Not Silent Night

Being alone is rough. Being alone on Christmas, I think, will just plain suck.

No kids. No loved ones. No special someone. Nobody to enjoy a cup of egg nog (does anyone actually enjoy egg nog?) in front of a fire (if I had a fireplace) with.

No squeals of joy from little ones when they see what Santa brought them this year.

It would be easy to mope. To get down. To say "screw this" and turn Christmas into a 12-pack induced pity party.

But as I stood on my balcony tonight, pondering my first real Christmas all alone EVER in my life, I realized it could be much worse.

I could be alone, and homeless.

I could have nobody who cares about me...which I know is not the case.

I could be hungry and not sure where to find a meal.

I could be estranged from my childrens' lives and not know that they like raisin bran more than cheerios, and donuts over bagels.

I could be fighting for my country halfway around the world, worrying about being blown up by a guy with a garage door opener, away from my loved ones with no chance of seeing them anytime soon.

Or I could be gone from this world, dust in the wind, and not be able to wake up Christmas morning and take a deep breath of the cold air and thank God for being alive this day.

So Christmas Eve, I'll put on my snow boots and trudge through whatever amount of snow down the street, go to a Christmas service, and thank God for what I have in my life:

- Two amazing sons who never cease to amaze me or bring a smile to my face.
- Countless friends who are always there for me and always find a way to make me laugh.
- An amazing family who has helped me out through some rough times in the last few years (Thank you Mom, Dad, Dave, Jim, and your families).
- The fact that I understand that my life is not about my possessions, my income, my things, but about who I am as a person, and how I treat the people around me.

Standing on the balcony alone tonight, I heard from across the street ice skates shushing across a rink, and the sound of a puck being smacked off a stick, then hitting the rink wall with a loud "thump." As the snow lightly fell, I heard the sound of a shovel scraping against a sidewalk, scratching its way from clean white to dirty gray. From a distant snowbank, the sound of children taking delight in the early stages of the "stormegeddon" can be heard.

What a beautiful, peaceful and not so silent night.

Merry Christmas! May your nights never be silent.

What matters in life...a no brainer

As 2009 winds down, I look back on what without question was the most difficult and challenging year of my life.

Losing my job, and being on unemployment for nearly 10 months.

Losing my townhouse, and having to scramble to find a place to shelter my sons and continue to feed them.

Losing what I thought was a solid relationship, and in the process learning so much more about people and what to look for in the people I allow in my life.

But the old saying has never been more true for me than before, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

As I look forward to 2010, I look forward to a major career shift, one that will allow me to use my skills in a new way, and one that rather than always facing catastrophe when the economy gets shaky, will allow for growth.

I also have streamlined and simplified my life in a way that has really gotten me back to the basics, like many Americans still need to learn. My sons have learned that "things" are not what is important, but people...and that when they get some special things, they appreciate them even more.

And, most importantly, I have learned that the true friends in my life are there no matter what my job title is, no matter how much is in my bank account. Really the true friends are there no matter what, period.

And you know who you are. You have stood by me and let me vent out my frustrations, or helped me move on a moment's notice, or helped me find some part time work to help pay the bills. You've given me reasons to laugh and smile, and thanked me when I helped you laugh or smile. To each and everyone of you, I can't say thank you enough for being a true friend, and for all you did.

As 2010 approaches, I have re-learned such a simple, but true lesson - you cannot measure a person by their wealth in dollars, but you can measure a person in their wealth of friends and family. And I am the richest mofo I know in that regard.

Happy Holidays to everyone, and may 2010 be an amazing year of self-discovery and growth for all of you!

Date #1; Delayed #2

Tonight's version of my blog is another retelling of an old story. More than two years ago, in fact. But it's a night which will live in my mind forever.

Two years plus back, a good friend of mine who was down on his luck needed a place to crash for a few weeks or so (it ended up being over 6 months, but I digress). So I spent an entire Saturday helping him move things either to my meager two bedroom townhouse, or to his storage locker.

Around 5 or so, I had to bow out because I needed to get ready for a first date with someone I was excited to meet. I ended up dating her for over a year, and she to this day is an incredible friend to me. Again, digressing.

The new roomie and his girlfriend had a few more loads to bring yet that night, so I gave him my house key to finish the job.


As I was getting ready to leave for my date, the new roomie and his girlfriend arrived with their last load. I asked him for my key, a habit I have since I'm always paranoid about what would happen if the garage door suddenly wouldn't open due to power failure or some other factor. He said fine, but wondered how he'd lock up when he was done.


I thought about it and suggested he just lock the bolt on the front door, then run out the garage door after pushing the button. Easy enough, right? I guess not, and you'll see why later.


So I go on my date, have a fantastic time at dinner, then end up hanging out until almost 2 a.m. sitting on her patio watching her dog and her roommate's dog chase each other around. I decide it's time to head home, and set on my way.


About halfway home I realized I really really had to go to the bathroom. Not the "pull over and hide behind a bush" kind either. The big deuce.


I pulled into my driveway and hit the garage door opener. Nothing. I pull the remote off the visor and shake it and try about 20 more times. "Good thing I got that key," I think to myself.


I walk up to the front door, insert the key, and...nothing. Yeah seriously. It didn't work. I tried calling my new roomie at his old apartment where he was staying one last night. No answer.


30 attempts to awaken him did no good. FML.


I quickly went into panic mode, thinking that I was going to have to drop a deuce in my 6x6 manicured lawn, without toilet paper. I envisioned running to a neighbor's house, but then remembered that a) nobody there knew me, and b) nobody was awaked at 2:30 a.m.


Yet nature was calling. I even was starting to sweat profusely on my forehead and feared what they might find the next morning. A dead man, smeared in poo and sweat, his hand frozen as if he were clawing at his front door.


But damnit. I had to sleep tonight too.


So I called a locksmith, and searched in my trunk for duct tape to prevent me from having an accident before he arrived.


The locksmith arrived. A chatty fellow. Slow too. Every word made my stomach rumble more and more. He tried to open the lock. And tried some more. And some more. After an hour of trying, he said his only option was to drill through the current lock and replace it. "That's fine. Just make it fast, please!"


30 minutes later, he finally broke through the lock and the door was open. "Now I'll install the new lock," he pronounced. "I tell you what, while you do that, I am going to go take care of some business that is urgent inside."


After ripping off the duct tape dam (no, I didn't really do this, but just making sure you're still reading), I rushed into the little boys' room and took care of my mighty deuce.


The next morning I learned that the new roomie had 1) inadvertantly given me his apartment key instead of my townhouse key, and 2) when he went to go out through the garage door, he inadvertantly hit the combination of buttons that makes it automatically lock to all openers. Nice.


The lesson for the evening? Always wear Depends on your first date.

Shark bait: Continuing the bucket list

So back in June, my friend Mike and I jumped out of an airplane (see previous blog entry from June) to kill some time in our unemployed lives and overcome a few fears and even more make women think we're all that and a bag of chips.

Since that time, we decided to create a bucket list of sorts, things we wanted to do before we kicked the bucket (cue up John Mayer's Say What You Need To Say). And one night during The Discovery Channel's Shark Week, we both came up with our next addition. We were going to go swimming with sharks.

How on Earth do we do that on the budget of an unemployed loser? Certainly we couldn't afford to get scuba certified, or a plane ticket to the Australian reef to come face to face with a Great White.

Our answer came from a rather unlikely, and somewhat non-preferred source - the dreaded Mall of America. UnderwaterWorld, nestled in the basement of the most dreaded mall to all Minnesotans, is home to 5,000 creatures roaming 1.2 million gallons of water. Only one problem. Money.

To swim or scuba with the sharks would set us back quite a bit...nearly as much as skydiving if not more. So we scaled things back and decided to feed the sharks instead.

We both arrived with little adrenaline compared to the feeling we had when we were about to jump out of a perfectly good airplane at 13,000 feet. "Oh, wow, yeah, going to throw some chopped up fish into the water and see a shark eat it," I was thinking to myself.

After a short tour of the facilities, including the lab where they study dead fish and the kitchen where they chop up dead fish for nourishment, we were above the shark tanks, being told the intricacies of properly feeding a nurse shark, a brown tiger shark, and a black-tip reef shark.

I was up first, and after being strapped into a harness (just in case, nobody has fallen into the tank, yet) and another reminder of how to feed them (hold the headless mackerel firmly in the feeding pole until just a few seconds before the shark comes near it, then release. If the shark grabs on to the pole, let go of the pole, etc. etc.), a large tiger shark neared the area where I was moving the fish around about a foot under the water.

I felt a gust of adrenaline as the shark got within a few feet of the fish. "Ok, Steve, don't screw this up, get ready to release, get ready to release, get ready to release." The next thing I know, the shark strikes from over 2 feet away in what seemed like a millisecond, swallowing the fish, and the pole, and trying to pull me into the water. The guide told me "let go, let go, let go" and I let go of the fish with the clamp on the pole. He again said "let go of the pole, let it go." It didn't process in my brain quick enough, and I was wrestling with a 400 pound plus beast who could, quite easily I might add, take off a limb or two from my finely aged human self.

As I let go of the fish, the shark chomped a few more times on the feeding pole and tugged a few good more times before I was able to pull it back out of the water, noticing my feet were covered with water from the shark's struggle.

While the adrenaline rush was nothing compared to skydiving in terms of longevity, it was every bit as intense as I realized, "Holy crap, I just fed and grappled with a shark, yet another thing I fear in the world."

After Mike did his feeding, we went back through the underwater tunnel to see the sharks we just fed from below. As we made our way through, we looked at the various sharks, and taunted them over our superior abilities through a very thick plexiglass tunnel. "Yeah, shark, you think you're bad? You're not so bad. I pwn3d you, shark!"

So now, Mike and I are planning our next adventures. Tattoos? The Running of the Bulls? Drinking the water in Mexico? The sky and the sea are the limit. But the bucket is getting filled.

A letter I never sent

I wrote this letter three years ago today, to the father of Matthew Bohn, a young boy who passed away on United Flight 232 exactly 20 years ago today. Matthew was the first body to come through the makeshift morgue where I worked with my fellow lifeguards as volunteers on July 20, 1989.

July, 19, 2006

Dear Jim and Cindy (please share this with Cindy, Jim) –

This is by far the hardest and most difficult thing I've ever had to write in my life, which is saying something given my career as a writer/communicator. For 17 years, I've been wanting to communicate with you both, but have not been able to find the right words for what I want to say to you.

Obviously this letter is about Matthew…and I know that this isn't probably something you like to be reminded of on a daily basis.

As a father myself today, I can't imagine what it would be like to experience what you did on July 19, 1989. But I want you to know that Matthew had a tremendous impact on people that he didn't even meet – and I am one of those people.

On that fateful day, I was working as a carefree Lifeguard at a swimming pool in Sioux City, enjoying my summer after my freshman year in college. I was 18 years old, and like any other 18-year-old, I thought I knew everything and had the world in the palms of my hands…as I was taking a break in the Lifeguard room at the pool, I heard a news report crackling on our cheap radio. There was a plane crash at the Sioux City airport…big news for around there…but it didn't even phase me at that point that it would impact me.

Within 24 hours of that moment, my life would be changed forever, and your son was at the very heart of that change. That night, on the 19th, the local Red Cross asked for lifeguards to come out to help serve food and refreshments to the rescue workers. As an 18-year-old, being naïve and thinking I was indestructible, I served kool aid and hot dogs to firemen, national guard troops and EMTs covered with soot and sweating from the intense Iowa summer. I strained to get a look at the crash site some 1000 yards away, but could not see anything. As I left that night, I assumed that was as close as I would ever come to this disaster.

The next morning, I received a wake-up call that will never be paralleled in my lifetime. I was told that I was needed back at the airport for volunteer work, and that the pools were going to be working on a skeleton crew basis. Without going into too much of the details that you don't need to know…I ended up working in the makeshift morgue that morning, and Matthew was the first person we had come through that morning.

I was in the phone room when you or one of your loved ones called in with descriptions of what Matthew was wearing, and I recognized the clothes the minute he came in the morgue. I couldn't begin to describe what I felt at that moment, but it was a moment that forever changed me.

As a lifeguard, I was used to teaching and coaching kids like Matthew to swim, either just for the sake of being able to swim, or for competitive purposes. It had never before occurred to me that we as humans did not have control over our lives or deaths…but Matthew changed that for me in the blink of an eye.

Today, the father in me can't imagine how each of you has survived through this…and admire your courage and bravery just in waking up each day and living your life. But I also know that there is a positive that came out of this horrible time in many peoples' lives…the fact that we all learned that life is not in our control, we don't know when our time will be up, and it is up to us to wake up each day and live it as if it might be our last on earth.

It is a lesson that most in life never learn, and yet, because of your son, I learned it at a very young age and have applied it to my life. I am not a particularly religious person, but I do believe in a higher spirit, and that our souls go elsewhere when we leave here. I have a tendency to think about Matthew on a fairly regular basis, and even "talk" to him sometimes to thank him for the lesson he taught me…but I wanted this thanks to come to you as well…so you can see at least a sliver of the good that came out of his death.

He did not die in vain, but instead impacted not only me, but everyone who was in the morgue that day. I hope that this letter does not cause discomfort for you…my intention is for this letter to give you, and probably to some extent, me, some peace on this. Matthew, from all that I've read about him, was the typical All-American boy, much like my childhood was for me, and I have never been able to shake the fact that he had no control over what happened that day. I tell my story to as many people that will listen, hoping that they will get something from it…to learn to live life more deliberately and not take anything or anyone in life for granted.

Your son was a hero to me, even though we never met. I wanted you to know this. I hope that this letter gives you a positive feeling, and I apologize if it doesn't.

Sincerely,

Steve Clem

Plymouth, MN

The Daddy Mack Will Make You Jump, Jump!

Have you ever wondered what goes through a person's mind as they fall to the ground at 70 mph 13,000 feet in the sky?

Yeah, me too. Now I can say without a doubt that it is everything and nothing going through that person's mind. It is like every amazing moment in a person's life melds together with a Zen sense of nothingness...nothing that happened before or will happen in the future matters at that moment.

How do I know this? Because last Saturday I decided to tempt the Gods and do a tandem skydive jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

A friend had brought it up casually with me a few months ago, and he said he was putting together a big group of people to jump sometime this summer, probably in July. Things changed, and he found out he'd not be able to have the larger group outing until later in the summer, so we made a spontaneous decision to go, just the two of us, without the bigger group.

We met at the skydive location about 15 minutes before we were scheduled to check in, and were greeted with 25 mph gusts on the ground. That equates to somewhere over 100 mph winds at 10,000 feet. So we waited. And waited. And waited some more. 3 hours later, the place was packed with all of the people who had scheduled a jump for the previous 3 hours.

And who was lucky enough to be the very first tandem jumper out of the plane for the day? Yours truly. As I donned the jumpsuit, I had visions of Goose and Maverick...and then got snapped back to reality when I passed a mirror and saw how ridiculous I looked in the too tight jumpsuit. In hindsight, I really should have followed through on my original plan to don parachute pants for the jump.

As we boarded the plane, the fear I had over the previous few weeks suddenly subsided. As we took off on the grassy runway and slowly climbed to 13,000 feet, my tandem instructor went over last minute instructions, then handed me a lifesaver candy and said "Here's a lifesaver, because you can't count on me for that." Ha. Ha. Wait, was he kidding?

As the door rolled open on the plane and we were given the thumbs up to prepare for our leap, a really quick but fleeting sense of panic came over me. Just inches away from me, 13,000 feet below, were houses that looked like dots. Buildings that looked like postage stamps. Farm fields that looked like patterns of a quilt.

Then with a last minute thumbs up to the camera man, we were out of the plane and shooting toward earth at 70 mph. Let me tell you that if you ever want to see what your face would look like if it were made of rubber, go skydiving. Oh, and they tell you to smile, but I recommend just keeping your mouth shut. Same principle as when you are on a motorcycle...you don't know what can make it into your open mouth at 70 mph.

After a freefall of about 60 seconds, my tandem instructor tapped my shoulder which told me to grip on to my shoulder harness, and he pulled the chute. There is an odd sensation that occurs as you drop a few inches lower from the tandem jumper when the chute goes out...for a second it feels as if you are going to drop to the ground. A little bit like that feeling you had as a kid when your older relatives used to pretend they were going to drop you when you were in their arms. Only you are thousands of feet above the ground at this point.

From there, it was a calmer, peaceful journey to the ground. After a quick popping of my ears so I could hear my instructor, we began our way down to our landing point. Slowly, the ground went from what looked like a miniature museum display of smalltown America to familar landmarks...Oh I recognize that road. Oh I recognize that car. Oh I recognize that person.

"Lift your legs. We are coming in fast," my instructor yelled. Time to land already? Wait. No. Rewind it back up again and do it all over. Please!

I have to admit, outside of the witnessing the birth of my sons, this was without a doubt the coolest moment I've experienced in my life so far.

So you can count on me returning to two miles above the ground sometime soon. I'm hooked.

Simpler Summer times.

As school is wrapping up for my sons in the next two weeks, I take myself back to my own summer memories growing up in Morningside.

It was a neighborhood where everyone, every single kid, got along. It was The Sandlot meets Stand By Me meets The Wonder Years.

Whether it was a game of backyard football, or rigging up plastic sheeting to serve as a slip n' slide, a full day of playing army in the backwoods, or a night of kick the can or hide and seek, it was rare that there wasn't something happening in the old neighborhood.

I wish so much that my sons could have that same experience. But it is a different time indeed.

We didn't have cable TV, well maybe we did, but we barely got to watch it.

We didn't need to play video games. Granted, there were daylong Atari tournaments for sure, but it wasn't the same addictive quality that video games have over today's youth.

We didn't have sports practices and games, music lessons, swimming lessons, etc., etc., etc., stacking up on our daily summer schedule.

It is sad, really, to think that there was a time when we used to let kids wake up, and start an unknown adventure every day. Explore the woods. Pick up a baseball. Gather up change and walk to the corner store, Johnny's Market. Look for buried treasure. Go snake hunting.

I look back on those days as some of my favorite in life. Everything was so innocent. So pure. So right.

/end.back.in.my.day.rant