Monday, January 29, 2018

Motivation for making your bed

At some point during the day, week, or month, you’re going to run into someone you don’t know. A complete stranger. You see them at the store, at the gas station, or at dinner. And they’re going to remember you. And they will, at that very moment, hate you. You will be forever embedded in their mind as that asshole at the store, gas station, or dinner.  

I know it seems unreal. I mean, I never think of myself as an asshole to strangers. Family yes, strangers no way. I’m polite. I’m generally kind or pleasant. I’m not rude for no reason. But now this person, because of some unfortunate event, thinks I am. 

Yesterday was my day.

I don’t make excuses, but there was a disturbance in my force yesterday. Things were just not normal for me. Long story short, as we walked in to the restaurant for lunch my mind was somewhere else, and that’s when it happened. That’s when I became somebody’s "Asshole".

An old Navy Seal once said that if you want to change the world you start off by making your bed. Making your bed each morning gives you a feeling of accomplishment to start your day. Then it snowballs. One accomplishment leads to another which leads to another and another. And in order to change the world we have to accomplish tasks, and change lives. We start with simple things, sometimes mundane tasks but done correctly, repeatedly,  will change lives. Your life, along with others. 

I followed my family inside the restaurant. The line was backed up to the entryway and standing room was limited. As I squeezed in I noticed a dog inside the restaurant; service dog. It didn’t bother me, I just took notice. I step aside trying to make room as an elderly woman pushing a walker came toward me. Now in hind sight I should have gone back out the door and held it open for the lady, but again I wasn’t exactly focused at the time. I was thinking about the events from earlier in the morning, the dog, and the restaurant in general.  

A young lady quickly works her way past the old lady with the walker, shouts, “I got it, Thanks, and opens the door”. It was directed at me. She didn’t call my name say hey mister  or you there. But it was a shot at me, and It was at this very moment that I knew… I was her Asshole.

It bothered me, still does just a bit. I wasn’t being rude. I didn’t slam the door in her face or try to trip the old lady as she rolled by. I simply didn’t hold the door open for her. A small mundane task that has forever put me in the “that asshole at Fazoli’s”category. 

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

My Transgender Child...

I have written and rewritten this post so many times it's not funny. Not because I'm afraid or embarrassed. I see it more like that surfer who's waiting on the perfect wave, or John Cusack chasing a sure thing. I  want it to be the perfect post. But maybe that doesn't exist, so here goes. I'm not gonna sugar coat it.

My oldest child is transgender, and if that offends you, well then Fuck Off. Maybe I'm supposed to say my oldest child is A transgender? I'm not really sure. Either way, if it offends you, you can still fuck off.
About a year ago they came out to their mother and I that they were transgender. It wasn't a total surprise to my wife and honestly she's handled it much better than I have. I won't lie, it's been hard for me, but one thing's for sure, I love her, or him, or them? I'm not really sure. It's complicated.

But here's the thing. I don't need you telling me how I should feel or act. Or how I should act about feelings or feel about actions. I don't need you to tell me how my child should feel or act. I don't need you to tell me how to parent my child. I don't need you to quote scripture or tell me we're all going to hell. I don't need you to pretend it doesn't exist. Or that it's just a phase.  I don't need you to whisper when talking about it. It's not a disease that you're going to get if you say it out loud. I don't need you to post shit on Facebook or Twitter about Transgender teens or Transgender parents or parents of Transgender teens or teens of Transgender parents. I don't need it. I don't need self help books, inspirational quotes, or DIY videos on how to "pray the gay away". I don't need it. I don't need your drama, your sympathy, your prayers, your good vibes, your advice or whatever YOU think I need. I don't need it.

Here's what I do need.

I do need you to love my child. Not because they are a boy or a girl. But because they are smart, and funny, and original, and hard working, and caring, and emotional, and loving, and just a kid who's trying to figure it all out in a world that wants to back them into a corner. I need you to support them. To respect them. To love them as a person. I need you to prove to them that you're with them; that you're  on their side. This. This is what I need. And if that is to much for you, well.....

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Being Inspired...or not


I am not inspiring, nor am I inspired. Maybe that's part of the problem? Actually that's not entirely true. I think I was inspired recently?

You Still Writing?

An old friend posed this question to me a few days ago, "You still writing"?  I wasn't real sure what to say. I'm not sure I was ever actually "writing" even when I was "writing". Just putting jargon to a screen doesn't make me a writer any more than swimming makes you a fish. But whatever. I told him "no not really". It's not like I don't want to, I just lack the inspiration.

And Then It Hits You

The other day I logged onto Facebook to see another old friend had started a blog. I was happy. As if he had joined the club or something. I read his posts then followed his blog. He wrote about inspiring shit. Shit that helps him get through his day. Shit like, cease the moment, and be who you want to be. Shit that maybe should help me, but quite frankly doesn't. Nonetheless, I was glad he finally started writing.  

We Couldn't All be Cowboys

As long as we're on the subject of what my problems are. I think my problem is I'm a Simpleton. I'm just kidding, I'm no Simpleton, I'm chicken shit, well, and maybe lazy, but mostly chicken shit.  I'm afraid of change. I don't think you need a couch and a PhD to figure that out. For the most part I enjoy a simple life this is true But the problem with that is I get bored with it. And when it bores me I get depressed. Maybe I just need a little more adventure. Maybe I should find a traveling rodeo. After all, some of us are clowns.