Baby Jay

So...I've been home winging it with the kiddies while Cindy has been away at a much deserved women's conference and somehow I stumbled upon a key element of my childhood that I have unknowingly kept from our kids.  I seriously feel guilt from the injustice from this lack of historical information.

I haven't been feeling the greatest so most of my parent to child interactions this past day or so have been through movies, feeding times and the occasional fussing for picking on the dog.  Today was not much different other than doodling up some quickie cartoon sketches for the kids to color (score one for dad...and to all those teachers in school that said that would never pay off...ppptthh).  It was in the midst of cartooning that I went into reminiscing mode and found a detail about my childhood that I never actually revealed to thing 1 and thing 2.

As a precursor to what I'm about to write, you must understand that I was not just an only child but a very isolated only child.  This wasn't really anyone's fault (unless you ask my mom...don't ask mom).  Mom and dad divorced when I was 4 and mom only had one place to go.  That in turn was to live with my great grand parents...in a very unique two story house right beside a main highway.  To give some dimensions, our front porch was about 6 feet from the main road so I understand my mom's ever so slight paranoia to not let me go anywhere but inside the fun house we called home.  None the less, this reality kept me inside and away from the outside world a lot.  Still to this day when I hear the term latch key kid it makes my heart sink a little.

Ok, so back to my or really our kids revelation.  I started to explain to them that I indeed had an imaginary friend and this little guy was more than just some made up character.  We played games together, wrestled each other and generally just hung out all the time.  You could almost hear the sound of their jaws hitting the floor when I told them this (I'm still super hip and cool dad to them at the moment).

These children have a sibling, a yard, church people, video games, the internet, you name it.  Of the problems they may potentially have from having me as their dad, being connected to the outside world is not one of them. 

At this point in the story you might be thinking played games? wrestled? hung out?  Really?...yep really.

Yes...we played games.  I made up rules to made up games to play with my made up friend.  I also played by the rules so sometimes I won and sometimes I lost.  (Interesting that I had such ethics with someone that no one else could even see.)

Yes...we wrestled.  Nothing like doing a suplex on a three foot long pillow only for it to be reversed and getting pinned for the 3 count.  (What's not to like about wrestling when you're a 6 year old kid and your best friend is made up.)

Yes...we hung out.  It was around this time that my great grand mother passed away and the fear of death loomed over me...

A side note to parents, if you don't have a choice but to bring your kids to the funeral home when a loved one passes away I totally understand (my mom didn't), just try to keep them away from all the really creepy stuff as much as you can.  If you're one of those parents though that think that taking your 6 year old to a funeral home otherwise known to them as "The House of Death" (you know that place with dim lighting, coffins and oh yeah FREAKIN' DEAD PEOPLE) is a good way to expose them to the harsh realities of life you're seriously a punk and down right sadistic.

Night time was especially bad during this time of my childhood.  It was just me and mom...in a big, weird house with doors that had nothing behind them and stairways that let to nowhere.  I learned what terror was then but thankfully my little buddy was there to help me get through the night.  Don't ask me how, I really don't know.

After delivering this bit of history to our minions I could actually see a change in their countenance.  They realized THEY could actually make stuff like that up and not have to depend on a sibling, a yard, church people, video games or the internet for personal interaction or play (ha...take that internet).  Both of them immediately made up some little friends and an all out battle royal of kids versus pillows ensued in their rooms.  It was pretty cool but a little sad at the same time.

Cool...because they discovered something that had somehow eluded them up until this point in their lives.  Sad...because there are things in this world that is trying to steal our kids imaginations right from under our noses.

Yeah, I look back and I'm sure I could've benefited from more socialization and things of that nature but what I lacked in that area fostered one crazy cool imagination.  My little friend Baby Jay has long moved on and started an imaginary family of his own but from time to time the imagination he helped create comes back to visit and when it does, it's always a welcome visitor in my mind.      

20 Year Perspective

So on this, the eve of my 20 year reunion, I want to give a few props out and deal with a few things that have been rolling around in my head lately.

First off, I want to deliver a sincere thank you to a merry little band of misfits simply known as Sloan’s Lunch Bunch.  If you’re one of the few people that knew this tiny clan existed then count yourself blessed.  This little group was my sanity, my refuge, and my source to anything remotely connected to the outside world in high school.  Without this sanctuary of individuals I probably wouldn’t be writing this now.  I’m not sure where I would be to be quite honest but sometimes I shudder to think…

I don’t feel the need to name specific people that were a part of this group.  If you know then you know, if you don’t then you just didn’t.  No harm or foul either way.  See, I could ramble on and on about what each person in this group did for me individually but what was most important about this group was just that, the group itself.  When you’re the new kid that’s kinda weird, who doesn’t seem to fit in, and who has a less than perfect home life, the one thing you want above anything else is to just belong somewhere…anywhere…just somewhere.  To each and every one of you my sincerest thanks.

Over the past few weeks I’ve seen a lot of pics posted for my 20 year class reunion and try as I might, I haven’t seen myself in any of them.  Not even a single awkward “accidentally being in the background” shot.  It’s kinda a bummer to realize how non-existent you really were in your high school years but I don’t fault anyone from that time for that anymore.  I used to.  I used to shake my fist at the people that seemed to dominate the skyline of our class and wonder why.  If one thing time can offer you as a gift is perspective.

Looking back I get it now.  Hey, I’ve already admitted a few paragraphs ago that I was kinda a weird kid and that doesn’t really get you noticed for the right reasons.  I wasn’t the easiest guy to get to know either.  I could be distant, quiet, and absorbed in drawing goofy cartoons or writing really bad poetry.  I was that kid…you know…that kid.      

I have to admit, part of me wanted to be in those pics somehow.  Not to be part of the top of the high school food chain necessarily but for other reasons.  Mainly for opportunities missed and the ability to look back at high school with a sense of fondness instead of regret.  I regret not getting more involved and allowing myself to get to know more people, maybe even make some lasting friendships.  Unfortunately my home life wasn’t a very encouraging one and the sense to persevere over my surroundings didn’t arrive till later in life.  This seemed to suppress any desire I had to rise above it if you will.

This brings me to these simple points:

1.)    In spite of my own motivational challenges, circumstances, and general weirdness I had a few people that dug deep and accepted me for who I was.  They at least kept me in the ballpark even though I never really played the game.  Again, thank you...seriously...thank you.

2.)    My biggest regret in high school is not that more people didn’t get to know me; it’s that I never gave them someone to really know.

3.)    If you or your kids ever run across the new kid that’s a little weird but looks like they could use a friend, give them a chance…maybe even two or three chances.  Maybe they truly are messed up in the head but maybe, just maybe, under the layers of weirdness there’s a person that you could call a friend.

Much love to the people I graduated with.  The ones I knew well, the ones I didn’t know so well but were still nice to me and the ones I didn’t get to know at all.  We’ve all made it this far and that’s something to be proud of and thankful for.  Hats off to you class of ’94…indeed.

The Unacceptable Silence

I stood there quietly, gazing at the words in front of me; the words staring back at me, begging to be read.  I raised my eyes at the crowd that sat in front of me.  Some were intently focused on the sounds that were about to exert themselves from my mouth.  Others in the crowd were helplessly focused on the casket that lay just in front of me.  The moment was at hand to deliver one of the hardest pieces I had ever felt compelled to write in my entire life.

It had been a long and painful struggle for my cousin Randy.  Years of kidney and liver failure had taken its toll on his now fragile body.  Although he had been in the hospital several times before, this stay was eerily different.  Over two months had passed, yet there were little to no signs of improvement.  At the time, there were the hopeful ones around him that kept saying phrases like “The Lord will deliver him again” or “God still has a work for him to do.”  I so wanted to believe these words, but my gut was telling me something different this time.  Sure, he had been in the hospital before and had recovered enough to be released, but this time was different.  This time, while his spirit was still strong, his body was failing fast.  His systems were shutting down and all of the doctor’s efforts were not slowing it down.  To witness one of the single biggest influences in my life slipping away was unnerving to say the least.

I visited with him often during these two months.  Randy was my go-to guy; the big brother I never had; the infinitely understanding friend forever.  He was the first musician that truly shaped the way I play music even to this day.  Of course I visited him during this time, he was part of my family and I loved him dearly.  Looking back though, I think part of me wanted to visit him out of the innate fear that the next visit would be the last time I might see him alive.  Sometimes during those visits we were able to talk and relive some of the great times we spent together; the times we listened to his stereo loud enough to annoy the neighbors; concerts we had rocked out to together; the endless jam sessions we had in church.  All the time, swearing to each other that we would play music together again.  Other times, the only audible sounds were the monotone beeps of the vital monitors and the low level hums of the machines that were keeping him alive.  There were also the visits that I could talk to him but he could only respond with a gentle head motion of yes or no while he feverishly grasped my hand as if to say “Allen, it’s going to be ok.”  Those were the hardest visits.  For a person that was defined by his bold and comforting speech to be silenced by the awful disease that gripped his body, was nearly devastating to witness.  It was in these moments that I made the decision that when the time came, Randy would not go silently.  I had to let someone know just how much this one man meant to me.

Randy truly was one of those few, unique individuals that you meet in life that can never be replaced.  He was such an incredible mentor and an example of a life well lived.  He overcame sever drug and alcohol addictions in his teens to become a loving husband, a tremendous father, a talented musician and an authentic person of faith.  The impact of his life on mine is almost immeasurable.  From giving me a home to stay when I had none to simply being an understanding and kind ear to my own personal struggles.  His presence in my life will remain with me always.

I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts among the mourning, and started to vocalize the pages I had written.  Randy would not go silently today because I made the decision to overcome my own grief and pain by writing his eulogy, according to what he meant to me.  I never thought I would have the strength or courage to write such a final document, much less be able to deliver it to the people that knew him the best.  However, there I stood, experiencing an inner strength that I just could not explain.  That day I was able to take something as simple as words on a page and craft them into something that will forever serve as a lasting memory for a truly extraordinary human being.

To all the ones that didn't make it

To the ones that had to bow out because they couldn't pay the bills,

To the ones that had to hang it up because touring, the family kills,

To the ones that had to quit because the addiction became the affliction,

To the ones that left because the struggle wasn't worth continuing,

To all of you I say this,

The t-shirts fade, the bumper stickers get covered up, bands come and go.

All that lasts is the music.

You may never grace the stages of the world (or your local club). You may never see your name in lights and you may never be the star you dreamed to be. With all that, you still added color to this life. For moments, though brief, you transcended all the garbage that this life can be and created something from your soul.

The music still lasts.

No matter what life threw at you to cause you to call it a day know this,

The music will always last.