Friday, May 15, 2009

CA Trip #2

I flew into San Jose; my brother lives in nearby Los Gatos.

Daniel is 3 years younger than me and through the years we have become good friends. We like sports. We don't like stupid stuff at church. We have the same perspective on our family.

I admire him for making a life for himself. Slugging through college. Finding a job. Relocating to a new area. Immersing himself in his work (he's a great art teacher!). Now he's looking at buying a condo (probably a good time to do so). He really has made a nice life for himself and I admire the moxy that he's shone along the way.

He's also pretty dang good with people and 'situations'. He's got a good read on why people do what they do. He's good at cutting through the bologna. He's great with strangers. He's good at mapping a plan out of the sitch. Plus, my kids like him!

I'm proud of my brother and glad he's mine!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

the Max Dream

In the altered words of Martin Luther King, Jr. - "I had a dream!"

Yesterday I had a migraine. When I sense one coming on, my first strategy is to sleep it off. Many times that works for me and yesterday was not much different in that regard. I slept and when I awoke it was still there but not at full throttle. Knowing of others with much more severe migraine issues, I am glad to have something that works for me.

Anyway, as I was sleeping I had a terrible dream. I was talking with my son in his 9-year old state, but we were in a 'museum' from which he could not leave. That's because he was dead. The wounds on his head were from a golf club, some kind of iron/wedge by the looks of it. Apparently he had been killed by a violent idiot who had struck him in the head. First, a single killing blow on one side and then some blows, for effect, on the other side. And it was rather strange that we could talk while I was alive and he was dead. And he couldn't leave because he was actually on display. Apparently, the event was newsworthy in a sick tourist kind of way.

What bothered me most was the twisted ability to connect with my son but not being able to really connect with my son. No hugging. No high fives or fist bumps. No playing soccer or basketball. Just talking at odd (after business) hours. Not being able to leave together. He had to remain in his designated spot and I could only speak with him. That's such a big departure from our normal relationship that it bothers me even now as I recall those dream-world constraints. We are two physical guys. We wrestle. We smell each other (if you think that's weird you're ok, so does the rest of our family!). We play sports, tease and punch. We often 'wruggle' (a combo of wrestling and snuggling) at the end of a day.

Even though a wacky, migraine-induced dream prompted this, I'm so glad for the relationship we have. It's hard to think of it being different. Yet some day in some ways it will be that way; we will be limited in how and when we connect. [hopefully, his head won't be bashed in by a golf club.] Thank you Max for loving me even though I've got lots to learn about being a father. Thank you God for my son; thank you for our sweet relationship.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

CA Trip #1

I was in CA for four days and four nights. The occassion was my dad's health, Stage 4 melanoma that has spread to his lungs.

It was good to visit my family and some old friends. One visit of note was seeing my dad's half-sister Judy; it had been 17 years. My brother and I picked her up on our way from Los Gatos to Sacramento. She's an original! But talking with her about her father (Harold. also my dad's dad.) and the whole family dynamic back then was really enlightening. I have never been one to be too curious about our family tree but this was a room that had never been opened.

Harold was quite an artist in the area of photography. He hobknobbed with respected area artists of the time and owned his own studio for awhile. His mother was a control freak and strongly disliked Judy. Whatever his relationship with my dad's mom (Regina), at some point it was completely shut down. That's why my dad was adopted by the lady known to me as Gramma Holmes. Strangely enough, Harold seemed to be a kind man and the harshness in shutting out Regina was either a dark and hidden contrast or the result of his mother's influence.
Learning about Harold gave me some insight into my father, and even myself. It is interesting how physical and character traits are passed on from one generation to the next.

Back to Aunt Judy. She and I won't agree on some moral or political issues but I appreciate some things about her. She's frank. And in a world of cover-ups and appearances that's refreshing. She's a hard worker. [several aspects of the newspaper biz, real estate agent, cattle nurse, librarian] She cares about animals like my oldest daughter does. She cares about people close to her. She really likes my dad. I don't know how things will go for her over the next 17 years but I do hope that things take a turn for the better. She's a unique lady and I like her.