Category: history

See

I was re-watching a movie called Devil the other day and I was struck by one of the points in the story line. If you have’t seen it, almost the entire movie is shot from inside an elevator. It might sound a bit boring but its quite entertaining if you like the genre. Very suspenseful. Anyway, The devil brings this group of individuals together because he wants to claim one of their souls. The twist is that they are all bad individuals or have done bad things, whether intentional or not. As the story unfolds you discover they seem to be intertwined in relevant ways.

Anyway, my rant isn’t so much about the story line but part of the theory one of the lead characters proposed as a resolution. How do you make someone see themselves for who & what they really are? For you few enduring readers, you know this ties in nicely with one of my fundamental approaches to my blog; to see myself more objectively. [1]I certainly do a decent job of it at times but we all reflect on reality based on our own wants, desires, prejudices, etc. Thru many years of self-examination I like to think I have gotten better at seeing parts of myself more objectively. But how does one produce this on a larger scale? Think for a moment how many real world problems we could solve with this. And not just in our personal lives but in life in general.

In the movie the main character, being faced with imminent damnation, is finally given to see himself for who he is and what he has done. His redemption comes from the objective realization that he has committed a great wrong, whether intentional or not, and must atone for it if he homes to become a better person.

My question here is this the only way we can push people into seeing w/o the blinders? Is imminent destruction or death the only real way to remove the barriers we put before ourselves. I think back on my father before he passed. He waited till he was on his death bed to tell me he was sorry for the awful things he did to me during my coming out. Granted I think he’d realized his faults years before but he waited until the last possible moment to seek forgiveness. Maybe it sounds silly but the more I think on it the more I think this could/would fundamentally change our world.

Sadly, I don’t have a practical answer or solution to put forward. In my own life, it came from realizing a basic unhappiness in myself and struggling to understand it. This led to the pursuit of examining my id and all it’s many demons. I think this also reflects on why I try so hard to be fair-minded and equal in my thought patterns.

References

References
↑1 I certainly do a decent job of it at times but we all reflect on reality based on our own wants, desires, prejudices, etc.

‘stro

I was walking home from the gym the other day and snapped this shot. I didn’t put any real thought behind it. It was just a quick pic of the gaborhood. It was a typical overcast day in SF.

Apple guy and I had had a conversation about his pending move back to Texas and I was reminded of my first time here. While he is very happy to be moving back, I couldn’t imagine ever moving back to Texas, by choice. He doesn’t hate it here but I think because he never quite gained a strong financial foothold, he has become frustrated. There are also many things about the South that I guess he misses. I don’t necessarily think his views are overly objective but that is irrelevant. Finding a place to truly call home can be a strong drive in one’s life, I can speak from experience. I wish him all the best.

*

It was about 13 years ago that I got my first visit to the motherland, aka the Castro. lol It truly was love at first sight. I can remember arriving here in wide-eyed wonder, not knowing what to expect. There was a moment on my 2nd or 3rd trip here where I was just walking down the street and it hit me, “I want to live here!” Jump forward about 2 years and I made the leap permanently. It was nothing for me back then to just pick up and move somewhere. Hell, I didn’t have much so it was easy. Fast forward again to present day and I’m still in love with beautiful SF. Make no mistake it has it’s issues. It certainly isn’t for everyone and can be very hard if you don’t have a stabile financial situation. I was told many times I’d grow to hate it, become jaded, callous, and uncaring, or end up strung out on drugs. None of which has happened. The only down side is my dreams of home ownership here are on hold because of my current financial crisis. Ironically, said crisis had nothing to do with SF itself.

I bounced around a lot in my life before landing in SF. I think I was looking for a place to fit in. I never felt truly at home anywhere else. Having landed here and formed roots, I’m glad it happened and have not regrets. I know that I’ll eventually get out of my current financial hole. Maybe then I can focus on home-ownership again. If not, it won’t kill me. Either way, I’m home.

Wandering

I was talking to one of the neighborhood homeless guys the other day and it reminded me of my own stint at living on the street.

It was back in my early 20’s. I wasn’t making ends meet and rather than get evicted, I moved out of my place. I wanted to move from Galveston to Houston anyway so I figured it was the perfect time. I didn’t plan it well and ended up w/o a place to live for awhile.

Yeah, I did some things I’m not proud of but they were all towards my survival. I only had to steal food a few times; luckily, it was rare that I went hungry. I still had my car and was sleeping out of it so that helped me avoid some of the harsher parts of being on the street. Being in Houston, the biggest hassle was finding places to park where I wouldn’t get harassed by the police. At that time the downtown area was a ghost town at night and the gaborhoods weren’t overly safe. A lot of times I ended up parking in apartment complexes. It sounds odd but no one ever harassed me. I never stayed in the same one twice in a row so I think that helped.

On some levels it was pretty bad but overall I wasn’t as bad off as some. Not having rent to pay freed up my cash for other necessities. I kept my gym membership active so I always had a place to shower. I only shaved about once a week back then so I never looked ragged. To see me, you’d just think I was a normal kid. That definitely helped on the job search.

My jobs consisted of minimum wage low-skill type situations. I hadn’t developed much self confidence yet so I figured it was all I could get. Looking back, I probably could have landed better gigs had I tried harder. Anyway, I bounced around from waiting tables, working at hotels, etc. Actually, one of my better paying gigs was working at one of the local bath-houses hosting bbq’s on the weekends. Being funny and engaging with the clientele [1]and not necessarily like that either! lol the manager ended up I giving me a full-time job working the front desk. As luck would have it, the manager at the time liked that I was a hard worker and befriended me.

One night he dropped by after my shift-ended and sort of figured out my situation. He took pity on me and let me stay in one of the bigger rooms for a few months. He also secretly gave me a little extra pay every month to help me out. I am not ashamed to admit it. It kept me off the streets and out of trouble, plus having a gym and wet-area I always had access to good hygiene. It also gave me a chance to put away some money and eventually get back on my feet.

Having absolutely no credit to my name back then, I had to pay cash for everything, which meant only buying what I could afford at that moment. After about a year and half I secured a small apartment in one of the complexes I used to park/sleep in. After that, I moved on to bigger and bigger jobs as time went by. I was beginning to discover my talents and realized I could aim higher. Each job I bounced to was a step-up.

Fast-forward a couple more years and I’d reached a point where I could support myself again. I’m grateful for my friend that helped me out. He died about 3 months after I moved to SF. The owner knew me thru him and paid for my ticket to come back to see him before he passed. He died from acute HIV symptoms after being treated for cancer. The chemo pushed his immune system too far and he got an opportunistic infection that he eventually succumbed to. Some people might turn their nose at him for being a bath-house manager but he was a good person and was there for me when I really needed it. It was an honest living. He came off as a bitchy queen a lot but that was a cover. He was a genuine soul that helped when he saw a need. I saw him help plenty of his other employees at different times as well. He had a big heart.

I still look back on that time of my life from time to time. I had virtually nothing but I was happy most of the time. I didn’t have anything to lose so things could only go up from my perspective. Being smart and quick study, I always tried to better myself. Up until I started referring to it on my blog, only a couple people even knew that I went thru all that.

Anyway, I told the local homeless guy in my hood my story and I encouraged him to work at it. He doesn’t booze or do drugs [2]Well that I know of, I never see him strung out so I always try to help him with food when I can. I think he is what you’d call a career homeless guy but I hope that he decides at some point to get off the streets. If anything, I hope that my story gave him faith that he could if he really wanted to.

References

References
↑1 and not necessarily like that either! lol
↑2 Well that I know of, I never see him strung out

Dad

Continuing in the last vein of thought, I’m looking back over my life with my father. Much of it was harsh but in the end, I felt we made a strong closure.

My dad only passed in the last decade so naturally his memories are stronger in my mind and nothing has blurred. I remember the early days with him when my foster mom was still alive. I remember moving from Louisiana to East TX with an extended layover in Houston. [1]What I didn’t know at the time was this was when my foster mom was first diagnosed with cancer. I remember how happy my dad was to be in the country. [2]Which was even more remote than my home town, if you can believe it. lol  I remember how he embraced our new life in the wilderness. He was a man alive and it was obvious he loved his life at that time. I remember him building our house. I remember being curled up in his lap sitting in the giant window overlooking the new wilderness we lived in. I remember him reading to me in that same window. His reading sparked my own love of reading and zest for knowledge. I remember him guiding and counseling me when I was plagued by nightmares and spirits. He didn’t make fun of me or make light of what I was feeling. I remember the pain in his face when my mom started getting really sick. I remember the nights after she died when he would pass out drunk on the floor in misery. I remember not understanding how someone so big and strong in my eyes was capable of tears. I remember the sadness that came after. I remember being left with my older brother while he worked longer and longer hours.

A couple years later, I can remember meeting what would become my new step-mother. I can remember seeing my dad smile again. I remember how that first year with her was warm and good. I can remember the birth of my younger brother and how happy it made him. I can also remember how hard he worked just to keep clothes on our back. I can remember seeing him so tired from manual labor he would sleep for a solid night and day to recover.

Unfortunately, I can remember the growing rift my step-mother forced between us. I can remember the lies she told him to prevent me from telling him what was really going on. I can remember the bouts of anger when he would lash out at me. I can remember the bruises that remained after. I can remember the day I came out to him when he hurt me like he’d never hurt me before. I can remember for the first time in my life being afraid of him. I can remember the anguish knowing he didn’t love me anymore and that in his eyes I no longer existed. I can remember wondering why I couldn’t be like his real sons. I remember the many years never speaking, never knowing if he ever thought of me.

I remember when he got sick, the kind of sick you don’t recover from. I can remember my brothers telling me to hurry back home before it was too late. I can remember seeing the husk of what used to be a strong/vibrant man, now ravaged by cancer. I can remember for only the 2nd or 3rd time in my life seeing my father cry as he told me for the very first time he regretted what he did to me. I remember seeing the relief that flooded his soul upon hearing I had forgiven him years before for all that he had done. I remember him telling me he loved me and that he was proud of the man I had become. I remember him not wanting me to go when I left to return to SF. I remember knowing in my heart that he would be dead soon. I remember the call sitting in my voicemail when arriving in SF that he had passed. I remember the relief I felt for him then and now. I remember being happy I could give him peace before he died.

Dad, I wish our time together had been longer. I wish we hadn’t lost so many years while I was growing up. I miss the bond we had when I was young and you were my shining light in the darkness of a big bad scary world. We weren’t the closest but I still remember the good that you gave me.

References

References
↑1 What I didn’t know at the time was this was when my foster mom was first diagnosed with cancer.
↑2 Which was even more remote than my home town, if you can believe it. lol

Mom

*This was supposed to be a post about both my parents but it evolved into a post about my mom.  I’ll do a follow up post regarding my dad.*

 

It’s that time of year when I look back on my life. The anniversary of the deaths of both my adopted mother [1]No, NOT my stepmother. I almost never think of her and when I do there is usually a curse word on the tip of my tongue. and father are upon me. While decades apart in occurrence, the calendar dates are weeks apart.

It pains me at times that the memories of my mother’s features are becoming less and less distinct in my mind. I can still see her in my mind but the image is a bit blurry now. Ironically, the memory of our time together is still very strong. I can remember spending hours just watching her sew. I can remember her humming while she cooked dinner at night. I can remember her consoling me when I would hurt myself playing. I can remember her feeding the chickens in the yard. I can remember riding in the back seat of the old car. I can remember how I felt when I realized at the ripe age of 5 she was sick, and not the kind of sick you get better from. I can remember begging her to hold on until I turned 7. I can remember her crying because her heart was breaking seeing me so innocent; begging her to stay, knowing she was powerless to do anything. I can remember after she died watching her family go into hysterics at the funeral. I can remember thinking, "if mommy is with god now, why is everyone so hysterical?" I can remember deciding I would never attend another funeral in my life [2]and I haven’t. I can remember going to her grave site years later begging her to take the gay out of me. (This was when I didn’t understand there was nothing really wrong with me.) I can remember crying on her grave, collapsing in a heap of exhaustion, because I felt guilty for almost taking my own life out of despair when I lost my first love. I can remember the sadness the day I realized I’d lived longer w/o her than I had with her.

Mommy, I still love and miss you. The pain of your loss has ebbed over time but I still remember the love you gave me. I remember when you had no reason at all to take me into your life, you took me with no questions asked and brooked no argument to the contrary from anyone. I’m grateful that before the years of torture and pain from my stepmother that I had a mom I can look back on with love and fond remembrance. And even though I can’t say I think of you as often as I did in those days, I still think of you. I still hold onto the good that you gave me. I hope that where ever you are you know that you made a difference in my young life.

References

References
↑1 No, NOT my stepmother. I almost never think of her and when I do there is usually a curse word on the tip of my tongue.
↑2 and I haven’t.

Double

There is a set of twins that work out at my gym. One is gay and the other is straight. I’ve only recently begun to see them so I think they are new to the city. They always work out together and watching them you can tell they are pretty close. I’ve talked to them in passing a few times. I find myself being a little sad every time I’m around them. I guess it’s a reminder of my own twin that died during childbirth. I can’t remember if I’ve ever discussed that here. We were born 2 months premature and in the 70’s that was still a pretty big deal. I don’t see the need to flesh it out in every detail but obviously, I lived and he didn’t.

As a kid, I used to asked my dad on random occasions what was wrong with me. At the time, my little id had no understanding and I’d tell my dad that I felt broken. He always shrugged it off. Years later, finding out I was a twin was a huge relief because it explained so much. I grew up feeling like there was a big hole inside of me and now I knew why.

For a long time I was extremely bitter about it. I felt cheated in life because I was denied such a precious gift. Growing up very lonely and alone as a child, I think it only made the absence more acute in my mind. I’d speak to him in my dreams thinking I was talking to myself. Anyway, all these years later, I still find that I miss him and there are still times when I feel that hole there inside me. It isn’t the gaping wound it used to be but deep down it still hurts and I’m still just a little bitter about it.

I’ve also made mention in the past that I am a big believer in reincarnation. Well, what you might not know is I’ve always harbored a secret desire to run into my twin again in this life. When Apple guy and I first met, I had such a strong connection to him I secretly fantasized at times that he was my twin come back to me. Looking back on things, I feel completely foolish for thinking such a thing. Not because it was impossible but because I let my desire cloud my judgment. It certainly explained a lot though. My break up with Apple guy was very rough and I’ve repeatedly asked myself why I put up with it for so long. I am beginning to realize the connections and piece it all out. I’ve been overcome with shame, guilt, disappointment, bitterness, and anger along the way.

It wasn’t until I started running into the twins at the gym that things clicked into place. The day in question, I actually locked myself in the upstairs bathroom at the gym and cried for about 20 mins. [1]Lord only knows what everyone thought why I was in there for so long. lol It was a painful and yet liberating revelation though. It allowed me to let go of feelings and wistful thinking that was bringing me emotional harm and preventing me from moving on. For the first time since we split, I finally felt over it and ready to move on.

I find it ironic that every time I think I’ve learned all there is to know about myself, I discover something new. I’m 41 years old and I can feel my thoughts/ideals beginning to settle into constant patterns. I find I question my motives less and less and trust my decisions more and more. All good things, but I’ve always been afraid to reach a point where I no longer examined my actions. I’m proud to say that I am still capable of looking at myself objectively when the need arises. Not to mention, life has an almost sneaky way of showing us things we need to see.

I miss my twin and still hold out the hope that I’ll find him again, in some form. But if not, who knows what my next life holds? I never really believed it when people would tell me I had an old soul. I always felt too insecure and unstable to be an old soul. I’m not so sure anymore now. The older I get and as the length of the life behind me grows, I think this life’s conflict has blinded me at times. Looking back on it, I see a pattern of renewal, progress, and acceptance that just defies logic. I now believe it was and continues to be my soul speaking to my id. The problem is I wasn’t always listening. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

As always, hope springs eternal. 🙂

References

References
↑1 Lord only knows what everyone thought why I was in there for so long. lol

Better

The growing number of gay teen suicides lately has been deeply disturbing. Those who hate us, emboldened by the vocal nutjobs in the media, find license to continue their hate and even worse, do real harm. They see the freaks on tv and think it’s ok. It is not ok and every single one of us has an obligation to speak out and say so.

While I was fortunate enough to not be bullied that often in school, I did experience it. It wasn’t so much because I was obviously gay but because I was different. Up until I left home, my parents made me wear my hair like Elvis (for lack of a better description). I guess at this point said hairstyle was considered out of style and I got lots of teasing over it. Of course, being poor didn’t help. I was also rather skinny and almost frail at this point in my life. My first real experience was in junior high. My last day of 7th grade a rather obnoxious bully named Corrie snuck up behind me and sucker-punched in the face with his fist. He’d often called me all kinds of names including the F-word. I doubt he really thought I was gay, he just saw me as weak and easy-prey. I folded like a sack of potatoes as it was out of the blue and I didn’t even see him. Everyone around me was equally shocked, even kids who weren’t really keen on me were upset. He thought he got away with it clean but first day of the next school year, they expelled him for a month. At my 10-year re-union I had hoped to encounter him. One, I had beefed up and also had experience and a new-found confidence. I actually went half-expecting to get into a fight with him. Win or lose, he was going to know it was not ok to ever bully me again. He didn’t show. I found out later on he’d been in/out of jail for random crap. One only knows where he is now or if he is even still alive. There were a few other times in my life but for the most part I was lucky in that regard.

My own brush with suicide was based on years of mental-abuse from family and a final kick in the head by the loss of my first love. There was no one there to help me, no one to turn to, and certainly no one to tell me things would improve. While I wasn’t bullied that much, the pain was very real. Call it grace, God, or just dumb luck, I decided against a very permanent solution and moved on with my life. I’ve never forgotten how it made me feel though. The sense of despair and helplessness was awful and it robbed the mind of reason. When you get like that, you begin to look for an escape any way you can. Sadly, suicide often seems like the only way out. I’m living proof that it’s not. It does get better. And while that doesn’t mean life is gonna be all roses and pretty flowers, you do move past it. You discover the world is more than just that confined moment of agony.

I had a kid named Brad reach out to me on my blog some years ago after I had shared my story here. He told me that my post had changed his mind about killing himself and gave him courage to continue on his life. I’ve never heard from him since but it gave me so much joy to know telling my story helped someone else.

I’m happy the say the local police department here did an It Get’s Better video recently. Several of my friends were in it and I couldn’t be prouder. It may seem trivial or even expected coming from a progressive city like SF but I don’t think so. When a law-enforcement agency sends a message of acceptance to our LGBT youth, it is sends a powerful message of hope.

[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/6RMunYfzlGs” autohide=”1″]

 

The point of my ramble today is this. Good or bad, share your story with friends, family, coworkers, and even random strangers if the opportunity arises. It may not be horrific at all but that doesn’t mean your insight can’t help someone else. You never know when someone might be listening or reading. Don’t hide behind indifference. To do so discredits all those who have come before us and will come after us.

Strolling

It’s funny how memories can stimulate emotion even after decades. My last post about my childhood was a departure from my normal ramblings in that it was a very specific memory. The detail and clarity were peculiar enough but that’s not all of it. I’ll have one and then hours/days later something else will randomly spark and play out in my head, some good, some bad, some just random and unexpected. All of them surfacing in detail and then moving over for the next one. On a side note, it is a testament to human endurance that painful (even traumatic memories) tend to dull over time while good ones seem to remain bright and warm. Anyway, I don’t usually think back much on my childhood. While there were some really bright spots, most of it was one painful episode after another and better forgotten in my opinion. Honestly, I think I’ve even subconsciously blocked a lot of it out. [1]There are large chunks in several places that just seem to be missing. Even here on my blog I usually talk about my past in general terms as I’m often more concerned with the present.

The memories I do remember have been coming thick and fast over the last couple weeks. It’s been an odd sensation, even disconcerting at times, to have so many of them floating up from out of nowhere. Some from as far back as I can remember and others spread out in a kaleidoscope of random scenes. They never seem to be in any order. And while the stroll down memory lane has certainly been interesting, I’m more concerned with the why. What is it that has happened (or hasn’t) that I’m reliving my past? What kick-started all this into motion? Is it my age and the brain just doing its thing by purging or reinforcing memories? It’s certainly possible but I’m not buying it. I’m sitting here banging away on the keyboard and that idea just doesn’t fit. Is it just a random sense of nostalgia or is there more to it? Is my id trying to tell (or show) me something I’m missing or am I just going coo coo for coco puffs?!  lol  Either way, something is most definitely up.

This is another perfect moment when I get really frustrated with my lack of vocabulary. Yes, I speak purdy but there are times when simple words just don’t do the thought(s) justice. That being said, I’m doing my best to articulate as best I can… Thru it all I’ve had the weirdest sense that a part of me has returned, almost as if it had gone missing. I don’t have the faintest clue at the moment what that part is. [2]I just love little epiphanies, don’t you? lol This is why I continue to blog. I just feel more like myself than I have in awhile. Yes, that’s it exactly! I feel more like myself. But as opposed to what? What part of me has resurfaced or returned? I didn’t know anything went missing, so to have it return is equally confusing. At this moment I can’t pin it down to save my life but now that I’ve said it to myself, it seem right.

I’m sure over time it will come into more focus for me. Yes, you can rest assured I’ll beat it like a dead horse here once it does.  Regardless of what it is, I’m glad. And as I’m so very fond of saying… hope springs eternal.

🙂

References

References
↑1 There are large chunks in several places that just seem to be missing.
↑2 I just love little epiphanies, don’t you? lol This is why I continue to blog.

You Gonna Eat That? II

My last post got gobbled up somehow so I’m writing it again.

I had a flashback to my childhood the other day. It was kind of odd because it was a memory from when I was very young. God it seems like a lifetime ago and thinking of it now seems almost surreal. Anyway…

Picture it. It’s the 1970’s. Yours truly is about 3-4 years old. There’s me, my foster mom/dad and my 2nd oldest brother at the time. Mom was sewing and making clothes, my brother was in school, my dad was at work, and I was left to my own devices. We had a yard at the time that covered about an acres of land with a few trees on it. One tree in particular was my favorite. It wasn’t very big but had an odd limb that grew out not too terribly far from the ground. I couldn’t reach it on my own but if I stacked a 5-gallon bucket and a 50-gallon drum next to each other I cold easily climb up on the limb and hang out.

It was one of my favorite little spots to pass the time. If I was outside, I had to avoid the geese because they were mean and would jump on me, knock me down, and beat me with their wings. I was a tiny little fucker at the time so must have seemed like easy prey to them. Anyway, here I am one day chomping on a PB&J sammich and sitting in ‘my’ tree having a good ole time. I’d heard my dad come home but didn’t think much of it. I’d see him in a bit.

Everything was hunky-dory until I heard my dad yelling at me. I was startled so didn’t quite process what he was saying. I look over a bit confused and see him (along with my mom in tow) running over toward me continually yelling. This served to scare me more as my dad never ran. They are both clearly in distress and my dad jumps up on the 5-gallon bucket and yanks me down. Not understanding what is happening, I’m full on bawling at this point. I’m thinking I’ve somehow managed to do something and get in trouble. Meanwhile, I’m still chomping away at my PB&J sammich. [1]Even then I had a love for food!

I guess they realized they were making my hysterical so my mom starts trying to calm me down. It turns out my dad discovered a nest of yellow-jackets had built a nest right in the crook of the limb where it met the tree. He hadn’t a chance to take care of it I guess. Anyway, my dad seeing me up in the tree freaked out, afraid I was gonna stung. Unbeknownst to me the wasps were loving my sammich and flying all about. One had apparently landed right on my delicious sandwich right as I took a bite. Yup, you guessed it, I ate it! lol It never stung me, or if it did, I didn’t feel it.

My dad later sprayed them with WD-40, which promptly killed’em. An hour or two goes by and I’m right back up in my tree. This time minus the sandwich, watching the world go by. hehehe

I’m not sure why I suddenly remember this but I thought it funny enough to share. Aren’t memories funny sometimes? 

References

References
↑1 Even then I had a love for food!