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.

My top 10 books

10. The Incident at Hawks Hill, by Allan Eckert

In my first English class in Junior High, the first assignment the teacher gave us was to read "the Old Man and the Sea" in the first month of class. I took my copy home that Monday and had finished reading it by Friday. When I turned it back in so early, and told her I would have the report to her on Monday, she was quite obviously shocked. She eagerly awaited my book report and when I turned it in to her that Monday she surprised me with my first lesson in extra credit. She said for every book report I turned in I would get an extra 10 points toward my final grade. She then gave me this book.

The Incident in this book is a reportedly true story about a young farm boy that goes missing and gets adopted by a badger. I don't know why it stuck with me so hard, but something about the realness and the way the author captured what the boy would have lived through if it were true. It just always stuck with me. That coupled with the fact that after several years of being looked at as "troubled", it was nice to be appreciated for something good. I've never owned a copy of this book, it's never been in a bookstore, I look all the time.

09. The Perfect Storm, by Sebastian Junger

Oddly enough, this book is without a doubt the most common book that I reference in my everyday life. Having been through a hurricane at sea and been involved in a search and rescue mission of a small boat, it is one of the easiest reference points to explain what those things are like to people. It also gives people a visual glimpse of what Navy life can be like. On top of that, I read this book about drowning out to sea, while I was on a boat... out to sea... in a hurricane... Because I'm a glutton for punishment. (On the other end of the spectrum, I did read the entire book "Enders Game" while on a plane hovering above the planet). From the chapter title "Zero Moment Point" which has worked it's way into my everyday vocabulary to the most accurate description of what it feels like to die by drowning. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I found myself constantly holding my breath while reading that chapter. If you can make it through this book, you will use it forever.

08. Ishmael, By Daniel Quinn

My good friend Josh and I went to the used bookstore one Christmas and bought each other our favorite book for the other to read. I cant remember what I gave him, but he gave me this, and about a year and a half later, while I was taking the train to work everyday I finally found the time to read it. It's an eye opening description of the human race, and really changed the way I look at what I want to accomplish in life, and whats truly important. And it gave me a very valuable ability that can easily go blind: Perspective. And as a bonus it's narrated by an ape!

07. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by JK Rowling

I waited to read the Harry Potter books until the very last one came out. After Steven King pissed me off with that whole Green Mile mini-book-series in the 90's I've stayed away from book series by currently living authors... I don't like waiting. So when it finally came out, I sat down and read all seven of them in the span of two weeks. I think these are some of the finest books ever written, and this last one, was especially sublime.

I have read it over 6 times, but the other thing this book did for me was introduce me to the world of audiobooks. The narrator of the audiobook version is a man named Jim Dale, and he might just be the most amazing Voice-over talent that I've ever heard. He has this natural storytelling ability and British accent that the material calls for, but this man, he has a different voice, and a different accent and different timbre and articulation to every single character in the book that you cant imagine that it's really only one guy. It remains the most amazing book I have ever listened to and if you were ever hesitant about audio-books, start here, this man is my hero!

We never mention this last movie in the series... disgusting abortion that it was... What David Yates was thinking is completely beyond me but he ruined it to a degree that I still cant bring myself to buy the movie. Just so wrong that ending... wrong.

06. And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie

Though I have read and love all of the great mystery writers, this book stands out by far as the very best of the genre. It has murder, intrigue, character, the amazing red herring and supreme justice at it's finest. It remains to this day, the only method that I have ever considered for committing mass murder, but for a righteous reason... The plot seems simple, 10 strangers brought to an island under mysterious circumstances, at the end of the weekend everyone is dead. If the last page or two were missing, you would never know who did it. It is the most perfectly executed mystery novel ever written.

05. Be Now, Buddy What, by Dan Spencer

This book is so simple and subtle in it's story, but the idea that it germinates is very powerful indeed. I find myself at times repeating the mantra's of Buddy What. Buddy What is a man that fell out of the sky, naked, landed on a highway so hard that there was a crater. He was completely unharmed, and he had absolutely no memory of who he was before he fell out of the sky. This is a reflection of the human race, and the cult of fame and personality told by a bitter small town reporter who the rest of the world dubbed Buddy's Buddy. It's a really weird but good story, but the lesson it teaches is so impact-full and moving. I can tell you the punchline now, but you wont get it unless you read the book... Be Now.

04. The Tales of the City Books, by Armisted Maupin  

(Tales of the City, More Tales of the City, Further Tales of the City, Babycakes, Significant Others, Sure of You, Michael Tolliver Lives, Mary Ann in Autumn, The Days of Anna Madrigal)

These books are the reason I moved to San Francisco, and more importantly, they showed me that there were other people like me in the world and that I could have a happy open life. I have loved these books since the first time I shyly, with many glances over my shoulders, bought my first Tales book at a Crown Books Store in Conservative Republican Orange County in '91. It was my first glimpse into a future that I could have, even though it was set in the past. Everything I wanted in my life was represented in those books. The last trilogy have come during a very tumultuous time in my life and they have been about change and loss and leaving San Francisco and I feel that my life is forever linked to those books because for a long time, I got to live my Tales of the City.

03. The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexander Dumas

When I was in the Navy someone wrote out a quote for me which became my all time favorite quote and though I had not read the book that it came from, I quickly resolved too. When I finally came across a copy of The Count, I devoured it, enjoying every morsel of it, and always eagerly looking for the quote that I knew so well. Finally, I found it... there on the last page of the book... of course. I read it, relishing what I know is coming next, and then I stutter... That's not how it starts... Wait... only half of the quote is here?!?!!? Did my friend have it wrong?!?! What the hell? I turn to the front cover of the book and look it over very closely... there under the title, barely visible against the background I find it. Abridged Version. Dammit!!! I throw it down, leave the house, and go find the unabridged version and re-read the entire book and finally, justly, I arrive at the last page and there, in all it's glory, my favorite quote of all time:

"There is no such thing as Happiness nor Unhappiness in this world, there is only the comparison of one state with another. It is necessary to have felt ultimate despair to know ultimate bliss. One must have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live.

Live then and be happy, beloved children of my heart. Never forget, that until the day God deigns to reveal the future to man, the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words: Wait and Hope."

 02. Oh Pure and Radiant Heart, by Lidia Millet

This book stands as the most heartbreaking and brilliant assessment of the human condition that I have ever read. It is the best book that I have read this century, I recommend it every time someone asks for a book.  It is a fictional story that imagines the fathers of the atom bomb inexplicably reappearing modern day and seeing what their life's work has come to. It includes facts about the nuclear programs, modern day pilgrimages, the christian right, money and public conscientiousness.

To top it all off, this book is written with a cadence and rhythm that borders on poetry. The way she turns a phrase and makes the insignificant utterly beautiful is a thing to behold. If I ever went through with it, there are several passages from this book that I would have permanently tattooed on my body, they move me beyond anything I've ever read before. It remains to this day the only book that I have read a review of, put the review down and left the house to buy a copy.

"Choice could be taken away, and then you became an object: but far from being dangerous that moment when choice disappeared was when danger also vanished, and there was nothing you could do but submit... For after all it was not ego or a conviction of your own importance that made life worth living but whether you could see how perfect the world had always been without you. It was not to despair at this though, not to run, not to fear, not to fight; it was if, instead of running or fighting, out of the overwhelming nearness of the world, your could finally make something that could be glimpsed from afar."

If you're actually interested I've written a full review of it: http://wackyonensf.blogspot.com/2009/06/oh-pure-and-radiant-heart.html

01. The Stand, by Steven King

 I make no secret of the fact that Steven King is my all time favorite author, and while I could have populated this list with several of his books (namely IT, The Eyes of the Dragon and 11/22/63), I chose instead to honor him with the number one spot. And while he does deserve it, and many of his books are phenomenal, none have ever come close to feeling more like home than The Stand.

In High School, the first time that we were allowed to pick the book we wanted to do a book report on was Junior Year American Lit. I picked the book my mom had just finished because of how much she creeped my out while talking about it. I was no stranger to Steven King by then, I'd already read Carrie, Salems Lot and several other "scary" books and The Stand was about the flu, so how scary could it be?

I have read that book more than 17 times in my life and I have always said, no one writes characters like Steven King does. Every time I read it is like coming home and seeing old friends. Going on the journey again, knowing that not all will make it out alive and trying to savor what they say. I have loved this book more than any other in my life. I have seen myself in several characters throughout the years and I cry at different parts each time. It's about the end of the world that I wished would happen as a boy who never fit in. And though I have lived a full and happy life, I have always secretly been waiting and keeping ready for the coughing to start and the end to begin.

Honorable Mention: 

To The Friend Who Did Not Save My Life", by Herve Guibert

 This is the one of only two books that I have bought based on the title alone (the other is A Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers). It was eye opening to read about what it was like being treated as an early AIDS patient and what the generation before mine had to endure. It was a hard and important lesson to learn and there was no better way than to read the last words of a dying man.

V for Vendetta, by Steve Moore

 Though I admit, my first exposure to this book was the release of the movie adaptation, I have since gone on to read the source book and have been profoundly moved by it. It captures a people that are completely controlled by their government and police(like we are), who live in fear of terrorists (like we do), who are placated by media and mass consumption (as we are) and yet somehow against all odds, rise up and unite as a people for what is right. It is the best example of both what we have become and what we need to save us in this country.  It is the kind of political art that I find most beautiful.

My Guardian

When I say that I was a difficult boy, people laugh softly and think about how I would bring mirrors with me when I was made to stand in the corner so I could still watch TV. Or how I eventually graduated to handstands and acrobatics in the corner until Mom and Chuck were too amused to stay mad. Or how I would miss the school bus on accident/purpose. They think, come on, you were a cute funny kid who was pretty wacky with your antics. What they don't get is how these antics were a constant barrage on my family, I mean this kind of thing happened almost every single day, sometimes several times a day... I would do something bad every. single. day. I was wild, that kind of out of the box, try everything because I can, no body is going to tell me what to do or how to be kind of wild.

I bit, I kicked (my teacher in the face), I screamed non-stop for hours. I got booted out of multiple preschools and day care's, multiple as in more than twenty. I went to eight different schools between first and eighth grade (and no, we weren't in the military). Many times Mom would come to pick me up because of the trouble I was causing that day and the teacher would lean over to her and say "please don't bring him back here", and then shut the door. A difficult boy. And while my mom was always able to talk me down and have me regain my composure, there was only one person I looked to as my guardian and protector.

From the day Mom brought me home from the hospital he watched me. He's there in the background of countless baby photo's of me. Standing over the crib watching me sleep, laying next to me, hiding under the table with me. From the first day, he knew he had to protect me. That I was his brother, and he was responsible for me. Granted, these are probably more eloquent thoughts than that long ago toddler could articulate, still, somehow he knew that he had to look out for me.

And boy, did he look out for me... The adventures he and I went on are both numerous and legendary, and some may even be documented in police files. And all the while I was wild and out of control, and he was responsible. I never really put it together before today... But my brother spent his entire childhood looking out for me and trying so desperately to keep me out of the trouble I was so bound and determined to get into. I made his childhood difficult.

As we grew up we were two peas in a pod. You couldn't separate us with a crowbar, where ever I was, Josh was. In my memory I was always following Josh. He was older and knew more, and would try things, and go on adventures at the drop of a hat. But in truth it was a lot of Josh following me and watching out for me and telling me "no, dont do that". He was always in charge when it came to me. If he said jump, well... I would giggle, but I would also jump. However, I would do it my way and wheel out the trampoline and spend 5 minutes positioning it, then repositioning it, then finally getting on and giving him an expectant look, like I was ready now and now he could tell me to jump. Like I said, I was difficult and I would only do things my way.

My Mom's favorite example of my difficultness is when it was my turn to clean the dishes. I would fuss for an hour, hem and haw, say "I don't wanna" and such. Loudly disagreeing so no one could hear what they were saying on TV. Then I would go to the kitchen with a stomp and a huff and run a little water and stand in the doorway still watching TV til mom turned around and made me go back in. Then I would clean the easy things, like the cups, and rinse off the plates. My favorite thing to do was to "leave something soaking" because then it would magically get done before the chore was mine again. I was also known to throw silverware that I deemed to difficult to clean into the garbage can and declare "dishes are done!" and run back to my seat in front of the tv.

Josh would clean the dishes I left soaking... and often times he would check the trash and pull out what I had thrown there just to keep the peace for the night and not have Mom and Chuck get mad and punish me. I dont think he ever knew about the broiler on the bottom of the oven though, and it's a damn good thing Mom never used it either... Can plates and silverware get too hot?

Through all my shenanigans and trouble, and trust me when I say I was truly out of control, Josh tried everything he could do to help me and guide me and look out for me. He stood up to anyone who ever said a word against me, he valued my life and safety over everything, even his own. Hell, he even got a broken nose fighting a guy that pushed me. He gave up a happy free childhood to be my constant watcher and protector, and stood by helpless and watched while I self destructed at the age of eleven. I've always felt that he never quite got over that helpless angry feeling, and I've always felt a shameful guilt that by being the boy that I was, as difficult as I was. That he, the good kid, the one that was responsible, the one that did the extremely hard job of being my guardian while still doing everything he was supposed to do, got neglected.

My problems overshadowed his accomplishments. I was always the one who was getting the long conversations from our parents, and he eventually learned to live without them. Mom and Chuck who both worked full time differing schedules spent much of their parenting time trying to correct my behavior, or taking me to therapists or punishing me that there could have been little time left for Josh and the things he wanted from them. He was neglected for being the good son, and for that I will forever be truly sorry. I cant undo it, I can only recognize my part in it and say I'm sorry.

We grew apart after the age of eleven, he discovered baseball and started doing more things that I wasn't interested in. And instead of going to play with him I opted to stay in my room and play with all of our toys. And the distance between us was born.

He continued to watch out for me, and fight people who picked on me, but it was always from a distance. I heard about it later from someone... he never told me about those fights in junior high, when I would bring candy for everyone to school to try and win friends. He would hear those same kids who took my candy talk about me badly in front of him and he would react, usually ending up in the office with bloody knuckles or a bloody nose.

By high school we had pretty much perfected the art of avoiding each other. Freshmen year I was invisible in a freshman class of 1200 students. I was no one. Between freshmen and sophomore year Mom and Chuck finally got married and I decided to take Chucks last name. Partly because I thought it sounded better and partly because I didn't want people to know Josh and I were brothers. I felt abandoned by him. After the breakdown at eleven I never understood why he stopped playing with me and only wanted to play baseball, and I held it against him all through high school.

He was inside with the cool kids, he was popular and good looking and got the leads in all the plays from the very first audition, while I was always relegated to the background or comic relief. I resented him. I considered him an interloper in my chosen craft. Someone who got signed up for drama by accident and decided to stick with it for the easy A. And I resented him because he was so talented at it, and so much better at it than I was. I felt like Salieri to his Mozart, just trying to do the best I could and here comes this new guy and he just blows everyone away. It wasn't fair, I had finally found my passion and stabilizer and he was better at it than I was. Just like he was better at me than everything. And the distance between us grew.

Before high school was out he had moved out of the house and into his own apartment near school. The first time I called him in his new place he said the words that have overshadowed our relationship ever since; "how did you get my number?" He went on with his life and I rarely if ever heard directly from him. I got updates through Mom and a very very rare family dinner happened on the spur of the moment, but by the age of eighteen Josh was gone to me. And the distance grew wider than ever before.

I joined the navy a few years after that in 97 and by that point Josh and I were only talking once or twice a year, usually on holidays. Though something changed in him when I left for boot camp, I think it was the realization that I was finally, for maybe the first time in my life, acting like an adult and doing the responsible thing. He even sent me a few letters in boot camp that I still read from time to time. One of my favorite memories with him happened that December. I was still living in Chicago going to Corpsman A school in the Navy and Josh called me up out of the blue and told me that he was going to Louisville, KY for the holidays but that he had a three hour layover at Chicago's O'hare Airport and he asked me if I wanted to meet for dinner at the airport. I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember meeting my brother for the first time as an adult, and thinking, yeah, you turned out alright, I think we're gonna be alright.

After Chicago I got stationed on a boat in San Diego, just thirty or so miles from Josh's apartment. Of course I didn't get to visit in the first two weeks I was there because I was so busy getting situatied and indoctrinated on the ship, and then we left for a six month deployment. When I got back, Josh and Mel were packing up and moving to Kentucky. And on Christmas day 1998, we had what would be our last Christmas together for ten years.

In the fifteen years that he's been in Louisville I've only seen my brother four times. Once for our high school reunion in 2003, once in 2006 when I was in Chicago for the gay games and took a bus to Louisville for a couple days just to say hi (I mean, I'd gone most of the way across the country already, what was a few hundred more miles). Christmas of 2008 which remains my most cherished Christmas memory. The lot of us, sitting around drinking and giggling non-stop for hours. Our family had come through in the end and we were all together and happy. And lastly in 2010 when he came out to stay with our parents for a month and I busted my ass to get down there and see him before he went back.

I still rarely talk to Josh, he's busy with his own life building a business and constantly following his dream. And for the record, I no longer think of him as an interloper in my craft, he has been constantly working on a play, movie, short film or teaching for the last twenty five years with barely a breath in between. He is a master of his craft. All I ever needed to believe in his talent was to see him on a stage, he's magnificent. He is still far greater than I have ever been and still the ideal role model that I follow.

I think about our childhood often and where I would have ended up if not for such a protective guardian. I would have ended up in prison, or dead the way I was going. But I'm not. I'm a good and decent man, and I hope that he knows how much he had to do with that. I hope he knows how much I have always looked up to him and tried to be like him, because he was always the good one, the best one really. He was and will always be the rock that I crash against and depend on. He is the good son and the best brother because he saved my life by giving up his childhood to watch over me. I'll never be able to pay you back for that sacrifice, Josh, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying.

I love you and Happy 40th birthday my dearest brother, Josh.