tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2221768244365845162024-03-08T13:29:28.207-08:00Death and taxes.......Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-7290388605262127882014-05-22T14:53:00.002-07:002014-05-22T14:53:40.372-07:00Georgia NOT on My Mind
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it looks like a peach, taste like
a peach and smells like a peach it must be a peach right? Welcome to the great
state of Georgia where not everything is as it might first seem. Georgia, a
down home kind of place where God and guns are as American as peach cobbler,
peanut farmers, Delta Airlines and the Atlanta Braves major league baseball
team. What exactly do these thing have in common? Probably not a whole lot
other than the notion they all likely feel a keen responsibility to look out
for their own communities. No matter whose life it might cost. What are we if
not a community? God bless ‘Merica. An eye for an eye. We are who we associate
with are we not? There’s plenty of saying the good ole boys are quite fond of spouting
off in their haste to remind us all they won’t lay down their so called 2<sup>nd</sup>
Amendment rights so quickly. In fact, they dead set on making certain
Democrats, filthy liberal animals and the black guy in their White House get a
big fat F- you too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet Georgia, the bedrock of the south
is also a place where great statesmen and former presidents like James Earl
Carter Jr. come from seems to have gone ‘plum crazy’. When was the last time a
president actually fed poor children or helped the less fortunate build a home
through Habitat for Humanity? A great man who unlike the majority of his
predecessors and successors alike puts his money where his mouth is, dedicating
his life to the service of others. A man who is deeply committed to social
justice and basic human rights. Yet the Grand Ole Party speaks of this great man
like an ignorant country bumpkin. There used to be so many great things to say
about Georgia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes sir the Great state of Georgia
has spoken! They have seen the light! They will lead the way for ‘Merica. Yet
eventually reality sets in and you realize a once great state seems to have
lost its cotton pickin’ mind. Even their state motto “Wisdom, Justice,
Moderation” says everything about how far off the path of sanity they have
strayed. Their illustrious politician’s spew their pro-American “Johnny git
jer” gun rights crap while thumping the Lord’s Bible and spitting out verse and
scripture instructing others how to live. They’re also fond of telling us who
and who will not get through the Gates of Heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time in America when laws
were created to enhance the quality of life and correct inequalities and deficiencies
in our society. A time now long gone. Laws these days are fabricated purely to
inflate dicks and egos. Those responsible for crafting and creating legislation
today are devoid of any desire to effect positive social advancement much less
protect the rights of the average American for whom they were elected to work.
Any benefit to society is purely accidental, any positive result without merit.
One’s manhood used to be measured by hard work, doing right by loved ones,
pushing on in the face of adversity and making a positive contribution to
society. For the less civic minded individual the measuring stick might rest
between one’s legs. Sadly, even the latter trumps today’s interpretation of masculinity
which is solely measured by the size of the gun strapped to one’s hip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The state of Georgia’s recently
passed House Bill 60, the Safe Carry Protection Act of 2014 has made it official,
and America has finally lost its goddamn mind. In a world which is, out of
necessity to survive, becoming increasingly socially conscious we as a society
have allowed America to be reduced to quite possibly the most socially regressing
first world nation on the planet. I mean let’s be honest, with politicians the
likes of Georgia’s Governor Nathan Deal at the helm what else helm what else can
we expect? America at a crossroads and make no mistake it’s Governor Deal who wants
to put us all in the cross hairs. Georgia’s Safe Carry Protection Act
effectively allows everybody and his brother to pack a gun not only in the
street but in bars and restaurants serving alcohol, in the Church pews, school
zones and buildings with kids present, government buildings and even airports.
You read right, airports! Just imagine, the next time a TSA agent pisses you
off you can just shoot him. A gun owner with a license requiring no more
background check than a fishing license is now allowed to conceal carry by law
right up to the gates of airport security. Even better, the annoying drunk
seated next to you at the bar has one too many and decides well, he wants to
shoot you, so you decide in self-defense to shoot him back, then his buddy
decides to get in on the action just like back in the good ole days of OK
Corral. Sound extreme? Think again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember when schools were a place to
feel safe? Yep, a kid might not be allowed to wear a gay rights t-shirt, profess
a religious belief or expect a decent lunch, but be sure adults can strap a gun
to their hip and during school hours! After all, what’s more important here,
education or raising a generation of gun toting kids? Where went the good ole days
when everyone in town turned out at church because it was the House of God, a
place to feel safe and protected from the evils of men? Not anymore folks those
days are long gone too. Thanks to Governor Deal and the Georgia State
Legislature the church is no longer designated a feel good, safe zone. Not even
the preacher can protect his flock as it will now infringe on your rights to
carry a gun wherever you damn well please. How long do you think it will be
before some pissed off citizen strolls into a courthouse or government building
to contest a traffic ticket, pay a fine or address some manner of official
business and some lowly civil servant gets blasted?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to wonder how all those
Georgia law enforcement officers feel now knowing every character they pull
over from the drunken fool who just got behind the wheel of their car to the
pissed off citizen involved in a domestic dispute is now packing a piece. No
doubt folks America as you knew it no longer exists. The move by Georgia and
Governor Deal is nothing more than extremism in action. Their idea is not to
protect the rights of Americans at all, it is no more than extremist leaders
attempting to flex their muscles and send a big fat F**K YOU to the moderate,
liberal and socially conscious Americans their paranoia tells them want to take
‘their ‘Merica’ away. Governor Deal and his posse effectively said ‘we will do
what we want and we don’t care what America thinks’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>America is in a seriously bad place
when we’ve afforded our elected officials the power to allow guns in schools,
churches and airports. The great state of Georgia sacrificed the safety of our
children, ignored the true word of God and endangered public safety all for a
few votes from 2<sup>nd</sup> amendment crackpots and NRA extremists. The irony
is not lost on a passage of a bogus bill pandered to a desperate public as
means for citizens to protect themselves will result in no one being safe
anymore. In addition to serious the potentially deadly consequences and serious
social ramifications which will sooner than later effect the good citizens of
Georgia are huge legal and financial liabilities. Liabilities Governor Deals
and his gun rights posse has now laid squarely on the taxpayer doorstep through
his blood legislation. At a news conference he was so busy patting himself on
the back while chewing his cud, pumping his fist in the air and inciting the
gun toting Christian masses, “we won so screw you liberals”, his ignorance and
their own was lost on the state of Georgia itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Governor Deal’s gloating and
self-adulation in his intentional protection of extremist gun rights activists
has put every citizen at risk. Why merely stop at allowing everyone to strap on
a holster? Georgia hasn’t gone far enough, let’s go a step further and bring
back the age old sport of dueling to the death. Let the good citizens settle
squabbles over good old fashioned state sanctioned shootout. Everybody from the
gun and ammo manufacturer to local undertakers can now turn a profit, we can
even have a picnic in the ole town square. This, is essentially what we have
come to, turning a profit for gun rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One wonders how the State of Georgia
would react if we as responsible citizens were to how to address the issue in
extremist ways of our own? What if we were to turn the tables on Governor Deal
and his posse through a series of economic sanctions on the state of Georgia
not unlike we’ve done to Russia and other countries when we want something? Hit
them right where it matters most to these people, in the pocketbook. Maybe we
can begin by a boycott of Georgia peaches? Hell, why stop there let’s boycott
peanuts while we’re at it! Surely the good citizens of Georgia will sit up and
take note of sane Americans great displeasure especially in light of economic
sanctions. While we’re at it let’s go even further and refuse to fly Delta
Airlines head quartered in Atlanta Georgia or skip the Atlanta Braves games
whenever they come to a city near you. Money it seems is the only motivator in
America today, not social consciousness, or moral responsibility, so it’s about
time we bring it to them where it hurts the most. It’s about time we get
serious and get serious quick to stop Governor Deal and his Georgia pro-gun
rights posse and the countless of other extremists in America or we’re in for
big trouble. Trouble we may not be able to so easily turn back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is, if we don’t do
something to stop the madness that is called gun rights soon we as a nation
soon we are surely destined for a great deal more pain and division than we
already know. If we allow it to happen, America as we know it will quickly slip
out of our hands and into the control of a much uglier, extremist element. Will
we as socially responsible Americans stand and take a stand against the madness
of Governor Nathan Deal and others like him? Will we take a stand against the
insanity of the NRA and those who call themselves Americans? Or will we allow
ourselves to as a nation to regress and watch America to slip into the social
abyss in which we are headed? An eye for an eye right? Isn’t that what they say
down home in Georgia?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-82128884525043266272014-04-24T23:12:00.001-07:002014-04-24T23:12:26.900-07:00'Innocence Lost'
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So for her I pined most of my
days and late into the night<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unfamiliar with the reality of
desire<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet well versed in futility of
life<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long halls cold grey walls<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A young boy too quickly become a
man less the intimacy of touch.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No, for me she was innocent lost
and innocence saved all at once<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Possibly the only innocent thing
I had ever known<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And soon that too would disappear
and for that I fear <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only real innocence I would
ever know<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet a distant memory in my mind<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Saving me from my own self and
the slow death of time <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We shared something silent <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If only a look <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That thing only two would know<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet even it was denied me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Probably rightly so<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still it was innocence found <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Innocence lost <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe the only I would ever know<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And likely never know again<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once, I almost held it<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just when I thought I had it all<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It slipped away into the night<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like shadow on glass there and
gone<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fate would intervene<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like the inconsiderate devil he
can be.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-SPC<o:p></o:p></span><br />
Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-51676021197829865662014-04-17T21:17:00.000-07:002014-04-17T21:17:15.212-07:00Boogie ManEven if it felt like hell<br /> It raised me well<br /> Like a child of its own<br /> It never let me down<br /> Kept me warm<br /> Belly full and body covered<br /> It raised me well<br /> As did the streets before<br /> Made me their own<br /> Readied me to go on my own<br /> Then came the they had to set me free<br /> A freedom unlike any kind you’ve ever known<br /> Unlike any I’ve ever known since<br /> When I came up a boy<br /> Scared of my own self in a mirror<br /> Blood splattered walls<br /> Screaming in the halls<br /> Fists clenched in rage<br /> Boogie man under the bed<br /> Angel, Madonna, Crucifix or saint<br /> Nothing could save me from my own hate<br /> Or the monsters living inside that come out at night<br /> Come morning they were out of mind out of sight<br /> They who spawned me tried their best<br /> With what little they had to work<br /> But sometimes even your best isn’t enough<br /> So they set you on your own<br /> So I was grown<br /> Before my time<br /> Matured in body yet not in mind<br /> Having taught me all it could<br /> It would be only a matter of time<br /> Before the street relinquished me<br /> To that place that felt like hell<br /> Yet raised me well<br /> Behind limestone walls<br /> Made a boy a man<br /> Trade in a smirk for a shank<br /> Gave me eyes in back of my head<br /> But the boogie man under my bed<br /> Followed me there<br /> Telling me that though they let me down<br /> He never would<br /> Because he would be with me forever<br /> He became my friend, my lover, my confidant<br /> Taught me how to survive<br /> And never left my side<br /> We became one in the same<br /> The demon I could never live without<br /> Because all others may abandon you<br /> But your demons never will<br /> Even if it felt like hell<br /> It raised me well<br /> Even today calling out my name<br /> It missed me so<br /> Come back home<br /> Just like he promised<br /> He’ll be there waiting<br /> For me to return home<br /> That boogie man under my bed <br />
- SPC<br /> 2/3/2014 Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-52604366000973602682014-04-17T21:14:00.002-07:002014-04-17T21:14:48.648-07:00There's No Such Thing as a Bad Boy I remember there was a time when kids could be kids. We played outside in the street with neighborhood friends in relative safety. We might even sneak off to those forbidden places most adults tell them <em>not</em> to go near that most kids eventually discover. I know I not only took a bite from the forbidden apple, I ate the whole thing. We were able fall and hurt ourselves and nobody got sued or get into a fist fight in the street and nobody got arrested. We could get away with minor mischief and even major mayhem on occasion. Kid mayhem that is. Kids were allowed to make mistakes. We played outside well past dark or until a parent or other adult stepped out onto the front steps and screamed your name until you ducked out and ran home. Some kids got to stay out later than others, it usually dependent upon the quality of life at home, but when you’re a kid who thinks in terms of quality? We were just trying to get by without getting beat up or picked on by the older kids. Those of us who did get to stay out later just knew we were cooler than the rest. It always amazed me that I could be blocks and blocks away and still here my mother hollering out our name to come home. Whenever I was a little further away than I should be her voice would resonate throughout the neighborhood passed on from neighbor to neighbor until someone spotted me in a pile of kids and passed the message to get my ass home. That was back in the days when I was still had fear of getting smacked if I didn’t get home. The neighbors would automatically ‘pay it forward’ back then, we didn’t have to be asked to. You look out for mine, I look out for yours. The neighborhood raised your kids.<br />
Sure, even back then a kid had to be careful but we were fundamentally safer because everybody knew each other or at least knew someone who knew you and your family. People just looked out for one and other. Officer friendly was a real person and cops were looked up to, not eyed with suspicion and fear. They were too busy being real cops to try making a kid feel intimidated. Like I said, kids were allowed to make mistakes. Kids were allowed to be kids.<br />
Back in those days even I trusted authority. I know, I know, some of you may find that difficult to believe but yes, it is true. I wasn’t always this jaded and cynical. Admittedly even I had a smidgen trust in the legal system, but I saw where that got me. You see, like many of you, I grew up with the belief that if you do right to others they in turn would do right by you. We had faith in the system and held belief that police and the court system was put into place to serve and protect and help guide you down the right path in life. A smile and a kind word got a kid a lot further than hand cuffs and nightsticks. Our role models were once authority figures.<br />
I grew up with what I refer to as the Father Flanagan Syndrome, that “there is no such thing as a bad boy.” For those of you who know and those of you who don’t, the good Father Edward Flanagan founded Boys Town in Omaha Nebraska as a safe haven for wayward and homeless boys, he would later open the doors to young females too. He was immortalized when portrayed by actor Spencer Tracy in his life story of the same name. ‘Boys Town’ was one of my all-time favorite movies. It told the story of an incorrigible young boy Whitey Marsh (Mickey Rooney) and Father Flanagan’s mission to save Whitey and other kids like him from the negative forces around him. Father Flanagan firmly believed “There are no bad boys. There is only bad environment, bad training, bad example, bad thinking.” In short he was saying responsible parties need to step up and lead the way, not cause more havoc in many already troubled kids lives.<br />
Each kid with the proper guidance, mentoring and decent role models stood a chance at staying on the straight and narrow and not get lost if they made good choices. For the boy or girl that did stray there was the youth home that provided them with a chance to get straightened out and have a decent shot at life. Instead officer friendly and our justice system now offer kids a lifetime opportunity of a criminal conviction before they can comprehend what it is they did. Our court system has abandoned any notion of child welfare in favor of intimidation tactics on kids, criminal convictions and revenue collection by way of punishing and fining kids for being, well, for being kids.<br />
The Audy Home (a Chicago term for the youth home) was for the juvenile that needed extra help and was a form of deterrent not punishment. According to The Encyclopedia of Chicago, <em>“In 1899, the women of Chicago’s Hull House and the men of the Chicago Bar Association succeeded in passing legislation to remove children from adult jails and adult poorhouses by establishing the world’s first juvenile court. The separate court was part of a sustained campaign to transform the maltreatment of children by abolishing child labor, establishing compulsory education, creating public playgrounds, and strengthening immigrant family life.”</em> For the most extreme cases of the most incorrigible kid punishment was more severe once they became an adult and still couldn’t do the right thing. These things were understood and officer friendly was put on the front lines to help a troubled kid. That all changed and the front line hero became a government salaried strong arm man and revenue collector concerned more with enriching the courts coffers than serving and protecting. Suddenly, America went horribly wrong.<br />
Slowly over many years we have thrown any allowance for a kid to be a kid right out the window. State, local and municipal governments and the courts set forth an edict that instructed law enforcement agencies, school teachers and officials to start viewing kid mistakes as an opportunity to invent a revenue source and they happily complied. The asinine politically correct ‘zero tolerance’ experiment took effect. Zero tolerance is essentially saying we’ve surrendered all control and are too lazy to do the job you have entrusted us to do, kids are not our problem. Why not? It took the responsible adult part of the job description out of their hands. It just made life easier, do less for more. A zero tolerance policy created by the responsible adults was placed like a bounty all on the heads of the very kids they were once entrusted to protect. A kid was no longer just a kid but instead a commodity who albeit could not even understand the very word itself had dam well better know how to act in public. If they know what’s good for them they had dam well cease being kids lest they find themselves in cuffs and behind bars amongst the ever growing ranks other ‘kids in the can’. Like adult prisons, kid jails became a burgeoning business worthy of a judge’s greed and our politician’s dirty little secret.<br />
A recent case that comes to mind out of the hundreds of examples I can think of is the Barrington, Illinois Middle School-Station Campus scandal in which school officials contacted Barrington police to start and investigation into ‘sexting’ or sending inappropriate images amongst themselves using their smartphones. A modern version of sneaking behind the back of school and playing ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’. Their reasoning according to Principal Craig Winkelman is that “sexting among students can affect reputations and disrupt the educational environment.” He warned that criminal charges “may also result” from the students’ actions.” This of course is all from the responsible adult.<br />
So let me get this straight, responsible parties (parents) give a kid the means by which to get into trouble by giving their kid the latest, greatest smartphone because everyone has one. Meanwhile the other responsible parties (school officials) allow them to roam the halls of grade school with them tucked neatly in their back pockets and training bra straps. Then, when they do what every kid since the beginning of mankind has done, explore their own sexuality, of which we force feed them an overabundance of a daily basis, the responsible adult, rather than deal with what they are paid to, turn them over to child irresponsible law enforcement agencies who force them into brightly lit, small white rooms to interrogate and intimidate them and accuse the minor children of trafficking in child pornography and charge them with sex crimes? A type of arrest mind you that will stay with a child, on their record, for the rest of their juvenile years and most likely the remainder of their lives. That arrest if turned into a conviction turns an innocent minor child into a registered sex offender for life! Sounds like a classic case of entrapment to me. Sounds rather controlling and much like a conspiracy as well. A well designed one at that.<br />
How screwed up are we in this country is my question? While our society allows full televised nudity, murder and mayhem along with online pornography at every turn we accuse kids of falling short on scruples and self-control? Are you kidding me? Our educators have been stripped of any ability to reach out to kids for fear of their own jobs. Yet we as the responsible adults turn a blind eye to the street corner bus stop bench or rolling public bus advertisements of scantily clad (if your lucky) fourteen year old girls and boys who look like heroin junkies in training. Why do we turn a blind eye? Because assholes call it art, greedy corporations sell it and people lap it up and ask for more while our corrupt politicians say everything’s going to be A-Okay. But somehow the kids just can’t control themselves and we continue on creating a generation of throw away kids who are convicted of crimes of invention by those they were supposed to be able to trust.<br />
It only gets scarier from there. ‘Kids for Cash’ was arguably the most infamous child abuse case in American history yet everybody seems to have forgotten about it, that is, except the family of the child who committed suicide as a result of his bogus incarceration and the other kids permanently damaged by it. How did it happen? We allowed it to happen.<br />
In 2008 two judges, Mark Ciavarella and Michael Conahan who presided over juvenile courts in Wilkes-Barr, Pennsylvania were indicted and eventually convicted of accepting millions of dollars in bribes for kid’s incarceration. Brides paid to them by Robert Mericle the builder of two private, for-profit juvenile detention facilities. The very men we entrusted with our children’s well-being accepted cash and prizes to bogusly sentence kids to jail. They willingly threw many kids lives out the window for what would turn out to be very minor offenses in order increase the facilities detention numbers and profits and they didn’t do it alone. It took many more people to make this happen, many of which I am certain were never indicted in hopes by Luzerne County and state of Pennsylvania government officials that the scandal would just go away. The kids didn’t matter, not even the young man who committed suicide as direct result of Judge Ciavarella’s bogus sentence even though he was considered a first time offender but bad publicity did. Fortunately these kids did matter to Federal Judge Edwin M. Kosik who rejected the criminal’s judges Ciavarella and Conahan plea agreement and ultimately sentenced them to federal prison for twenty-eight and seventeen and a half years respectively. Hopefully they will die there. As for everyone else, they got off pretty light, except that is for those kids whose lives were ruined and faith in authority forever destroyed. <br />
Every time you open a newspaper, turn on the evening news or surf the net you find a story of kids gone bad, kids gone mad and kids arrested for the minor infractions of making the mistakes kids make. Mistakes we all made as kids and were grounded for, yelled at for, suspended from school for and even smacked around for. Now pre-teen kids go straight into hand cuffs or directly to jail for the same offenses you and I once worried we’d catch a beating at home over. We as the supposed responsible adults give them the tools to hang themselves. The lack of morals and life lessons, we offer gratuitous sex and violence in film, TV, music and every aspect of life, after all violence sells. We complain about their lack of motivation and desire for material possessions yet refuse to guide them instead dismantle their future piece by piece. Society demands you have an I-phone, flat screen and latest gym shoe or you’re a loser and not worthy of. They don’t learn this themselves yet no one wants the responsibility of showing young children the way.<br />
Sure there are kids that do terribly things and commit heinous offenses and they should be punished for them and remanded to mental health facilities where they can be helped. But those aren’t the kids we’re talking about here. We’re talking about the discarded kids from all walks of life. An issue once largely limited by racial bias to the less fortunate underclass, those who had few options is now a threat to every kid out there, save the elite 1% of course, regardless of socio-economic status by the simple invention of zero tolerance.<br />
It’s simply not enough America incarcerates more adults that any other country in the entire world in the name of profit. Recognizing the enormous potential for increased profits the powers that be allow corporations to set up private juvenile prisons and cash in on America’s children. As result of our failure as a society to place limitations on those we owe the most to and our unwillingness to lead and flat out denial of our responsibility we are well on our way to creating an entire class of sociopaths in the name of greed. What’s worse is we allow law enforcement agencies and the court system full of intolerance, indifference to perpetrated crimes and injustice against kids. It is our fault and as their protectors we have failed miserably. <br />
I know a little bit about the lack of life lessons, life skills and being ill prepared for the world that leads to a lack direction. A hard life of that causes a kid to have to figure out the road map of life by trial and error, mostly error. I’m not unfamiliar with the feeling of being discarded and left to fend for oneself and I know a little about kids in jail. However, I also know there were those who tried to lead me in a different direction, there were people who cared and there were people who felt responsible. They’re still out there yet there’s just not enough of them left anymore. Our apathy and lack of sympathy in America has led us down a bad road that threatens to sacrifice our greatest natural resource.<br />
As Principal Craig Winkelman so self-assuredly says, “life-altering regrets and damage sexting can imprint on a young person’s future.” God forbid he take the time to do his job and make a positive imprint on their young minds. I remember the days when our kids were our greatest natural resource. Hey, what the hell, we abuse every God given thing and waste every other resource we have, why not our kids too?<br />
I miss Father Flanagan and the lessons he had to teach us, because even if Boys Town was a dramatized version of a great man’s good deeds, it taught us there was something to hope for, something to look forward to. I fear those days are gone. Where is the good Father when we need him?Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-71630490674717822022013-02-02T04:12:00.000-08:002013-02-02T04:46:06.568-08:00LEARNING HOW TO BREATHE<br />
It was during my yoga class today while doing my breathing exercises, which have become almost second nature to me, that I was brought back to a time five years ago when I became familiar with my own mortality. A reality in the chaos and utter insanity that had become my life that I had previously seldom if ever given any thought to sober or otherwise. Back then I didn’t give sober thought to much because God knows there weren’t many sober moments but plenty when I thought I would not make it out alive. <br />
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These breathing exercises reminded me of a few long moments in time when quietly I realized I was quite possibly going to be introduced to what lay across that great divide. Some people call it death. Many people fear it, some for good reason. After age ten I never so much feared it, partly out of my own ignorance, as I did respect it. Coming from a very large extended family I started attending funerals early in life. Sadly many of them were not good deaths but does anyone ever really die good? My parents were never afraid to show us the reality of life and for that I thank them. I recall on the trip to the hospital in the front seat of my buddies suburban, I struggled with every breath not sure if it would be my last. I fought for and welcomed every hard earned breath. I wanted more than anything to taste the sweet air and stay here with all of you. Laying there on that hospital gurney clutching at my chest weakly as they cut my clothes from my body, shoved needles into my veins and hooked me up to IV’s, I realized just how much for granted I took breathing in a very real sense. <br />
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I also made peace with God as I know Him just in case I didn’t make it through. Laying there the realization set it that because I had learned to respect death I was not so much afraid of dying as I was having lived right. Dying I’ve done before, too many times over. Dying was something I had seen happen in front of me. It was something I was used to. My dying was done in the cold, dark cells of jails and prisons, shitty barrooms and nasty, filthy apartments that doubled as whore houses. It was done dimly lit rooms with bad men portraying themselves to be your friend. It all took a piece out of me until I was emotionally and spiritually dead and ‘morally bankrupt’ to borrow a phrase from a great book I read. Death was my inability to feel for or care for anything or for anyone at all. Such was that inability that I wasn’t even able to hate myself anymore. So it was nothing less than a miracle that I would be rescued from myself and slowly over many years be taught how to live and be alive again. You see, living and being alive are two very different things. <br />
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Yes, all these thoughts passed through my mind while doing my breathing exercises during yoga. They passed through my thoughts in nothing more than a few moments not unlike those few long moments of five years ago but under very different circumstances. It’s amazing how much can pass through one’s mind in the span of a few moments. I have heard it said that when death is close your life passes before your eyes like watching a rerun of a movie. The question is will that movie of your life have been worth watching. I like breathing and I like my breathing exercises, they make me realize that I am breathing not just to live but to be live alive as I really am today.<br />
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In my mind there are only two things for certain in this life. One, we all live and two, we all die. It’s how we spend our time on this earth that will determine if we lived or not. I suspect those final moments will be quite different for those of us who choose to really be alive than it will for those who simply chose to take up space while they were here.<br />
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Some would say I am preoccupied with death. I suppose at one time there was much truth in that. I grew up feeling it all around me and spend a good portion of my adult years surrounded by it and the constant threat of it. My older sister recently said to me regarding a conversation about a relative that there are just some things she does not want to know about in the lives of those she loves. She prefers to remain ignorant about some things. Ignorant that is in the sense that it’s the smartest way to remain. I imagine that part of my life fits into her prefer not to know category. There are just some things that no longer need be talked about or thought of as part of life. That was another time, another place, another life I suppose. <br />
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With that being said if you read between the lines you will see this is all about really living and nothing about dying.<br />
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An old friend recently commented to me that she thought I had an exciting life. I don’t know how true that is or is not. I do know I have never been one to conform to social norms of most sorts. I mean c’mon check my record that should tell you everything. I have been fortunate to sit at the table and break bread with many interesting and notable people from politicians and known celebrities (and some in their own mind) to professional bank robbers, hit men types, millionaires, vagabonds, sinners and saints and lunatics and madmen of all assorted colors. I tend to attract the demented types. I traveled quite a bit and usually get up and go when I feel like for the most part. I have seen the sun come up over the ocean and set quietly in the mountains. I get to some pretty crazy parties and do coffee with a few genuinely inspirational gurus of sorts. Though this way of life is not without its share of anxiety, doubt and insecurity both financially and emotionally I don’t know that I could live any other way really. I guess if these things qualify as exciting I might be onto something. <br />
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As long as I can remember I roamed. I roamed whenever the mood struck me. I would disappear for months at a time only to re-appear as the same person just a bit spicier, wiser and wackier. I have always felt that if you’re going to really live, live out loud or not at all. For I know no other way. <br />
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Some people live vicariously through others while I much prefer that others live vicariously through me. I mean why let everyone else have all the fun. Let them go find their own fun is how I’ve always seen it. It’s not as if there’s a shortage on fun these days, if anything there’s too much to be had and way too many trying to get a piece of the action. <br />
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Getting back to living right, there is living right and wrong the socially accepted way or simply living right by yourself and others by way of your own conscious. The latter is the only one I really care about. For far too long I lived wrong by and did my share of people wrong. I never claimed to qualify as a saint nor do I think I would care to and am quite certain there are no halos to be scored in my future. Anyway there’s already a Saint Stephen who cornered that market. Though I wouldn’t turn down a set of wings if it meant I could help steer the wayward in another direction. Now that’s something I know a little bit about. But I will readily admit there are those out there who wish me no good life success and well, why should they. There are however also those out there who know I have worked hard at change and have done my best to live right and contribute positively to this world and these are the only ones I concern myself with. There’s not much I can do about the naysayers. Again, this is nothing short of a miracle and spiritual epiphany that I was granted a second chance at life, a daily reprieve if you will. I never have been the kind to look a gift horse in the mouth. <br />
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I was afforded an opportunity many get but few choose to reconvene, take stock and utilize our God given talents to live right. And what good is having talent if you’re not going use them to help others in some fashion? Living loud and using our experience to live right by doing what we think is right. Who are we if not a culmination of our life experiences? And it seems as if there is always little fear in doing the right thing and living the right way. Maybe because it usually means going against the grain and not being concerned with what others will think. Maybe because it means not following the pack nor even leading the pack but instead walking one owns path to wherever the road may lead. Sometimes that road might be a little lonely and sometimes it may even be a little scary. Anyway, I’ve always felt that if you don’t have a little fear in your life you just ain’t living.<br />
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Enjoying life just isn’t as hard as some like to think it is. Maybe they just want it to be because they haven’t yet figured out how to do it. Helping others enjoy it is even easier if you allow it to just be. Somehow I found a way to get out of my own way and just let it be whatever it’s going to. I can’t quite put my finger on when this phenomenon happened and I guess I pretty much quit trying to figure it out. I just got out of my own way I guess. <br />
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I have always been good creating and have learned to create the world I want to live in. I live and breathe to create hence the reason I practice breathing. I finally allowed myself to be alive and learn how to breathe. Words make me breathe. Words are the oxygen that feeds my soul, they give me life. These words you have read are me breathing to live and living out loud. There’s a lot to be said for breathing heavily, not being afraid to be alive and just living out loud. The only real world we live in is our own and who and what we invite into our world is our choice. We create and re-create who we are and who we want to be. We become what we create and in the end, what will that be? <br />
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<br />Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-91225638311956046662011-12-25T23:32:00.000-08:002011-12-26T21:00:59.114-08:00Christmas Everyday of the Year<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">One of the many reasons I so enjoy being back in the city on Christmas evening is because of a personal tradition I have of walking the usually bustling city streets on a chilly night while they are almost deserted. With exception of a few others doing the same I basically have the streets to myself and the guy dressed in the Santa Claus suit peddling his bike down Clark St. It gives me a chance to think. Think and reflect and relax after the climax of the holiday season. I explore all that I am grateful for not just on Christmas but everyday of the year. It's one of my favorite traditions and one I have missed out on for the last several years. Doing the Christmas evening walk on the beach is although thoroughly enjoyable and a heck of a lot warmer just not the same as walking down the city streets with all the streetlight decorations and store windows filled with ribbon wrapped boxes and shiny displays as Christmas music plays softly from the overhead store speakers all through the night. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Since making the decision a few years ago to spend summers in Chicago as my parents get older I have since extended that to six weeks during the Christmas season as well. I am quite certain it is one of the best decisions I have ever made and one I'll likely never regret. The ability to be here in Chicago and still have my life out on the west coast is one though I live by design is also one I do not take for granted. Nor do I take for granted the time I get to spend with my family and parents as they grow old. The thing that would most break my heart is to one day get that dreaded though part of life call one that that they have gone on to a better place and have the feeling rush through me that I missed out on their lives in their old age. The feeling that I could have been there more or done more to make it easier for them. I never want to for one second think that my parents might have felt alone or that no one cared especially their son. No never! That will never ever happen as long as I have a choice. We have all already for many reasons missed out on each others lives far too much during our youth and I absolutely refuse to miss out on anymore. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I took my traditional walk tonight and then went to my Christmas AA meeting as I usually do, it is my form of church and for most most part the closest I get to church these days except when my ma gets me to go to mass with her. I reflected on a lot even enjoying the chilly winter evening. I caught my reflection smiling back at me as I stopped to window shop. Then I jumped into a taxi for the last several blocks home. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Once home and warm and cozy I sunk into the couch to reflect on my day and suddenly and without any warning I began to cry. I cried like a baby for several minutes. No, I was not sad to the contrary I was happy and grateful. I cried like I had not cried in a long, long time and it felt great. I cried because because I was overwhelmed by emotion and beside myself with gratitude and admittedly cry as I sit here writing. I cried because I realized that throughout all the hard times and adversity my family and particularly my parents have faced that God has been good to us and in their old age made life safe and secure for them to some degree. I cried too because He has given me the ability and opportunity to be there for my family in whatever little ways I can and make life just a bit more comfortable for them. I cried because regardless of all the craziness, bad luck and bad choices their lives turned out okay and they go to sleep warm every night not in need of life's basic necessities. I cried because it was not always that way. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My parents were never rich people and by many standards except for a few years in their brief married life they were barely middle class. They have always just barely squeaked by financially and there was never much room for extras but they were never afraid to splurge if they felt it would help morale of those concerned. They didn't come from solid financial stock and did not possess many of the living skills necessary to raise a family. They had difficult lives and were from difficult families. Adversity was nothing new to them. They are street people so to speak who know how to survive. Needless to say they weren't schooled in how to impart on their children the life skills many learn and acquire growing up. This never really bothered me as I learned from an early age to survive on my own. Not too long ago my older sister who assisted greatly in raising us said to me in response to something I told her my mother had said that 'for all they may have lacked in teaching us in life skills, they taught us things about how to survive in life just by being who they are that they don't even know they taught us, and for that I am grateful.' If anyone is a survivor my sister is. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of my prayers to God I vividly recall during a particularly difficult time in life was from when I was just a young boy of maybe eight or nine years old . I called on Him asking that He always take care of my family even if it meant he could not take care of me. It was not as though I felt I was a martyr by any means in fact I am quite sure I did not even know what a martyr was at the time. Nor was it that I felt any less than anyone else, though that would be a personal obstacle I would later have to overcome. It was simply that I was just a little boy who was keenly aware even at that young age of the hard times they went through personally and financially. I was simply a little boy who wanted the best for his family. I never had a great desire for toys, games and shiny new bikes at Christmas time but instead yearned only for life's simple things like money for food for the table and electric bills that needed to be paid and for a safe home. I asked that my ma didn't cry at night out of fear of physical harm or because of an inability to do for us what she really wished she could. I asked that my father not get hurt outside or hurt anyone else outside or inside particularly us. I asked that he not cry by himself in the bathroom at night when I saw him sneak in there with a drink in his hand. I knew he never wanted to be mean but he didn't know how not to be. I don't know how I knew the things I did, I just did. Even my aunts would comment on the fact that I just knew too much for my age. I never wanted for myself because I knew deep down inside He would look out for me no matter what. I knew this because my ma had said so, so it was true. I also asked God that he give me the ability to one day be able to take care of my family and make them smile. Well, they say God gives you what you ask for and though it took many years He did give me what I asked for. For that I am forever grateful. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There were years when my brother who is schizophrenic was homeless as was my ma and I did what I could do for them when I could find them. There were times my father could not pay his rent and moved from place to place but never gave up on himself or others. My sister did what she could but was trying to raise a family yet was still always there for us. Often life was not kind to them. Even now my ma has a hard time talking about the difficult times but in her old age is getting more comfortable with telling me more, maybe because she feels the years creeping up on her but still there are some things she can't talk about and I believe will go with her. I myself am only beginning to become able to share many of these things with others. An old girlfriend used to comment on how much of my youth was a haze but truth was I didn't want it to be anything more than that. I had selective memory, something I believe helped me survive emotionally. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I realize now the hard times I witnessed her go through was only a fraction of the hard times she survived. She shares stories of the rough times my father went through growing up but still doesn't let him off the hook for things he did though she does acknowledge he didn't know better. For his part my father does not deny his mistakes and in fact wholly admits them and has done a great deal to make up for what he did or did not do. One thing I can say is that neither of them has ever talked negatively about the other though I am certain they easily could have the ammunition to. No, they just weren't built that way. They didn't believe in turning family against one and other, their problems were their own and they didn't make them anyone else's Even when my fathers sister in laws during their own personal troubles would call on my ma to jump on their band wagon and bash my father and his family ma wouldn't go down that road. She just never understood how someone could bash the father of their children and try to turn a mans own children against him because of their own marital troubles even though no one could rightfully fault her if she had chosen to do that. She was old school through and through. As for my father, even after all their personal problems and his destructive ways he sincerely taught us to never strike a woman or someone you loved and that loyalty to a fault to your family and those you loved was a virtue to be admired. I can't say he lived what he believed in the early days but he truly believed what he tried to teach us. He is a real man who has always been loyal to a fault. He would kill for those he loved and would have killed anyone else for doing the things to him that he did to himself. It would take him many, many years but he would eventually learn to love the one person he despised most of his life, himself. He was always a do as I say not as I do kind of guy. He like my ma came from a large family and never had a loving relationship with his own mother but always made sure over the years to remind us to have a loving one with our own. One time my father told me that after some reflection he realized that they got married not so much out of love but in part because they came from like families. Both needed someone to get through life with and both could drink with the best of them. Drinking was a large part of their marriage and would for many years become a large part of my own life. I have always had great love for both of them but the more we talk have learned to have great respect for both of them. I realize it is as a direct result of who they are that I have been able to survive life's often treacherous waters. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Every year I try to give them something nice and pay at least a few bills for them. The greatest gift is to see the smile on their faces when they get their gifts. Every year they never expect anything because they have never been the expecting type of people. But nothing can replace their smiles when they get gifts. I don't give because I expect only because I love them so much and want to make life a little easier. I am not rich but know I don't need to blow money on crap when I can use it on my family. When I come home we go out and eat all the time because I know they can't always do it. I am blessed I can do it. I am blessed I can help my daughter when she needs and give my brother some of life's necessities and few few luxuries he cannot himself afford. I am blessed I can pick up a few bills for my parents so they have a little extra cash on hand at months end when bills come due. I am blessed I can make my father smile at Christmas Eve brunch in a fine dining restaurant that he is not accustomed to going to. I am blessed I can find a special gift that I know will mean something special to my sister in her life. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yesterday my father thanked me for everything that I did for my family but I didn't think I did that much. I do what I believe is necessary as a son and because I want to do it for those that I love. I responded to him that I feel fortunate to be able to do the little that I can and that I will do more as time goes by. He responded it didn't have to do with money or things but simply with the fact that I was there with them. That to him meant more than anything else could. It took me all I could do to not tear up when he said that. The simple fact that he knows how much I love them is all that matters to me. My brother being a little more comfortable in life or my daughter getting something she really wanted but couldn't afford or knowing my sister was able to be with her Marine son on Christmas is what means something to me. My father smiling at brunch talking about how grateful he is to be with his sons. Me and ma laughing our heads off at dinner Christmas day at the only place she wanted to go, the neighborhood diner. Packing up her leftovers myself and making sure she gets her coffee, not in a ceramic cup but instead in a paper cup the way she likes it and then walking her home through the neighborhood. Or making sure my father gets on the train home safely after a long and always welcomed walk and talk through the city. That's what I'm grateful for, not just this Christmas day but everyday. It's like ma said, through all the hard times God took care of us and it all turned out okay. It only gets better from here. I made it through a lot of bad episodes in life to get here and I wouldn't change a thing.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Just as I was nearing the end in this spilling of my guts the phone rang. It was my cousin, my fathers recently deceased brother's daughter. I was fortunate to be able to get home when my uncle her father was dying last year and spend several days with him at the hospital. We were close but had bad disagreements a few years prior. But I was able to be there with him at the end. She called to wish me Merry Christmas and hoped we could get together while I was in town. She is older than I and I never really knew her well until the past few years though she and my sister were very close. She thanked me for bringing out my uncle another of my fathers elderly brothers to see her and her husband when she was in Southern California recently. She commented on how she wasn't going to call me when she was in California even though she truly wanted to see our uncle as it was so last minute but her husband convinced her to at least try. She did call and it took no time for me to decide how important it was for both her and my uncle to make sure they met up. I hung up with her, called my uncle then immediately called her back and the next morning we were all sitting down for lunch on the beach. They needed to put closure on his death and achieved just that. She said that she always hears about people and loyalty to family but truly witnessed in me. I responded I did what I believe is my duty to my family nothing exceptional, she begged to differ, I graciously accepted her love and thanks. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My family for better or worse is who made me, they are what makes me. Those few I have in my life today are my family whether it be by blood or choice. Family is family and loyalty to a fault to those for me is the only way. I have survived in life and made it because of those things they taught me and didn't even know they did. Mine might not be the traditional Christmas story but nothing in my life has ever been on a direct path so I'll gladly take my story and love it. It took us a lot to get here but I'm ever so grateful for it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Merry Christmas!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-33625394530104668902011-08-13T15:13:00.000-07:002011-08-13T15:13:27.790-07:00When The Mirror Looks Back<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Self awareness is a funny thing sometimes. </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One can spend</span></span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">a long time, sometimes years, searching for and finding oneself and what makes their self tick. Yet the more self aware we seem to become the less we seem to remember that others might not be in tune with just how self aware we think we are or really care. The more self aware we become the more we run the risk of fooling ourselves into believing that we really know all that we think we do when in fact we probably don't know half as much as we like to think we do. Self awareness is something of a paradox. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I spent a lot of time trying to take the time to learn about myself and who I am and to learn to rely on my own self and no one else. By nature of my own life experiences </span> I<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> was forced to or in some cases </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">forced myself to survive without the help of others</span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">assistance whether financially, emotional</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">ly or otherwise. I really believed I was doing the right thing by convincing myself that self reliance was the way to go in life. Simply put, I fooled myself into believing my own bullshit and I bought it. I became what I thought was so self reliant that I forgot how to really become emotionally attached to other people. I denied myself the ability to feel that necessary human need, emotional and physical contact.</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I like to talk about how so and so is a lonely person or that loneliness can kill and yet somehow I never even recognized that I myself was as lonely as one can be and still be breathing.</span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Again, by nature of my life's experiences I have learned how to live in the shadow of loneliness never getting close enough to anyone for you to hurt me. Like shadow on glass, there and gone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Recently I had an old friend compliment me on how he admired my ability to be so transparent in my writings. But one can be transparent and still be hiding behind that transparency. I am not transparent by choice, no, I am transparent out of necessity to survive so I don't have to keep all the crap bottled up inside. I have been in the dark room with the gun in my hand and it's not a pretty place to be. I have felt the dark place in my heart and soul and it is a painful place to live in. You in an audience have in a sense become my therapist and the best part is you listen and don't talk and then I don't have anyone to answer to at our next session. I simply sign in, write and sign off. See, I realize that if I stay transparent in my words and in a sense put myself out there then you may not think about stopping to ask me who I really am or how I really feel. It's kind of like hiding in plain sight. I think I'm so good at fooling you that I have fooled myself and succeeded in keeping not only others at an arms length but keeping my own self at an arms length as well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What, you ask prompted this topic, these thoughts and this rant about my writing and transparency? Simple, some asked me who I really was today and how it was that I truly felt. I had no idea how to verbalize an answer, quite possibly because I had no answer. Then a few hours later a once potential romantic partner said that though I was 'really a great guy though' I was noncommittal and emotionally unavailable. Maybe because my special talent at remaining aloof has kept me from carrying through on my previous commitment to get together with that person. Possibly because a part of me recognized that that person is a good person and someone I could potentially get close to and care about? Like others before. Yet the fact that she said that didn't hurt so much as t made me feel alive. It made me feel alive because for whatever reason this time I recognized what she was saying because I had heard it before but until today had never listened. It got me thinking that it has been a slow and rocky road to truly believing that I do deserve good things and good people in my life. It also got me thinking that there really are no coincidences in life and the fact that these instances happened back to back likely means something more than I probably care to look at so once again you, my audience has become my counsel. It may not have even been as much about that particular person as it was about the idea that once again there was someone out there that I could get close to on any level that once again it scared me enough to run by avoidance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As a young kid I learned to rely on myself and as a teen I did the same. Prison taught me to trust no one and helped me hone the fine art of keeping people at bay. Sobriety and a new lease on life gave me the courage to change but I didn't let it help me to trust and let others in again, maybe for the first time in my life. Simply uttering the words, I was in prison, not once but twice, is a major accomplishment in that I avoided it for a long time and preferred to keep it in my past life. But my past life is my present life and those experiences have contributed greatly to who it is I am, the good and the not so good. My father as recently as last night asked me to share things about my life that although he was aware of didn't know the details to. I realized that in his old age I owe him that much. To finally open up, not hide by avoidance and allow him to know his son. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have no answers other than I am afraid to get close to someone even though I truly wish to do just that. Inside I wish for nothing more than that. Maybe it never happens for some or maybe we just won't let it. Sure there are a few people I am close to in this world and those few know who I am and are well aware of my character defects but love me anyways. They also know that aside of them and they are very few, that I don't yet know how to trust but I mask it as the self reliance and self awareness I think I possess. Yet it's not enough for just them to know it anymore. No, it's now a necessity for me to know it and realize it and do something about it, otherwise I will end up just like Mick the old boxing coach I always joke about from the Rocky movies who says, 'lemme alone I'm just an old man eatin' a can a stewed tomatas'. That joke can become a reality. How do I know that it can? I know it can because I have seen it happen to too many others I have known. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(To be cont.) </span>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-70541308532227581642011-06-20T23:19:00.000-07:002011-06-20T23:38:41.806-07:00"On The Free And Easy" Part IV<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>(Following is Part IV of an unedited excerpt of my recent rants about my travels across America to Chicago via LA as they unfold with more to come every few days. I hope you enjoy.)</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It seems hard to believe coming from Chicago, a major American metropolis that there are many people out there across this great country that have never even seen a building over two or three stories much less lived in one. I mean yeah sure I know there out there but you don’t really think about it until its right in your face. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> When I met Shirley, a thirty-four year old single mother of three daughters it was in passing in the trains lounge car. One of her teenage daughters inquired as to why I had my head buried in my laptop. I told her I was a writer and liked to get work done on the train which in turn gave way to a conversation on my intimate knowledge of Chicago, LA and everything in between. Finally her mother Shirley joined us. The first thing I noticed aside from their thick southern drawl was the very small gap in age between Shirley and her daughters. If she was fifteen years older than the oldest it was a lot. It turned out that she had her eldest who was eighteen when she herself was only sixteen. There obvious excitement about their trip to Chicago was cool watch and they peppered me with questions about what to do and where to go. Apparently they had been given the trip by a relative who paid for a ten day stay in a nice hotel and all expenses. They opted for the train as they had never flown and were in no rush to experience it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As our conversation progressed it became apparent none of them had ever been further than a few hundred miles away from their home in very rural Arkansas. Shirley herself had only been to a major city in Houston once before as a very young child and aside of television her daughters had never even seen a skyscraper or more than a few dozen people on the street at the same time. I did my best to explain to them how crowded the streets would be with cars, pedestrians and row after row of buildings but they didn’t seem to totally understand it. It’s wasn’t that they could not comprehend what I was saying or that they were not bright in fact they were extremely intelligent. It was just that what I was trying to explain was so foreign to them that their excitement got the best of them. At one pint one of the girls stammered and said she felt dumb about not knowing what I was saying. I explained her being unfamiliar with where I was from was no different than my being unable to understand how they grew up. Shirley who was younger than I by ten years told me of how as a child her family lived in a tent near a swamp and regularly sawn in the swamp waters aside alligators and snakes. The girls laughed when they saw the sour, squeamish look on my face. Maybe I played it up just a bit to ease them on our worldly differences but in truth, I didn’t play it up much. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The tales they gleefully shared with me about how they lived and played in the country made me realize how fortunate I was to have grown up where I did with so much diversity and culture at my fingertips. It occurred to me that except for a few major urban areas and medium sized cities that I considered tiny by my standards, the vast majority of America was made up of rural areas set next to sub-urban towns not much larger. Though I had been to some of these tiny cities and rural areas and enjoyed visiting them I could not honestly say that I had a great desire to ever inhabit one of them for any extended period of time. The boredom alone would probably kill me not to mention the lack of urbanity or anything to do on a regular basis. After being informed that foraging for a simple loaf of bread for dinner meant driving fifteen miles to the nearest gas station truck stop in a town of less than a few hundred people I had a new respect for Jewel Food stores or Starbucks. Quite honestly it scared the living shit out of me. I mean, no wonder there were stories of old folks being found mummified in their homes propped up in the rockers. Shit! No one would even know you live out there in the country much less check up on you, I thought to myself. Who needs that shit! I kept my thoughts to myself so I didn’t offend the women.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Still it simply amazed me what a vast country we live in and how cultures clash right in our own back yards. It re-affirmed my belief that while all these people are running off to visit the cities of Europe and the ancient ruins in the Middle East they’re missing out on all the great history and geography we have here right at home in America. I once again vowed to not even think about going out of country until I have seen all that I want to see right here at home. Not being able to get a passport upon last application sort of helped forge that decision but just a little bit. But that’s a whole other story. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Texas is a big state with a big storied past. A lot of those stories are as big as Texas. So many of the folks I met on the train were coming or going from the big state. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Between the big state and Chicago there was a whole lot of things to see passing me by in the window and a whole lot of time sleep. There is just so much to see out there in America that I am at times overwhelmed by it all. One of my simple goals in this lifetime is to see all that I can squeeze in and whatever I do miss I’ll catch in the next lifetime. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Union Station was just around the corner and I couldn’t wait to see it again. Most of the stations on the trip were small and local and even those in larger cities such as San Antonio were tiny in comparison to Chicago’s Union Station. There is something about Union Station that just screams greatness and that speaks volumes about the true metropolis of urban America. I’ve been a lot of places and lived in several including some great cities but nothing can compare to Chicago in terms of, well, anything.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> It never ceases to take my breath away. The city breathing and alive never sleeping really, maybe just a late night nap but Chicago never truly sleeps. You can’t really compare it to anywhere else because it isn’t like anywhere else. It’s better than anywhere else really. I know I have done the right thing working towards having a home here where I love being on the streets and a home on the beach that I so love as well. That has after all been our dream since we all went out west to LA. No sooner do I step off the climate controlled train and into the true to Chicago weather high nineties and one hundred percent humidity steam bath that I start sweating. How I have missed her, the city that sleeps with me every night, the city that like a mother raised me to survive.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> A few days have passed and I’m back to work on the bar and floor at Butch McGuire’s one of the great loves of my life. It’s still the heart of Division Street just like it always was. It pumps life onto a street with so many nicknames that has seen generations of night crawlers come and go and some come back again. I feel comfortable here. The old saying is wildlife in Chicago can be seen on Division Street after midnight, so true.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Roaming the streets at eight pm as dusk settle on the city I forage for food which has never been a problem before. It seems my appetite has shrunk a little and I have become somewhat picky with my choice of food these days. It is a healthy kind of discriminating taste. I walk down Clark Street to North Avenue and for no obvious reason decide to step onto the westbound North Ave. bus headed to Damen Ave. and Wicker Park. The streets passing by take me back in time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Stepping off the bus at Damen Ave I walk south hoping to discover my cousin’s restaurant at Damen and Division Street I have yet been to. I get there only to find that they are not there tonight. But what I do find is a neighborhood that has become boon of gentrification. What used to be an area one took there well being into their own hands traveling through is now a destination point for all walks of life. It amazes me how it never stops growing and getting better here. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Heading back up the street to intersection North Ave, Milwaukee and Damen I run into a girl whom I met earlier on Dearborn and Schiller Street in the Gold Coast neighborhood where I wandered onto the bus. It was uncanny as I had wished I would run into here again and here she was walking down the same street I am in a completely different neighborhood of the city an hour and a half later. She had stopped me asking where Division Street was I assumed to hit the nightlife. Apparently she must have been heading the same way I was via a different parallel main street even before I actually knew I myself was headed there. I knew she must either be visiting or living at the all girl college dorms on Dearborn Street. I knew someone who lived there once in another part of my life and she reminded me of her instantly. When she stopped me I could not help but notice her intense beauty. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. I was taken aback by her ability to strike me with the memories of that girl I still think of on occasion. Her long dark hair was put back into a ponytail and her pale brown eyes reeked of mischief behind her school girl glasses. Her voice was soft and deep all at once in a gravely sexy way. I knew she was taboo just as the one before her was, the one she made instantly invade my thoughts. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> She stood at the bus stop and smiled “Oh, hi it’s you again” as if she already knew we would meet again. Again she asks me for directions as if running into the same strange guy and asking directions is a casual daily happening in her life. The one before her was like that too, just so casual about life. I think the taboo is what I liked so much. I wanted what I knew I could never keep. But I had her even though I knew the pain it would cause me and how it would quietly tear me up inside and eventually it did. Did I ever get over her? I smile and laugh a little. I don’t ask her for her name. I can’t seem to bring myself to. It’s as if I am afraid to know, afraid that it might be her again when I know it’s not but it reminds me so painfully of her, both painfully and pleasingly. I feel part two a story stirring that a part one has not even been written for yet. It’s a confusing, lustful and uncertain story full of laughter and pain, knowing and paranoia, passion and violence and filled with insanity. Ultimately it ends as quickly as it had begun, all of a sudden, if it actually ended at all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I walk away not understanding why I ran into her again. OMG she reminds me of her so much. I welcome the memories both good and bad that flood my mind. It seems I still welcome the pain it once caused that I thought I left behind. I know myself well enough to know if there is anything I have welcomed into my life throughout the years it is emotional pain. I almost enjoyed it to the point of masochism. Now I know I will spend the next several days with her on my mind. I know I need not even mention her name completely confident that should she ever read this she will know exactly who it is I am speaking of. I am not afraid to admit it is the obsession in my life that both paralyzed and exhilarated me and that I miss it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> My mind settles a bit and I find myself at North and Ashland Avenues standing in front of an old standby diner that I have been going to since I was a kid, the Hollywood Grill. It looks and smells the same. It’s bright and open and the smell of an old neighborhood in a good way. At the counter stands a younger version of the same Puerto Rican host with a ponytail. The servers that used to be called waitresses are still a mix of neighborhood girls and small town Midwest transplants of actresses, models, singers and dancers. An oldie but goodie by Donna Summers “Hot Stuff’ blasts over the ceiling speakers. It feels all too familiar. Last time I was here a waitress caught a stray bullet from the street in the ass. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I ditch my bag in a booth and head for the bathroom. It hasn’t changed much over the years just a lot cleaner. Standing in front of a urinal with his back to me is a guy with slicked back greasy hair, neatly pressed slacks and a bright red short sleeved cabana shirt, the kind of shirt that hides your gun. In fact the bulge of the revolver handle blatantly sticks out. He has his cell phone propped up against his ear while he takes a piss and talks at someone on the other end while chewing gum. 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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I’ve seen this guy before or others like him. Hell I’ve been him. Just a street guy trying to make a buck, greasy slicked back hair, snappy clothes, probably wearing a poker face hard and absent of a smile for so long that it hurts when you try to smile. I make the guy for a bookie, dope dealer or killer <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">or maybe all of the above. His name is Frankie or Paco or maybe they call him by his street name Dago Richie or Flaco. Stepping out to wash my hands he is still standing at the urinal now yelling into his cell phone away as the song on the ceiling speaker changes to the Bee Gees “Staying alive”, very fitting for the moment that we have found ourselves at. I split and head back to my booth. He exits and walks by me unaware that I have just sized every ounce of him up. I see his face. Yep he is that guy I knew he would be. At the end of it all, I stop and gaze out through the blinds out into the busy city street and think I see her standing on the corner. She still won’t leave my thoughts. This is gonna be a long night. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(To be continued) </span></b><span><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></b> </span></span></div></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-1491654686498556332011-06-11T21:11:00.000-07:002011-06-11T21:21:54.293-07:00"On The Free And Easy" Part III<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>(Following is Part III of an unedited excerpt of my recent rants about my travels across America to Chicago via LA as they unfold with more to come every few days. I hope you enjoy.)</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> One thing the train attendant was right about was that everything over here was wrong and boy I loved it. It never fails to amaze me how the same street in the same town can be so night and day. On the touristy side of San Antonio was the Riverwalk filled with tony bars and clubs and swanky restaurants that all charged an arm and a leg for the same crappy food and drink. I mean yes it was nice an all but I had already been here before and after a few hours you’re over it. Conversely on the wrong side of the tracks was a little spot with the best TexMex grub I had in a long time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The place wasn’t much to look at and neither were the patrons. Hey, I’m no Rudy Valentino but these characters were like something out of an old Louis L’Amour cowboy novel. In fact one guy even had a few more teeth than his girlfriend did if that tells you anything. Fortunately they mad plastic cutlery because I’m not too sure I would have used the silverware in this joint. But again, the food was off the hook. I had pablano peppers stuffed with cheese and chicken with rice and black beans and fresh homemade tortillas and man what a meal! I opted for bottled water just to keep things safe. It only set me back about nine bucks and fifteen with tip. I don’t think people around here tipped much because the waitress seemed super happy with it. After dinner I didn’t stick around for festivities because I’m pretty sure a few guys at the bar made me as a tourist who may have lost their way. So I headed back to the other side of the tracks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I always liked San Antonio to visit. There are always interesting folks to meet on the train. On my trip headed west the previous summer is where I met Joey Moss when he loaded on a bus in Fort Worth back in September 2010.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Joey Moss is a big, big man and all Texas. They weren’t kidding when they said everything in Texas is big. At 6’2” tall he weighs in at least three hundred pounds. Joey is a stereotypical Texas boy complete with the drawl, ZZ Top beard and trucker hat. Yet for all of his stereotypical southern Texas appearance he is surprisingly anything but. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> When I met Joey we were on a bus head from Fort Worth to San Antonio. The Amtrak bridges heading west from Chicago to LA had washed out in the rains and we had to disembark the train and load a bus to get us to San Antonio for our connecting train west. Joey had been dropped off in Fort Worth and was headed to San Diego by way of LA. He was squeezed into a seat behind me on the bus and when I turned around I could see his big ole Texas head looming over the seat. I thought to myself, MY GAWD where did this boy come from. As fate would have it we would end up in the same train car in San Antonio. Once we arrived we had a ten hour layover so I hit the town and was joined by Joey. We had dinner and hit a bar so he could grab a few beers, a few in this case being about eight in an hour and a half. He did everything like a Texas boy. We talked, caroused and I learned quite a bit about the history of Texas from Joey. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> He was from a little town called Pleasantville, Texas somewhere outside Abilene and was more moderate left leaning than what I had assumed he would be. Joey had a live and let live attitude. From what he told me although where he was from was pretty much backwoods country Texas in location it was fairly progressive in politics and beliefs and reasonably tolerant of all lifestyles. I was pleasantly surprised about what he had to say about his hometown. That being said he also knew he had nowhere to go but away if he were to have any kind of life. He explained that like most of his buddies Joey had done some prison time down in Texas but as he put it, ‘it’s Texas son, everybody goes to prison’. Another reason I avoid Texas. He explained that there wasn’t much to do and opportunity was severely limited save some factory work, rough necking and farming. It seemed drug smuggling was the biggest employer for Joey and his buddies. But these days he a regular guy just working the factory and had been on the straight and narrow for several years now. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Divorced, he explained he lived of his ten year old daughter, Maggie who was his life. She was the reason for his life transformation from wild Texas roughneck, drinking, fighting, drug smuggler to regular Joe, working man. He was on good terms with his ex-wife and though their relationship was strictly based on his daughter, he had nothing negative to say about his ex even offering that she was the best mother a man could ask for his child. As well he was even quite fond of her new husband, stepfather to his daughter. Joey lived for his little girl Maggie. They spoke at least daily and often several times a day. He had recently purchased her a new cell phone so they could text and picture message back and forth. They lived only an hour apart which in back road Texas driving translates into about ten minutes. He carried several photos of her in his wallet and on his phone, he saved dozens of the voice messages she had left him. Maggie was his everything and his reason for living then one day that all changed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Joey was jolted from bed by a middle of the night call from his ex-father in law Floyd whom had been called by the local fire department. They notified him that there had been a fire at the double wide trailer in which his daughter lived with her husband and his grandchildren. He didn’t say much just that he needed Joey to get down there right away. The aching pain in the pit in Joey’s stomach was born not of what Floyd said but instead of what he did not say. Joey jumped out of bed and raced through the back roads in the pitch black of night to get to his daughters side. When he arrived his worst nightmare had been realized.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The fire had been electrical and had spread through the trailer so quickly all there was time for was to gather the children and run out the door. Within seconds of getting the family out the door to safety Tim, Maggie’s stepfather immediately noticed she was not among their four children. He rushed into the trailer only to be forced back by smoke and falling debris. Running back outside he rushed to the rear of the trailer where Maggie’s room was located and proceeded to jump up six feet wrapping his arms around the sweltering metal air conditioner in an attempt to yank it out of the window to get to Maggie. The scars on his charred arms and chest from tearing the wall unit out were testament to his desperation to get to her. After crawling through the window and tearing her from her bed he fell back out the window with Maggie. It was already too late. Joey’s little girl Maggie, the love of his life, his reason for living and breathing was gone, overcome by smoke inhalation. She never even knew what happened. By the time Joey got there the ambulance was taking her away.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> In the days immediately after the fire and Maggie’s death Joey was completely devastated and went on a drunken bender. It wasn’t until after he was visited by Maggie in a dream that Joey was able to muster up the courage to put down the bottle and pipe and face his life without his daughter. It would never be the same and he knew that but he also knew that Maggie would have wanted only the best for her daddy. He realized the reason she was brought into his life was to straighten his out and show him the true potential of who he could be. Maggie’s short time on this earth was to show Joey how great life could truly be. He promised himself, his ex-wife and his family he would not let her death ruin him but instead breathe new life into his. The way Joey saw it God gave him gift in Maggie and she did what she was put on this earth to do, save her daddy from a bad life. He would shame that gift.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> He knew his daughters mother was a good mother and knew her stepfather Tim did all he could to save his little girl. He knew the pain he must be feeling thinking he failed her and Joey made sure the best he could Tim didn’t languish in the pain of loss and self loathing. It says a lot about the character of a man who has experienced such great life changing loss to be able to step up and use his pain to help others he could easily lay blame on for his own loss. That isn’t the kind of man Joey Moss is. That isn’t the kind of man Maggie knew as a father. Joey did his best to ease the pain of others when the pain of losing his best friend could have consumed him. He sought out clergy, counselors and family to help him ease the ache in his heart if even just a little. He also made some hard and deliberate decisions on the direction of his own life. He would do as he thought his daughter and best friend would want him to do, keep on living.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Joey quit his job, packed his house and kissed his family, ex-wife and life in Texas goodbye and headed west to hook up with a lifelong buddy who had a fishing business in San Diego. He wasn’t even sure if he would stay there but it was a fresh start to a new life. He figured he may even make his way up to the Big Apple and see the rest of the country. He had never really been in a major city and figured it was time. All the while he would have his daughter by his side and in his heart. Joey Moss left me with a lot to think about on the importance of life and who we are. He taught me about the strength of a man who could lose it all and still come back. The irony of having recently last summer been re-united with my daughter after fifteen years and having only been able to see her a few times in her twenty year life was not lost on me. Joey lost his daughter while I gained mine. There was a twinge of guilt, but the importance of the gift I had been given will never be taken for granted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">(To be continued) </span></b></div>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-37569469633360818052011-06-08T21:25:00.000-07:002011-06-08T21:30:43.084-07:00"On The Free And Easy" Part II<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>(Following is Part II of an unedited excerpt of my recent rants about my travels across America to Chicago via LA as they unfold with more to come every few days. I hope you enjoy.)</b></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I’ve been on this ride before, in fact several times. I’m partial to long train trips, the longer the better. Whenever I book the trip the reservations operator always informs me of shorter trip options to my destination. To their surprise I always opt for the long way. A trip sixty some odd hours and it can surely get odd. It gives me time to decompress and see what’s out there in great Americana. As many times as I pass this way I never fail to be amazed by meeting new people and making new discoveries. I load up on Trader Joe’s trail mix and dried fruit and hit the road. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I board the train and take my assigned seat next to an elderly black gentleman who calls himself McKinley. We spend the first hour getting to know each other and he fills me in on the short version of his life up to this point. Most importantly he informs me that he is going only as far as San Antonio. My ears prick up at that news which means that from that point on to Chicago I will most likely have two seats to myself which equates to stretching out my legs and some good sleep. I Mean hey, I like McKinley and all but two seats is two seats. After a few hours of meeting people, learning about where others are from, one of the great things about the train, chatting up pretty girls and train car carousing akin to a kind of a stationary cross country cabaret without the booze, I settle in next to McKinley for the night. We forego any cuddling. As usual I sleep out the night between Yuma, Arizona and El Paso, Texas then awake about seven A.M. just in time to catch the burrito lady at the El Paso station. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I always look forward to the El Paso stop and her burritos. They’re small and simple with either bean and cheese or bean and pork but oh so delicious. Surely better than anything I can get elsewhere. The women herself is a very pretty Salma Hayek looking Mexican women her thirties who under any other conditions in any other town would probably have an easier life, maybe not necessarily better but just a little easier. I buy a half dozen to share on the train she thanks me under cover of a sheepish smile and eyes trying to retain their sparkle that tells the story of her life. I give her a de nada then turn to look out just past the barbed wire fence not too far off that separates us from them. Us from them, El Paso from Ciudad Juarez and I wonder just what she had to go through to get to this country just to sell me a lousy burrito, the American dream. I carefully remove the tinfoil wrap of a burrito, bite into it and taste the full flavor of gratitude and being blessed in my life for what I do have and not regretful or in want for what I don’t. Though it may sound a slight bit presumptuous, odds are no matter what I go through and what twists and turns my life may take it will probably always be easier than the life of the burrito lady. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As I said, sometimes the trip can get odd and this day I awake in El Paso just in time for the floor show. At El Paso the dope sniffing dogs and their police handlers always load on the train immediately after it comes to a stop. Being a border town hour stop they have plenty of time to aggravate the shit out of passengers. I call the plain clothes train police professional Ball busters because of the chip they have on their shoulders for probably having been denied jobs on real police departments. They like to make a big commotion so everyone knows they have arrived. However to their credit they never fail to pinch a passenger or two for carrying pot or smuggling some other form of illegal contraband. You would think any smart dope dealer would know El Paso being the drug Mecca it is, is a bad place to have dope in your bags but apparently not.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> They stroll up and down the aisles of the train cars and discreetly take notice of the bags the dogs sniff out then exit. A few minutes later the same police return less the dogs to zero in on the bags and passengers in question. There is always a few. I am always very careful to keep my bags close to me. You can never be too careful. There always seems to be an opportunist smuggler around ready to use your luggage as a mule for the trade. Being no stranger to an occasional jail cell and the dicey side of life I tend to be a bit paranoid causing me to be a little more careful than most. Like most things in my life I play it close to the vest. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> They grab the bags in question from overhead compartments or off the luggage racks and the inquisition begins. After searching the bags and terrorizing the owners they either have a pinch or they don’t. If they do, well you’re sweet ass is going to be a resident of El Paso for a bit. If not well they leave you feeling unapologetically violated. Today they score and score big, two definite smugglers, a maybe and a possible illegal alien and his smuggler. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> While the passengers gather outside the train for fresh hot desert air and a smoke they watch the floor show. Two hippies whom probably like I are out of Los Angeles are frisked and led away in cuffs, the end of the line for them. A third suspect is freed after the cops realize he has nothing on him but for the remainder of the trip he will surely be known as a potential dope smuggler by other passengers and crew. The damage is done. As for the potential illegal’s, the border patrol on hand is called in to shine the bright light and make them sweat. They question them freely in front of everyone in the car only to find out that while they don’t speak English too well they are legal. In fact, as I later find out from them over lunch in the dining car one of them is a former Honduran police officer with US political asylum and the paperwork to prove it, while his assumed human smuggler is his nephew who does have his green card on his person. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As they exit the train the train coppers appear dejected and bummed that their pinch this morning didn’t turn out better. All I can think to myself is, boo hoo, all they got was a couple of white hippies for their trouble. The coppers and border trolls go away and almost immediately the air quality level and passenger mood jumps exponentially. I hate to bust on the lawman but it comes almost naturally to me and in all fairness I bust on the taxman and G-man just as much if not more. I’ve never known a time when I didn’t have a problem with authority, nor have I know a time I had any respect for authority either. Time to get onto to San Antonio where I will disembark and hit the town!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Staring out the viewing car window into Texas I realize that I’m still trying to find my way home wherever that may be. For right now at least home is somewhere between LA and Chicago and you know what, I’m okay with that. I’m here with some trail mix, a jug or water, a little Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Gypsy Biker’ playing on my IPOD, my laptop and a whole lot of ideas bouncing around in my head. Not a bad place to be. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Wouldn’t you know it, just as I’m feeling all in touch with my feelings and nature and all that good stuff, I meet a girl. Maybe she’s not the girl, but a girl nonetheless. Considering my mood, current locale and the fact that she is pretty good looking she fits the bill just right. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> You get to meet a lot of personalities on a cross country train ride and every one of them has a story to share. Many I love to listen to and get to know, some I stay away from like a bad ex-girlfriend which is like a relationship with a great drug. You can love them from afar but not miss what they do to you. What’s all this with the disdain for authority and insinuation with drug usage you may ask. Authority and drug usage are just two of the demons I am all too intimately familiar with. Some of the people are just flat out strange. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The difference between meeting folks on a train and a plane is that on a train you have a chance to get to know them a bit more intimately. You get an opportunity to learn about the world around you through the experiences of others and live vicariously through them. So was the case with the girl whom I’ll refer to as Heather. Her name does not really matter, what does is what we learn from each other and that bit of humanity we impart on the other in a world that becomes more impersonal every day. One thing I am always ready to do is learn, learn and share with others what I have to offer. Though more often than not I am not quite sure of what that is I have to offer but I seem to get a little clearer picture of it with every new life experience. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As it turns out Heather whom currently resides in Silver Springs, New Mexico grew up in Springfield, Illinois. I felt and instant connection when she told me that she had lived for several years in Chicago’s northside Uptown neighborhood that I know well. She’s on her way to Bloomington, Illinois to stand up in her mother’s wedding and like me, reconnect with her loved one’s. Heather is a Midwestern girl and college graduate with a masters degree who was formerly married to a law student headed for the big legal corporate life. However the plans and ideas she had for her life didn’t quite jive with his. So she gave up the safety, security and comforts of the middle class life and potential for wealth for the uncertainty of life on the road. In return she got the chance to see the world from the driver’s seat of a car headed west with no particular destination. She says once she took that right turn onto the interstate of life she never turned back and never regretted it at all. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> These days she lives and loves in a self sustainable community of a dozen or so others like her and often makes a work/trade living with some cash flow but only enough for what she needs. My kind of girl. At first glance natural beauty belies her true identity of a twenty something girl who is on her own and not necessarily looking for a home but finding out it is inside her. She dressed in a soft red flowing cloth dress that reminded me of something Native American women would wear. She wove water bottle holders out of rawhide leather. She spoke about what she found on the road and what she learned about herself. She knew she was not done travelling and that Silver Springs was not her last stop. Heather is an extremely interesting, intelligent girl with a direction and purpose and it never hurts to be beautiful. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> After a lengthy conversation I learn that she is neither running from anything or to something. To label her a hippie girl, granola girl, tree hugger or anything of the like would not be correct and would not by far do her justice in fact it would probably be an insult. She is simply Heather, a girl who knows who she is and what she is about. We had a great conversation about life and what is necessary for a good life in the simplest terms. She spends her time in nature and seems to be a student of life and a teacher to those who desire to learn. She is unlike so many, seemingly satisfied with her life at present and has plans for her future that not surprisingly include helping others and sharing her life’s experiences.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The thing that makes the trip so interesting is the people. It’s through the people I meet that I learn about the places I want to go and the different things I want to see. I’ve visited a lot of places seen a lot of things and have only scratched the surface of what’s out there. It’s about time to start seeing some more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Ah San Antonio, Texas! Nice town but I wouldn’t want to live here. Actually I’m pretty sure there’s no place in Texas I would want to live. No sooner did the train pull in at nine thirty pm for ten hour layover than passengers started jumping off the train to hit the town and the tourist trap known as the Riverwalk. The attendant directed everyone to go to the left of the station for the Riverwalk and to stay away from the right side of the tracks. The irony was not lost on me that the right side of the station was the wrong side of town at least in some eyes. Wouldn’t you know it no sooner did he waste his breath than my feet carried me to the right side of the station. You see I’ve always been a student of the dark side of anything, Ever since I can remember if someone told me to stay away from somewhere that was exactly the place I wanted to be. Hell, anyone can tell you that all the fun is on the wrong side of the tracks. But only a few of us will admit that’s where they love to be. I’ve always been drawn to the underbelly of life. Not to mention I was starving and all the really good food is always in the shit hole restaurants on the wrong side of town which in this case was on the right side of the tracks. Giddy up cowpokes Stevie C. comin’ to town!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><br />
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<b> </b>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-77154742902100477342011-06-06T20:07:00.000-07:002011-06-06T20:29:39.964-07:00"On The Free And Easy"<b>(Following is an unedited excerpt of my recent rants about my travels across America to Chicago via LA as they unfold with more to come every few days. I hope you enjoy.)</b><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There’s a whole lot to be said for being on the free and easy. By the ‘free and easy’ I mean being able to do whatever you like on a whim. Whether it’s staying out all night and watching the sun rise over the hippie vans and taco stands of Venice Beach or sleeping in until way past lunch time or packing it up and hitting the road or more appropriately the rails, as in Amtrak rails. I‘m back on the train headed east to Chicago that city in which I grew up and so adore on a sabbatical of sorts from my current home of many years in Santa Monica, California which I also love like I used to love a good glass of whiskey, but that’s another story. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> You see there’s nothing like being on the free and easy but also helps if you’re free and single. Being tied down and having the obligations that come with it can be a good thing but for a guy like me can be a bit restricting. I don’t think I have yet reached that point of emotional maturity so many of my friends have in their personal growth. I also never was the kind who needed a lot of emotional safety as most normal people require.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> When I say normal, it does not necessarily imply that I am abnormal just more of a, shall I say non conformist. But what is normal as I have often been asked, certainly not anything I grew up with or ever encountered in my life’s journey. I have never really live by the social standards set out for me as a child preferring to live by my own set of rules often setting them as I go. My own life experiences have in large part determined the direction in which my relationships have gone. Not necessarily a bad direction just one not a lot of eligible and sane females cared to go, at least of those I’ve accompanied to the dance and I’ve danced with quite a few in my time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Over the years I’ve worked on adjusting my life to give me a little more free time to travel and enjoy what’s out there in America. More time to stay in Chicago with family for long periods of time so I never lose a connection with them. I’ve known far too many people in the city of Lost Angel's from other places who let time get away from them. They get caught up in pursuit of the dream and before they know it years pass and they unwittingly forget about their family and loved ones back home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I never want to be one of them. Hence, that is reason for the extended trip that I now take yearly. I have a few rules I live my life by and one of the most important ones is to make sure the ones you love know you love them like there is no tomorrow, because you never know when there won’t be one. It seems the more free time I get to travel and discover and spend with loved ones the more that I want. Though I do have my home base in Venice Beach/Santa Monica, CA, I’ve pared down quite a bit over the years keeping only the those things which I need and try to pack light as possible. My desire for the wants in life has waned considerably. Those material things that I find I do want for are usually things I want for my family. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> The ability to live as I wish by my own set of rules is not for everyone and does come with its share of sacrifices. The comfort of feeling safe and secure is often fleeting or non-existent. Yet I have myself, what really is safe and secure? Life is a journey to be explored and we don’t get a second shot at it. As they say, life is not a dress rehearsal, all the world is a stage and the show is now. At the end of the show the only </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">stage reviews that really matter to me are those of my loved ones and my own. Those and the satisfaction that I hopefully won’t have to look up from my bed at the end of a good long life and say, I wish I had done that. My safety and security exists within my heart and soul. Home is wherever I go, I am here and I am now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I once heard somewhere that the life of a writer if handled properly offers more than anything else – freedom.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As result of my choice to be on the free and easy, I currently sit in the dining car of the train headed east from LA through the orange groves of middle California and the arid desert of eastern Needles to sun baked Arizona and beyond. The dining car is where I found I can for a few bucks tucked into the attendants pocket hide from the other passengers to work at my craft. I’m from Chicago and if I understand anything it’s that a few bucks can go a long way. It’s not a bribe so much as it is an opportunity to spread the wealth and help another make a living for providing a small service of sorts. Well okay maybe it can be construed as a small bribe but a white bribe at that. It’s like the old adage ‘a kind word and a gun go a lot farther than a kind word alone.’ So yep, here I am again just like I was almost a year ago to the day headed to Chicago to maybe rediscover a bit of what I lost and discover more of what I love about life, love and being on the free and easy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> From here on out it’s open country, three days and nights on the train, new faces and fresh conversation and a whole lot of learning. It’s like Hunter S. Thompson so famously said, ‘buy the ticket, take the ride’ and that I shall. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> So yes I bought the ticket and took the ride and here I sit somewhere in the middle of nowhere Texas looking out the windows of the trains huge viewing car. The expanse of desert is so seemingly endless you can only imagine how many dried up old cowboy skeletons lay out there buried under the brush. Texas is twenty one hours of a whole lot of nothing with a few ghost towns dotted in between busted down oil rigs that were long ago decommissioned. Then there are the few towns that pop up hereand there. You can’t help but wonder how the people that live here earn a living in such an unforgiving place.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><b>(To be continued) </b></span></div>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-91216366524990519812011-03-07T01:49:00.000-08:002011-03-07T01:51:24.539-08:002010; A year to live, love, lose and learn from it all.So as spring 2011 approaches I find myself writing about the past year 2010. Several times I have hunkered down in front of my trusty computer screen to write about what possibly was the best year I have had in a along time if not all all time in terms of self discovery and re-discovering those that I love again. Sometimes it takes a while for the dust to settle in my brain to process things that have transpired in the recent past. Yet, until now every time I sat down to write my mind drew a blank. I guess it was my own 'summer of love' that has changed my life and most probably shaped it for years to come. On a whole it has been a year of facing the past head on, losing some people, re-establishing relationships long missed but never, ever forgotten and making some long overdue positive changes. I also learned a lot about how much I have changed over time, those subtle changes we often don't recognize in ourselves. Every now and then I find it necessary to take a bit of time to reflect and be honest with myself about who I was, who I am and who it is I want to be because let's be honest we continue to change from time to time or at least as individuals we should be. If we don't continue to change we cease to grow.<br />
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It is not often that we get the chance to go back bask in the glory of the old days, take a stroll down memory lane, rediscover one and other, fix the wreckage of our past and simply just be there for the ones we love. It is even rarer that we are given the opportunity to retrieve pieces of our lives we thought were gone forever. In times especially like the times we live in now that for so many are hard times you have to find what really matters in your life and hold on tight to it.<br />
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Back in February 2010 a dear friend of mine committed the ultimate selfish act of suicide one night after I had hung up the phone with him. This event unscrewed me. There was a good possibility I might have been victim of his depression too had I visited with him that fateful evening as I was supposed to. Something came up that night and we canceled plans God had stepped in my way once again. I had over the years become so callous and jaded in life I had not even allowed myself time to grieve his death. I went from being in shock for a week to putting it out of my mind the best I could. I have been losing friends in bad ways since I was a kid and though it never gets easier, it gets easier to shut down and that was what I had been doing for some time. That has become my m.o. and a bad habit I need to work on. But everything happens for a reason.<br />
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This occurrence as well as a few other things were the catalyst for a decision to make a much need trip home. What I initially planned to make a two week trip home to Chicago quickly turned into a five month extended stay that made me realize the importance of doing it more often. I missed my family badly and I needed them to know how much I love them. But one of the biggest reasons for my return home is to spend time with my daughter whom I had for various reasons not seen in fifteen years, had recently re-connected with and was working on a establishing a relationship with. But more on that later as Kyla, that's her name, deserves a column devoted specifically to her.<br />
It's funny how tragedy or uncomfortable events can often make you reflect and make changes. It seems that far too often when we are doing great and life is just grand we forget about what is most important in life. I vow to work very hard to not allow that to happen ever again. I knew going home I would have a lot of things to take care of. It was that time in my life.<br />
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My family have never been rich people. To the contrary they have seen more than their share of hard times and faced much adversity, something I rarely speak about but as time passes I realize I owe them to speak about it. Though we may have lacked in finances and often times been apart for many years at a time we have always had a few things my parents and extended family taught us, survival and love for one and other. So I guess I can say that they have been rich in love, faith and sheer perseverance. I short we have a passion for life that many families I know just don't have. My ma and dad have been divorced since I was very young and quite honestly it was for the better. They both come from very large families and hard scrabble backgrounds and as much as I love them somehow for many reasons missed out when they were handing life skills out. In turn when they had children they didn't have a lot to impart but did the best they could. But they are wonderful people. I needed to make sure to mention that. <br />
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I looked forward to seeing my sister Christina and younger brother Jeff and spending time together. Any ideas of having a happy family get together were unrealistic as that hadn't happened since I was a kid. We just weren't that kind of family. My sister is an exceptional person and has made great choices for herself and her family in her life. We spent some family dinners with nieces and nephews who I am only in the past several years getting to know. I was gone for a large part of their young lives. She reminded me that although we may not live close by that she is my sister and loves me and always will and will always be there for me. That was all I needed to know. She had my daughter and I over to her house for dinner with family and was happy to see the now twenty year old girl she hadn't seen since she was five years old. Life had not been as kind to my younger brother and I hoped to help out a little and spend some real quality time with him. <br />
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Upon my return home one of my uncles Maury, my fathers older brother, who I was very close to for many years fell ill went into the hospital for the third time in as many months. He was a character, a rough guy who had run in rough circles and a man whom I loved dearly and learned a lot from, he was my blood. We had a falling out some years ago and had not spoken in a while but I knew through another uncle his brother, that he would regularly mention how he missed the days my cousin and I would come down to the neighborhood to hang out with him. While in the hospital he was unconscious for much of the time but a funny thing happened, when I got home got healthier and we were able to spend a good amount of time over several days talking. He was coherent and a fighter until the end. One of the highlights of my time with him was when he asked me about the whereabouts of my mother his former sister-in-law whom he had introduced to his brother, my father some forty-five years earlier at a saloon he owned. They had a rich history together as he knew my ma's brothers growing up, also rough characters. It just so happened that ma lived down the street from the hospital and asked about his health daily. The second he asked about her going to visit she had shoes on and we jumped in a cab to go see him. She never cared who said what about Maury to my ma he was always top shelf. She used to say that he never brought problems home and always preferred to be with family in his free time instead of strangers. He was suspicious of strangers. He was just that kind of guy. Even when she and my dad got divorced he made sure he called or stopped by to say hello now and then. When I myself got in some pretty big trouble in my teens he was the guy they sent me to see. It was something I was home to help make happen for my ma and for him that I wouldn't trade for the world. A few days later he died in his sleep. He lived a long life, outlived his friends and unlike so many of his friends was given the luxury of dying naturally and in bed.<br />
<br />
At the service my mother was not sure of she should go as she hadn't seen my dad in many, many years. As the universe would have it my dad called me and made sure I told my ma and that she made sure would be there as she was an important part of the family which made her feel good. It was beautiful on many levels as there had been many hard feelings and bad occurrences surrounding their divorce years before. Things that some people can never forgive but my family is tough and has seen and been through a lot and like I said in the end through all the madness and hard times they knew what real family meant. My sister and brother were unable to attend as she was out of town and he diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia years before just wasn't in the mood to go. But they called and were there in heart.<br />
<br />
The funniest part of the service was when my ma looked across the room and a man with a big smile on her face approached her, said hello and thanked her for coming. She is a little lady all of five feet tall. She looked up from her seat and said 'oh it's you' to her ex-husband and true to her form giggled like a little girl. Except for one fateful time when they found themselves stuck in a downtown Chicago elevator together back in the 80's it had been probably thirty some odd years since they were in the same room together. The elevator mishap lasted only seconds as my dad took the first chance to bolt from the elevator and opted for the stairs for the last twelve floors. I watched with some trepidation, that turned to a wave of relief, then to a smile when they shook hands. It's amazing what years and family ties can heal. <br />
<br />
After the service on way to the luncheon my dad even offered my ma and her brother, my uncle Bobby a ride to my cousins restaurant. the whole trip they argued and swore at each other in the back seat while simultaneously telling my dad how to drive. He just looked straight ahead, grinned and feigned loss of hearing, looked over at me and out of the corner of his mouth chuckled "ya know this is all your fault". It was funny to see three people who were so close for so many years in the company of one and other again. After we parked and were walking up to the restaurant I lagged back to walk with my ma who was a bit slower. In front of me were two old men from the old neighborhood who had both lived colorful lives hobbling down the street in unison like not a day had passed them by much less thirty years. I vividly recalled a little boy running up behind them trying to catch up to get in on the action just like it was yesterday. My mother again giggled like a school girl at the sight of the once young men and said "yeah they deserve each other, they're both crazy." All I could do was smile. Even during the meal she leaned in to me to say "he don't even look like himself no more, he looks different but I can't put my finger on it". I commented that maybe it was because he was smiling? She said "ohhh yeaaahh". I had long known what she did not that though it took my dad many years he had found happiness and comfort in his own skin, something it took him since he was a kid to find. I couldn't turn back the clock and believe me I didn't want to but it was nice to see then both smile. It was nice to see dad smile. It was nice to see them around a huge extended family again.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later my ma's best friend of seventy years Rita died of cancer and then my aunt Paulette, ma's sister in law and my uncle Richies wife of forty years passed suddenly after an illness. It was a hard time for my ma but she did her crying, then shrugged her shoulders and said "ah they were so young but we all gotta go sometime and it's up to God". She was always tough, she had to be. Once again I broke out the suit to happily do what was my duty for my family. I was grateful that I was able to be there for my family when the chips were down instead of glued to a bar stool in some saloon or stuck in jail cell like I might have been years before. Even in a time of death I was grateful for all the life I had witnessed.<br />
<br />
I called my older sister who was largely responsible for raising me to inform her of the services schedule. What would be more challenging would be getting her and my sister together as they for many reasons had not seen or spoke to each other almost as long as she and my father. This was not uncommon in my immediate and extended family. I guess it's important to mention my sister had a different father who passed when she was very young so the family dynamic was complicated and large part of the reason for her estrangement from my mother. But my sister Christina being the equally as tough if not tougher woman she is didn't bat an eye when it came time for duty to family. She had rid herself of any ill feelings long ago and moved on with her life to raise her family opposite how we had been raised. And as I knew she would she set aside all negativity and showed up with genuine sincerity and love. When I arrived at the church for the service I was amazed to see my ma and sister along with a deceased uncle wife, my aunt seated together. There's the three little people I thought to myself.<br />
<br />
After the service in the church vestibule along with dozens of cousins in another huge, crazy and often volatile extended family stood my ma, sister and aunt Bev in a circle like soldiers in Custers last stand holding off the Indians. Three women who hadn't spoken to each other in years for whatever reason who also shared a rich history were doing what they had dome so many times before in life, hold off the savages. For a few moments the reason they did not speak were forgotten. At the luncheon the three of them even picked a table with each other away from all of "them people" as they put it, the crazy relatives and saved a seat for me. The two highlights were ma giggling to my sister " boy you got chubby" sis laughed and replied, "all these years and that's the best she got" and when my aunt Bev looked around the room and then to my ma and said "Lilly, I'm proud to call Stevie my nephew". When I overheard her comment I sat tall in my seat and felt proud just as I had with my dads family a few weeks before. I had done what I wanted to all my life, make my family proud in a family filled with much wildness and insanity. I wasn't one of the 'crazy, wild ones' anymore. I was proud and felt like a million bucks. <br />
<br />
These times weren't so much about death as they were about having had the opportunity to share peoples lives while they were here, be there for them when they left us and watch all the difficult times and hard feelings melt away between people I so loved when the chips were down. At the same time I didn't have any illusions about it being one big happy family. It never had been and probably never will be but the mutual respect I saw amongst them all was amazing for me. It was a respect that was born out of an ability to raise kids who were real survivors and still be standing themselves. It gave me a new respect for my family. Some of them may no longer be with us but they know the great things they left inside of me.<br />
<br />
After I was able to spend a lot of breakfasts with my ma while she chewed my ear off and explained things about her life she had never spoke about. She apologized for the hard life we had saying she had made many mistakes. I had to disagree with her. I let her know she did everything she could for us and taught us what is most important in life, faith and love and taught us to be tough, survive and be loyal to family. I learned a lot about her and even a way to not let her drive me crazy. I learned to smile and laugh as I actually found her humorous. Ma was never a physical person and wasn't a huggy, kissy kind of ma but that was always okay with me I understood yet on a few occasions she gave me a kiss on my cheek. She made me smile many times. She and my brother would stroll down the street together always bickering but always looking out for each other. My time with my dad was equally as good as we talked long and I felt I owed him to let him in on parts of my life he had never been aware of but knew of in his heart. He seemed apologetic at times as well about us not getting the life he had wished we had but again as with ma I had to disagree. I reminded him that we had all gotten as far as we had in life as direct result of what he and ma taught us and that we would not have otherwise. The stuff that really mattered. I wasn't shy about letting him know that through all the hard times we stayed connected and turned out better than many of our cousins who could care less about each other and family and we could not have done that on our won. His eyes squinted like they do and he grinned like he does and I knew he felt good. He should, he had a lot to be proud of. <br />
<br />
My brother Jeff and I spent great time together and came to terms with so much we had not about our childhood. As I said life had not always been kind to him. He was a scholarship winning straight A student who's life was forever altered as result of an organic born hereditary paranoia schizophrenia. But in the recent years he has come to terms with it and seemed better over the summer than I had seen him in years. I was amazed to hear him explain to me his disease and how it effects him daily. At one point he even said he knew the voices in his head were just the fight between the his mind and the devil. I must have looked perplexed and worried as he went out of his way to explain to me and tell me not to worry as it only stands to reason that if he knows the devil is there then God must be right there fighting back. If he believed in one them he must believe in the other. We ate our favorite meal of Chinese and roast duck at least twice a week in Uptown on Chicago's northside. We laughed and cried at time and ran down Clark St.with a devil may care attitude throwing our hands in the air shouting for joy just like we did as kids and all around just had a good time. I learned more from my brother than he will ever know and yes I have big plans for us when I get home again. I can't wait to see him.<br />
<br />
I was able to rekindle some long missed but never forgotten friendships. Not the kind that you have in life then leave but the kind you find in life and never forget and never lose. I hit up the few old haunts that I cared enough about to return to and those few people I missed enough to want to see again. People that one way or the other truly made a difference in my life. I spent time with those few that matter most to me in life. I realized that for a long time it was not so much others that were unavailable as it was me that was unavailable. I also realized that if not careful we can easily get caught up in our daily lives and before you know it time passes you by too fast. I make sure I call everyone at least a few times a week and spend significant, quality time talking with family and good friends. <br />
<br />
I know now what I guess I always did, that no matter what family is part of me, always has been and always will be. Some bonds can never be broken. That true friends are hard to come by and may not connect for a while but true friends never go away. <br />
<br />
There are reasons I didn't mention much about my daughter Kyla. Like I said she deserves a column all her own. There's just too much to say. Next time you hear from me it's all about her.<br />
<br />
All in all 2010 shaped up to be a pretty good year. I lived, I loved, I lost and I learned more from it all than I can ever say.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-39740698173011800142011-03-05T03:03:00.000-08:002011-03-06T00:22:05.252-08:00RIP DINO D.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iyxIBhK9WJ4/TXIlMzgpdNI/AAAAAAAAABw/jszDAYtNcws/s320/18560_1172423918424_1462823529_30388290_7248954_n.jpg" width="320" /><a href="http://facebook.com/littlesteviec4u"> </a></div>Facebook is amazing, it is a place I vent, rant, rave, laugh, cry and stay in contact with friends. Today FB notified me that a friend back in Chicago was killed in an accident. I had just spoken to him a few days ago about some changes he was going through. It was no ones fault, just an accident of a young girl turning the corner at a busy intersection and my friend crossing that busy intersection at that same moment. Just an accident that ended a life suddenly and changed a young girls life forever.<br />
<br />
Dino Daddosio was just getting his life together, again. Like many of us he had his ups and downs in life though at times like some of us his ups and downs were more extreme than the average person. He rode the roller coaster of life. He was once again trying to get clean from drugs and alcohol as he had done successfully before and then as some do for any number of reasons he relapsed. Though not always easy I have been blessed with thirteen continuous years of sobriety and I am grateful for every single day of it. Unlike Dino by the Grace of God I don't struggle as much with drinking, using and getting high, as I do with living the right way on a daily basis and though it gets a little easier everyday some days are harder than others. <br />
<br />
Dino has just last week finished telling me he was getting into a new sober living home and was looking for a job. He had been through a lot but like most of us in the game, like myself, he had put himself through a lot. Many of us would beat others if they attempted to cause us the pain and harm what we often cause ourselves. We simply wouldn't stand for it from someone else but will spend years abusing ourselves. Dino may have been getting clean again but he was never a quitter and kept coming back. He kept going whenever things got rough and usually had a smile on his face. Many people like myself are blessed with consistent recovery while others go round and round with addiction and sobriety and never quite get it and some just give up, as did my friend Michael whom I wrote about not too long ago this past year when he committed suicide. Michael gave up and threw in the towel in Dino did not it wasn't in his make-up. He would stay sober for a period of time and then go back out there to experiment a little more. It didn't mean that my somewhat more consistent sobriety meant I was doing anything better than he, it was just the way the cards were dealt we both agreed on that. The roles could have easily been reversed in the disease of addiction. I considered myself blessed as did Dino for every opportunity we have been given. Like they say, addiction is cunning baffling and powerful. People like us simply want to live happy and die sober. Getting sober is the easy part staying sober is the work.<br />
<br />
In many ways Dino taught me the power of not giving up and the difference between self surrender and giving up. He believed life was short and was famous for living it to the fullest. I learned a lot from Dino in the many years I knew him. I am grateful for having had that time to know him. There will never be another Dino Daddosio.<br />
<br />
Dino could at times be a bit of s spaz but if you understood him you knew that was just his way getting through the day and dealing with the shit. We all have our way and Dino wasn't afraid of his. He lived his life like he played, full on, like he did in the mosh pit at a heavy metal concert, fast and with a big fat grin on his face. Dino always wore a smile and was ready with a handshake and he didn't suffer fake people lightly. He liked real talk and the real walk, wasn't afraid of who he was and could not care less if you didn't like who he was. Dino unlike so many was true to himself. He never gave up on himself or others, he always saw a better place just down the road and wasn't afraid to travel that road less traveled. I am certain he found that better place somewhere down that road and right now he has a big fat grin on his face. Dino did get his wish in the end because he died sober. RIP Dino D.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-37606002240751968602010-02-15T19:35:00.000-08:002010-11-07T01:40:15.136-08:00Stuck in a moment.(I am posting this some months after the death of a close friend on Feb 14th, '10. It was written a short time after. It was not until recently that I felt ready to share and post it after a recent four month extended vacation home to Chicago to spend much needed quality time with my family. I needed to go home to learn things about myself I had forgotten.)<br /><br />(For Russian Mike Tripolsky. I hope you're be laying on a beach somewhere.)<br />.............................<br /><br />I sit tonight caught somewhere to between numb and angry in what I guess is a state of shock. Sadly, I have been here before, too many times. Even sadder is the fact that these feelings seem to get, if not easier, simpler to cope with if I just go through the motions. That in itself scares me.<br /><br />Last night I lost another friend. I say <span style="font-style: italic;">another</span> as I have lost so, so many in my life far too many. Lost to violence, murder, drugs, suicide. Not too many years ago I sat by helplessly as a dear friend was dying of AIDS next to me. He was one of the toughest guys I ever knew in every sense of the word. I am still not past that one. Even the violent deaths were easier to handle.<br /><br />My friend was suffering inside and his inability for whatever reason, to cope with his own emotions and the world around him ultimately caused his death. Sure many would say he made the decision but when you're hurting that badly, can you really decide anything or do you just go with the moment? I don't know I can say to this. Again? Things seemed to move too fast for 'Russian Mike' a name we fondly called him because of his ethnic origin. Mike was only 31 years old. He was by all accounts a good man and good friend to many. Generous in time, laughter and finance. Yet he was also very private and a bit reclusive and he had his dark place too. He knew I knew this because I have mine. That place some of us go by choice when we try to forget the world around us and sometimes end up there if when we don't want to. He and I suffered from a similar malady, addiction to alcohol and drugs and the constant fight with loneliness even in our sobriety. Yet, unlike Mike I feel loved, he did not. I have learned, though cautiously, to trust others and with practice I get a tiny bit better at it daily. Mike could not and did not trust anyone. That is a whole other kind of loneliness. We would talk often of the demons we fought with that would have us try to live an easier, softer way, a criminal life rather than a straight, honest life. An addiction of the street if you will, that is one you acquire when you hang out in the dark corners in life doing the wrong things too long. It has a way of sucking you in. Spending too much time with bad people doing bad things is a very real addiction. He and I fought it in our lives and knew the allure of the street was all too real. It was all about what you have, not who you are. Cash in pocket and acting as if, when really your feeling apart from and falling apart all the time. We also knew how easy it was to slide backwards if not ever vigilant in our efforts to life well and decent and sober.<br /><br />Russian Mike did not know how to cope with what went on in his head or maybe he did but just didn't want to anymore. We spent a brutal few weeks arguing and going through suicidal discussions over the phone, in person and via social networking sights. After some time I believed he was past it and I think, for a moment, he believed it as well. Still, I knew if he did by some chance do it there was really nothing I could do to stop it. I set myself up for that possibility. That does not keep the pain and self doubt away now. I question what I said and how I said it. Did I not say enough or possibly too much? I will be the first one to admit I can often be too blunt or to often just say it as it is. I question why it was he and not I and why I again was spared that final decision. Because if truth be known, I have been in that dark place. I was there once and once is enough. But I turned the corner and fought through it after having made the decision to confront the darkness and accepting that I would either make it through it or ... I would not. Somehow I did. That was several years ago and I was a different person stuck in a dark room literally speaking and a dark corner in my mind, literally speaking. No, there was nothing figurative about it, it was all very real. So I know the place Russian Mike was living in his head and heart and soul.<br /><br />He had stepped too far into that dark realm where one finds himself at that crucial moment of a feeling of finality that threatens to becomes reality. A place where an overwhelming loneliness and sadness crashes into ones own self loathing and anger in a solitary moment of ultimate darkness. Factor in that you have the available means and tools to commit the ultimate act of selfish self violence staring you in the face. It's only a moment and it only takes a moment to be there. Mike was there. He did it. He did not choose a silent method, he went out in anger. He died like he lived, all of a sudden. Nothing could stop him. His last Facebook post was Feb 14th, '10 at 7:02 pm. ll he wrote was "bye bye to all." Had I been there I probably would have unwittingly and unwillingly gone with him as a mutual friend said a short time later.<br /><br />I never found that place, thank God. The sun came up just before I did. Those elements never came together at that darkest of dark moments. The thing I had going for me at that moment was my God as I know Him and the belief that I had already been through too much and put others I love through too much to go out that way. I had to believe I was tougher and better than that or maybe God just had plans for me I was unaware of. Those elements did not converge on me at that one moment of darkness all together. I believe what saved me was that my moment was a silent one, not a noisy one like Mikes. Just a moment.<br /><br />Once I received the call I had to call some mutual friends scattered from west coast to the east coast. The first call was to a buddy here in LA who grew up with Russian Mike only to find out he was once again back on the dope and fresh out of detox after a long run. He was in his own dark place and had no empathy or sympathy to spare. The second was a mutual friend on the Maine coast living in the middle of nowhere just off the Atlantic Ocean. I needed to reach out to him in order to reach the mutual friend whom I had met Russian Mike through several years prior. He was in New York City where Russian Mike was from as well they grew up together. From my Maine friend I learned that our mutual friend in NYC himself was currently trying to drink himself to death and ready to cash it in. It was then my friend in Maine informed me that he too himself after almost four years of sobriety had also been shooting dope for the past three days. The irony that Russian Mike was sober when he decided to and finally did commit the act of suicide was not at all lost on me. Nor was the fact that Valentines Day was the day he felt most lost and unloved in that moment.<br /><br />After a period of sitting in shock, it became intensely clear that I had to act quickly to save myself from the same fate. See, I have come to know that it is my thinking that will kill me and I decided some years ago to live. Live and enjoy life and contribute the best I can to it. To contribute to others as as well as I can. I have too much to do and I wasted too much time doing the wrong things or nothing at all. I want to live!<br /><br />Being the private person and something of a recluse that I can be I went totally against the grain and reached out at that moment in a flurry of phone calls to friends who know me and who share my disease or variations of it. Because I knew if I did not do it immediately I would let my head play games with me and wake up in a really really bad place. To be in my head can at times be like being in a really bad neighborhood. I do not belong there. I fit in too well and know that. I like being there too much therefore I should never be. So I picked up the phone and talked about what happened and what I was feeling and I am certain saved my own life. I cashed in on those 'insurance payments' of sorts I have been making on my future. The insurance of sanity. My friends who care talked me to where I needed to be to get through it all. It all comes down to wanting to live again.<br /><br />For me it's not about dying, that doesn't really scare me anymore. Not living while i am here is what scares me. I want to live everyday like there is no tomorrow.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-48733731730517269672009-06-30T14:11:00.000-07:002009-06-30T14:14:01.514-07:00Repairing the past, learning to live with it or at least having no regrets.<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cadmin%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cadmin%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cadmin%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> 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table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">A dear friend of mine Ray passed on almost a year ago now. He was many years older than me as several of my buddies are but still young at heart as are most of them as well. Most of us are actors, writers, directors or in some fashion involved in entertainment and have learned a long time ago how <i>not</i> to take ourselves too seriously. After all we are in probably the most uncertain, rejection filled business there is. There are no guarantees in our business that one will ever make it to the "big show" but if you stay and tough it out you will most definitely work and make your living. But my buddy Ray worked more than most and made a pretty good living as an actor as a regular on a major prime time drama for ten years running. He had the job most any actor would give their first born to have. As Ray used to say to me he didn't do too bad "for a broke street kid from Worcestor, Mass whose father died a drunk on a corner and a mother who threw him out on the street to live". <font style=""> </font>Not bad indeed Ray not bad indeed. Rays ashes were interned in a tiny cemetery in Westwood, CA a few plots Marilyn Monroe, Truman Capote and down the way from Dean Martin and a host of other Hollywood royalty. But for all the bright lights, movie sets, parties and celebrity friends who loved Ray and everyone loved Ray in the end he was unhappy and had a lot of that thing he always told me not to have in this life, regrets.<br /><br />Ray was fond of me and I of him. We had a lot in common with our youth and our adulthood. He liked to remind me not to make the same mistakes he did with his life and to not have any regrets about things I didn't do or set right with people I love. I would politely listen and then shake it off with a low grumble and a "don't worry buddy I won't have any, I promise ya". Ray also had a lot of faith in me and my talents. He once told me that if I remember only one thing he tried to impart on me it was to be all I could be, use my natural God given talents and abilities and never let my insecurities about how I grew up, walked, talked or what I never had hold me back from who I wanted to be. He wanted me to use him as an example of what not to do in life. When he was alive I never understood what he meant. Ray passed with many regrets. I guess part of him was angry, angry at the world, his disease and himself. His last few days in the hospital he refused to see anyone of his closest friends except one who would be charged with watching him die. We respected his wishes. A curious thing was that as close as we all are and as much as we shared with each other, after all the round table dinners shared, there were things we left out about our lives, families and pasts whether intentional or mistakenly. We just lived for the moment. We knew Ray had been married and had an adult kid somewhere in Los Angeles he rarely spoke with. He was friends with his ex-wife who was the closest he had to family that we knew of. His mother died some years before of heart failure the same day his only sister died of cancer. The way Ray told it was that when she received the phone call from the hospital that her daughter had passed she had a heart attack on the spot. At that point he had not seen his mother in many years. He was always sorry he never got to tell her he loved her. Other than that he had no family we knew of. So like many of us with estranged families or family in other parts of the country we celebrated holidays, birthdays and special occasions together regularly and knew each other as well as any friends would.<br /><br />We all attended Ray’s memorial service and even those of us closest to him were amazed by the turnout of the three hundred plus who attended, some of television and movies biggest names. Like I said everybody loved Ray. We weren't surprised we knew he had touched a lot of lives. What we weren't prepared for were the family members in attendance. Introduced were his adult children a son and daughter from Providence, RI and his half black, half Italian son from Los Angeles. Not in attendance was his oldest son serving time in a New Jersey prison. Except for the brother and sister none seemingly ever met prior to this meeting at his memorial and none knew him very well growing up. We seemed to know him better than they did. Except for the one son in prison they were all successful business people and unmistakably his children. After the service I had opportunity to speak with his Los Angeles son Kevin and get to know him a little. He asked about pictures and I offered to send those I had to him. I realized in our conversation there were many things that Ray had reason to regret. Kevin had no bad things to say about him. He just said he rarely saw him and never really knew him. I realized how compartmentalized Ray made his life and thought about my own. How many things he let pass by with the best of intentions to do them or reach out to someone but just never made the time. Ray was a realist who didn't bullshit you and told you like it was. I like to think we have that in common too, my approach being just somewhat more subtle than Rays was. Speaking to his kids and looking around the lawn on that sunny Sunday memorial service at all those in attendance I realized Ray was so right in what he kept trying to tell me all those years. "Have no regrets Stevie. Don't wait until it's too late". He used to say if I got tired of listening to him just tell him to go F*** himself. I would just laugh at him then he would laugh at me. His words haunted me right there and still do. Ray made me think a lot, but never more than that day and he knew what he was saying and knew I would know it when that day came that we stood where we did.<br /><br />There have been several major points of change in my life or moments of clarity if you will both positive and negative but few matched how much I changed about the way I think than that day. I spent the better part of the next few weeks in something of a state of shock. Now for me in my life death is nothing new. As a young boy many people in my life died and my parents never hid us from it instead opting for us to face it head on as a fact of life. I have had some close friend’s die of some very unnatural causes. But for some reason Ray's death made me think and feel as I never had before. Maybe it was that I am older now and at that point in life I think about certain things or maybe I have matured and am not the totally self serving person I used to be. Whatever the reason the day of his memorial I crossed a bridge and cannot go back nor would I care to.<br /><br />I have spent the better part of the last decade attempting to become a better person and repair the wreckage of my past and believe me there is a lot of wreckage. As well I have managed to let go of any resentment I might have had toward my parents or anyone else for the way we grew up. I learned they did what they could with what they had and had little to no life skills to impart on me or my siblings. The many years before this past decade were pretty much a wash filled with bad living and a lot of booze, drugs and general mayhem. Let's be honest, if I am to be honest with myself my life wasn't an attractive one except for maybe those kids like me who idolized the negative side of life.<br /><br />So here I sit now almost a year later having tried to make amends to many that are long overdue them and trying to establish relationships that were either long forgotten, lost or taken from me. I am trying to get to know a few people in particular I never was afforded the chance to. It is a particular situation that may or may not work out for me although I pray every day that it does. Still if it does not I know I have done my best to establish contact and keep my side of the street clean so to speak. Unlike some years ago, today I know I have much to offer these potential relationships.<br /><br />Because of Ray or maybe because of what he taught me I do things differently and look at life differently now. I left the comfort zone of Hollywood to live on the beach a few feet from the sand and on the ocean. I take long walks on the beach, meditate and treat myself better than I had been spiritually and emotionally for a few years. As a result even my art and performance talents are growing. I started learning to surf, skateboard and do all the things I always wanted to and simply enjoy what life has to offer. I prepare myself for the changes that I know will be coming into my life and want to know who I am, knowing as an artist I evolve every day. I want to be the most I can be and offer to others all I can. I take positive chances on life and have healthy fears. I attempt to confront and deal head on with my fears now. I consider the consequences of my actions and try to think before I speak. I have put down my holster so to speak and have mellowed considerably and it only took ten years to get here. I have even opened myself up to having an intimate or better yet a romantic relationship should the opportunity present itself. Intimate not to be confused with sexual. I've always managed to have sex without intimacy and disconnect myself from most any women who tried to get close. Old habits die hard but I guess I have to start somewhere. I call my parents more often now and continue to get better at it.<br /><br />We all change I guess sometimes slower than others but always in Gods time. I think about regrets now and don't let them creep up on me. I am far from old but still have that old soul I was born with. The difference is now I recognize it and try to benefit from it. I didn't understand what Ray meant and what he was trying to tell me when he was with us but I do now that he is gone. I think he knew more than I ever imagined and knew I would understand when he was gone. Maybe that was the memory he wanted to leave or at least one of them. I'm grateful for that Ray and where ever you are now I want you to know I get it now. I will work my hardest to have no regrets at the end of a good, long life. I will make those relationships old and new work the best I can. I will never forget you, your laugh, your advice and do my best to have no regrets. I got a funny feeling you're still looking on me and laughing that famous Ray Latulipe laugh. God bless Ray and thanks for having including me in one compartment of your life. You left us more than you know.</p> Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-76260658917051690072009-06-15T15:05:00.000-07:002009-06-15T16:35:29.188-07:00Chasing freedomSomeone recently asked me the dreaded question ... why are you single? Hmm I thought scratching my chin. I didn't quite know how to answer. More often than not people generally assume something is wrong with you like you're crazy or that you're just plain old damanged goods. Most ofetn they're wrong. Most people can't seem to comprehend that some of us are just non-conformists and like being single and free by choice. Most people can't even fathom the idea or maybe even fear it. Just recently after all these years it has finally dawned on me that maybe one of the reasons I am still single is that I just can't settle down long enough with any semi-significant other to talk about 'going steady'. Yeah going steady is that old high school term when a guy asks a girl to be his, they trade glances, a kiss and maybe ring yada, yada, yada LOL. The last time I used that term was about the last time I was not single. So you do the math.<br /><br />I mean sure I have dated pretty seriously a few times in the past many years but to date I think I have officially been single maybe eight years now and actually happily so. I like women, well truthfully I love women sometimes too much. I love just about everything about them, the good and the not so good and I love the chase. But I guess once I get there I get bored too quick. Not so much with her as with well, just being kind of settled. It scares me I will admit. I always figured if I know the way I am and know I will eventually set my sights on new pastures then why commit and cause some decent and good girl hurt by lying then running. I hate to take hostages and know how it feels as I have been in a few relationships that were really not much more than hostage situations. So my philosophy has always been don't drag someone into my life by bullshitting them when I know I won't stay long. Be upfront and let her make that decision of whether or not she wants to be there to begin with and even get caught up in it knowing how I like to be.<br /><br />There's that old Bob Seeger song "Travelling Man/ Beautiful Loser" that kind of fits the whole idea of the philosophy I have followed my whole life. I have never stopped moving at least in spirit and change and quite often physically. I'm always looking for something new and challenging to keep me feeling alive. I guess those are a few of the reasons I love what I do as an actor and writer and why I so love to be on my bike riding down the coast. They both make me feel free and alive and well ... free again. I have never been one for following the straight path in life or subscribing to social acceptability and I most definitely have been known to buck authority sometimes pretty hard to the point of it causing me a lot of ... shall I say problems and temporary loss of personal freedom. But true freedom is in your heart and head. The straight line in life never appealed to me. I guess partly because I had uncles and cousins who did anything but follow it. My uncles were never your regular guys. They were urban street guys who no one could tell what to do or how to do it and a few of them went as far as to hit the road and live free travelling and see everything life had to offer. So to some degree it is in my blood and has shaped who I am by watching and learning from them. Even the ones who never really left the city were never guys to answer to others or live socially normal lives. How boring and scary it would be when I would see my friends fathers hump and grind all day for nothing and just get old quick. I promised myself that would never ever be me. My old man and uncles all stayed young and still are.<br /><br />So I bucked the system and kept all the fun in my life that I could. I have always put what I wanted to do first and for the most part chosen to not get into anything serious as most sane women want at some point to settle down and get serious about life. It was just never for me. When I think about it I realize I have always done what I wanted, when I wanted, however I wanted to the point of just walking away from things that bored me or I didn't like on a few occasions. I won't say that living that way has not caused some financial challenge on occasion or other temporary difficulties but I get over it. Temporary is the key word here. Like the old adage goes nothing lasts forever and everything is temporary. That being said I get past it all but usually find I have been happier than most being true to myself and just rolling with life's punches.<br /><br />Believe it or not in large part I knew early on how my life would play out. Call it fate or self prophecy or whatever you want but I just knew when I was a kid what would happen for my life. Much of it has come to fruition. I also knew I had to do as much as I can, see all that I could and experience whatever I could in this life. I wanted to see it all! As an actor and writer I can be someone else in another place or time or whatever even if it is only for a short while. I can be in that persons head and make the believable out of the not so believable. I like being free and nothing makes one feel freer than being someone else for a while or writing a story that lets you create some characters life based on your own life experiences.<br /><br />My life situations and circumstances change on a regular basis faster than most people change cable stations. I won't say that there haven't been a few times I thought about settling down so to speak or even gave it serious consideration. But generally speaking once I seriously consider it or just about anything it dissapates pretty quickly. I'm just not that serious and never really have been. I hate personal constriction or even habit. Life is a challenge and freedom fleeting. Take it while you can. I know, I have lost it before. As I write I am getting the urge to take a trip across country to Chicago just to be on the road a little while and see more of what I have not yet seen and some of the old and cool things I have seen again. But for now these days I am living on the beach one hundred feet from the Pacific Ocean, making movies when I am blessed to do so, writing as much as I can and just chilling and loving it. I am cool and content for now but again all is temporary and real freedom is in the heart and soul. I am sure I will be changing some things up fairly soon. Oh yeah and I'm still single searching for that girl who like me has tasted freedom and won't trade it in. Maybe we would complement each other's lives. If you know anyone drop by let me know. I'm always up for a challenge and a good time, who knows where it may lead. Maybe we can hit the road together and maybe all things are not as temporary as I think.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-77916989136225584292009-05-18T13:10:00.000-07:002009-05-18T16:08:49.289-07:00Doctor Carl and the meaning of lifeLife has a funny way of reminding you who you are and where you started from time to time. People from your past seem to find a way back into your life. That is one of the great things about the social networking sites like Facebook or Myspace or a number of others. They keep you connected with friends and family who may be thousands a miles away or just to busy with life to connect regularly. I mean don't get me wrong, nothing can beat the actual physically connection of being with loved one and sharing a meal or a day together but network sites come in an acceptable second place.<br /><br />Every now and then as direct result of reconnecting and the cycle of life you are brought together with someone who made an important difference in your life. Maybe the difference that made the difference between success and failure or even life and death. For me throughout my youth and early adulthood survival on a daily basis was all that mattered, literally speaking. When things were at their worst and my outlook its darkest there was few people around to help me make it through. I had either pushed them all away or they had run away and probably rightfully so. That was when the Doc came into my life. I will call him Doc Carl for the sake of this writing as I have not asked him if I could use his name. It would be as result of a conversation with a mutual friend and the irony of life that the Doc would come back into my life after almost twenty years.<br /><br />I met Doc Carl back in the early 90's through a dear friend of mine Irish Pat whom I am not sure is even still around much less alive. Irish Pat and I were two of a kind, products of the street who enjoyed being on the street and operated as such. Irish Pat himself was a degenerate gambler and like myself an opportunist so to speak. If there were an opportunity to make a few bucks or more on the street we took it. We seemed to get into more than our share of problems. We came from the same kind of backgrounds and we were both exceptionally good at boozing, womanizing and jailing. There weren't too many places that we could still drink in as we had been barred from most and several irate boyfriends or husbands that were looking for us as a direct result of our total disregard for anyone else and indiscretion with their significant others and jail had become a revolving door. I tend to make things sound better than they really were. In actuality they were pretty bad and between drugs, drinking, thieving, jail time the street chances of survival were slim to none.<br /><br />Doctor Carl is the kind of man who had made the choice to give of himself to helping others in life. He worked with guys who no one else would bet a dime on much less give a chance. There aren't too many people that can show others another way to live from their own experiences. Anyone can hang a sheepskin on the wall and say they 'know' but few can show by their own life experiences. Doc Carl knew how to show and he truly does 'know'. He showed me how to learn from myself.<br /><br />At a particularly vulnerable moment in life when I was trying to get off the street and having a difficult time and for many other reasons the culmination of my life came crashing down on me. Irish Pat recognized this and came to my rescue. He more than most knew the chance of me deciding to check out on life prematurely where perhaps greater than they had ever been. Cornered and hopeless he mentioned he had a friend, a Doctor, whom had been of tremendous help to him in his time of need and mentioned he might be able to help me as well. After initially rejecting his offer I realized that the internal pain I was experiencing was too great to not give it a shot. It was my last ditch effort at survival and self preservation. At that point in life I felt that if this did not work all was pretty hopeless.<br /><br />I remember Irish Pat making the call to the Doctor Carl for me and setting up the appointment. All I had to do was get there. Believe me that was one of the hardest decisions I would ever make. To sit in a room and share my deepest, darkest secrets was good for others just not for me. I was by no reason opposed to therapy and truly believed it was a great thing as long as I was not the guy on the bed telling the secrets. I was used to sharing my secrets selectively and even then in the comfort of a dark room behind a screen to a man of cloth who could not see me and had taken an oath not to share what I told him. But that just didn't work anymore and the place I was at in my heart and head was deep and very dark. I no longer felt anything, trusted no one and spent most of my time depressed or unable to sleep as a result of bad nightmares. I was tired of living like I was in jail all the time even when I was not. Crazy as it sounds you can learn to live that way. Sometimes comfortably so and that scared me. I was ready to do anything.<br /><br />I recall walking into Doc Carl's office in a nondescript building just up the street from a social club/cafe I hung around out that was run by one of my buddy's fathers Babe. It was not what I had imagined in my mind to be and was actually the exact opposite. It was bright, colorfully decorated and generally had a homey feel to it. It made me feel comfortable. The Doc came out and met me and was not whom I had envisioned either. He looked nothing like a crazy doctor looked like or at least nothing like the vision I had conjured up in my head. He was handsome and comforting and shook my hand firmly and warmly. He made me feel right at home. Doc Carl had an ease about him and he took the time to explain to me who he was before asking anything about me. He wasn't the normal doctor in that he knew the people on the streets and knew how they lived and operated and he drew from his own life experiences. He also knew about mental illness a condition that plagued my family well before me, all through my childhood and to a large degree had affected me and my thinking. And we were off to the races.<br /><br />I had twice in my life been diagnosed with (PTSD) Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome but had been given no counseling to address it much less been informed on how to understand what it was and its causes. For those of you who don't understand it I guess the best way to describe it is being shell shocked as result of traumatic moment or few traumatic moments from in life. What those moments were is for another day and ranting but the result was in short that I was screwed. I was definitely broken and had been for some time. I had little reality in my life and lived out of social norms and was on verge of becoming a full on sociopath not to be confused with psychopath. But I definitely suffered from a severe personality disorder and plenty of antisocial behavior.<br /><br />In the time I spent with Doc Carl I learned many things about myself. Most of all he showed me that the choices I made in life were based upon how and what I had learned or in many ways had not been taught. I first had to discover who I was or who I wanted to be and build from there. I was confronted with making decisions on whether I wanted to stay on the street which there was nothing wrong with if in fact I wanted that life or if I aspired to something more for myself. Basically I had to make a choice before I could move on. He showed me I was worth saving and was indeed a good person who had made some bad choices and to continue to make those choices would eventually make me that bad person who made bad choices. I was the point at my life were I would make or break who I was and who I would become.<br /><br />For me it was the beginning of a new life that would take several more years to take root but was without doubt started in Doc Carl's room. He seemed to understand me unlike others before had. Or maybe I was hurting bad enough and just ready to listen. Maybe it was because he had a way about him that opened me up not only to him but too myself and the prospect that there was really something better out there for me. All I had to do was make a decision to do positive things and allow positive things happen to me. Sometime seasier said than done but I was ready. Bring on the growth and bring on the pain.<br /><br />The next several years would be a slow process of living, learning and ultimately breaking away from what I thought was living and then really learning how to live. It was not by any means easy and was more often than not filled with hard choices, anger, fear, crying and a whole lot of pain. But like the Doc had said it was my choice how I wanted to live my life. After having no control over events in my childhood he helped me become responsible for my adulthood and my own humanity. The Doc set me on that path of self discovery.<br /><br />I do my best to make good choices and live the best I can and I continue to grow and I'm having fun doing it. I care about people today and care about myself. No one can ever take that away from me. I learned no one ever took anything from me, I gave it away. I don't have to do that today.<br /><br />I have Doc Carl to thank for that. Maybe one day I can help someone else.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-55840179118713762492009-05-14T19:17:00.000-07:002009-05-27T14:06:37.125-07:00The importance of being meNot to be confused with being important or others believing me to be important, the 'importance of being me' is nothing more than simply being true to myself, who I am and the path I wish to walk in this life, nothing more, nothing less.<br /><br />Many people confuse being true to oneself with being selfish. But it's not about being selfish at all it's about being selfless. All it really means is being true to who it is I am, what I believe and the way I want to live my life. In this case it is living my life simple as possible and simply being happy. That's not much to ask for is it? Being happy comes from within by doing the right thing and doing ones best to live the best they can. One cannot be happy being selfish because selfishness eats at you from within. So that is where the selfless part comes in.<br /><br />Personally speaking I am so far from being perfect it would make your head spin. I say this because I am still learning about being me. I try my best to live the right way and do the right thing on a daily basis but would be lying if I said I do it correctly every day. I have some flaws and some serious ones mind you. But to be honest I like flaws. Flaws make character and I am pretty sure I have plenty of that. Maybe even enough to share a little if you need some. I have neither an overblown ego nor an inferiority complex. I have I believe something of a healthy ego. One that allows me to be okay with life on life's terms and people and walk in virtually any social circle but one that also has kicked me in the ass from time to time to remind me of who and where I am. Ah but it took me many years and a lot of work on the inside to get that healthy ego I feel okay with. Like they say learning to like oneself and be happy is an inside job.<br /><br />It's an inside job that will pay off in the end. For me it's all about being happy these days.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-1726445144784968302009-05-13T15:50:00.000-07:002010-11-07T01:32:39.641-07:00Letters from the Left CoastI recently had a long, heated yet civil conversation with my father regarding politics (first mistake), right versus left and the general state of the union. I live here in Southern California the land of sunshine and fairly consistent warm weather. He lives in Chicago where I was born and raised and am proud of that fact. Chicago being in the Midwest and not the East coast as so many to my surprise seem to think, is plagued by two types of weather cycles, extremely hot and humid and extremely cold and gloomy. The reason I mention this is because I have reason to believe weather is directly related to political beliefs. Warm weather and sunshine tend to give people a brighter outlook on politics whereas extreme weather causes one to, well, become extreme.<br /><br />The discussion was the age old new thinking versus old school thinking on the direction the country is taking and the open in which we recently survived through. Now my old man is in no way a slouch when it comes to politics and knows how to hold his own. Not to mention he has real life credentials and personal experience on the political front line that validate his points, thinking and political beliefs. Unlike many that like to argue politics my old man knows his stuff and has been in the political trenches. That in mind I knew I had my work cut out for me.<br /><br />I myself having grown up to some degree around politics I learned from the best. My family was politically involved and always believed in the process. Anyone who knows anything about Chicago knows that it is many things both good and bad like any great American city, but if it is anything it is political first and foremost. I don't know of any other city that can tout a family dynasty of mayors, a red phone from our city hall or the 'fifth floor' as those in the know refer to it as that was directly linked to the Kennedy White House or political lineage we have in Chicago, Cook County and the collar counties of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">DuPage</span>, Will, Lake and Kane to name a few. As different as these counties may be in party affiliation and beliefs the common denominator is they know at the end of the day it is all about one thing, bringing it all home to your constituents. Votes mean jobs and vice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">versa</span>. Period. From time to time the race or color or creed may change but the meat and potatoes of the 'democratic machine' does not. In Chicago we have a saying, all politics is local. There is Chicago and the state of Illinois and then the rest of the world. As much as many around the country may think that 'machine' politics is not quite kosher let me assure you, it works, even in spite of people having made the phrase 'democratic machine' a bad ones only to be whispered in dark corners. I think there has always been a little jealousy from the rest of the country with regard to Illinois politics and the fact that we make it work and always keep jobs on the table in Illinois and Chicago. Face it some of you just don't have what it takes to make it work effectively. For those who harbor that ill will and jealousy, get real, politics is a business and a dirty one at that. No different than any other rough and tumble business and definitely not for the squeamish or johnny do <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">gooder</span>. And yes it is often a self serving business.<br /><br />Having grown up in it I did what any smart political kid would do, got involved. I works the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">campiagns</span> and stumped my share of polling places, knocked on my share of doors and glad handed my share of potential voters. Like my old man I rose through the ranks to become a city job holder, state job holder and eventually a practicing democratic machine politico operative for several years. I was fortunate to witness to underbelly of the machine and participate in the inner workings of it all. I have sat with men of power and the decision makers, Mayors, Senators, Congressmen and Aldermen and even at dinner with a President. I was fortunate I say because you learn valuable lessons about people and life you can never learn in any school and those things have served me well in every area of my life since. The only reason I ever got out of it was my other passions became more important and to be a political animal it must be your life if you are to survive in the trenches. That and I just did not envision myself an overweight, gravelly voiced, cigar chomping, suspender wearing ward boss. No, I had other ideas in mind. These things I believe qualify me in the political realm, maybe not an expert but at least a very knowledgeable insider.<br /><br />Back to my old man and our heated conversation. I guess the direction I have seen our country go in the previous eight years made me think enough to feel we needed something different and needed to go on a different direction. That was the gist of our discussion. He disagreed with the way the Democrats and Obama in particular was running the show, even after only less than one hundred days in office. I argued that the Bush/Cheney way hasn't worked in eight years how long before we realize and admit that. How much grief and war and lies do we as a country have to endure before we get tired of it. You can only fight with people so long and keep a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">hardnosed</span> attitude before a bigger kid punches you in the nose and it hurts real bad and maybe even bleeds. The subject alone gets my blood boiling but I will be prudent and save that for another time. Let me just say that if you have half a brain, after that punch in the nose you definitely defend yourself then maybe try to look at things differently and at least consider options and alternative ways of confronting that kid. Some would call me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">un</span>-American or unpatriotic for saying these things. Those are the same people that have obviously forgotten what democracy means. Anyone who has the audacity to call another American <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">un</span>-American just because they believe differently should check themselves. I once heard 'the most dangerous man in the world is the man that will do anything he must to get you to believe what he believes'. There are way too many of them running around this country, thankfully we recently got rid of a whole room full of them the American way by voting them out. There's plenty more out there so the job is nowhere near done yet. I can say I pretty much care less what those types feel about me anyway.<br /><br />In many ways I understood where my old man was coming from and why he believed how and what he believed. He came from another era. An era that did many great things for our country but one I also personally believed greatly contributed to us getting into the mess and state of unwell being our country is currently in. Sadly I also believed that he harbored that fear I too grew up with, the fear of a man of color in the White House. True to Chicago tradition this has always been one and one I am not proud of, segregation. My father is not a bigot, racist or any of those things. He is more a victim of a belief system that so many are victim of and one that keeps us segregated and fearful of anything different than us. In the old days the belief was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">seperate</span> was good. You do your thing I do mine. Stay in your neighborhood I'll stay in mine. It existed in every race, religion, neighborhood and area of the country. In the age or travel and technology we simply cannot live that way anymore.<br /><br />He chalked it up to my living on the west coast having changed me and my beliefs. To the contrary, it has only reinforced the beliefs I held when growing up and working in politics. He likes to call it the left coast. The west coast is not as liberal as one might think and often not as free thinking as one might imagine. Take the political landscape for instance it is more grassroots and independent, which to me translates into nothing getting done and no communication between organizations. It starts at the top and trickles down and by time it gets to the local level it's every man for himself. In a real political organization like the 'democratic machine' everyone has a job, is a link in the chain and an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">oweness</span> to the next guy and things get done when you know it will directly affect you and yours. Maybe it's also time to put my experience where my mouth is and get back involved in the political arena out here in Southern California.<br /><br />Eventually we both laid out what we believe and what we thought the future direction of our country should be. To continue on a course of isolation, fear, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">hardnosed</span> tactics and war is not the direction to go in. Maybe shaking a few hands, taking a few bows and saying please, thank you and I'm sorry once in a while just might help us out a little. What's the old saying? You get more bees with honey than vinegar. We agreed to disagree. I have the ultimate respect for my old man he has seen a lot and knows a lot. He is whom I get much of who I am today from. I am proud of that.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-48166572833927007962009-05-11T18:32:00.000-07:002009-05-12T00:01:13.632-07:00What if...What if? Ah the age old question for so many of us. I have one steadfast rule I adhere to with regard to the 'what <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ifs</span>' in life. <span style="font-weight: bold;">-Never be sorry, never regret, never go to sleep at night saying 'I wish I had' or wake up feeling 'what if'.-</span> That is it in a nutshell. Of course there are the obvious exceptions to this rule with regard to 'never be sorry' or at least it should be obvious to any sane, non sociopolitical individual. Do your very best to never intentionally hurt another person or creature then you need not have reason to be sorry as you did your best. Simply put do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I think this fits into the category of 'everything I ever needed to know I learned in kindergarten'. I truly wish I could lay claim to that quote but it is not to be.<br /><br />So what if? What if what? I told myself a long, long time ago that no matter what it took I would not be the guy that in my twilight years had regrets about never having done those things I wanted to do with my life. To date I can honestly say I have achieved that goal. My life has been a collection of experiences. Most often to one extreme or the other. More often than not they were experiences of the kind a voice would remind you at the end of the show 'do not try this at home'. But I was that kid who wanted to try them all. Several times my experiences almost cost me the ultimate price. Experience builds character and character can either take you a long way or get you into a lot of trouble. For me it did both. I grew up around a whole slew of characters, some hilarious and some scary. But they were my characters. I myself readily admit to being a character of sorts somewhere in the middle between the two types I named above. Some former girlfriends would be kinder about it than others.<br /><br />The two things in life everybody wants to be are an gangster and an actor. I have seen both sides of that coin as well. As far the gangster goes I lived more on the near periphery of the life, amongst those types that see no other way to live and what you to see that way too. Those who would as soon make trunk music out of you as shake your hand or share a meal with you. Very dangerous men. But I had earned my place at that table if you will. Periphery or not there comes that time when the dangerous part gets very close to home and you find yourself making that decision that will affect the rest of your life no matter how it turns out. You either do or you don't and that's that. For me that decision was not a hard one as my heart and soul started drifting sometime before that choice was presented to me. That and the Big Guy had other plans for me. Heeding some well intended advice from a man in the 'know' I took a pass and continued on with my other passion in life as an actor. Not to mention the 'man in the know' didn't want to hear diddly squat about my acting chops, passion for or latest play I was cast in. I have far less paranoia in my life many more peaceful nights rest because of that decision. But oddly enough no less stress. The transition was not anywhere near as seamless as I like it to sound and has provided a whole mess of other life experiences I'll save for another time.<br /><br />The two are not as far apart on the spectrum as they might seem. You have to act on a daily basis to survive in a world of thieves and killers. Act 'as if'. As if you are not afraid and ready to shit your pants or present that false sense bravado one needs to constantly keep up. Act as if you have two nickels to rub together or a pot to piss in rather than the truth of the matter that more often than not most guys in that life are broke, busted and in debt to every other guy on the block and if and when you do 'score', provided you don't get pinched you spend most of whatever you did score paying everyone that you owe back and blowing the rest on 'the party'. then back to square one. That is the truth of that life. Conversely, and actor spends the best part of his day attempting to beat out all the other guys on the stage for the one job or role that is available. After which you spend the rest of the day screaming on the phone at your agent to sent that check they owe you and are holding for the last job you did that is currently two weeks late. Still screaming at the guy who owes you. Throw in trying to convince the producer, director or casting agent of the next hottest film or new television series coming out that you are the perfect guy for it and you realize that there is a large sense of gangsterism to entertainment and trying to force open the doors that need to be forced open to further you career. The same goes for the guys trying to move up that latter of crime at get his seat at the table. It's all about positioning and props. You're both still chasing that nickel. trying to pay the rent. Period. Some of us by virtue of life experience are more suited for it than others.<br /><br />The point I am trying to make is that I have yet to say 'what if' and have been fortunate to be either bold enough or stupid enough, depending on how you look at it, to take my shot at life and it's experiences. I have had a wealth of rich and wonderful experiences in relationships, love, work, seeing places and things and being part of famous happening and you name it. I have also had some very disturbing experiences in most of the above categories as well. I have never been sorry for either. Nor do I suggest chasing the extremes as I have. A happy medium will usually serve you well.<br /><br />Life is funny. one day you have plans and the nest they are taken away. There is no time like the present as they say. I have seen a lot and experienced a lot and can honestly say that all of it both good and bad have been my own choice and never forced upon me. Nor would I trade any of it in for the world. I still plan on having as many and more than I already have had. Being only roughly half way through the game I still have some quite a few touchdowns in me. I have gotten this far partly by with and street savvy and partly by accident but mostly by Grace. But I know I have to try it all. Even as I write I have plans laid to make the next big move and experience. Some of you might laugh but you won't be when you see me gliding down the beach front boardwalk on my skateboard or riding that wave on the Pacific Ocean every morning. If I have learned anything thus far it is that nothing can replace good old fashioned experience and the difference between positive experiences and negative experiences are only a choice away. Our own choice. No one else makes them for us. One thing is for certain, I will do my best to never go to sleep or wake up asking myself 'what if' I had.<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">-Never be sorry, never regret, never go to sleep at night saying 'I wish I had' or wake up feeling 'what if'.-</span>Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-45405817775511403502009-05-10T19:16:00.000-07:002014-04-20T00:11:35.361-07:00Some you never really forget
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The older we get the more complicated life seems to
get, or at least we tend to make it more complicated than it has to be. It used
to seem so simple from where I sit now but when I think about it really wasn't
so simple back then in fact, in so many ways it was so much more complicated.
Survival on a daily basis was the really important thing in life. But even with
that at the fore front I seemed to still have time to think, reflect and write.
Yes even back then as a troubled kid I still wrote almost daily. Write about
how I felt and that overwhelming desire to escape I had every single day, to
where I did not know for sure. I figured maybe just to the Pacific Ocean,
Venice Beach where life seemed so sane and simple. At least from the pictures I
saw and stories heard from well-traveled relatives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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My thoughts bring me back to a song, an old
favorite. At the risk of dating myself to those who might consider me the only slightly
older more mature guy, neither of which I feel nor really act like, I’m a bit
older than that. I will mention the song 'Into the Night' By Benny Mardones.
Feel free to look it up if you’re not familiar with it and read on. Yep, a
little known fact about me to most except to those very few who were extremely
close to me is that I am somewhat of a romantic. Slightly sad and demented but
a romantic nonetheless. There are those very few with whom I shared more than
one sleeping mattress in the park or the seat of the car for lack of anywhere
else to sleep after a night of carousing. Those are the very few who know I am
without question a hopeless romantic and old softy from way back. Laugh if you
will but by no means should you confuse me with being square.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My
whole life has been about contradictions that much hasn’t seemed to change.
Back when I was a teenager when most were in the prime of their innocence I was
anything but. Innocence evaded me and probably for good reason, he didn’t want
to get corrupted. Even back to my earliest childhood memory I recall the light
switch in my mind was always on, waiting, watching and obsessing. I think I
came by my cynicism honestly. I have been accused of a lot of things in my life
but being innocent was never one of them. Still, even though the innocence of
my youth passed me over for greener pastures way too early in life I still
searched for it time and again. If I could not have my own I told myself, I
would live vicariously through another’s. Even if I had lost mine, I still
truly believed in it. That was possibly what kept me going in life and kept me
smearing ink on the paper. I believed that if it still existed in people in the
purest sense those were the people I wanted to be around. Others innocence had
the effect of balancing out my cynicism. Even now I have to believe that not
everyone is as jaded as I am. They can't possibly be, otherwise humanity would
have long ago suffocated. I wasn’t alone out there as I had no innocent friends
so I knew I had to find some. From that time to this day I have for many reasons
consistently sought out a breed apart from myself. That search has played a
huge role in my life particularly in the area of romance although its reach has
extended into even the most purely physical of my relationships. <o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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As
a kid most of the girls I knew were nowhere near innocent. In fact many were
far worse off than I. But there were those few who I knew who would always hold
a special place in my heart and then there was that one that I knew who I would
never forget. The special ones fell into a few categories. The first was the
girl I never brought around my friends for fear she would be <o:p></o:p></div>
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corrupted and her innocence devalued. I wanted to
keep her for my own to just simply enjoy time alone with her, an oasis in the
desert away from the madness of my life. She was the one who although she was
already hanging around the crowd was far less suspicious of life than the rest
of us, and that quality attracted me. The trick was to keep her protected from
the dangers of life and I believe she knew this, at least I like to think she
did. She was the girl who possessed the ultimate innocence, she was also the
one who also had really smart parents. The same parents who forbade her from
dating, hanging around or generally being seen in public or private for that
matter with me or my friends. Of course I liked her the most because I could
not have her, but boy did I like her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Yes
there was that one. The one I was never anything more than a friend to and
never imagined I would ever be any more than that back then or ever. The one
you never really forget. After our brief moment all we ever really shared were
polite hellos, small talk and mutual people in our life. Oh, and yes, those
mutual stares on occasion knowing full well it would never be. I think back to
the scent of her hair, her smile, her voice and yes her innocence. Then as most
do, you part ways sometimes abruptly never having the chance to say goodbye. Once
or twice in life you cross paths on your road, if even only for a short period
of time, then life steps in your way again, sometimes in ways you never
intended it too. Yet somehow you never stop remembering that person, you might
even catch yourself smiling when the thought of her comes to mind. Ah, but that
thing called life and circumstance has changed you both. The road map of your
lives have taken totally different directions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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As
fate would have it you meet again, in a dream or at least you think it is. Your
mind races with wonder, can you re-capture that smile, that look, that smell,
that want, but life is too different now. Maybe you have too many
responsibilities and obligations or maybe by design none at all. I tend to fall
into the latter category. The forbidden comes to mind, like that Biblical apple
just within reach though you know how bad it is for you. Once again, I have
never been accused of innocence and for that matter forsaking the forbidden. At
a certain stage n life you have more questions than answers and you wonder,
what is right or what is wrong or what does it even matter? Do you go through
life wondering or reach out and take a bite of that apple? If I fall and fail
at least I tried. If I try and I succeed, ah, then there is a whole other set
of rules and obstacles to confront. At this point in the game nothing is
certain, but then, it's never really been at any point in the game I guess. So
you reach for it and it takes you away, where it will take you no one will know.
So dreams are shared, potential plans arranged and you begin to think you may
be on to something.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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Life is never that easy and it usually has other plans for you. You’re a
little older and there is a whole new set of rules and we will see how they
will be played out or just simply ignored. I've never been one for rules
either. Surprised? Yeah life gets in the way again. Or maybe I get in my own
way. I have a habit of doing that from time to time. Maybe the one you never
really forgot was unattainable to begin with and no matter what one does she
will never be, or maybe not. What I have found to be true in life so far is
that nothing is impossible if you want it bad enough. But is what we want that
badly worth risking everything and then some for a chance at something you weren’t sure ever really existed in
the first place? Maybe not. Only time and the choices we make will tell. It
could be nothing but a school boy fantasy or it could be everything we ever
dreamed of.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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I
have a theory that the older we get the stupider we get. We are wisest as
children and maybe at our prime as teenagers but of course are stifled by the
ones who deem themselves the wise ones. We grow up and realize half of the crap
they fed us was all wrong. Yeah, generally speaking those who proclaim to be the
wisest are usually the most misinformed. When I think back, I should have just
gone for it back then. What did I have to lose?<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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But
all is not lost. I did manage to fulfill the dream that a scared, lonely,
unsure kid once had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A dream to escape. Escape
what likely would have been a short life weighted with misery and regret. I did
finally make it to that beach on the Pacific Ocean, the one I dreamed of all my
young life. Though it is not always simple and sane as I imagined or hoped it
would be it does look like those pictures in the magazines I obsessed on as
that kid. I did escape and I never looked back. I still think about that one I
never really forgot. But nowadays, I think about her while looking out over the
Pacific Ocean, and I catch myself smiling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222176824436584516.post-16086203285219977652009-05-08T17:20:00.000-07:002009-05-08T19:54:52.944-07:00Death and taxes....Growing up I recall all the 'big people' constantly reminding each other that the only guarantees in life were 'death and taxes'. I can't help but remember that feeling of impending doom that would flood over me even before I knew what the heck these simple words meant. Or the serious implication with which they spit them out of their mouths. Al I do know is that the 'big people' taught me I should be deathly afraid of these things amongst a whole host of others. So from the beginning, fear became a motivating factor in my life. I have a funny feeling I am not alone. That person who tells me they are <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> afraid of anything, is either lying, is too stupid to realize they're lying to themselves, believes their own b.s. or are complete sociopaths.<br /><br />I have friends in all categories.<br /><br />In these times of financial insecurity, future uncertainty and general life uncertainty it can at times be challenging to find the positive in life. Especially considering the fact that many if not most were brought up to believe that 'death and taxes' so to speak, were bad things and raised in a society motivated by fear. These things in mind it is not surprising we just want to crawl back under the covers at times. That will ultimately be our personal demise.<br /><br />Unless, that is, we make a conscious effort to live our lives to the fullest without regard for that fear that has been instilled in us. Whether it was through our well intended loved ones, our environment or the good old media we learned these things, it is our decision whether or not we will continue to live by fear.<br /><br />In the past several years I have learned, albeit often painfully, how to shed myself of that ever present sense of fear and doomsday that I spent a lifetime learning. I now choose to spend my time unlearning those same things. I chose to live my life to the fullest and never wake up regretting not having done those things I always dreamed of doing. I think my parents working with that which was available to them at the time and those things they had learned in their youth were well enough intended but fairly far off the path. Not to mention that not too many years ago I finally realized my youth was, shall I say, not quite the normal youth. I believed everyone grew up and learned the same things I did. How very far of the path I was after some serious self realization. I have been an avid reader my whole life and one of my favorite books of all time is "Everything I needed to learn I learned in kindergarten". The old adage that we learn every basic thing about life by the time we are six years old I have found to be so true.<br /><br />I have spent a lifetime searching for all those things I not so much lost, yet more so never had to begin with. In that sense I am ahead of the game in that instead of trying to recapture the things in life so many 'big people' lose, I have in essence made the decision to invent myself based on the lack of having learned much in the life skills department. My young life was based on fear and more fear. Every emotion I saw, learned or felt whether it was happiness, sadness, anger, love or in between originated out of fear. Fear of being different than others. That same fear crept into my teenage years and then into my adulthood. It left me with the images of violence, insanity and uncertainty of what would come next etched into my mind forever. The hatred, self loathing, bigotry, lack of self esteem, self deprecation and prejudice of anyone or anything different from me paralyzed me for years to come. All of my beliefs, defects of character and distorted value system had been born of my life experiences growing up, on the street and in some pretty dark places physically and figuratively speaking. I have seen my share and more of the dark places. But I came by it honestly.<br /><br />And then I grew up and got a life.<br /><br />Once I knew what it was I so feared I set out to break from my self set confines, expand my mind and discover a whole new world out there. It was time to accept responsibility for who I was, who I am and whom it was I wanted to be. Once I discovered there were new and fascinating people and things out there I just soaked it in like a sponge. I had always had a dream of the life I wanted to live by the California coast in the sand next to a palm tree as an actor in film and television. Ah but I was taught people like me did not live that life. 'We' had a certain limit in life an it was best if we did not try to buck that too hard lest we get our feelings hurt. Bucking those beliefs did not come easily nor painlessly. More often than not it was sheer agony filled with uncertainty, fits of rage, despair, more self loathing and plain old hardcore learned fear that was my path to learning. I for one have always been motivated by that same fear I was taught. Once it hurts bad enough then, and only then will I do something about it. that is until I was taught that I could do something about it long before it got so bad that I wanted to eat a bullet and yes if I am to be honest I will admit the bullet had in the past been a serious consideration though by the Grace of God never an option. So yes, some places in our head can get pretty dark. My own best advice got me to those places.<br /><br />That conversation is for another day.<br /><br />But these days I have a choice of where I live, why I live and <span style="font-style: italic;">how</span> I choose to live my life. I have a choice of what I choose to believe is the right way for me to live, but most of all what I wish to teach others and impart on them by what I have learned. It would take another lifetime to explain how I came to this place in my life that I enjoy being at even at its hardest and it has at times been hard! It is the simple knowledge that today I have a choice that keeps me going. I never knew I had a choice. Now I do. So from hear on out it is all my choice and decision how I live my life. I wish I could accept even partial credit for a wonderful life and things learned. All of these things and most everything I know today are because of the knowledge others have so selflessly given to me. I have been fortunate to learn so much in such a short time. I fully realize many don't have the opportunity to learn these things in a lifetime. I never ever want to stop learning on a daily basis and as one of the 'big people' I saw as a child, hope to return the favor to others someday. To keep it you have to give it away.<br /><br />Face it, we all have to die just as we were born, alone. Sure there may be some loved ones around us or not. I do know that I have learned to not be afraid of when that day comes as long as I do my best to live my life right and never forget there is a power greater than myself. I quit being afraid of the 'death and taxes' shtick I was taught. Today I live in life neither in death or taxes. Though the first is far less voluntary than the latter I choose to face them both the same way... by living for today and let others live the way they choose and by a power greater than myself. I am certain of this...<br /><br />...I don't ever want to stop learning on a daily basis.Stevie C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10030771011129635894noreply@blogger.com0