Fifteen in Five: A life in motion

Fifteen homes in Five years

  (The dream home on Castro)

Since the eviction from my 10 year home on Castro Street in Nov of 2012 I bounced around a lot for the next few years. My primary address was a post office box at 584 Castro Street with Steph. Across the street from my ex-forever home.

(My mailing address for the next five years)

On the morning of the eviction, AJ came up from San Jose and helped Danny and I move all our stuff into the moving truck (with the help of some hired labor). The only thing we left behind was the spinet piano that Jack gave us. I almost killed myself moving that 500lb beast up those 31 stairs, I wasn't about to try it again. Plus, I wasn't getting a deposit back so I figured I didn't need to go the extra mile, risking possible death, in clearing the place out. 

That last night into the last morning was such a weird experience. It was just Danny and I left in the place, the power was off, we lit the place with candles and tap lights. We opened all the interior doors and saw the place as it was designed originally as a one family flat. My old bedroom would have ben the living room, Danny's old room would have been the den and then Mark's old bedroom would have been the only bedroom. The current living room would have been the dining room and the front fainting room would have also been the child's room. All the bedrooms had interior connecting doors that when opened created this very lavish upscale ambiance. What could have been...

I was an amazing home. And leaving it, Danny and I left not only our home in Castro, but we also left the relationship we had made with it. Amicably going our separate ways as friends and exes, he went back to Concord with his family with Comet. After we finished unloading the truck into three separate storage units AJ drove me and Jinx to live with him in his house on 18th street, in San Jose, where I would stay with him for about a month and a half, until Christmas.

(AJ's place in San Jose, the first time)

For Christmas 2012, our friend Chad Fox (aka: fuck-you-Chad-Fox) was going home to Cleveland to see his parents for the holidays and wouldn't be back until the new year. So Danny and I and our two dogs, Comet and Jinx, leapt at the opportunity to stay at his place on Romolo, a cool converted whorehouse in a back alley in North Beach for two weeks over Christmas. Yes, it really did used to be a whorehouse. 

(Chad Fox's converted whorehouse apartment in North Beach)

As I had a well paying job at the moment and wasn't having any luck looking at rooms to rent, I found a posh monthly hotel in the tenderloin that cost me around $350 a week. I moved there from North Beach and stayed there until April of 2013. The downside, no dogs allowed. Luckily Danny was able to take Jinx to Concord with him until I found a place. 

   (The bougie hotel in the Tenderloin)

I realized what I was spending on the weekly hotel would make it impossible to save for a new place if I kept staying there. I started putting my feelers out and seeing if the room rental market had changed at all. And just as luck would have it, my best lady friend and her wife had just made the decision to make the move to Portland. 

No, they weren't taking me with them to Portland, however, they did recognize that they had an extra room. And that a little extra money and time would help them in the move, so, they offered me their spare room for the six months that they were going to use to make the move. So Jinx and I moved into "The Whorehouse" for the spring and summer. This was at 25th and Bryant, in the heart of the Mission District. 

(Steph and Jen's place "the Whorehouse" in the Mission)

This was one of the most amazing and healing experiences of my life. Not only did I have space, I had my dog, a job, room to recover from losing a home and partner at the same time. And I learned what it feels like to be truly pampered. I didn't know this about her until I moved in with her, but Steph... is the epitome of the good southern Baptist housewife. In the sense that no matter what she had going on with her day or night (and she was a BUSY woman). She always made breakfast for us in the mornings. And she always had dinner options on the ready when you got home and the martini glasses chilling in the fridge. She fed me, helped me get into classes, pushed my career forward and helped rebuild my confidence. And then, just like that, they were gone to Portland.

Here is where I had to make the hardest decision. In all my searching for a place, each and every one of them; No pets, on the lease. Already too many pets in the house. Place after place after place, I couldn't get a home or room of my own and keep my dog.  I love Jinx, and still do, but I had to make the better decision for both her and I. So when Jen asked if they could take Jinx to Portland with them and use her to start up their dog walking business. It seemed like the best option.

It was, by the way. Jinx loved Steph from the first moment they met the day Danny and I adopted her from the SPCA. Much more than she ever loved me, she was clearly a lesbian dog cuz she only ever had eyes for Steph. Also, she was in the prime of her life moving to a place where she could spend hours every day outside running with other dogs. So, Steph and I became co-parents and Jinx went to live with them.

(Liz and Shelly's place on Church and 14th)

After they moved to Portland I moved to Liz and Shelly's place at Church and Market for three months. I knew them from chorus and acting class. And I had just done Steph's first play with Liz. When that three months was up, I still hadn't been able to find a permanent place of my own in SF. They had only agreed to let me stay for a short time, and I didn't want to inconvenience friends that had offered help. 

So I found an SRO in the mission and moved in. If you're not familiar, SRO means Single Renter Occupancy. They are essentially cheap, low frills, single person rooms with shared bathrooms in the hallway. Much like a college dorm, no closets, a bed, a table, a chair a mini fridge and a microwave. You won't find an SRO that you would want to stay in. They aren't known for being nice places. The are mostly filled with homeless people, drug addicts, crazy people and people barely hanging on. I didn't feel like I was in that situation, but there I was renting a room. 

(The scary shady SRO at Mission and 16th)

This was in December of 2014. I was working every day, taking the Bart to Mission and then spending the nights anywhere other than the SRO. Luckily this place was just a few short blocks from my storage unit, which I had set up with a chair and table so I could go hang out there and cull or read. I can't tell you how many back and forth trips I made from the SRO to storage and back. 

(The nicer SRO in North Beach a block from the Transamerica building)

Oh, the other fun thing about SRO's is that in order for them to maintain their status as an SRO in SF, no one can stay for more than three weeks at a time. After three weeks you have to check out and you can't check back in for seven days. So I found a much nicer (and more expensive) SRO in North Beach and I and bounced between the two places for the next few months. There was a week in there that I stayed in Berkeley at Don and Jeff's dog-sitting while they were on vacation.  Another week or two in Portland with Steph and Jen both babysitting Jinx and Steph while the latter recovered from surgery. Then when I got back, in late Mar of 2015 Larry Turner generously offered me his spare room for a month so I could help out around the house and watch the kids in his Balboa Park house. 

(Larry and the kid's house in Balboa Park)

Right around the time I was at Larry's I got the job at Nextdoor. With that I was finally able to afford a deposit again. and in June of that year I moved to downtown Berkeley, to live with Rev. Annie and her family and rent out the room of her son who had just left to college. They had the most amazing backyard, and pet's that were so much fun. It was a wonderful home that I was warmly welcomed into. We cooked for each other, had game nights and all in all I was able to get my feet back under me.

(Reverend Annie's home in downtown Berkeley)

Around December of that year I started looking at places back in the city, so I could cut my commute time and cost down a bit and because I could afford to find a place that better fit me. I put an ad on Craigslist about myself and what I was looking for in a place and out of some sort of cosmic alignment, a woman named Angie reached out and said she might have a spot for me. 

(My room with no windows and bright orange walls)

The spot was a converted garage in her Glen Park home that had two bedrooms with big closets, a shower bathroom and a kitchenette. The only downside as she pointed out was that there was only one window in the entire place, and it was in the bathroom. The room was painted white and neon orange, so surprisingly, it didn't feel dark. It was perfect for me. And the kid who was living in the front room already felt like someone I'd known for a while. Ruben was a fun guy and I enjoyed living there. I stayed for nine months. January to September of 2016. 

(The house in Glen Park. I lived behind the big red doors)

While working at Nextdoor I had been saving up so that I could join SAG and by the beginning of summer of that year, I'd done it and I'd joined SAG. This was the last step in my San Francisco plan to advance my acting career before moving to LA. My managers at Nextdoor even said I could keep my job and go fully remote. So in October I moved out of Glen Park and moved back to San Jose with AJ and commuted in to the office two or three days a week for two months and in December of 2016 I made the move. San Jose to Hollywood, Los Angeles. 

(AJ's place in San Jose, the second time. His unit was actually in the back of the building)

During the four years between the eviction and the move to LA, I had slowly over time, gotten rid of so much stuff. I moved out of a four bedroom house and filled three 6x10 storage units in 2012. And by the time I started packing the U-Haul towards LA I had less than 20 boxes, a couple suitcases and a bunch of art. I had winnowed down so much that I was really surprised by how little I had left. 

Then out of nowhere, in the week that I was moving, I was reminded that I still had my three piece red leather sofa set and Grace was ready to buy her own so I could take it with me. And then Nextdoor also moved their office that week and they said we could take anything we wanted (and they hoped we would) so I got a couple IKEA pieces, a standing desk, two armchairs and an ottoman and a heavy duty microwave. SO wherever I was landing in LA, I had a full set of furniture. Except a bed. 

Lucky for me, Chris had a bed that I could buy. Who is Chris you ask? Why, you've already met him. Chris was introduced in my blog post Roommates: A Home on Castro. He was the first roommate I picked when I got the landlord of that house to make me the sole tenant on the lease. Chris was one of my favorite roommates of all time. Nothing phased him, he was like a total stoner, unless he smoked pot, then he was moderately active. He was a friend who I missed and he had a room in his place on Hollywood Blvd. 

(Hollywood Boulevard here I am! The first floor to the right of the door)

Chris and I technically shared that place for seven months, December to June of 2017. I say technically because for the first couple months he was there off and on as he was seeing a new beaux and they spent a lot of time at his place. In March, AJ decided he was ready to leave the bay area and go back to the beach in So Cal. So I asked Chris and he was happy to let AJ have his room as he and his boyfriend had decided to move in together.

So while he gave his notice to the landlord, we all hoped that the landlord would just sign a new lease with me as I was already living there. Unfortunately, the landlord was trying to retire and places are easier to sell if they don't already have tenants so he declined and AJ and I started looking for a place to live. 

AJ, being from LA drove us around to all the neighborhoods that he thought I'd like. He planned on moving to Palm Springs, so we were really only looking for me. WeHo: too expensive, Silverlake: nice but hipsterish. Then he saw an ad for a place in Koreatown and figured it was a nice old brick building, in the miracle mile and we might as well take a look. We came to see the place, it was on South Gramercy Pl and was a beautiful old brick building with white trim. We went to the call box and rang. And rang... and rang and rang. No answer. We waited for about 30 minutes and no one ever answered. We got back in the car all huffy and at that moment AJ happened to look up. 

(My current home on South Gramercy Place)

Across the street from the brick building was another tall old concrete apartment building. Steepled rooves with rod iron spindles and weathervanes, with trees and an awning and plants creeping up the outside front walls. It looked like a building you'd see off the park in New York. And on the side of the building was a sign that said apartments and gave the phone number. We looked at each other and I called the number. 

"Hello, who's this?" a raspy lady with a smokers voice and a New Yorkers attitude asked. 

"Hi, my name is Shane and I saw the sign on the building and was wondering if you had any available unit's that I could look at."

"Yeah, fine, come up. I'm on the fourth floor, Peggy."

She buzzed us in and we went up to her apartment. Miss Peggy is who the word "spitfire" was made for. She was an eighty something, tough as nails, no bullshit type of lady who'd been doin this since before I was a twinkle in my daddy's eye. She took us through two apartments, the two bedroom and the one bedroom. While the two bedroom was nice, AJ wasn't planning on staying, so we looked at the one bedroom and as soon as I entered the living room I saw that beautiful old brick building across the street through trees that reached just up to my windows and I saw all the delicate wainscoting on the living room wall, I knew I was home. 

I must have gasped or something, cuz AJ snapped his neck towards me, looked at me and immediately went into negotiation mode. Surprisingly there was no need. 

"I don't do any of that new fangled internet shit. I ain't gonna run your credit. If I like you I'll rent to you and that's the way I always done it. I like you, you want the place? Done."

We filled out the paperwork, I put down the money and she gave me the keys. It was done in less than 15 minutes. I finally had a home again. From November of 2012 to June of 2017, just under five years,  I had lived at fifteen different addresses. I spent five years desperately clinging to the city that I loved so much. The City that had given me life and opportunity and dreams and joy. San Francisco is not only the place I spent the longest portion of my life, it's also the place I mean when I say "home". And it will always be thus.

(the view from the top of Dolores Park, aka, the gay beach of SF)

Broke-Ass Stuart was right in his poem "Rent Control is a Golden Handcuff", he says:

"Living in San Francisco and having rent control has become a sort of golden handcuff if you ever need to leave, or get evicted, you have to essentially trade in your San Francisco citizenship. The Visigoths are at the gate and they will gladly take your place."

There is a word in Welsh that I always felt best describes how I feel about San Francisco. "Hiraeth"; it is a homesickness or longing for place that no longer exists or only exists in memory. 

(Took this on the corner of Market and Noe on one of my trips home)

In June of 2017 I moved into my current apartment on Gramercy Pl in Koreatown. Here, I decided that I would unpack, put the art up on the walls, and stay for a while. It's been six years so far. That makes this the second longest home that I've lived in after the ten years on Castro. And I've made so many amazing memories here and hope to make many more. 

(Take a tour with me!)

My wildest weirdest worst first date ever

You may not know this, but I don't actually date a lot. 

I know, you're shocked. A charmer like me. This wit, this humor, this hair. 

Still, I don't go on many dates. And by dates of course I mean, a date with a man, um, outside the house, doing something. To be honest, I don't know that I've been on more than twenty of these types of dates in my life. 

Remember, I've only had one boyfriend for five years, and while we did do a bunch of things out of the house, those are all dates already in a relationship. I'm talking about getting to know someone new, romantically, dates. Which again, should not be lumped together with sexy no pant's parties, of which I have had my fair share. Fine, I've had several peoples shares. 

But back to actual first dates, the last one I went on, right when I moved to LA was so weird that I just haven't since. We met on the apps as all the gays these days do. Chatted for a few months before agreeing to meet. He had a bunch of photo's and was ridiculously stacked (that means muscular to you newbies), well dressed and very very good looking. 

He was a lawyer who worked for a big company that he couldn't talk about because NDA's or whatever. So we just kind of got to know each other over chat and seemed to click. My favorite thing about him was that he loved to read. He said it was hard to find a partner that would sit in silence together with him, which I've always wanted as I'm also a big reader. 

Well, after a couple months of this we finally decided to go on a date. I was living with my bestie AJ in Hollywood at this time, so I let him know that I was going to be going on a date and that we might end up back in my room. He was of course happy for me. Anytime he thinks I'm going to get laid he does a little dance I swear. 

The Friday night came and he arrived promptly at 7pm. His pictures were not lying. This Adonis was FINE. Like, holy hell this man can't be really real in my home, fine. Like, my knees nearly fell out he was so good looking. And a 1000 watt smile that melted me. I'm sure I blushed and giggled way too much. I should mention here that when he came to pick me up, he came inside and met AJ. It's important later.

We started out by going to get a coffee at a Starbucks near the restaurant he wanted to take me to. I don't remember if he ever told me the name of the place. Only in hindsight does it seem weird to have a coffee date at dinner time. We sat there for about twenty to twenty five minutes just chatting and flirting and what not. I'm thinking, oh yeah, he's definitely gonna end up in my bed tonight...

Just then, his phone starts going off. Like text and calls going off. He looks, looks up and me and I gesture for him to go ahead and take it if it's important. He says it's his boss and I nod and he steps away to take the call. It's not a long call, maybe seven minutes. But when he comes back to the table his smile is gone and our date appears to be over. He has to go back to the office as something urgent has come up and he needs to do it now. 

I totally understand and say don't worry about it at all, we can do dinner when the emergency is over. He's driving me home and expressing how much he was looking forward to it and how much he liked me and really was looking forward to having a great night with me (wink wink, sexy side smile). So when we get to my place and he get's out to walk me to my door, he says, hold on, he has an idea. 

He goes to his trunk and pulls out a suitcase. 

He says it's his clothes that he's taking with him on his trip to Puerto Rico for his friends birthday the following weekend (A thing he invited me on prior to our first date mind you). He's gonna leave it with me as his promise that he's going to come back and see me as soon as the emergency has passed.  I said that's a sweet gesture, but he doesn't have to, I believe he will try to see me when he is free. 

However, he insists, and I agree and take the suitcase. He gives me a long sensual passionate kiss that  I managed to not faint during and he smiles and says he'll text me and then he runs back to his car and drives off. I go back inside and explain to AJ why I'm home early, alone and with luggage. 

AJ makes me a small dinner and we sit down in the living room to watch TV. I get a few texts from my date shortly after he dropped me off. Funny comments, flirty comments, status updates. This goes on for about an hour and a half after he dropped me off but then peters out. By ten at night I figure he's probably not going to get back to me and I start my nightly bedtime routine.

Around 11 I'm sitting in the living room with AJ and my phone rings. It's my date.  He's asking where I am. I say what do you mean, I'm at home where you dropped me. It's very loud on his end, I can't quite tell where he is but he is yelling into the phone. He asks again where am I, and I ask why? AJ is looking at me confused and I'm feeling pretty confused. 

Then my date yells "Where are you? I'm here with your roommate, he said you're here. Where are you?"

AJ and I look at each other very confused now. and I tell him to go where he can hear me. It takes a few minutes but it does get a little quieter and he repeats himself. Asking where I am, telling me he is standing with my roommate who he just met earlier, and I explain that I am at home where he dropped me, sitting with my roommate. He tries for five minutes to convince me and AJ that he is out with AJ. He seems very confused and like he might be drunk. 

So I ask him, "where are you at?"

"I'm out at Mickeys, where are you?"

"I'm at home still, did your work thing get cleared up?"

"What work thing"

"The emergency that came up while we were on our date?"

"What?"

"What's going on, you ended our date because you said you had a work emergency and now you're calling me from the club, drunk it sounds like..."

No response. 

"Hello?"

"Ok, I'll see you later" he says and then disconnects. 

AJ and I are looking at each other dumbstruck. What the hell just happened? So now I have been ditched by someone who wanted to go get drunk at the clubs and he left his suitcase in my house. We both laugh over the absurdity of it all and then we call it a night and go to our separate rooms and go to sleep. 

Around 3:30 in the morning I am woken from my sleep by three things. One, someone is pounding on my front door. Two, someone is pounding on my ceiling from the apartment upstairs and third my phone is ringing and it's AJ telling me my date is screaming my name at the front door. 

I get up and get dressed and make my way into the living room to the front door. I snatch the door open with a full booming voice I say "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

"Oh thank god! I've been trying to find you for hours!"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"I thought you said I could spend the night?"

"Seriously? I said I hope we get to spend the night together, not I hope you get to ditch me, get hammered at the club, run around all night and then come back and black out in my bed!"

"Can I come in for a minute, please?"

"Why?"

"My phone is dead, I couldn't call you. My charger is in my bag and you have that."

"Fine, you can get your bag and go." I say as I let him in. I walk to my bedroom and he follows. I go in and go around the bed to grab his bag and when I turn around he is shirtless laying on my bed. Goddam those muscles. Goddam that stupid smile. 

"Can I just charge my phone a little bit? Come here, lay down with me..." 

"Can't you charge your phone in your car?"

"No, I didn't drive, I've been drinking. Come lay with me..."

"No, and you can't stay here, that ship has sailed."

I turn around and plug his phone in on my iphone charger, when I turn back to him he is already asleep. The snoring starts immediately. I am so angry at this point. Ditched me on our date, went out without me to a place I totally would have gone, get's fucking wrecked and then has the nerve to come try and crash on my bed. Hell's fucking no. 

I sat there for twenty five minutes watching his phone charge. As soon as it was at 25% I shook his ass awake and told him to call an uber and get the fuck out of my house.

He starts to protest, suddenly he's saying he can't go home as they are fumigating his place right now. He says that's why he has his suitcase. So I pick up his suitcase and walk it out my front door. He reluctantly get's up and sheepishly walks out, apologizing the whole way. I don't hear a word of it. As soon as he's out I slam and lock the door. 

I don't know what happened to him, I don't know what he was thinking, I don't know what was going on in his life. But I wanted none of it, no matter how good looking and muscular he was. Not worth it. 

He flirted with me again about two years later on a different app. When I reminded him of our previous date he apologized and said he was under a lot of pressure then and was getting pulled into the wrong crowds doing a lot of drugs. He said he was out of it now, and while I said I was happy he was better, I wasn't interested in a second date. He said he understood and that was the last time I ever heard from him. 

So yeah, I don't really date that much. I'm good. 

The days my brother died: Day 2 - Nick the Army Medic

One winter morning somewhere near the beginning of Christmas break in '82, Josh and I had been outside playing and screaming and eventually fighting with each other in the freshly fallen feet of snow deep in the Colorado Rockies. It was the first lull in what would come to be known as "the great blizzard of '82, where Santa never came" (I know... that's a whole other story...). 

Well, as usually ended up happening, halfway through playing I went and hid from Josh. He assumed we were done playing and went inside to ignore me. I watched him from outside for a while hoping to lure him back out, which didn't work. So eventually when I felt it was safe, I quietly snuck in the back door. Right inside was the laundry room separated by only the inverted L shaped hallway that led to the living room. I tiptoed in and silently buried myself under the dirty laundry and waited for someone to notice I was gone. 

Before I had drifted into a deep sleep I heard my mom ask "Where is Shane?" 

Followed immediately by a grunt of "uh don know" from Josh. 

"When was the last time you saw your brother?" 

"I don't know, A while ago... like twenty minutes or something." 

"Where is he now?" 

"I don't know. He ran off..." 

"Explain, Please." 

"We were playin and he got all weird and ran off. I came in and sat down in front of the TV, jeeze." 

"Did he come back inside?" 

"Um... No... I don't know." 

"Josh... Look outside." 

Although I couldn't see it I got the drift that the blizzard had had enough of a break and was beginning to wake up. If you've never been in a blizzard before, just know that once it's coming down you can't see more than five feet in front of you.

"Are you telling me that you left Shane outside, and he hasn't come in, and it is snowing like that out?"

There was no answer. There never was an answer to a question like that. In fact, in mom talk... any answer to a question like that is a wrong answer. The only correct answer was "I think I'll go find my brother, right now." 

Moments of silence seemed to pass as I strained to hear into the living room. I heard the unbearable silence that is "the stare" from mom followed by the opening and closing of the front door. Mom cursed under her breath, and got up and started pacing around the living room and kitchen. 

After what seemed like hours (ten minutes or so) mom in her aimless wandering came back to the laundry room. She stood in front of the machines for a minute or two, just lost in thought. I was wide awake and trying not to let her hear me breathing. I quickly made up my mind to lie to my mother. If she discovered me I would tell her that I had had a fight with Josh, and had come around the house and gone in the back door and cried myself to sleep in the laundry. 

I figured there was some truth in the statement, and Josh would be back momentarily saying he couldn't find me and it would all be no harm no foul anyway. I prepared myself for discovery and began my illustrious acting career with my infamous "cute boy sleeping". I closed my eyes, and relaxed my body and held my mouth slightly ajar so I could breath through my mouth and avoid detection, but it would look like I was just sleeping with my mouth open if she saw me. Which of course she did. As soon as she noticed she was standing in front of the machines she automatically reached over and grabbed a handful of laundry, uncovering my face in the process. 

I made my mom scream in terror, an earsplitting high pitch. My eyes shot open wide and I bunched up fast not quite sure why she reacted so shockingly. Quick on my feet I thought... stick to the story... she just woke you up... stick to the story!! 

"How long have you been sleeping here??" she asked me still slightly hysterical. 

"I don't know" I said, which was true, what seven year old boy really keeps track of time? 

"Josh and I had a fight and I came in and went to sleep in the laundry. Why?" 

"Because we didn't know where you were! Josh is outside looking for you!! Go sit in the living room please. And see if you can see your brother out the window." 

I went to the living room as directed... well... by way of getting myself a glass of milk from the kitchen that is. As I set my milk down on the counter, I heard hard heavy footfalls climbing our front stairwell. When the footfalls reached the landing and came around the porch passing the living room windows I saw who was making those urgent sounds, and why... and my only thought was "MOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!" 

Just as I reached the front door, mom ran into the living room and Nick, our neighbor, burst through carrying a crying Josh in his arms, he was gushing blood from his head. 

Josh had been out looking for me and he took a path that led under the neighboring duplex porch, under Nicks apartment. He had been carefully looking down and watching his footing and therefore missed the overhanging icicles that were waiting for him to raise his head and look up. As soon as he did a large icicle ripped through the skin on the top of his head, and he let out a shout of pain, which Nick heard from upstairs. 

Nick was an army medic in Vietnam, and possibly one of the sweetest kindest people we ever met. I remember him with light brown hair, possibly dusted with blond. Quiet and quite good looking in the haunted mountain man next door kind of way. He welcomed us to the street and shared bbq's and movie nights and even a few holidays with us. He had a sweet girlfriend and seemed to be an all around good guy. 

He had found Josh through the quickening snow and his medic training kicked in. The moment he walked in he was in charge. My mom barely got out a scream before he was telling her to grab clean towels and follow him into the bathroom. He had his own suture kit and had Josh's shirt off and had him in the tub before she got in there. He washed his wounds while telling her what to do next. Josh sat silently sobbing and soaking in the tub while I watched on from the corner outside the door. 

Time seems somehow frozen on that moment for me. Nick reaching into the tub in his red flannel, holding Josh by the top of the head, sutures in hand. The terrified stunned look on Josh's face, like he still didn't know what was going on. Watching mom becoming calm and steady under Nicks confidence... it was the first time I ever remember seeing her give up control. 

Then it was done. Nick tied off the last stitch in what must have been record time, and gently held Josh's head under the water and rinsed him off. He turned the water off, wrapped Josh in a towel and pulled him out of the tub. 

"Yeah, your'e alright aren't you..." he said. Josh nodded.

Mom swept Josh into the living room and piled on the blankets, then went to heat some hot chocolate for him. I was still stuck at the corner of the bathroom. I couldn't stop watching Nick. He was cleaning up the blood and his tools and gathering the trash. He was silent while cleaning, and I saw him looking at the blood as if the sight of it transported him instantly back to Vietnam unleashing his trauma. Although I didn't know or understand any of this then. 

I was just fascinated by the fact that everything you know about a person can completely change in an instant. Before, he was just our cool laid back friendly neighbor, but for those brief few minutes that winter I saw the man that Nick was meant to be, it not for war.

When the spring broke that year Nick took Josh and I out to the mountain that was our back yard. He had a sort of tree-fort that he wanted to show us. Well, not as much a fort as a bunch of wood nailed to a tree. A few boards nailed on for a ladder and a couple of basic platforms in the tree. It was his place, where he came to think and be alone. He took us up there that day because it was a perfect tree to teach us how to shoot a bow and arrow. 

It was a good day, and he was a good man. 

Before summer break arrived mere months later, we came home to the shocking and heartbreaking news that Nick had gone up to his tree-fort and he had shot himself. He was gone. I don't think he was even thirty yet. I didn't understand then what he must have gone through in the war, the friends he must have lost and the horror he must have seen. I do now. I sometimes wonder if that was subconsciously why I became a Navy medic. 

I think of him from time to time when I help someone with something medical, and sometimes even when I see my brother. Because while you can't see it on him, I remember Nick because he left a scar. 

The First Holiday We Were Back Together

The First Holiday We Were Back Together

Mothers/Fathers Day, 2021

The last time I saw my mom and dad in person, was Dec. 26th, 2019, the day after Christmas, when I took them to the airport to fly home to Denver. We had plans for a summer trip in Colorado, and both my parents were going to come out to my place in Los Angeles for a solo visit each over the year. Followed by a grand big destination Christmas. 

We all know what happened next. 2020 The year of Isolation. 

I wouldn't call my mom paranoid, but I would say they are both at the age and medical station where being overly precautions and paranoid is actually very smart. Summer came and went and though I begged them for a visit and professed how I'd been isolating and avoiding all people, mom still insisted that we wait. Now I know most people love their parents, it's a given. But I actually love being around my parents. They are smart wacky funny people with life experiences that to this day can still shock me, and I love to join in with them and have amazing conversations about music, history and politicks. So for me to not be around them was actually very frustrating. We settled for a year of virtual gifts that included bouquets for Mom, big elegant take home meals from their favorite restaurants and online wishlists fulfilled.

           

But I missed being around them, a lot. So, I secretly planned a surprise trip home for Christmas of 2020. I didn't tell Mom or Chuck my plans, though I did ask Mom2 Marge (Mom's best friend since we were tots) to pick me up from the airport so I could surprise them. When I asked Josh to drive me to the airport that week he was surprised Mom had agreed to allow me to visit because when he was driving through Denver over the Summer, the parents would only meet at an open air restaurant and no one could come to their home. 

This naturally planted the seed of doubt in my mind and I eventually broke down on Christmas Eve and called my dad Chuck to see if it would be ok. Long story short, it wasn't and I cancelled my trip. They just weren't ready to take any risks and put all of our tomorrows on the line for one single holiday. If we skipped this one, we would have the next ones. Hard but solid logic.

The next holiday turned out to be Mothers Day 2021. Though it wasn't planned and it wasn't just to celebrate Mother's day. A month prior on March 18th, in one of Colorado's famous Spring Blizzards, my dad was leaving for work in the morning and slipped on ice and broke his hip and leg bone. He spent 9 days in the ICU where they put a steel rod in his leg and put screws in his hip. He then moved to a recovery hospital for another 14 days where he began the long road to recovery. He was finally sent home on April 13th to recover at home and begin his physical therapy, which went from being able to stand up, to being able to stand at a walker, being able to walk with the walker and we are almost at the point where he can start using a cane instead of a walker. 

Through all of this, Mom was right there by his side. She spent most of her days and nights either at the hospital sitting with him or at home making him food he could eat because the food at the hospital tasted like hospital food. Then on the weekend Chuck came home, Josh flew out there to make sure the place was set up well for his PT and recovery, helping mom with moving and donating a bunch of stuff. I'd say I'm mad at him for seeing her  last summer when I couldn't, but he was such a huge help that I can't really hold a grudge about it.

But once I got that second shot at the end of April, I booked my ticket and planned my trip home at last!

 

     

  

I flew out to Denver last Saturday and the next day, Mothers Day, we went and had an amazing sit down dinner, her first in over a year. Being that we've all been vaccinated, Mom was feeling more relaxed and we actually got to have a couple really nice dinners out, including the traditional Red Robin dinner with Marge, who it was just as wonderful to hug and see.

Mom made sure to make some of my favorite home made dishes while I was there, like King Ranch Chicken and her special Chicken Noodle Soup. We got to eat while they watched the Oscar winning short film I was in last year, Two Distant Strangers, on Netflix. I especially loved getting all four of the seasons in the week I was there, it was warm and sunny, then thunderstorms and lightning  followed by snow that blanketed everything and back to sunny and hot!!

 

While Chuck watched his sportsball games and practiced his drums as part of his recovery, Mom and I went on several drives down memory lane...

We went to see several of our favorite childhood homes: 

(The Duplex)  

 

(The Dented Tree) 

*For those of you wondering why it's called the Dented Tree, when I was about 7, my parents charged me with cleaning the trash out of the car. I went, begrudgingly, and did this task. As you all know, I do what I want... so in the middle of cleaning I somehow became a pilot who was flying some secret mission or another. As a pilot I had to punch buttons and pull levers, so... I did. I pulled the only lever there was, the drive stick. I pulled it right into reverse. Did I mention that our driveway was at the top of a hill. Yeah. That tree is the only thing that prevented the car, and me in it, from rolling down the hill. I love that tree.

(The House on South End)

She took me to a couple other favorite childhood haunts as well...

(TinyTown!!!! It's so huge now!)

(Troublesome Gultch)

(Casa Bonita!! Yes, I'm Eric Cartman, I thought you knew.)

(The Kittredge General Store in my Hometown)

(Just driving through my old 700 person mountain town and saying hi to the wildlife)

   

Then on my last full day I took a solo trip to a couple places that stand out so vividly from my childhood.

The Church yard bus stop where I had my very first fist fight. There was (and always will be) a group of local bullies who had targeted me, they held my brother back while I went at it with their leader, Shawn McKenzie. I know I landed at least one good hit because he had the bruise a couple days later when I saw him. But he landed the final blow with one good jab directly to the nose which resulted in a flow of blood that made the entire gathering scatter. My brother walked me to the general store where they washed my face and hands off and gave me a free piece of candy.

The Damn that Josh "fell" into one winter while trying to "save" me. We were over on the wrong side and we decided crossing the dam was the easiest way to get back. So we did. We were so scared of falling off either side that when he pretended to topple to freak me out, I did the only thing I thought would save his life. I pushed him toward the water instead of the drop off. I mean, I did run right home and got the parents... And he was able to pull himself out... I totally saved his life. It looks so small now, I literally laughed at our fear when I took this pic. (Random fox used for scale)

This is the famed Ice Cream Cabin that Chuck lived in when he met Mom. This was deep in the heart of Kerr Gultch next to what we called the Glass House because it was floor to ceiling windows that wrapped all the way around the house. It was so opulent and right on the front corner of it's yard, sits this tiny little three room shack, it was the first time I learned about juxtaposition.

Last, but definitely not least, Evergreen Lake. Here, we learned to canoe, swim, ice-skate, watch the fireworks and develop a sense of home and belonging. Every time I come here I feel the magic that nostalgia brings, how powerful it is, how much I still love this place, no matter how it changes.

And that was it... Seven glorious days with my parents after a year and a half apart. While I've often said there is serious growth and value in the concept of "running away from home" it should also be said that there is no magic as strong as love and going home again.

Happy Mothers Day Mom, I love you and Chuck more than anything, thanks for everything.

Love

Shane

When I'm done, Your'e going to hate me...

This post is about the true meaning of Friends. Is a friend simply the person you spend the most time with? Is a friend someone you can go long times without seeing and pick up just like old times? Is a friend someone who changed your life once? 

I met this beautiful young man, Ryan, at a very important moment in my life.

I was in the middle of my internal struggle to decide what kind of a man I wanted to be. I was 20 and impressionable, opinionated, right, judgmental and everything you think a 21 year old is. I was also very self aware, though not terribly happy. I had spent the majority of my life looking in from the outside, being the weird kid and being raised by parents who said it was ok to not be like everyone else. But I was left with the question "who am i then, who should I be?" I also had trouble seeing why anyone should like me at all.

I took a course at Landmark Education called the IFLP, which stood for Introduction to the Forum Leadership Program. This course shattered most of my idea of self over it's six month duration. Several of the blogs I've posted happened during this pivotal moment in my life. It was during this program that I really faced for the first time my shortcomings as an adult, as a responsible human being and as a person whose word and integrity matter. 

I faced a lot about myself during this program, both with growing up, taking care of myself and presenting myself in a way that I would be taken seriously. Not to mention that I had never known what true integrity was until I realized how little of it I had. I was coming out of a gay goth phase but still wore a lot of black and make up (see the terrifying picture below).

I didn't know who I was, or I couldn't decide and align my life and integrity with any one thing. This was during the point in my life where I was in and out of my parents house, barely holding down a job for longer than a couple months, going out with friends and staying out until dawn.

It was in the IFLP that I met Ryan. We were in the same session, along with his brother Josh, though they were taking it in the LA center and I was in the Newport Beach Center. But during the first weekend when we all came together, somehow the three of us formed a bond. It also had to do with the fact that we were all roughly the same age and their Stepmother had led my forum a couple years before and she was a riot so I knew they had to be at least partially cool. They were also, close enough to visit and hangout with outside of my regular circle of bar friends.

Josh was the quintessential older brother, sweet, kind and extremely generous. Being a new father made him very patient and willing to explain things for me. One of my favorite memories with him is spending the weekend in Venice Beach babysitting for him during the day while he worked, and hanging with the two of them all night. That weekend Ryan and Aaron Z even took me to the Viper Room in LA! 

Josh was also my last involvement as a volunteer with Landmark (to date). When I got out of the Navy and moved to the Bay Area, I didn't know anyone so I went to the SF Center and there he was. Josh, the only one of us to continue on in the Leadership program, was about to lead his very first seminar, and I volunteered to be the Room Manager. He really brought the experience full circle for me.

But Ryan, he was the sweet bastard that you both wanted to hang out with and smack upside the head. Because of that ridiculous smile and his abundance of charm, that guy got away with saying some of the most out there profound and sometimes confrontational statements you can imagine and then force you to deal with them. Case in point:

Near the end of the 6 month IFLP course, Ryan and I both had to travel to San Jose to make up for a weekend that we had missed. We flew up together, stayed at his Mom's house and were basically linked at the hip for the entire three day seminar. When we got home to our respective homes in SoCal, he called me, and had what amounted to one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had in my life.

It began with "We need to have a conversation. I am going to have to tell you some hard truths about you. You're not going to like them. In fact, when I'm done, you're going to hate me. You may never want to talk to me again... I am your friend, and no one else is going to care enough about you to tell you what you need to hear."

"Shane, you're hiding. I don't know who you are because you are hiding behind this fake mask. This goth look and flippant constant gay mannerisms are a way for you to shield yourself from people. You think, if you look and act this way, no one will notice you or want to get to know you. Then you will have proved everyone right that you ARE an outsider. You have made your nightmare real, you have actively participated in making it real, and then you blame the world for the problem you created."

I couldn't breathe, let alone reply. He went on.

"You're listening to me for two reasons, one you're a little bit in love with me and two, because of what we've been through you trust that I have your best intentions at heart and that I am your friend. I'm going to use those two things to try and wake you up, listen to me. You need to stop lying and you need to stop hiding. Half the time you tell me things, I can't tell if you're lying or not. Or if you're just trying to look good in front of me. You are robbing the world of who you are and it's cheap and it's shitty. Over the last six months spending time with you, there have been moments when I saw you, the real you. Not the bitter, angry at the world, loner. Not the guy whose constantly making up outlandish stories or trying to one up the other persons story. The you I saw in those moments was joyous and genuine and kind and excited to be alive. That is the person that needs to come out. You need to take that mask off, stop lying and stop hiding who you are."

"I'll be here, as your friend when you do..." And then he waited for my reply.

It took me a moment to collect myself and reply "Wow, well, you were right about one thing, I hate you and never want to talk to you again". And with that, I hung up on him and decided we were now, no longer friends.

The only problem with that, was that every time I looked in a mirror all I saw was the mask. That mother fucker was right! It made me furious and I hated him even more... for a while, anyways. Still, every time I looked at myself I saw the truth. I was hiding who I was from people with my look and my demeanor and my attitude. I was creating this "outside" by being who I was being. I was terrified of people getting to know the real me. I didn't know who the real me was just yet. How do you decide who you want to be?

I felt broken. He had violated the silent agreement that we all make with each other: I won't call you on your's if you don't call me on mine. What kind of person tells you something so shattering to your ego that you literally  have to reevaluate the entire way you look at your self and your life? I mean, obviously someone who cares about your life and it's long term outcome. I knew he loved me, and it occurred to me that he was probably the first friend to outright risk their friendship with me to tell me the truth about my behavior. My part in the matter. And I did play a part.

I changed. Almost unconsciously. 

I shaved my head. I washed my face and got rid of all the make up. I started looking for new clothes. I bought my first grown up suit. By the time Ryan and I talked again a couple months later, "I" was starting to come out. I learned how to be honest, and joyous and forthright and how detrimental it is to one's happiness to be inauthentic. I learned that some conversations, though hard, may need to be had for the betterment of your soul, and that anyone willing to tell you this kind of hard personal truth (in a way that moves a conversation forward for yourself), is a true friend. Whether you like it or not, whether you ever want to talk to them again or not. It takes someone truly invested in your happiness to do that.

Ryan and I eventually made up at the next and last large group weekend. He was shocked and impressed with the change I had made in myself, and it didn't hurt that I showed up dressed in a suit and tie (the pic below was taken that night) and I was simply put, unrecognizable to that unhappy goth kid. By the end of the first lunch break, he and I were back on giggle and slap terms and Josh was back to rolling his eyes and shaking his head at us. My head coach Dawn said that weekend that I was now not only dateable, but totally bangable!

Though Ryan and I remain friends to this day, I haven't seen him for more than a decade. He's a married man with a family and up to life in the south bay, and we almost never chat. But he changed my life for the better. He risked his friendship with me in order to save me from myself.  That is the mark of a true friend, not how often you see each other. I hope, over the years that he and I have together on this planet, I can return the favor and change his life for the better. He is a genuine, honest and authentic human being that will always love and accept me, for me. No questions asked. And though we may never be as close as we were when we met, he will always be my friend.

I hope you all get to have friends like that.

ps. Hey Ryan, remember Nadia? Remember that weekend we all went down to Ensenada, Mexico, you fell a bit in love with her and then she left you to go study in Munich? You were so mad! You'd never had a woman leave you before, I literally remember steam coming out of your ears as you huffed "Where the hell does she get off??"

And I replied "Well, in Germany, Obviously".

I think you fell a little in love with me too that day.