Category: Family

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I love my God Son

I wasn’t planning on blogging today… well not entirely true. I did blog today it’s just that I wasn’t pleased with what I’d written and thought I’d take a breather.

Then I had an encounter with my Godson.

My Godson is just on the cusp of manhood. He’s above the age of being responsible for himself and being able to kill the enemies of our nation, but below the drinking age. (I’ve never been able to figure that one out.)

My Godson picked me, it wasn’t like I held his squalling, squirming, ass at his christening or anything. He simply announced one day about a year or two ago that he considered me his Godfather. I couldn’t back away from that kind of honor, so I owned it.

As the relationship has developed and deepened I’ve come to realize that I really love him very dearly as if he was my own child.

The first time he asked my advice about something. I actually got misty eyed.

I’ve also figured out that when he asks me questions he’s not necessarily taking my word as law, gospel or doing anything except testing and building his own thoughts and opinions based on the answers and opinions of several different people.

He’s a smart cookie. And I’m very proud of him, and our relationship.

Recently, he took me back to a subject that I hadn’t really thought about for a while.

I found myself saying to him;

“Manhood isn’t about sex, any idiot can put his dick in someone. Any moron can make a baby. Manhood is about accepting responsibility for your actions. It’s about doing the RIGHT thing even if it’s not the EASY thing. It’s about taking your lumps when you fuck up. It’s about honor, respect and duty. Men don’t demand respect, men earn respect.”

Then I was misty eyed again.

I explained that some of those words were from a very close friend of mine. Even though that friend is dead, his voice lives on through me.

As I sat to write this, I realized that in fact part of that statement is from my Father,  part is from John, and part is from me.

My Father and John were two “Men”.

I carry no pictures in my wallet. But I do carry their dog tags.

It’s my way of remembering these two men who left indelible marks on my life.

I’m hoping that I can leave as positive an impression on my Godson.

I hope that some day he’s describing manhood to his Son or Sons, adding his Fathers view and his own personal view, and that he gets misty eyed when he remembers he got some of his beliefs from me.

Right now, he’s at that age where he Knows the right thing. He just needs an occasional nudge to remind him that he Knows.

I’m very proud to sometimes be the one that gets to nudge him.

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I am a major prick — Again!

The Other Half comes home last night.

It’s very late. It was after midnight in fact.

The OH was all spun up over some musical conference thing they’d been involved with over the past week.

Mind you I don’t know shit about ancient music, exotic instruments, or ethnic music beyond a bit of Afro-Celt Sound System and perhaps some experimental albums I’ve heard.

What I was doing was watching an interview featuring Charlize Theron that was very interesting. I had in fact stayed up very late to watch this interview. I was also blogging at the same time.

Of course the OH had no idea about this having been gone all day. Or that I was irritated over the ispq silliness.

Or that the satellite box had 10 minutes before the interview show started, changed channels to some Top Model reality rerun and then refused all commands from the remote or front panel. (Had to pull the plug 3 times and the smart card once to get the stupid thing working properly)

I missed the first few minutes of the show but had happily settled in to watch what remained and was trying to follow the twitter feed live too.

My multitasking was at it’s limit when the OH blustered in and started expounding how wonderful the concert with <static> was and how beautiful the <static> was and what wonderful time they had in their jam session playing the <static> and <static><static><static><static><static><static> more <static>

In fairness to me, I did point out that I had no idea what we were talking about several times. I don’t have the lexicon to speak about music at that level and since I had no context I was clueless.

The OH wasn’t listening and wasn’t paying attention.  I realized I wasn’t going to be able to keep up with what I was doing and at the same time be a courteous listener.

So I closed the lid on my laptop and gave the OH my full attention.

What I FAILED to do was slide the mask over my features that disguised my annoyance.

Of course the laptop closing also closed the conversation. Now I’ve hurt the OHs feelings.

I felt terrible, and tired, and just gave up then went to bed in the spare room.

No redemption I was a prick.

I guess I’m better at reading body language. My employment is technical and complicated, on the rare occasion that I discuss my work, if I see someone glazing over I stop and try to move the conversation back to common ground.

The OH has never developed that observation or conversational ability.

But I should be kinder, gentler and mindful that the joy in ones work is important and sharing it with someone you care about is part of having a good relationship.

I’ll do better…

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Today… Three Years Ago a Good Friend Died

For some reason this 3 year mark is having a bit more impact on me than I expected.

In December 1990 John decided to do a photo spread for Male Pictorial. This Picture is from the Feb 1991 edition of  that magazine.

In early June 2008 there was a house fire and I lost every picture I had of John and my copies of that particular issue of the magazine. (Thank god almost everything is out on the internet somewhere.)

On June 26th 2008 I lost my friend John too.

Seeing him in this picture is strange and yet it makes me smile.

I remember the mad scramble that morning to get him out the door for the photo shoot.

He’d flown in the day before, spent the night at my place and we were climbing over each other sharing a bathroom that morning.

He was frazzled and had a terrible case of nerves. It was, after all a nude photo shoot. I remember grabbing his dick and pulling him away from the mirror then kissing him on the cheek and whispering in his ear he was going to be great.  I gave his cock a squeeze and let go. He stood there then smiled and hugged me from behind while I was brushing my teeth. His eyes weren’t worried anymore he just hugged me then moved me away from the sink chuckling.

I remember the rumbling of his chuckle in his chest, the warmth of his body against mine, and laughing when I realized I’d be finishing my teeth at the kitchen sink. I was finishing at he kitchen sink because he’d picked me up, turned and set me in the doorway of the bathroom.

Then he’d commandeered the bathroom mirror again. His eyes were confident and self assured again.

He was great, and himself, he was strong, beautiful, and at the top of his game.

We were like that with each other from almost the moment we met. There was an honesty, playfulness, and genuineness between us. I suppose it was love for each other right from the beginning, like brothers that had never met.

That we became friends was amazing. Our friendship never should have happened.

He became the boyfriend of the first man I ever slept with. By rights we should have been cordial and then never spoken to each other again.

At that point in my life I was having a difficult time with many issues about me. That John was yet another replacement for me… ( I was a miserable bastard and I made others around me just as miserable.) …meant that we should have been enemies at once.

We weren’t enemies. John was the best, he was a great man. He was a Marine. He was also a much better man than I was at the time.

John taught me about duty, responsibility, loyalty, and friendship. It was through him that I ended up being “adopted” by a small group of Marines and while I was not a Marine, these guys treated me like one of their own.

I ended up being their “Go-To” guy. If they were in trouble, needed a ride, had too much to drink or in general just needed to go to ground and cool out for a while. My home was always open to the guys… as was my fridge.

John lived with me for a time. And before you start making assumptions that you shouldn’t. Yes, we were close, yes I loved him and still do. We NEVER fucked, we shared a bed occasionally… it was only for sleep.

He was like a brother. Yeah he was sexy as hell and one night we were both horny and I think we were going to help each other out.

When we kissed in a tongue down your throat way… it felt way too much like incest!  I seem to recall jerking myself off in the bedroom and he did the same in the living room.

After the infamous kiss, we decided that sex wasn’t in the cards for us but our friendship grew to depths I’d never expected or knew I could experience.

Through the years we kept in touch and whenever it was possible we saw each other.

He’s the friend that came up with the saying “A lot of guys just aren’t worth getting the kiddie pool out, mixing the J-Lube, and getting naked.”

I knew John was a kinky FUCK from the kink catalogs that kept showing up in my mail… But that description about the kiddie pool, delivered at dinner with my folks, has always stuck with me.

John had this way of saying the weirdest stuff and getting away with it. I think he could have suggested that nuns and priests in his Parish be issued vibrators with their vows. He could have made the suggestion to The Pope without being excommunicated.

The last Time I saw him was at Christmas 2006 or 2007. I told him how much I loved him then. The hug he gave me said it all.

I suspected that he might have been sick, either HIV or something else. Something seemed off, but John didn’t want to discuss it and I respected his wish.

I just didn’t know how sick or how little time we had left.

In early 2008, I heard from his Sister that he’d been in a hospital in FL.

John hadn’t told me. The hell of it was that I have family in the area and rather than him being alone in a hospital room they would have looked in on him.  My folks liked him and my Mom never failed to make sure he knew he was invited to their house for the holidays.

His Sister called me to let me know that she was moving him back to their home town and that I should probably plan to visit soon.

Then my house burned, and I was so busy dealing with that I couldn’t get away to see him one last time.

I got the word that he’d died one afternoon while I was at work. I was reeling from the fallout of the fire. The news was more than I could take at that moment I started crying in my little cubicle.

That is the first and only time I’ve cried as an adult in a public place.

I’m glad he died at home surrounded by family. I wish I could have been there to hold him and tell him again that I loved him.

In the end, his death was a mercy. In addition to the HIV infection, he’d contracted some strange kind of cancer that destroyed his spine. He was in a lot of pain and due to the pain killing drugs was pretty much out of it.

I love him and remember him as a drop dead handsome man with a heart of gold. I miss him and the world is a little less bright without John in it.

The picture above is from the funeral announcement. I missed the funeral. It was held in his home town, attended mostly by family and his high school friends. At some point when we can all afford it, his sister wants to meet in FL for a memorial service and spread his ashes as sea.

I think John would like that…

I love you buddy, Thank you for loving me back, and for all the adventures, inspiration, and lessons you shared with me.

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And yet again … I’m a Prick!

Well I had my semi annual blow up about the piles of shit stacking up around here.

I don’t say anything and it gets worse.

I do say something and there are hurt feelings… and it gets worse.

I blow a gasket and then there are really hurt feelings. I say shit that I probably mean but really shouldn’t say out loud and the hurt feelings get worse.

Then I start cleaning up the piles O’ shit. And suddenly the creator of the piles is far more interested in dealing with them.

From my perspective I shouldn’t have to blow the gasket in the first place. It’s WELL FUCKING known that I detest the piles of crap everywhere. However that doesn’t stop their creation.

Even now, I see piles “that need to be sorted through” sitting on the counter. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that If I said nothing. SIX FUCKING MONTHS later those “important” papers will be covered in dust still unsorted.

I know I’ll keep pushing. It’s my nature I can’t stop. At least until the counter is clean for a couple of days. It becomes a test of will and in this situation It’s like my will is fueled by the non-compliance.

I’m thinking about it and I’m trying to not keep pushing.

I just don’t know what the hell the best solution is. I can’t be silent and yet I don’t want to deal with the sulking or hurt feelings either.

 

 

 

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I’m such a prick!

I’m an asshole.
I admit it, sometimes I’ll start a fight over the stupidest things.
Here’s the deal, I’m in bed, I’ve just gotten two 80 pound dogs settled and am trying to drift off. Problem is, the lights and noise from the rest of the house. The TV is on in the living room and the canned laugh track is becoming more annoying by the second.
So I ask my much better half to just close the bedroom door for me. I think, no big deal right?
WRONG! “I’m coming to bed in just a few minutes, I just need to finish this little thing.”
The deal is that quite often when I ask for what I think is a simple thing, instead of getting a simple yes OR no I get endless excuses and explanations none of which are adding anything to the conversation, or in this case, going to allow me to freaking go to sleep.
In fact the longer the explanation the more of my brain that gets spun back up to process the incoming information. Which more often than not just pisses me off. Even in daily interactions I hate people telling me how to BUILD a clock when all I wanted was to know the time.
My reactions to these situations don’t help.
The following is not meant as an excuse otherwise I’d be guilty of the shit that I’m bitching about. It’s just a little background.
I’ve been feeling squeezed/compressed lately. There’s a lot of issues, mostly mine, but one of the things that’s bugging me is that I don’t feel like I have a place to work or spread my stuff out in the house that’s not in the living room or across the dining table. I HATE having shit out in the entertaining areas, If someone drops by, I always feel like the place is a pig sty, even if it’ not really that much of a mess. 
I know what some parts of the problem is, the house is too small, we have too much shit, and I’m worried about finding work.
I let this stupid “Baggage” combine and my mouth ran away from my common sense.
I said out loud “I miss my piece of shit one bedroom apartment and living alone.” 
As the words came out of my mouth, I thought FUCK!!!!! Where the hell did that come from?  While that is sometimes a true statement it’s not always the case. Regardless though it’s something I should never have said. Especially not to someone that has my best interests at heart even if I don’t always see it.
I’ve hurt feelings, You can’t take stuff like that back, and Yep! I’m a real asshole.
Now what do I say or do to apologize? Moreover, how many times can I apologize for being in general an Ass before I come home to an empty house?