The Saint and the Cynic

I have spent many years on the fence, teetering both ways. Call it fence surfing. I can say for sure that I spent the younger years of this decade in the red. I was an angry, seething cynic. I hated as much as I could. With a smile of course. I was happiest hating, making excuses for my lack of action. "What's the point? It's useless to fight it." The it being defined as the constant barrage of opposition that we face in our day to day lives. Yep, by that definition it's still pretty faceless. I'd drink myself into oblivion every night, waking up to shrug off another hangover.

I now constantly wonder why the fuck I didn't fight back. I mean, sure, I paid certain small contributions to the struggle, but only enough to feel less pathetic and meaningless. Now my life is marked and directed by fatherhood. I have two beautiful girls that help me choke back the cynicism and hatred that still bubbles beneath my skin. I would be in heaven if I didn't have to worry about them someday stepping foot on the soil of this earth without parental guidance.

The last four years have brought a whole lot to my attention. It wasn't enough that I wasn't ready to be a husband, much more a father. The universe brought Charleigh to us very early, so we were thrown into tumult very early on. My wife and I, barely married, faced the very unexpected. I watched Stephanie lay barely conscious for almost a week, on a literal deathbed, before they decided to take Charleigh by Cesarean. I spent the morning of my first daughter's birth wondering if either of them would survive. Stephanie spent a few days recovering physically. Charleigh spent her first four months in the hospital finishing out her development. My family was literally showered with support and love. There was no shortage of human kindness. We were embraced by an enormous community that we had no idea even existed. There is no way we would have survived without that embrace. I have never been able to find the proper words, nor the proper forum to thank the countless people involved in saving my family. I don't believe a book could contain the proper words to say what I would like to say. I owe my livelihood and my family's strength to the kind actions of others.

It is unfortunate to say that there are many people that I didn't thank. There are many that I lost touch with, some family. Everyday was crazy. I carried the guilt in my throat. I cherished every moment and was so grateful for every good deed that was extended to us. It was this strenuous time in my life that slowly began to stifle the cynic. I felt the strength of humans being right. I was on the receiving end of the unconditional love of strangers.

As a result of that experience, I feel that there is no other way to spend my life than to be in the service of strangers. Not just strangers, of course. I just want to help. In any way possible. My friends, family, whomever. I want everyone to be okay with their lot in life. I know in my heart that is not possible. The world doesn't work in accordance with making all things right with its inhabitants. The struggle makes everything else more worthwhile. The simple fact that we cannot forget is that we can alleviate some of the struggle just by listening and giving more to each other. It is easy to escape into cynicism. It's harder to stand next to someone and be there through the struggle.

Happy Hollow Days

Yeah, it's a shitty phonetic trick in the title there, huh? It's not that funny. I know.

I love the holidays, I do. I enjoy every bit of it. When I could afford it, I even loved the over-commercialization of Christmas. Sure, I've spent years of my life struggling with the drama and bullshit that seems to erupt towards the end of the year, even pinching myself in the aisles of department stores hoping I make the right gift choice for whoever it is on my shopping list. It seems ridiculous because it is ridiculous. We've over thought this thing for so many years that we can't see that it is so fucked up. I mean, really.

When I was a kid it was all about Santa. Of course, my brother and I were slaves to Santa. Especially come November because that's when parents start hammering that shit home. We got older and morality gained prevalence and the Christ story became a larger part of our Christmas. Santa and Jesus had quite a feat before them, taming the wild heathen children of the early 1980's.

Christmas has always been crazy. It's gotten so crazy now that I feel insensitive just calling it Christmas. If I don't say "Happy Holidays" I'm probably stepping on someones' toes. Kids in grade school have it the worst. I feel sorry for the lot of them these days growing up in a politically sound world. When I was a kid and we had a Jehovah's Witness in the classroom it was their tough shit that they didn't celebrate. "Ahh... look at poor Brian... He doesn't get a cookie because his family adheres to ridiculous ideals." We didn't hiccup. They didn't get a cookie. Their parents had a lot of explaining to do.

Nowadays, everybody must be included, to the point that it is even more fucking ridiculous.

It just doesn't make sense. When I was a child, if I didn't enjoy something, it was my fault. Now we walk on eggshells, hoping that we did it right. Hoping we made everybody happy. Crossing our fingers that we weren't found at fault for someone's foul mood. None of it makes sense.

We are trying too hard to impress ourselves. Shut up. You can't do it. Don't buy me a french press, I already have one. My daughter doesn't need another tutu. I'm sorry, I didn't know you had three copies of 'The Catcher in the Rye.' Why can't we just hang out and have a good time? oh, yeah, 'cause there are socio-ploitico- religulious obligations called the fuckin holidays to be had. I think I just made up words. word.

love to your breasteses.