Dad

I will call you Dad, Dad

And my heart melted

A joy so rare

Only birth has felt so

You choose me

An honour above all

My love

My daughter

Dear Kith

Contrary to considered truth I am still here.  The concern over my disappearance is long in truth and full of self-deception as I attempted to recluse myself.  I am aware again.  How do we indeed know if we are truly there, or not, unless we are truly aware?  I am of course aware but the reality is there is no clue within the playground.  The recreation grounds are in fact a mass of exploration forming thoughts, nay concepts, of the humanity I wish I were.

A dichotomy.

Love and friendships have been eluding me Kith.  As you are well aware I give of myself freely but very selectively.  My muse comes in, counsels me, and then abandons me to, well, me.  How can one realistically live a temporary existence?  I do want to hold but most assuredly want you all to live and love free.  Do I control too much?  Do I live the delusion of something far too powerful to understand?

Confusion reigns doesn’t it?  Tell me Kith, how is it you are able to put up with me when you do.  I love you for it.  And of course am confused when you depart.  Thank you for grounding me Kith.  Your patience with me presents me with reality.  My eyes are opened, reopened to all the wonder in this universe.  The small become amazing.  Childhood is nothing less than life itself.  And trust is this truly wondrous gift.

I am approaching the latter stages of set Kith.  The next will overwhelm me soon.  I want you to know dear Kith I draw inspiration from you all days.  Without you I am only an entity.  I hope to continue to share the journey with you Kith.  I would want it no other way.

With love, with respect, and truly,

n.

pure

i held you first so long ago

the most fearsome

the most beautiful

creature i had ever known

you fought to life

and then showed me what life is

i wept the tears of a man proud

in the new woman you had become

and you were teacher

to me and your mother

you taught love

you showed love

and you brought your husband to your fold

you make me marvel

to where you take your children

and you give to me hope

pure

simple

hope

O & Xmas

I 

love you

Simple as that

No obligation, no fanfare

Today, above all, it is you I think of

Living so full of gifts, celebrating our lives

Intertwined and so far, apart the sadness grows fonder

Yet my heart is here grateful for you

My love for 

My loves

Counting Pennies

One, two, three, four… and so on to fifty. 

A brown paper coin wrap is waiting.  A slight crease folded about one half an inch from its edge.  The paper placed carefully onto an open Encyclopedia Britannica, the crease fold aligned with the gutter between the open pages of the reference book.

Carefully and cautiously, the tarnished copper treasures are tipped upright onto the brown paper wrap, one, two, three, four… and so on to fifty.  Tiny fingers balancing tiny coins, onto brown paper, placed into a reference book, open to a page with a picture and article of a strange place in far off Africa.

We collect these coins with our trick and treating.  Little orange cardboard money boxes secured around our necks by coarse brown string, beacons of charity to the occupants of the houses we yell our Halloween apples to.  Children all over our city are making the same effort, collecting pennies, into little orange boxes.

These boxes come to our house from the schools.  Hundreds of little orange boxes filled with pennies.  For several days four sets of children’s hands and one set of mother’s hands, sit around the dining table spending their evenings wrapping coins.  Counting pennies, while eating candy, wrapping pennies, while reading the pages of the book beneath the wrap.  Reading of Nigeria, and Biafra, and listening to the news of families starving, and children dying.

One, two, three, four… and so on to fifty.  Over and over again.  Eating our candy.  Counting these pennies.  So people in a far off land may have food, and perhaps life.

Broken

A walk down the curved hill from door to road’s edge.  They are tiny people, and aged.  She leaning against her cane, he bow-legged walking with the deliberate care of sore joints.  They are slowly walking the downward slope, leading me to the road’s edge. 

She stops to punctuate a decision.  She will walk no further.  She speaks, her orders punctuated by jabs of the cane, her language not mine, snippets englais mixed in francais, her point understood.  He (two jabs directed to his chest) must go get the car (a swing jab over his head in the general direction of where they are parked) and he must bring the car here (a point of the cane from the road to the precise spot he is to stop) and he (more jabs to his chest) must be quick about it.  She leans upon her cane, tired and pained.  A look to her husband reveals her disdain.

He looks confused and frightened.  Momentary silence and then shy speech: where is the car parked?  Wife explodes in fury, a string of language I recall hearing on the schoolyards of my youth, her jabs to him pronounced and pointed: you stupid man, you forgetful uncaring man, you inconsiderate man, must I do and think of everything, man.  Her anger animated, her cane swinging about her, a menace of wood it lands across my shoulder.

Her profanities, no apologies, proffered upon myself for being so near.  Unapologetically she returns to her man to complete her eulogy in stupidity finally recalling to him the place where the car is parked. 

Wide berth I give her as I continue to the road.  He hobbles down, down to road’s edge.  At the light we look into each other’s eyes.  We share, he a broken man belittled impotent and useless, me a broken man bruised contained anger.  No words need pass we just know.  Light changes, permission made, we cross together, solace in companionship, strangers to pride.

Trust Brothers

WE went on an adventure HE and I.  TOGETHER. 

TOGETHER, we would race.  TOGETHER, we would navigate, we would ride, we would trek, we would run, we would climb.  TOGETHER, a race against others, a race with others all to a common goal.  TOGETHER, a race to be won, a race of resolve, a TEST of TRUST.

TOGETHER, we will learn each others burdens.  TOGETHER, we will learn each others strengths.  TOGETHER, we will use each others strength to overcome the heave of each others burdens.

TOGETHER, we will emerge as one or TOGETHER, we will fail apart.

WE began this adventure HE and I.  TOGETHER.

I a burden, a man with competence and ability, a man without speed.  My burden his now as TOGETHER we have agreed to travel, to ride this journey.  HE stays before me, parting the wind, using his strength to draft my burden.  TOGETHER we are last.  TOGETHER.

We climb our escarpment, we come to the ravine.  The Others, they have all arrived before us.  The Others, they are no longer TOGETHER.  We and the Others can see our first goal, just beyond reach, a scant distance across a narrow, deep, precipitous ravine.  The Others are no longer in resolve, they are no longer TOGETHER.  The Others are working to work around the challenge.  They cannot conceive to face the challenge, TOGETHER.

WE leap before we check HE and I.  Faith, TOGETHER.

TOGETHER, we see our goal.  TOGETHER, we know our strengths.  TOGETHER, we trust.  First our rides, tossed as flotsam into the deep ravine, a commitment made.  Next ourselves, self-tossed with reckless abandon onto the deep ravine, a commitment committed, exhilaration screams from our very souls as new experience is discovered TOGETHER.  WE were in this TOGETHER, our commitment made.

WE tumble HE and I. 

To the bottom of this ravine, winter waters coursing the brook, vestige of snow remaining, as we enter this new world well below the safe world.  The Others exhort, concern bemused inquiry of condition.

WE land below.  Our rides safe and resilient.  Our bodies, bruised and bleeding.  Our souls in exhortative laughter as we lived our resolve to survive this adventure TOGETHER.

WE climb HE and I.  TOGETHER.

Our bodies washed in cold waters, our injury forgotten, in the adventure of the journey, TOGETHER.

Ravine is steep, near sheer and impossible.  We have TRUST.  This we can only do TOGETHER.  HE climbs to just above me.  I pass him his ride.  I pass him my ride.  HE ropes our rides to the ravine wall.  I climb to just above him.  HE passes my ride.  HE passes his ride.  I rope our rides to the ravine wall.  WE repeat this task over and over, passing and holding our burdens, using our strengths, using our TRUST.  WE climb from this barrier ravine, this place where people fear to leap. WE climb from this barrier TOGETHER.

WE travel this adventure, this journey, to our first goal across the ravine.  The Others, now envious, still stalled, afraid to take that leap without first assurance of survival, peoples of regret and fear, they watch us ride, hands clutched over arms, a body of one, a body of TRUST, to our first goal.

WE learn TOGETHER each other HE and I.  Our TRUST is learned by a leap into the ravine, TOGETHER.  WE emerged battered and bruised, bleeding and raw, souls joined, TOGETHER.

Do Something

February 25, 2011, at the Starbucks, Castro District, San Francisco

My heart.  It breaks at errors in judgement, at errors in parentage. When you needed your father most I let you down.  In my confusion I took a position, a popular position.

"Do Something" pulled me from my afternoon slumber.  "Do Something" meant action and this order was only used to meter out physical intervention.

I made a decision.  A decision to "Do Something" and I did the wrong something.  You had made a decision.  Young men of all ages make life decisions, you had made yours.  "Do Something", and I blocked your way, your passage from your home. "Do Something", and I restrained you, a desperate act to stop what I believed would be a brash act, a mistake. "Do Something", and my arms were around you, a last desperate hug, a last attempt to keep you with me, with your family.

"DAD", you cried.  The most heart wrenching cry I have ever experienced.  "DAD, let me live my life." "Do Something", I was jolted to reality, your release assured, knowing errors would be made, and lives would be lived.

"Do Something", I was once again compelled.  I did something.  I stepped aside, opening your door to the next stage in your life.

I was made a coward, weak and unable to direct my young ward to a correct and proper path.  Who are we to choose your path, I thought.  Who are we to make your decisions.  You are a man, a man with all the responsibilities joined to that title.

I was a man, made impotent in the eyes of "Do Something" yet suddenly made whole and proud of my life, my blood.  My son set out to "Do Something"!

Forgive me son!

Life has changed.  My impotence turned to dignity, a chance to take charge on my terms.

A call of despair, my son is hurting.  Years of taking your path with your partner vanish without explanation, without understanding.

"Do Something", you partner compels me.  Your son, he is hurting, he needs you.  A last act of dignity from a waning love.  He cared enough for this act.

"Do Something", I come to you, to be with you, once a feeling of impotence.  This boy of mine, this man, has grown.  He is in sorrow, he is in pain.  Do I hold him, or simply listen, do I discuss practical matters? These are new uncharted waters for me.  I just be, be with you, and then leave.  I wonder, did I "Do Something", did I make a difference?

"Do Something", and we depart, our dignities intact, on a journey of healing.  We turn our outlook to our futures.  We share relationship.  We share dreams.  We share sorrow.  We share family.  We share brotherhood.  We share manhood.

"Do Something", and you have.  You lay down your life's plan.  Your stock is understood.  Your path is clear.  Your pilgrimage to the Castro reaffirms a step in your foundation.  You "Do Something", you inspire confidence, you hearten my own future.

Your life will be better Scott-free.  You are proud and assured, surrounded by family of love.  I again release you, without restraint, and with confidence, my boy a man, my son, my family, my friend.

I am proud of you son.