My Mirror Image Not-So-Mini-Me

“Like its politicians and its war, society has the teenagers it deserves”
_ Joseph Priestley

I remember the days when I was a freshman in high school.

I was a tall, lanky, geeky nerd. I lacked social skills, and was incredibly shy, believe it or not. I was obsessed with girls, but not one girl was aware of that fact. Nor were my parents. I was awkward, had pimples, goofy hair, and probably weighed about 120 pounds dripping wet.

It was the worst of times, and it was the worst of times. If you wanted to put me in hell, make me a freshman in high school for eternity. 

And now, 28 years later, I'm watching my oldest son go through his own hell. He's tall(er), lanky, and a bit of a geeky nerd. He lacks social skills (though less so than I did), is incredibly shy, is probably obsessed with girls, but no girls know for sure, nor do I. He is awkward, has pimples, goofy hair, and weighs about 120 pounds dripping wet. He's my mirror image not-so-mini-me.

And as I've mentioned in previous blog entries, I didn't have to face the things he has had to in the last seven years: a split home, moving across town to a new school in eight grade, into a home with new "pseudo siblings." I didn't have to navigate issues with transitioning between two homes every week, or figuring out what things I need to bring with me each time. 

The last few months have afforded me some quality time with him that has been absolutely amazing. We've spent one-on-one time, talking through life issues. He tells me his problems. I tell him mine. We talk about how life can be really difficult sometimes. How some days you just want to scream "¡NO MAS!"

I just hope every day that he can come out of this as unscathed as possible. He's already flirted with the whole "I don't need to study, I'm smart" thing in his first semester of high school. His horrible GPA and being dropped from his advanced classes have, I hope, sent him a wake up message or two. But I know the next few years are going to be a roller coaster. 

I remember my friends with older kids always telling me to get ready for the teenage years. I always thought "it can't be THAT bad" to myself. And of course I was wrong. So to my friends with younger kids, I warn you, BE READY! And by be ready, I mean, give up control, because it's going to go away anyway. I'm not saying don't lay down the law. I'm saying forget about a kid telling you "please," and "thanks" and smiling at you. Ever. And forget about any words you speak having ANY level of intelligence in their world.

I'll see him on the other side of this mess, and hopefully continue to have one-on-one time where we can escape our two separate worlds for a few minutes to check-in. And just as my dad did for me, I'll guide him as best I can, even if he doesn't always listen.

I also am well aware that a few decades from now, he'll be in my shoes (even if he wears a size bigger than me already). And God willing, I'll be sitting someplace warm, overlooking a beach, telling him over the phone "Yes, son, I remember going through this stage with you. Good luck!"

I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again

February can kiss my ass.

I absolutely loathe everything about this month. And it's not just because it has Valentine's Day in it. And while I'm thankful it's the shortest month, I still some days would rather cut this month out and make March twice as long.

Why do I hate February you ask? (If you didn't ask, oh well, you're going to get the answer) Let's just review my history of February over recent years.

February 2005: The beginning of the end of my marriage (well truthfully, it started much earlier, but this was when things got REALLY ugly, so perhaps it was the near-end to the end?). It was at this point that I lived in my own bedroom, in the same house, because under Minnesota law, if I had left the home it could be used against me in court as "abandonment" of my parental rights. Thank you Minnesota for a law that essentially keeps couples at risk of strangling/stabbing/shooting each other together under the same roof. Oh and my ex-wife's birthday is in February, too. So there.

February 2008: The first serious relationship I had after my divorce began to unravel, right around Valentine's Day (shocker!). I found out that one of her old flames was busy trying to get her back, and even though she wasn't pursuing it, she wasn't stopping it. I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with this woman. I loved her. I loved her daughter. But then that damn month of February had to pop up and get in the way. I stumbled a bit, but I persevered.

February 2009: This year's installation takes the cake for it's sucktacular craptasticness. This was literally when I hit bottom in life. My second serious relationship since my divorce ended rather abruptly (think of going from hearing "I love you and miss you" one week to "This just isn't working" the next). The day after it ended with the girlfriend, I lost the job that was my most favorite of ALL I've held - writing for an amazing and creative film and corporate training company. And within two weeks of that I also lost my home and my car. This was the closest I've ever come in life to giving up. But I didn't. So yeah. Suck it, February.

February 2012: On the face of it, last year's entry in the "Sucktacular Sweepstakes" would have appeared to most people to be pretty benign. After all, I traveled to San Diego for an amazing vacation with friends. Only it was a farewell trip with the Now Ex-Lady Friend®, my third serious relationship since my divorce. We had ended things the previous month, but the vacation was already booked, so we toughed it out and decided to still go. It was a fantastic trip, but it was like an alcoholic's last bender - bittersweet and leaving you feeling both elated and horrible when it's over. I said goodbye to another woman I envisioned spending my life with. But I kept on keepin' on. Even though Now Ex-Lady Friend's® birthday was in February, too.

I haven't quit you (yet) February! I'm still here. I'm not hiding in my cave. And I'm most certainly NOT blaming others. In fact I'm very close to all but one of the parties involved in the horrible months above, and I'd happily remain close with her if she'd acknowledge my existence. I consider all of these women (including my ex-wife) to be amazing people, or I wouldn't have had the connection I had with them. And they will always be in my heart.

It does me no good to go into this month with a defeatist attitude. Hiding behind my fear will not help me conquer this beotch I call February (or this February I call beotch). Complaining about being disappointed by the actions or inactions of others (girlfriends, employers, mortgage companies, car loan companies) is a complete waste of time. The only one who can make this and future Februaries good for me is the person who just typed this sentence. 

So I vow that every day this month I will wake up, shower, get ready for work, get my sons to school, feed them, pay bills, do the best I can every day at work, and remember that if I assume that this month will suck, it most definitely will.

No way, February. I got this. You've got 21 more days to mess with me. But I have 21 more days to put all my energy into remembering one simple truth. I'm a lucky man. Because even though you've tried to knock me out year after year, I'm still standing. And I've got one helluva team assembled in my corner. 

I am not a victim. I'm a survivor. Soon to be thriver.

And some day, I'm going to be enjoying Valentine's Day with the love of my life. And you'll still be the shortest month of the year. GFY.

UNCLE! and AUNT!

As the saying goes, your greatest strength is your greatest weakness. I've long known that my biggest strength/weakness is my interest in helping my friends when they are in need.

Simply put, I'm at my happiest when I can bring happiness, or eliminate sadness, for the people I love. In the past, I've been burned badly by this. Whether intentional or not, I've gone too far in trying to help someone, and they either didn't appreciate it, or worse yet, have taken advantage of me. I'm learning slowly in life when to say "UNCLE!" and throw up the white flag.

This past month has weighed very heavily on my heart. Two amazing and dear friends of mine, who I was fortunate enough to watch as they rekindled their love for one another in my presence, ended things again just before New Year's Eve, and I've finally decided I finally have no choice but to fly my non-freak white flag, and scream not just "UNCLE" but "AUNT," too.

I'm not a psychiatrist. Or a psychologist. I might be a psychopath. But I do know enough about seeing a real and true love at work to know when something is worth fighting for. These people, whom I consider to be family more than friends, were the epitome of love. Apart, they were and are like cute, but dejected, lost puppies. Together, they were nothing short of amazing. Trying to put back their Humpty pieces was worth the effort. Or so I thought.

Maybe I tried so hard because I felt partially responsible for their "rekindling." Or maybe it was because I know in my own scarred heart what it is like to lose someone who somehow turns two incomplete people into one complete package. A relationship that just happened. Naturally. Easy like Sunday morning. When that happens, despite the flaws of two people, when you see them come together to form something that seems to be kissed by the Gods, well, it's devastating to watch it break apart. I've been in those shoes. They don't feel good on the feet. They are suffocating. They restrict your actions. And frankly, they look like shit.

So my greatest strength/weakness kicked into action, and I tried to make things right again. And I huffed. And I puffed. But I couldn't blow the reinforced concrete, earthquake-proof walls down. And ironically, in this particular case, it's not that I'm unappreciated or I'm being taken advantage of. It's that I am impotent. Not to be confused with omnipotent.

As I surrender, please know that it does not mean I'm taking any one's side in this matter. I'm not going to give up on either of them as people. I hope that they are both in my life for good. And I'm simply recognizing that in this particular case, my greatest strength is now my greatest weakness. And rather than let the feeling of despair set in, I'm going to be mature and say, I'm done.

Some advice to both of you in the days and months to come:

• Don't make this about anyone else but the two of you. It's not fair to anyone if you do so.
• Be accountable for your actions. It takes two, as they say. Own your part. Not to repair the relationship. But because it's the grown up thing to do.
• Realize that it doesn't matter what any other people on this earth think, other than the two of you. The interwebz may feel like high school sometimes, but there's a difference. We aren't being graded, and nobody is forcing us to attend in order to graduate.
• Don't stop moving forward. Four years ago next month, in a two-week period, I literally lost everything...my girlfriend, my job, my house, and my car. I've been pulling myself out of that hole for the last four years, but I didn't get there by feeling like a victim or blaming others for my situation.
• Turn off the Tivo. You don't have to replay every moment of what went wrong in your brain. What has happened can't be undone, and it does you no good to watch the mistakes over and over.
• Do things that make you happy. 
• Know that I'll always be here for you. No matter what.
• Don't play the victim card. I've had many chances to play this card in my life. I don't do it. Period.

Because that's my greatest strength. And my greatest weakness.

My Last Blog Post Ever (Maybe)

Hurry up and read this, my final blog post of all time. Maybe.

If you’re reading this on December 22, 2012, it means it won’t be my last blog. At least, as long I don’t go through my longest-ever bout of writer’s block.

So if the world DID end on December 21, 2012, my last blog post is dedicated to all the awesome things I did in my life that I was scared shitless to do at the time:

• Like becoming a dad. Twice.
• Jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. Twice.
• Feeding sharks at the aquarium at the Mall of America.
• Climbing a mountain along the Continental Divide in Colorado with my two of my brothers/college buddies on the Fourth of July, and sharing a beer at the top.
• Performing as a member of an improvisational comedy troupe in Iowa City.
• Starting a newspaper from scratch while in graduate school.
• Getting a piece published in the New York Times.
• Parasailing over shark-infested waters in Mexico. (Okay, maybe they weren’t shark-infested, but I was too scared to find out.)
• Swimming for a few miles with a stingray off the coast of West Palm Beach, Florida, while there for winter swim training as a freshman at Grinnell College.
• Zip-lining over waterfalls in a Mexican rain forest.
• Rolling my car (granted, I didn’t do this intentionally, but it’s still pretty cool to have walked away from it, and in fact to have continued to drive my car after it was pulled out of the ditch).
• Living in Europe for a semester in college, when I had never lived outside my home state of Iowa prior to that.
• Doing prank phone calls for the KRNA morning show in the late ’90s as “Hank the Crank.”
• THIS ENTRY HAS BEEN REDACTED TO AVOID ANY AND ALL REPERCUSSIONS FROM THE AUTHOR’S MOTHER OR ANY LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICIALS.

Yeah, I think that’s a pretty nice list to go out on. But I’m going to change my mind and keep adding to it if I wake up on December 22, 2012.

Feel free to share the favorite things you’ve done in your life before we go out in a blaze of glory tomorrow. Tootles! I’m off to go BASE jump off the IDS Tower.

Will This Be Enough?

At what point will we wake up and realize we need to do something differently?

After the tragic and indescribable horror that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, today, I don't know how anyone can say our system works and doesn't need fixing.

As you're likely aware, 27 people, including 20 school children, just kindergarten students at that, were gunned down today, before the gunman likely took his own life. In a close-knit, well-to-do suburb near New York City, did we finally meet the point where the extremists on both sides of the gun control debate, as well as the mental health community, can come together and find some solutions to the problem? 

That problem would be guns getting in the hands of people who are not mentally stable. People who would slaughter five-year-old children in their classroom, their safe haven, where they should be taking naps on cots, and learning to read, not meeting their maker while staring at the barrel of a gun.

I don't know the details of the shootings, other than the general story. I've been working all day, and have had barely any access to news reports. But as any of you who are parents know, it's hard for this to not cut you to the bone with pain. We've all dropped our children off at school or the bus stop, and not once does it cross our minds that it could be the last time we ever see them. But in modern American society, sadly, it possibly could be.

I don't have strong opinions on gun control. I fully respect the right to bear arms in principle. But I also know from living in the U.K. in the early 90s, in a city of 6 million people, that the lack of guns there made violent crime less of a reality than most cities in the U.S. I also am aware that the weapons used today were purchased legally by the shooter's mother.

I do have strong opinions on mental health care in this country. Namely how difficult it is for those who need help to obtain it. And how we're still a society who treats mental health issues as if it is something only weak people need. Mental health care is a vital component of health care, and we need to provide resources to every single person in this country who needs it. And we need to remove the stigma that goes with people seeking mental health help.

I don't purport to have any solutions. Any answers. I'm not an expert on either gun control or mental health issues. But I do know this much: our society has allowed something to go wrong for too long when it takes an event like today to wake us up. We've become inure to mass shootings at high schools, at malls, at crowded movie theaters. It took a classroom full of children who didn't even know how to spell "assault weapon" to get our attention again.

But let's at least take advantage of this opportunity to do something this time. Be proactive, not reactive. Find a way to prevent this tragedy from ever being repeated, politics be damned, to paraphrase President Obama from this afternoon. Again, I don't know what the solution looks like. That's not my job. But it is clear that the systems we have in place today do NOT work. So let's do something about it. Not in the next congressional cycle. Not next year. Now.

Will this be enough? I pray to God it is. Please, let it be enough.

GFYMNDOT!

So, here's the thing, MNDOT.

I criticize you constantly for your poorly designed roads that aren't meant to handle the traffic loads they do. And it is no secret that I loathe pretty much everything about you. From the fact that former Gov. Tim Pawlenty thought you were so unimportant that he assigned his Lt. Governor to be in charge of you rather than making it a full time position, to the fact that well, you have bridges collapse.

But if you REALLY want to get me going on your shortcomings, let's talk about the (at least on paper) essential job of snow removal in a state that is known for, well, snow.

I spent enough time in my car today to drive to Des Moines, IA and back. Or to Chicago. Or to Mitchell, South Dakota. But I went about 60 miles round trip. And I realize I knew what I was in for when I agreed to move to this state when my ex-wife told me she thought it would save our marriage.  But the one thing I wasn't ready for was stupid Scandinavian/Norwegian pride.

Growing up in Iowa, if we were hit with 16 inches of snow, we would look forward to a snow day. You know, stay home from school, drink hot chocolate, make a snow man to guard your snow fort. Go sledding. Have a snow ball fight. The things that normal people do in snow storms.

But here, in the Tundra, well things go on as status quo in a snow storm, because that's how they do. No delayed start for schools, unless you live in the rural areas. No snow days (my sons have never once experienced one - they were beyond irate after they switched school districts last year and their old school district had their first snow day in 20 some years). No closed businesses. No road closures. It's just another day.

That's in part because the first white people who settled this land intentionally picked a climate that was horse shit. "Hey Sven, if we build our house here, nobody will bother us, dontchaknow?" Even famous Minnesotan Prince knows this: "The cold keeps the bad people away."

And then over time, or perhaps just genetically, they got a giant chip on their shoulders about the weather. "Oh this is nothing. Remember that one time when we had 18 feet of snow and we still had to do our chores on the farm, oh yeah wasn't that crazy?"

In modern day Minnesota culture, it's a sign of weakness to admit defeat to Mother Nature. God forbid you change your daily routine because the roads are treacherous. "Just get your butt to work, Ole. Or someone else will take your job."

I had four customers at my store today. Four. Were those four customers worth risking life or limb, let alone wasting more than half of a typical working day commuting in a car, for? I'd argue not.

MNDOT knew for the last few days that a potentially big storm was coming, and would hit on Sunday. They also knew that it would be followed with a cold blast of arctic air, which makes putting salt on the roads useless. They also knew that Monday mornings are already horrible for commuting in the metro area on a good day, let alone when there is any form of precipitation.

Yet the roads in Minnesota tonight are probably worse than they were 24 hours ago, when the snow was actually still falling. Today, on both my drive to AND from work, I was met with roads that were sheets of ice, with ruts resembling what I'd imagine the open prairie looked like with wagon wheel tracks back in the day. This led to the average speed of traffic being somewhere between 10 m.p.h. and paint drying. I'm already planning ahead for the fact that my commute tomorrow will be just as bad, considering there's no way they'll get the frozen layer of crap off the roads in the next 6-8 hours.

So, MNDOT, and fine people of Minnesota, I have one simple solution to this problem. Swallow your damn Nordic pride. Today would have been a perfect day for schools to stay closed, for businesses to not open, for roads to be shut down. Let the fine men and women who make up the MNDOT road crews do their job, and everyone else can stay home and have some quality time with their family.

OR, the alternative would be, get your shitpickle f*ck fart snow plows out on the roads before the Monday morning commute begins and make them cleaner and dryer than a Baptist wedding reception. 

But to allow the roads to be treacherous, and allow people to go about their usual routine in those conditions, is just idiotic. It's not brave. It's not Norwegian machismo. It's plainly and simply stupid. 

And if this is too perplexing for any MNDOT snow plow drivers reading this blog post, then I'd like to ask you one simple favor: Could you please pick me up a job application? Because at least then I might get my snow days off.

GFYMNDOT!

A Letter to My Teenage Son

Dear N,
First off, I want you to know that you don't know how badly I want to block you from the confusion and stress of life as a freshman in high school. But I can't. Because if I did (which I couldn't anyway, but that's another topic), well, you wouldn't become the man you need to become.

I also want you to know before I say anything that upsets you, please know I'm so proud of who you are as a person. You're sensitive, you're compassionate, you would do anything for anyone. You have an amazing sense of humor, and when you make me laugh, I still see the same smile I saw when you were a chubby little man who pooped himself (with less chubby cheeks, and more curly hair).

And, son, you are amazingly bright. More so than I ever was.Your brain will let you do anything you want to do in life, if you would just let it.

But I know it's not that easy. You've gone through so many changes in the last 6 years. Your parents divorced. You suddenly had two homes, and two beds, and two drawers of socks that somehow always disappear from both places. And two sets of rules. And one house that's mostly empty, yet cramped, which you share with a cat name Rose. And another house that's rarely empty, with a "step" brother and sister, who aren't actually "step" anything, yet you felt pressured to call them that when friends would ask who they were.

Not to mention watching from the front row when my world crumbled apart around me four years ago.

And you also had to deal with a younger brother who sometimes required more attention from both your mom and me, and sometimes we put you in the role of caretaker at an age when it wasn't fair to do so. I see the resentment you have for that, and it pains me. I wish I could erase that resentment. But as I said earlier, it's not something I'm capable of doing, and I wouldn't do it if I was. If there's nothing else I've taught you since your mother and I divorced, I hope I've taught you how to fight through adversity.

Son, being a teenager sucks. I know that from my own youth. But being a teenager in a split home is something I know absolutely nothing about. Nothing. But I do know this. I'm not going to let you slip through the cracks. I'm not going to let you add to the statistics that go under the "broken home" category. I'm not going to give up on you. And I'm not going to let you give up on you either.

And now for the part you're not going to like. You will not be playing X-Box, watching TV, playing on your iPad, or a computer, or your phone for quite some time. You also will have to deal with me suddenly becoming a micromanager. I hate micromanagers. Because I've encountered them often in my life. Because apparently sometimes I need someone to micromanage me. And you have inherited more of my brain than your mother's.

I'm not micromanaging you to be a jerk. I'm doing it to help you. Perhaps if I get to you early enough, you'll realize how sucky micromanaging is and decide instead to self-manage yourself. I learned it too late, so I still occasionally get to deal with someone kicking my butt into shape. I'd prefer you not go that route.

But I promise you that I won't ask you where you want to go to college, or what you want to do when you grow up, or expect you to get straight A's. I want you to be happy, and it's clear to me right now you aren't. I also want you to be successful in whatever you want to do in life. The path toward that success and happiness is all up to you. I'm just looking for the end results. Because that's how micromanagers do.

You and your brother know more than anyone else on this planet that I'm far from perfect. And I don't expect you to be either. I just want you to show me that you have a spark inside you for something worthwhile in life. But I'm not going to force it out of you. 

I love you, N. And I don't expect you to tell me you love me. But I know deep down you do. Or at least you will some day.

Dad

Rage Against My Ignorance

Every now and then I'll share a tidbit from my past with a friend, and I'll get a "wait, what?" look from them.

I have to admit I've had some pretty cool moments in my 42 years on this planet. Of course the top ranking moments would be the births of my sons. And yeah being published in The New York Times by the age of 25 also ranks up there.

But without a doubt, one of the coolest things I ever got to do happened quite accidentally. I wanted to be able to see a rap group from SoCal, Cypress Hill, so I agreed to interview the opening band, some group I'd never heard of.

I wasn't enthused about it at all. The concert, yes. The hoops I had to jump through beforehand, no.

But I was pulling strings. Although I was a co-founder of the newspaper I was representing that night, I had never written one concert/music/A&E/entertainment piece up to that point. It didn't matter. I was getting to go see Cypress Hill for free. I'd suck it up and make sure I came across as semi-prepared for the interview. I read some article discussing the bass guitarist's ability to turn his instrument into a turntable. Scratching with a geetar, and such.

I had the hook I needed to do the interview that I didn't care about. I just had to get it over with, and then I got to go watch a controversial rap group perform songs about things like smoking weed and the like. So edgy!

Sadly, I arrived two hours early for the concert. Because that's what journalists do. I checked in with the media representatives, and they took me to a tour bus parked in front of the Iowa Memorial Union. "Tom is the only one available for an interview. The rest of the group is busy warming up with Cypress Hill."

Despite picking up what the media rep was dropping down, I gladly walked on the bus to meet this guy named Tom. I walked in ready to get this over with quickly. "Hi, you must be Steve," Tom said.

"Yes, I am. Hi Tom," I replied. 

"Tom Morello. Nice to meet you Steve."

The next few hours were a blur. I didn't know who Tom Morello was at this point. And, frankly, neither did he. They were an opening act for Cypress Hill on the college circuit. But Morello, in my interview with him, and his band, Rage Against The Machine, through their subsequent performance, were both about to blow me away.

With eloquence and passion, Morello spent at least 45 minutes telling me the inspiration behind the band, their goals, their mission, and why they woke up every morning. He also apologized that the rest of the group was busy "warming up" with Cypress Hill. He told me about his upper class upbringing in the Chicago suburb of Libertyville, and how he was openly rebelling against that. He mentioned that the world wasn't ready for them. And neither was I.

I headed into the concert as this mostly unknown group took the stage. The smell of marijuana permeated the ballroom at the IMU. Nobody in this crowd was in the mood for anything more than "Insane in the Membrane." And, like me, they all were about to get woken the eff up.

I don't recall the details of the concert review I wrote. I do remember the headline read "Rage Against The Machine Steals the Show from Cypress Hill." And I also remember smiling when I saw it in print for the first time. I stepped out of my normal comfort zone - I usually stuck to politics, editing, signing last minute advertising deals, and the occasional political cartoon to fill in empty space. I wrote a concert review. About a group I'd never heard of.

But, soon,  people across the nation, and even worldwide, would know of them. I had nothing to do with that. But they had something to do with me. So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

P.S. - Has anyone heard anything about Cypress Hill lately?

Teenage Hateland?

In March, 2010, I was lucky enough to attend the wedding of two of my dearest friends in Iowa City.

It was like any other wedding and reception - the wedding party and guests dressed to the hilt, endured the actual ceremony, so they could enjoy plenty of liquid refreshments while dancing to the standards. 

Like "Celebrate" by Kool and the Gang, "YMCA" by the Village People, and I think even a chicken dance, but I could be wrong. The highlight of the reception was a rousing karaoke version of Vanilla Ice's "Ice, Ice Baby" by the bride. Well one of the brides. See this wedding had two brides. And no groom.

"Kristy" and "Sarah" were, and still are, an amazing couple. They compliment each other's strengths and weaknesses, and are able to work through the stresses of life better than most married couples I know. And I was proud of my home state when I was able to attend a legal wedding for them thanks to what I still consider to be a very well-thought out ruling by the Iowa Supreme Court. You can disagree with me all you want, I'm proud that Iowa was one of the first states in the union to support gay marriage. 

For me, it is common sense that ANYONE who wants to get married, short of cousins (which is legal in more states, for second cousins, anyway, than it is for any GLBT community members to do), should be allowed to. 

The sarcastic/cynical side of me looks at it this way: everyone deserves the right to live miserably for the rest of your life, until death do you part. I kid. Sort of. But seriously, folks.

But in reality I've heard all the anti-gay marriage arguments. Such as "gay marriage will devalue straight marriage." Much like a foreclosed house brings down the home values of the neighborhood, I guess? I don't follow this logic. How does Kristy and Sarah being allowed to make a legal commitment to each other  make it any less valuable for Joe and Jane to do the same? 

And then there's the argument that The Bible says gay marriage, or simply being gay, is a sin. Except that there's this notion by our founding fathers that there should be a separation of church and state. Furthermore, most biblical arguments I've seen have taken modern interpretations of a very old document, and twisted the words to support their cause. Sodomy and homosexuality aren't exclusive. At least not the last time I heard.

Perhaps the biggest irony to me is that most people who argue that the equal marriage movement is bad for the country are the same people espousing a belief in limited government when it comes to their wallets. Since we're on the subject of limited government, I wonder if those people are okay with any and all government intrusions into their bedroom or the altar of marriage. Like they're advocating for others.

Just like things we used to culturally accept as a nation: blacks can't vote or sit at the same table as a whites, women can't vote or legally make any decisions for themselves, Americans as a whole are a slow lot to accept social growth as a country. Which makes sense, if you think about it. In the history of humankind, America is still just a teenager. We're not good at learning from our lessons yet.

But that's no damn excuse. It's time to put our collective childish ways behind us. Enough with trying to single out people for being "different" from us. That's middle school crap. Equal rights should apply to everyone, no matter what your color, your gender, your religion, or who you love.

I have faith that we, as a people, will clear the last major hurdle in the movement toward equality for everyone. And I raise a glass in toast to Kristy and Sarah. I just hope I'm around for their 50th wedding anniversary!

Old Words from an Old Voice

Old words from an old voice. 

The old words themselves don't matter, and really neither does the old voice. The only important thing you need to understand is that when old words are spoken from an old voice, sometimes they evoke old emotions. You tell me enough times that I'm a turtle, and by God I'm a mother effing turtle in my mind. 

But tonight it was different. I heard the old words from the old voice, and it set off something. I was ready to piss fire and drink blood. I don't even really know what that means, but it sounds like something Chuck Norris would do, so I went with it.

Whatever you do, do NOT question my intentions or abilities as a parent. I'm not saying I'm perfect. The fact my sons picked out a "This Beer Is Making Me Awesome" t-shirt for me speaks for itself.  But when the "fit hits the shan," I'm there for my sons. It's why I'm here. And by here I mean the tundra. Please review the name of this blog at this time. Prisoner = held against my will. Tundra = Minnesota. Do the math. Unless you're my freshman in high school, in which case you'll say you did the math, when you really didn't, and then I'll get yelled at for it somehow.

And then I'll get yelled at for suggesting I didn't agree that said son needs to be on anti-depressants because of his recent behavior. He's in 9th grade. Going to be 15 in less than 6 months.  I've talked to countless parents who went through this same stage with their sons. I bring this up, and I'm told I'm wrong. I'm just trying to deny that our son needs medication.

I'm not going to wave a white flag on this issue. This boy is an amazingly smart and sensitive lad. I suspect that the sensitive is overruling the smart at the moment. Here's a kid who not only dealt with his parents divorcing, but then dealt later with his mom moving in with her boyfriend, which brought a second family into the mix. During puberty. While changing school districts. This doesn't excuse his behavior. But it starts to explain it.

Assuming he needs meds is the equivalent of saying "I can't swim, so I want him to wear a lifejacket."

Tonight, this kid sat and finished every last bit of outstanding homework he had. He didn't do it because I yelled and threatened him. He didn't do it because I told him he needed to go on meds if he didn't finish it. He finished it because I told him that was the requirement. And he knows that means it's not an option.

And he did it without me hovering over him. Because one thing I've learned in my life is this: if you need to have someone hover over you to get the job done, you aren't going far.

I'm not the perfect dad. But tonight, I'm going to chalk up a victory for me. He did what he should have done weeks ago. But he did it. Without a word. 

So regardless of what the peanut gallery has to say, I'm victorious tonight. Over a 14 year old. who moved in with his mom's boyfriend, changed school districts, started puberty, and well, at this point we might as well predict he will survive armageddon.

Hey old voices, with old words. I don't much care for you. I think it's time you just take leave now. If only it were that easy.