
• *What if the crusade really isn’t about saving souls so much as gaining real estate for the Pope?
• *What if beef really IS what’s for dinner?
• *What if there are only seventy-one virgins waiting for you - and the seventy-second one is that hottie you had your eye on?  

… and so many other possibilities.  People tend to find all of these laughable, except the one THEY believe.  

We may be missing out on a great campaign - or maybe not.  I just can’t be sure.  

I just can’t be sure.  

Madeleine Get-out-the-vote drive

 I can’t stand it when people constantly put up brag posts about their kids.  It’s like they just want to bask in the light their kids cast off, and take credit for their kid’s actions.  

And I know I just posted a really cute baby picture of Madeleine yesterday … 

So, here goes.  Sue me!  My kid called me this morning from halfway across Ohio.  She has been in Michigan for six weeks registering voters in that critical swing state, in time for these people to vote.  Now she’s driving to North Carolina to help manage a get-out-the-vote drive in what now appears that it might also be a critical swing state.  

This is 100% Madeleine.  I take no credit for her drive, her initiative, or the strength of her convictions.  The pride I feel at this juncture has nothing to do with stealing her fire.  I am happy to enjoy the warmth of being nearby.  

Which reminds me … I’ll be flying there after the election, and driving back with her, coast to coast.  The kid is great travelling company.  

Shere Hite Obit

 RIP Shere Hite.

I read The Hite Report soon after it came out, and it changed my life.  At twenty-one, I was just approaching adulthood in terms of sexuality.  I wanted to learn everything I could about intimacy, pleasure, and sharing; this book could not have come at a better time.

Much of what is contained in the Hite Report is now so obvious, it hardly bears mentioning.  But at the time, it was revolutionary - and the author paid a steep price for the change it initiated.  But for a kid my age, it was the golden key.  As much as anything, the message for men was to listen to our partners - to let them be a partner, rather than merely an object; to be open to trying new things, so that the experience could be as satisfying for them as for us.

Nobody wants to be told that they've been 'doing it wrong', or not doing enough.  The backlash among the (generally male) powers-that-be was overwhelming.  Despite our self-delusions, we are still in many ways a very puritanical society, and many people wanted no talk about women’s sexual pleasure.   Ultimately, this liberation hero chose permanent exile from our country, rather than to continue immersion in our backward society.  

Thank you, Shere Hite!

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/11/books/shere-hite-dead.html

Catheter Funnies

#1

That Instant of Panic ... when you feel the tug in your groin that tells you you're reached the end of your catheter leash ... just as you realize that you have shifted your balance, and committed to that next step further from 'base camp.  

#2

So, they sent me home with a catheter sticking up inside my penis, and a list of post-surgical instructions. 

My favorite instruction says that I can 'resume sexual activity' by now ...

but they didn't provide any 'adaptive' instructions regarding how to make that work with the dick leash.  

Recognizing Essential Workers

I’d like to suggest something; a very simple absolutely free thing we can give another, which will make them feel recognized, and improve both their day and yours.  

Next time you’re at the store, or McDonalds, a pub, or a similar place - thank the worker across the counter, or wherever … not some rote comment, said with no real feeling; look them in the eye, and say, “Thank you for putting your life on the line, so I can buy...” and finish by pointing at the groceries, lunch, drink, whatever.  

I have begun doing this, and have been repaid with the most overwhelming gratitude.  These people deserve better than to be treated like furniture, even under normal circumstances.  In our current crisis, they truly are putting their lives on the line, and people still just look right through them.  Please don’t be one of them … take this small step to demonstrate that you are a decent human being. 

Surgeon, I submit Me

Dear surgeon, I submit me to thy knife;
to replumb my wayward entrails, 
which have given me such strife.

Co-lo-rect this misdirection, 
and segregate the flow; 
that the vapor trail less taken
might be taken nevermo. 

And when the cuttin's done, will that be all?
Will I be clean, or will you find microflora
The future is not ours to see, you see
It is all ... viscera sera

Brandon & Anna's Wedding Comments

I guess I go back with Brandon about as far as anybody here other than his parents.  I was asked to serve at his baptism, after having served at his parent’s wedding.  Because his birthday is within a couple weeks of my daughter Madeleine's, we enjoyed celebrating these touchpoints together.  He has always called me ‘Uncle’ Michael, an honor I take very seriously.  Needless to say, it is a delight to be here for this occasion.  

It has been a privilege to watch Brandon grow into the man we know today, within the environment of unconditional love Gary and Marilyn provided him.  Though Brandon has enjoyed great success in a variety of pursuits, this love and esteem were never conditional on that success.  His parents are lucky to have him – and he, them.  

I have known Anna for a much shorter time – but I see in her much of that same confidence and self-assurance, as well as the kindness and empathy that are the result of a warm, nurturing upbringing. 

I am delighted beyond description that Brandon and Anna have found one another - and am not surprised that each has chosen a healing vocation.  It’s almost hard to imagine them in any other role.  It is gratifying to know that, at the end of a challenging day helping mend the psyches of people who look to them for help—sharing generously from their resources of mind and heart—Brandon and Anna will have one another waiting at home to help them replenish and recharge for the next day. 

Some people marry because they hope to find, in marriage, a partner who has the pieces they feel are missing in themselves.  

As beautiful and poignant as this often is, what I see here are two complete, self-actualizing individuals, who have chosen to come together, not because something was missing, but because they simply love one another – and have found a union that is greater than its component members.  They are strong enough to be gentle; confident enough to freely lend validation to one another; firm enough in their foundations to not need support, but stronger in the combination.  

The world is a richer, kinder place because Brandon and Anna each exist – even more so because they have one another.  

Fathers Day - Revisited

Since Mom’s birthday is in May, and Dad’s is in June—aligning with Mothers and Fathers Day, respectively—my thoughts always turn to them in those months.  With both of them gone now, it is a way in which I keep their memories alive.  

My father was what you might call ‘old school’.  He could be pretty strict, and held the family to the same high standards he kept for himself.  His beliefs and attitudes reflected his growing up in the rough and tumble world of Hoquiam, a logging town on the Washington coast.  He was tough; he knew how to use his fists, having been a varsity boxer in high school, and later in the Navy.  

But ‘old school’ also meant much more to Dad than toughness and standards.  He wasn’t one to easily spout niceties like ‘I love you’, but he knew how to show it when the chips were down.  

One weekend, my buddy and I hitchhiked to the coast, to camp on the sand dunes at Honeyman State Park, near Florence Oregon.  We had a great time, but got a late start coming home, and got stuck just east of town in the little unincorporated community of Cushman (more a wide spot in the road than a community).  Traffic on the highway was down to just about nothing, and around 11:30 in the evening, it started raining.  The prospects of a ride in the middle of the night for two soaking wet teenage boys and their soaking wet backpacks were less than bleak.  

We kept trying until almost 1 a.m., taking shelter in a phone booth during the long breaks between oncoming cars.  In retrospect, it’s bizarre that there was a phone booth there, in the middle of nowhere, but there was.  Finally, we decided to swallow our pride and call my Dad.  Once he was clear on exactly where we were, he told us to just stay right there – he was on his way.  

It was about an hour later when he showed up.  He pulled over on the gravel shoulder next to us, got out, opened the trunk, put our backpacks in the trunk, and let us in.  On the drive home, he asked us how the weekend had been, and generally made small talk with us.  There were no recriminations, or any expressions that we had inconvenienced him by getting him up in the middle of the night for a two-hour drive to bring us home.  He knew that we knew we had fucked up … there was no need for him to reinforce the lesson.  What was unspoken was his relief to know that we were safe, and his clear sense that it was his duty to keep us that way.  

I may be letting myself off the hook to say this, but I think he actually was glad to be right where he was, and was maybe a little bit proud to know that I knew I could count on him.  

It was years later, when I became a father myself, that I discovered another dimension to this.  Fatherhood came late to me, and I am grateful for every minute of it – so much so that some things that might seem unpleasant, or off-putting in a different context, just triggered gratitude.  On a number of occasions when Madeleine was in her tweens, and early teens, she would get so angry with me that she would start crying, and yelling that she hated me, and that I was the ‘worst father in the world’.  Sometimes I knew that I had done or said something to trigger this; other times it was just a mystery.  I don’t dispute that conclusion – I am no judge of my ranking among the fathers of the world.  But beneath her words, I heard a plea, ‘I am totally overwhelmed by life, my surroundings, the changes happening in my body, and to my friendships, and I just need to scream!  I know that however I take it out on you, you will respond with respect, and will keep loving me.’  I remember, even in the moment, how glad I was to be there – to be a point of stability for this incredible young woman, at a time when everything else in her life was in disarray; showing her that wherever she flies off to as she copes with life – I will remain moored, and will be there when she is ready.  

I don’t think anybody would accuse me of being ‘old school’, but when I remember the intensity, then the hugs we shared a little later, when the  moment had passed … I think I know my father just a little better.  

Why I shouldn't Smoke Pot

After the bonfire, I came in, thinking I might have some sort of meaningful, pithy remark for my friends to embellish with their brilliance.  

I really don't even remember the context of this phrase, but I started wondering how I might weave in the term 'multivariate stochastic' into a sentence or paragraph about trying to figure out where we are as a society, and where we might be heading.  

Yeah, I might have to either consult the thesaurus before I post, or just skip the edibles. 

Nowhere Else I'd Rather Be

My thoughts often turn to my beautiful kid, her dreams, and the excellent fortune I have enjoyed to play a small role in her becoming the fine adult she is.  

When Maddie was around three or four years old, some of the other parents of her classmates talked about how they had gotten the bedtime process down to a well-oiled machine … bath, tuck-in, read a story, hug-and-kiss, and then leave until morning!  I found that prospect very appealing, and suggested it to her mother, with whom I alternated bedtime duties.  

Cindy hated the idea.  She said that at bedtime, Maddie would open up and talk about whatever was on her mind, and continue to talk, even as she began to sleep, and entered a dream state.  Cindy said that she was learning more about our daughter in those moments than at any other time, and that I was missing out by focusing on wherever else it was that I’d rather be.  

Those words stung, but I took them to heart.  Of course that’s where I wanted to be … or was it?  

Since Cindy had no intention of truncating the bedtime experience on her nights, I wasn’t going to on my nights either.  The rewards of taking Cindy’s advice began very soon.  When Maddie knew she had my attention, she would relax and tell me stories, or ask me to tell her ‘Maddie Stories’, many of which starred ‘Super-Maddie’ who used her powers to rescue people, put bad guys in their place, or just generally make our town a better place to live.  We always began Maddie stories with the introduction, ‘Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little blonde-haired girl named Maddie, who lived in a big white house at …’ followed by our address - in the hope she would commit our address to memory - just in case.  

Very soon, I realized that there really was nowhere else I’d rather be than right there, learning from, sharing, and just loving and bonding with my kid.  

In her teens, Maddie began to pull away, as kids are meant to do as they gain independence.  After her mother and I divorced, during my weeks, we would often just talk about the things we needed to cover to stay on top of household and school responsibilities, and not chat a whole lot other than that.  I didn’t know whether to perceive this as emotional distance, or just her need for quiet processing time.  In either case, it would have been poor manners for me to intrude.  I wasn’t really able to draw her out, but I  assumed hopefully that everything was fine.  It helped a lot to see that when she would have friends over, they would sometimes also just share space quietly, texting on their phones; not always chatting with one another.  

Maddie and I streamed a lot of online television in those days; I came to know shows like Parks and Recreation, Monk, Psych, The Office, and other series that I had missed when they were broadcast, since I don’t watch much commercial television.  We didn’t talk much while we were watching - but once in a while, Maddie would have something she needed to talk through.  Sometimes, once she started, she could go on for a long time … like a burst dam.  Young women in their teen years go through a special kind of hell with their friends and schoolmates, and I was privy to some of the worst of it.  She wasn’t looking for a clueless middle-aged man to solve her problems, so I did my best to not propose too many solutions.  She just needed me to listen; truly, I was privileged to be right there.  

Later in high school, and into college, Madeleine has known she could count on me for occasional advice on papers, applications, and other academic stuff.  She will still sometimes come over, and we’ll just quietly stream an episode or two of a favorite show, and I am now confident that it is not distance; it is a form of bonding that we continue to share.  I sometimes call it ‘overlapping auras’, or ‘parallel play’.  Within those moments, she will occasionally ask me to pause what we’re watching, and she will hold forth—sometimes pretty extensively—about something that’s on her mind.  I will listen, occasionally provide a little feedback, but I try to never preach, or pretend that I have an answer which she is not soliciting.  

I hope that, as life goes on, we can continue to do this in one form or another - however it evolves.  

Cindy knows how grateful I am for her life-affirming advice encouraging me to take the time at bedtime, to listen to our beautiful daughter, and come to know her.  Madeleine really has become one of the deepest, brightest, most interesting people I know, and one of my dearest friends - in addition to being the light of my life.  I am enriched by knowing her mind, and am grateful that she chooses to open it to me.  No matter when, or where we are when she wants to talk to me, she knows there is absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be.  

I HATE YOU ... and I need a hug

I HATE YOU ... and I need a hug

When your child gets in your face, and screams, "I hate you!   You're the worst Dad in the World!", there are at least two possibilities; She may be right, and you may be the worst Dad in the World.  

The other possibility is that—whether, in the moment she feels that she means what she says—she may really be saying, "I'm completely overwhelmed by the world, by my life, and everything happening around me – and don't know how to handle it.  You are a safe zone; I know I can scream anything at you, and you will absorb it and still be there for me.” 

Maybe it was arrogance on my part, but I always assumed it was the latter of these, and tried to respond accordingly.  I can’t claim that it never got to me, or that I never responded like another child – but the assumption that I would still be there when calm was restored was a safe bet, and absolute core of the father I have always hoped to be.  The world is awash with unsafe zones; I was, and remain honored to be, a protective harbor.

Nothing Goes Without Saying

NOTHING ‘GOES WITHOUT SAYING’ - at least nothing kind does. The only appropriate time to say, ‘But that goes without saying’ is immediately after making the kind, thoughtful comment which you hope is understood implicitly.

Many people we care about are lonely and alienated in the best of times. Now, with each of us confined in our homes, this loneliness must be exacerbated. Without the random crossing of paths—the nod, the smile, or the polite greeting—we must make an extra effort to deliberately reach out to one another. Ask how they are doing – then stick around for the answer. When you do venture out, please take a moment to recognize the existence of the people you encounter (from a safe distance). You may be the only human contact that person experiences that day; please make the slight effort of an informal validation to make that contact a pleasant one.

Okay … that was preachy. I’ll stop now. Be well, be kind, and … at the appropriate social distance … just be excellent to one another!

Alone with your thoughts

I think I'll head out now.  You must have some thoughts you'd like to be alone with.  

Well, actually, you seem to have a lot of thoughts I'd rather you were alone with than sharing with me.  



This is probably one of those times when it's better if you just don't talk.  
That probably happens more often than you think ... and you don't notice, because you just don't shut the fuck up.

Cereal Monogamous

If one remains loyal to just one brand of cornflakes for a lifetime, would that person be considered cereal monogamous?