Admittedly, I typically try to shy away from injecting a lot of my personal life or my family in posts largely due to the fact that I'm adamant about protecting my family's privacy and the fact that as a twenty year old kid who once treated social media like an open journal...I realize that I have an propensity to "over-share." However, this was something that made me sob so badly first thing in the morning and I feel that honestly? Its just a really nice story...then again I am bias. This morning after my wife left for work, I was attempting to fold laundry in my bedroom with my sons when my oldest son pointed to an action figure on the wall and began asking questions about it.
"Dada, is that YOUR toy?" He coyly asked (this is his way of looking for permission to use or play with something) and it hit me..."Actually no bud, that's YOUR toy!" He looked both elated and slightly bemused. Like, dada...if that is MY toy? What is it doing hanging up on YOUR wall? That's a damn good question, little dude (Kevin Pollock reference) The origin of said toy goes as far back as 1992 when my parents split up after my dad got drunk at my mom's work party and nearly killed his family in a parking garage. Before they divorced my mom moved myself and my two sisters with her into the in-law apartment of her parents' house. I had spent this particular day at pre-school and was shocked and somewhat jarred by the sight of my two sisters excitedly awaiting my arrival and ushering me into our house where I had received a special "gift" from our father. Waiting for me was THIS Robocop action figure. While I didn't understand the context, I had come to later learn that any time that my father REALLY messed up with myself, or with either of my sisters, or all of us as a family, he would buy things for us out of guilt to mitigate the fallout. I bring this story up because the night after we held his service, I had recorded a video on Facebook (Because, that's what all grieving people do, right?) Where I told this story and how much I LOVED that Robocop action figure and how at a time like this (my father and I had a very devastating final conversation the eve before he died) I weirdly was upset that I didn't have the benefit of one of his "I'm sorry" gifts. Hell, he died without ever telling me he was sorry.
At the time I was the manager of a family owned thrift store, by this time I had been there about five years. I always loved and enjoyed the company of my co-workers and the two women who owned the establishment and had a VERY good rapport with (almost) everyone who worked there. So much that I convinced myself that they were even family to me. I had taken my three bereavement days and returned still quite messed up (this triggered a downward spiral of drinking and serious depression until I would eventually bottom-out and spent many years in therapy) to find a gift waiting for me where we kept customer holds. One of my co-workers (who I adored, as she was very very lovely but also the girlfriend and now wife of a man I loved just as much and consider an exceptional human being. He also produced the EP I recorded many years ago) had apparently watched that video and found that action figure and gifted it to me with this note.
When I took the packaged figure off the wall my son tore it out faster than I was able to hand it to him and never put it down. The first thing that entered my mind was Erin's support, love, empathy, generosity, and her faith that one day I was going to have a "little Eddie," which whether it was kismet or happenstance turned out to be the case. My son looks like he could be my clone, its kind of scary actually. Ironically, looks like my clone and acts like my wife (but we won't get into that). I immediately excused myself into the kitchen where I completely broke down sobbing...like Kardashian ugly crying, can't catch my breath little kid cries. It was like watching my inner child grab onto the only decent memory he had of his father and treat it like some sort of totem of forgiveness.
My son played with the toy all day, but kept referring to it as "Daddy's toy," I don't know why but that brought even more tears out of me. He doesn't know its origin, the story about Erin giving it to me many years ago, or even why it was being perfectly preserved on my wall before he was even conceived. As hyperbolic as it sounds? My actual child playing with a toy that my father once gifted me because he screwed up and almost murdered his family and they had to scramble in the middle of the night to seek safety...my son doesn't know who his grandpa is (save for this, I don't talk about him) nor does he know how awful our relationship was. However, he now holds something that feels like the equivalent of hugging my inner child. I still live with so much anger and sadness, but after my son asked for that toy that always belonged to him, I think I can forgive him now. I just can't live with that anger any longer.
I joked to my sister that when my book finally comes out...rather than obsess over how many people read it or how successful or unsuccessful it is. Instead? I should appreciate what that book symbolizes about all the pain and anger that almost killed me, ruined my family, and could have destroyed any chance I had at correcting the mistakes of the past, to break the cycle, and finally give that poor kid a fucking hug and tell him....
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How are you? Are you and your friends and loved ones well? How are you all doing during the quarantine? We're close to entering phase-three in my state. July 6th specifically. Our governor recently addressed some statistics regarding potential surges in COVID-19, despite the record turn-outs for the recent protests they found only a 2.5% out of 17,617 people tested positive. He commended everyone for wearing their masks and using proper hand washing and sanitizing techniques. It makes me really proud that I live in a state where despite the obvious challenges (i.e. a pandemic) when taking to the streets to get their voices out there, they are still making sure that everyone is safe in doing so. My best childhood friend had recently attended a protest in our town this past weekend, I was unable to attend due to my brother in law having the gender reveal for he and his amazing girlfriend. Its going to be baby girl! I was happy to be part of that experience with them, even though by hour two of a four hour event the vampire in me was starting to grow wear from the eighty degree heat. Then father's day happened Sunday, which is usually a bittersweet day for me. My father has been dead for six years this September and some years I don't think about him at all, and sometimes I just get angry when I do. Fortunately, I have my two little guys as a physical reminder of where I'm at now in life and it was cute how people kept texting me wishing me a happy father's day. I swear that's the most anyone had ever texted me and that includes my birthday. I genuinely love that that's who I am now, a dad. As a dad, I can't stress enough how important it is for me to make sure that I am raising them with a stronger moral compass than my father tried to raise me with. When I was taking my youngest for a walk around the block, I couldn't help but feel so optimistic seeing so many signs, and messages in the windows of houses close to where we live. There is a sense of community in this town that didn't exist when I was a child and a young man, I'm glad my kids will have that to look forward to. In addition to being a dad, I am also a writer and on that front? I recently touched based with the publisher of my soon to be released debut novel and our trajectory is at a bit of a standstill due to COVID-19 as a lot of printers have slowed production. I completely understand, once I get my author's copy though I can talk street date and distribution which I am excited about. I REALLY want to get as many copies as I can into the locally owned bookstores. Something that has been breaking my heart around my own town are the number of small locally owned stores that are going out of business due to their inability to stay afloat. It resonates on a personal level because prior to becoming a stay at home parent I mostly worked for locally owned businesses. A family owned furniture store, a haunted house attraction, a theatrical day-camp, a comedy club owner, and sister owned thrift store to be more specific. Without being too preachy, I hope if any of you can help it (I mean, we are still stuck in some form of quarantine) if you're reading make sure to help out the little shops in your area and if the local libraries are doing some kind of curbside pick-up option? Absolutely help them out as well.
I can't wait for the libraries to open back up, with everything going on? There is so literature I want to get my hands on. History was never one of my favorite subjects when I was a kid, but now I am finding myself so ill-informed about so much. When protesters started removing statues and monuments and starting petitions to rename certain historical areas, I found myself googling what was wrong with this statue or that one (well, except for Columbus I think its fucking deplorable we are still revering that genocidal megalomaniac) until I came across literature and literally had to pull my fucking mouth off the floor. I am finding that I am not nearly as informed as I'd like to be and ironically all the libraries are closed when I find myself in such dire need of information. That's going to be a priority once I have access to them again. Are you reading any good books? Any recommendations? Are you a history buff? Anything you've read that you think should be on the top of my list? Do you have a favorite local bookstore you want to plug? Drop me a line and I'd love to help get the word out. Stay safe, and stay healthy!
The fate of the future now rests in the hands of those of us who can teach our children that hate is a bad word and that prejudice? Has no place in a civilized world. As a father of two, my goal is to be part of the right side of history. The side of history that has divested itself of hate, prejudice, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, trans-phobia, sexism, and any symbols of hate or hate rhetoric. As an alumni from the school of Fred Rogers...I like YOU just the way YOU ARE.
Neighbors take care of each other and their families regardless of color, gender, sexual orientation, religious and political beliefs...we belong to a community, and its our job to sustain it. I hope you're well neighbor. I know this is a very scary and divisive time. We'll get through this, because we have hope and love in our hearts. Take care of each other.
I could sit here and argue that I am not a nostalgic person, but in reality? To a fault? I always have been, within reason. Mostly over the superficial stuff, like...alright, in high school the way I dressed? I didn't wear ripped jeans, flannel shirts, or 90s centric band shirts because I was trapped in a "back in the day buffet" as a lot of people teased. The fact was, I am the youngest of three and I missed my sisters. They were both teenage mothers who moved out and took care of families way earlier than both they or myself were ready for. I went from being the youngest of three to an only child seemingly at the blink of an eye. When I started tailoring an identity as a kid? I reverted to an image that I last had of the three of us living under one roof. My sisters were both very heavily influenced by Gangsta Rap and Grunge, and while the environment around us wasn't very positive or giving, the last memory I had of feeling insulated and safe was one when my sisters were still home, when we were still a family (granted, a very fucked up one).
So, Eddie...the creepy Kurt Cobain kid, was Eddie the wildly neurotic insecure kid with separation anxiety wearing ensembles so he felt like his sisters never left him. So yeah, I guess I am nostalgic. I bought my first car when I was 25 years old. A used 2010 Chevy Cobalt that my mom found online. By this point she was sick of watching me walk two and a half hours back and fourth from the town I worked in, to another. She was surely also sick of the mileage I was putting on the one vehicle I shared with her and my dad to get to junior college and my radio job. Eventually opportunity arouse, and we managed to get the keys to my own car the summer of 2012. I was 25 years old which I am sure is pathetic to most, but that was how old I was when I bought my first car..."Colby." My mother came up with that name as it was short for Cobalt, the name stuck because the character in a short story I had just received an A on was named Colby...a hopeless romantic who had a bond with his mother, but a trajectory for tragedy as he was also an addicted rock musician. It just felt like kismet I guess. I drove to meet my future wife in that car when we got coffee just blocks from where I was living. Its the car I drove to her house on our very first date, it was the car I drove with my newborn sons in, its the car I slept in when my dad was sick with cancer and I needed somewhere to sob and get so mad about because I was losing a parent and my lifelong abuser, and it was the car I drove up and down the highway in screaming lyrics to a million songs when my bi-polar disorder had me wondering if I should live or die. It also was the car I drove my niece Hailey in any time she felt as lost as I did when she was a teenager and needed someone to just listen to her and keep her from entertaining the worst possible scenario. Today? I gave the key to her and her boyfriend, Colby is now their car.
As my state enters phase 2 of reopening businesses and getting the economy back on track, I still find myself driving around with the boys and seeking out both creativity and positive messages anywhere I can find them. After the death of George Floyd and the subsequent protests regarding police brutality and the fight for inclusion and peace, I was finding even more messages of hope and faith that we all want to grow from this, find peace, and find justice in not just the deaths but the inequality that has plagued this country since it was founded. Everyone deserves a voice, everyone deserves the right to walk out the front door of their house and not live in fear that the color of their skin will dictate both their merit and their innate human rights. We are tired of the quasi philanthropy of celebrities singing "Imagine" a song that even its creator didn't wholeheartedly believe in, we want leaders but we need to stop looking for them in athletes and Hollywood and find them in our justice system, our local and state governments. We also need them in healthcare, education, and right next door to us. One of the big things I try to instill in my children is that its more important to be a leader than it is to nonchalantly follow the crowd...innovation not subordination.
I consider making your voice heard BRAVE. Bravery begets respect, but bravery is not ignoring an issue, brandishing a weapon, or trying to silence or hurt people because you disagree with them. All you brave souls out there attending these protests, all these brave souls putting up symbols and encouragements of support, and all these people saying...screw this, enough is enough we have been silent for too long. No more. Alright, I think I need to switch up the tone now because I really don't want this blog to become to heavy handed with politics or personal philosophies but for those who are sequestered in their homes during quarantined (even if it is lifting) when you get a chance? Turn off the media and go look outside your backyard and talk to your neighbors, your community, and I am sure you will realize that while this is a very scary, confusing, and polarizing time? Your faith in humanity can and will be restored.
Alright, so when I haven't been obsessing over global and personal accountability and change another thought entered my mind. While I avoid social media at all costs due to my inability to not be inundated with content and absorb it like an emotional sponge and find myself in a shit storm of emotions...I did consider creating a Reddit account for the following AMA...back in the 90s there used to be these 900 numbers you'd call or promotional contests that studios would roll out prior to the release of a big franchise film looking to crush the box office. These things offered things large and small, a subscription to a magazine, authentic memorabilia from a film in question, and in some rare cases...even a mother fucking BATMOBILE!
I seriously want to find the person who actually had someone drop this ridiculously kitsch piece of 90s cheese off in their driveway and say...expect A LOT of THIS from your friends...
Seriously, if I had the means or the ability to track these people down I would absolutely make a documentary about it. Because, I gotta know two things. 1.) Is the batmobile technically street legal? 2.) How much money and time did you spend at Taco Bell attempting to win this? Or to all the other contests how many EXPENSIVE 900 calls did you make to get your ass to the Horror Hall of Fame III?
As always, I hope all of you are staying healthy. That your families are well, that you're all safe and I hope you're all taking time to reflect and think about what kind of future we want to live or what kind of country we want to raise our kids in. Be kind to your neighbors (even if you disagree with them), support a community that REALLY needs your support right now. Take a knee. Take a moment of silence. Take some time for yourself. Register to vote. Shop locally. Keep taking care of yourselves and everyone around you. I am awaiting the author copy of my book and once that comes in I will be talking with my publisher about what comes next in terms of getting it in the hands of anyone interested. Stay safe, stay strong, and be good people.
This morning I decided to break up the monotony for my kids and I and decided that we should take a walk around the block. I put my oldest in his wagon, and strapped my almost one year old (first birthday is next month) in my Baby BJorn and off we went. My oldest and I were both wearing our masks (I can't emphasis how proud I am that he wears his mask so well, although I credit this more to his mom being a nurse and always seeing her with a mask on) and just enjoyed the gorgeous weather and other families either in their gardens, their backyards, or taking their own family bike rides or walks. We were turning down this bike path that is still somewhat new in our town when I spotted a mom with her two little ones.
Her little boy and girl were armed with chalk and ready to make some beautiful scribbles around the messages she wrote on the ground. It really resonated with me. Because I'm a parent, I always make a point to say hello to strangers, namely because I want my kids to see that this is our community, these are our neighbors, and we should try to get to know everyone or at the very least exude a friendly and welcoming demeanor. As we passed them by she quipped to her oldest "I wish you wore your mask that well!" Which I got a kick out of. "Love Each Other" and "Be Kind" seem like such subtle messages to put out into the world and yet right now? Between the pandemic and all the individuals gathering at these rallies to get the message across that Black Lives Matter and right now? We need change, we need hope, but more importantly? We need a damn leader. If we don't have one? Lets try to lead by example. This was fantastic to see.
Even though my most recent poem appeared on the Better Than Starbucks website, there is something about holding a tangible copy of the publication and seeing your name in print. Steve Martin made know something about that:
For anyone looking to support the magazine and discover the brilliant work of ALL the contributors featured in the May 2020 issue you can grab a copy here.
This is a poem I am very proud of, and I was elated when it was first published in Terror House Magazine last December...now having it re-published in another press? I feel like an overzealous and obnoxious parent cheering for their kid on the sidelines while the kid does their best to avoid eye contact with you. I also see it as proof that when my kids get older, no matter what it is that they want to accomplish as individuals who harbor a passion for something if I can do it? There's nothing in the world that could stop them. No excuse, just push through and believe in yourself and you can make it possible. It won't happen overnight, and in my case? It took almost twenty years before I started finding my stuff getting accepted, or publishing a book but there is no finish line. Accomplishing something you love and you work hard at every single day because its who you are and its what you love? Its not a race, you're not competing with anyone or anything. Its just a matter of time before you get there.
I hope this finds all of you safe, healthy, and hopefully enjoying quality time with your families, your art, your hobbies, your newly discovered passions, and maybe self-reflecting and coming up with your own ways to show the rest of the world that we will get through this and we will be better than ever before.
First, I don't know why this picture came out like crap. Again, between social distancing and my inability to take professional quality photos I am hoping they don't stymie the purpose or intent of posting them here. I hate slogans. I hate hashtags. And god damn do I hate manufactured buzz-words or soulless marketing (over real issues) that can be printed on bumper stickers, shirts, coffee mugs, or other forms of easy cash grab spur of the moment spending. This however, is not one of those things. The amazing thing about both the COVID-19 self-isolation and the recent headlines is that it forces me to engage in self reflection. It affords me the opportunity to revisit mistakes, moments in personal history that I hope to learn from, and ultimately be able to raise my two boys in a less "do as I say not as I do" and more of a "been there, done that, please learn from the mistakes I made." The big one was not understanding Black Lives Matter at first, and like many (very ignorantly) well, don't ALL lives matter? Sure, absolutely....if you understand why black lives have to matter first.
It is 2012, and I am twenty-five years old. I work for a major market radio station and it is Sunday morning and I am in my car after working the graveyard shift (midnight to six in the morning) and I am tired...VERY, VERY tired. So tired, that the three cans of Monster started wearing off just blocks from the station to the point where I am absolutely horrified I might not make the almost thirty-minute drive home because my body is feeling the sleep deprivation. Fortunately, I get on the highway and I am maybe five or six exits from where I need to pull off. I am also terrified, this is the same highway I almost died on the previous winter three exists away from home after doing a one hundred and eighty degree spin smashing all four sides of my car on the guard rail and yet...miraculously? no injuries, car can still make it home (despite being totaled, and oh yeah...there was a propane tank in the trunk gas tank side where the car had the most impact), and fortunately I was the only one on the road. I get out of my car, collect myself and manage to get home. That was January and now its June. So I finally pass by this now infamous exit but unbeknownst I am going ten miles over the speed limit. I suppose I should have been smarter, but I am tired and I need to go to bed. Luckily, its just me and one other car on the highway...well, I wasn't as lucky as I wanted to believe. Unfortunately? That other car? An unmarked State Trooper who is pissed. REAL fucking pissed off at someone or something and he decided that since I was violating the speed limit? (I was, that's on me. I was) He's going to take it out on me. Cherries flashing, loud horn SCREAMING to pull over and I comply. I pull over to the shoulder and now he's screaming LOUDER! That I wasn't far enough over so I fucking HUG the guard rail, I hug it for dear life because despite how tired I am? Cops are scary. Fucking State Troopers!!?? God damn man, you've stepped in it now, and you're trailing it all over the shag rug. I cut the engine, throw on my hazards and with license and registration prepared...here come the shades, here comes the veins in the neck and temples, and more importantly? Here comes the meanest and scariest mother fucker I can't believe I am all alone dealing with. Right out the gate? I am a piece of shit, I'm an asshole, and clearly my inability to hug the gate means I want this total stranger dead. At this point? I have a bladder full of Monster that I can't believe didn't form a puddle in the crotch of my shorts. He is threatening me with jail time, with fines he can already tell my ass can't handle, fuck if even threatening to rip my ass out of the car and discipline the ever loving shit out of me because he is a cop and I am not. Thankfully? He takes pity on the 130 lbs 25 year old sleep deprived this station isn't worth this anymore scared out of his mind kid, and followed me literally up to the driveway to my parents' condo complex. I remember getting out of my car and jumping into bed waking up to pick up a friend to see Prometheus which opened the weekend before and my body was still shaking from how scared I was of the officer who pulled me over later that night. NEVER ONCE, did it ever cross my mind that A.) This man might actually try to shoot me. or B.) He might throw my scrawny ass to the ground and choke the life right out of me while I scream out for someone to help me. That's privilege. Never in my life had I heard of that ever happening to a skinny white kid, and yet that's exactly what I'm hearing happening to black men and women. Today I kept circling around every bad encounter I have had with law enforcement over the most trivial of encounters (namely traffic or being accused of smoking pot...I get it, I had long hair and questionable fashion so I guess that made me a lightening rod for allegations) and yet the fear of being detained violently or being shot never even entered my mind, but I always feared that my freedom would be taken away simply because it could be. I remember thinking, I am so lucky that guy didn't have blood lust that morning..now I'm thinking, god..what if I was a black kid? Same scenario, what if I was coming home from a job that I loved but paid me next to nothing and forced me to work these ungodly hours that would eventually mean I'd come face to face with a glorified sociopath in a uniform? Chances are? I wouldn't be writing this right now. This isn't to say ALL police officers are evil or that they all have a racist or corrupt agenda because that isn't true. Unfortunately though, enough of them do....and that's simply too many. After taking in all the stories, the media coverage, and all the literature out there I finally deduced this, if you are white and you aren't reflecting on all of this, if you aren't looking at your kids and thinking...god damn I have to address this, I have to fucking do my job as a role model and a parent, if you aren't taking a look at yourself and wonder what am I really contributing to the conversation or the societal debate over what's happening...if you are becoming complacent and deciding to stay out of it out of fear of upsetting people, being marginalized because you realize how much bigger this is than you could possibly ever fathom in your whole life? You are complicit. You are a bystander who is saying its okay for this shit to happen again, and again, and again until you literally treat hate crimes, police brutality, and racism like white noise because well, that sort of shit doesn't happen in my backyard. Don't be the person whose backyard it doesn't happen in until it does, because YOU could have been part of reform, YOU could have been a voice in changing what is fucking wrong with this world and this country. I am not trying to fucking politicize this blog and I am not trying to point fingers...I am simply reflecting personally and thinking, god...I was a white heterosexual male at twenty five years of age when that unprofessional individual made me fear for my life wearing a uniform that I was raised to believe would protect it. What if I was black? I woke up this morning (roughly 4 a.m.) with my children and immediately put on the news for background noise while my wife made a pot of coffee. Immediately my heart sunk watching the reporter stand at the epicenter of so much property damage and anger in the city of Boston. I was unaware of the protests taking place, what seemingly started out peacefully eventually festered into a glorified melee of businesses being looted and completely destroyed. On one hand, I don't consider the damage to be remotely connected to the protest itself more like several assholes going into business for themselves and using the protest as an excuse to behave like douche bags. Looting and rioting has absolutely nothing to do with what deserves visibility, unfortunately "if it bleeds it leads," and news stations seldom pay attention to those who are in it for all the right reasons as they are looking for that sound bite or clip of tensions festering into chaos between the police brutality we are all sick to death of and the self-imposed isolation we've all been living in to flatten the curve of COVID-19.
Needless to say, while my sons and I were driving around this morning I was trying to make sense of where our country, where our world is at currently. A virus with seemingly no end, a president hiding like a fucking child and refusing to pacify these tensions by actually doing his job, and the unfathomable nature of racism. While my sons and I were doing errands in the afternoon, I found this written in chalk in a parking lot outside of a shopping plaza. God, the first two thoughts that crossed my mind? Hope, and sadness. Children get it, children had written this in that parking lot and numerous positive messages outside of school just across the street. How is it that children understand that racism is wrong but the rest of the world is still catching up? I committed to this blog because I told myself, I hate the nefarious nature of social media, and the vainglory of self-branding and trying to promote one's self as being a commodity but if I could find hope in my backyard during these truly and profoundly messed up times? Then it would be worth it to write something and share pieces of my world with anyone who is as desperate as I am for hope and enlightenment. I want to give kudos to the parents of the children who wrote this. Racism is learned, it isn't innate. Evolution begins at home, with your parents. We owe it to our children to be the best version of ourselves that we can possibly be. Even if this means taking a good hard look at ourselves in the mirror and asking ourselves, who am I? What do I represent? And what do I need to do to be better? This gave me hope. I still have hope. I hope you do too. |
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