In Florida

I came to Florida to visit my parents. They’re both getting up there and my Mom isn’t doing well.

She calls it a vacation, this is not what I call a vacation. To me a vacation is going someplace that I want to go, and doing stuff that I want to do. Something like hanging out at the beach, or diving a reef, or wandering through a national park.

Her idea of a vacation is having the TV blaring and shouting over it to have a conversation. Her other idea about vacations is stuffing your face all the damn time. As a rule I eat when I’m hungry but that is not allowed here. I think part of the reason I eat only when I’m hungry is because everyone in the family is pretty obese. I do not want to be obese, so I eat in a way that’s dependent on activity. If I’m very active burning a lot of calories, then I’m hungry.

Sitting around blocking out the noise from a TV at 75% volume screaming to have a conversation as if I’m in a bar is taxing but not overly physical.

I’ve not been able to write because if I go into another room to reduce the volume of the TV, then I’m apparently being antisocial. Truth is, I can’t think clearly with the noise, and my stepfather droning on and on about something that is only obliquely related to a question I asked 25 minutes ago. Typically, the question I asked has not been answered, and I’ve forgotten what I asked in the first place.

That being said, I’ve finally come to realize that he’s always been this way, which is why it was so hard for me to get my homework done, and so hard for me to read my schoolbooks when I was a kid living under their roof. I was one of those kids that hated homework, It was a real effort for me to put in the work because I’m easily distracted. So some of this is absolutely on me, but some of it is on them because they didn’t recognize the problem. 

They were both quick to tell me I was smart so there was no excuse for me getting poor grades. It became a no win situation so getting through school became increasingly difficult because my logic is, “If there’s no possibility to win, playing the game is pointless.”

By the time I got to my middle years in high school I’d stopped asking him or my mom for help or clarification on assignments because it always devolved into some weird conversation that didn’t answer the question I’d asked and left me completely confused. 

This was particularly true in math. Asking if I was doing an algebra equation correctly led to all the ways one could do an algebra equation, and how calculus was better anyway. But because the answer was all over the map, instead of looking at the equation on the page and confirming or correcting my process, I didn’t build up the fundamentals and was never sure if I was right or wrong until I got the quiz back.

All this time, I’ve thought I was simply a moron. This is perhaps why I had very little interest in college. 

If you’ve got kids, I beg you. Answer their questions about their homework in a simple straight line fashion. They don’t need to know about all the ways a problem can be solved, binary theory, or the history of the planet, if they’re asking about (a+b)-a*b.

Just a thought.

At the moment they’re at a doctors appointment. I’ve turned off the TV, am doing my laundry, have taken out the trash, and cleaned the place up a bit. I’ve caught up on e-mail,, text messages, and calculated the costs of my trip out here. It’s amazing what I can accomplish if I’m able to hear myself think.

My parents aren’t bad people, they’re just oblivious. My stepfather is a good guy but very self involved. Everything always has to circle back to him and something he’s done or seen.

So everyone in his sphere is minimized and he’s always the most experienced, most intelligent, most wonderful person in the room.

That’s not really good for children who are trying to build a sense of self worth. Sometimes parents need to step back and just acknowledge their children’s accomplishments without comparing them to their own personal accomplishments. Unfortunately that’s now how I was raised when my stepfather came into the picture.

My sister, and my deceased brother who lived in this house much longer than I did are, (or were,) damaged in similar ways.

Like me, my sister has worked very hard at developing her own sense of self and value. I don’t think my deceased brother ever did. I think he might have tried to fill the hole in his heart with sex, (I still don’t know how many times he was married,) I suspect that part of his fantasy world, and substance abuse may have been him self medicating. I don’t know, we didn’t talk and had very little contact through the years.

When they get back, I’ll not be able to write because as soon as I start writing one or both of my parents will want to have a conversation. That’s reasonable since I’m here for a visit. The problem is that it’s kind of the same conversation over and over again.

I’ll hang out until Halloween because it’s one of the holidays that my mom likes, and it will lend itself to family time, the day after halloween I’m probably going to bail. A week of this is enough and I’d like to see my brother in Northern Florida. I can spend a couple of days with him and be in a more normal environment. Then I need to get back to California before Winter really hits.

There’s so much I haven’t gotten done around the house this year. Maybe I’ll be able to do some of those chores before it gets too cold to do them. Then again, maybe we’ll have a warmer year this Winter. 

Guess that’s one of the perks of Climate Change…

Yes, I’ve been a looter

I and several coworkers were in the San Jose Convention Center during the Loma Prieta Earthquake in 1989. We were presenters at a Technology convention.

Lomaprietaquake

After the quake we picked our way through the roof panels, broken machines, and shattered glass.

Once outside we quickly realized that everything was changed. The public transportation system wasn’t running. There was  small rubble in the roads, on the sidewalks, and some of the streets had cracked. In the distance we could hear sirens and see smoke. Later we learned the damage we picked our way through was nothing like the damage in San Francisco and Oakland but it was enough to make walking interesting.

We were all dressed in business attire. The ladies with me were in high heels and dresses. Standing there I realized that we were going to have to walk back to our hotel and connect with the rest of the folks from our company who were not at the convention center or who had left the center via different exits.

I explained my thought about getting back to the hotel to the ladies with me. After waiting a little while to see if there were others from our company wandering in the crowd, we set off on foot toward the hotel.

Picking our way through the loose rubble it became obvious that the ladies high heels were a problem. About a half mile from the convention center we came upon a shoe store. The windows were broken and there was no-one minding the shop. We entered the store and located sneakers in the proper sizes for the ladies. 

At this point we were technically looters. We’d entered a building without permission, we were actively “stealing”.

Both of the ladies left notes stating the SKU number, size, and description of the sneakers they were taking. Those notes also contained their names, and phone numbers, with a promise of payment. The ladies put in their notes, “Thank you!” We slipped the notes into the locked register drawer and left in peace.

Several hours later we arrived at the hotel to find chaos. The phones were down, the power was down, but the bar was open and the hotel was providing a free buffet of cold cut sandwiches. About an hour later, hotel maintenance was able to rig up a generator that powered the bar television and we got our first look at the damage in San Francisco, Oakland, and San Jose. Later in the night power was restored to the hotel.

A day or two later, when the airports opened, our company flew us home.

Several weeks later, one of the ladies I was traveling with, got a call at her desk. It was the owner of the shoe store. My coworker called me and our other coworker over, then put the owner on her desk speaker phone. The store owner told both ladies that instead of asking for a check, he wanted to let them know he’d framed the notes and hung them behind the cash register. He’d done this because he couldn’t believe someone would do what we did and it gave him hope. 

We asked if the store had been looted further, he told us that the San Jose Police had locked the area down shortly after we’d been there so all of the local shop owners had suffered only minimal losses.

The lesson I learned is that taking something because you need it, and only taking what you need is very different from ransacking and cleaning out a place because you want a bunch of stuff.

According to the letter of the law we were looters. We could have been arrested and charged. We could have been shot and no-one would have thought anything about it.


Flash forward to this time in our history and I’d no more think of doing what we did than think I could fly. 

Fort myers comp

There’s something different in our country today. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like there’s an overwhelming greed coupled with entitlement.

Now days looting is synonymous with stealing stupid stuff and stealing everything from a store. I guess looting has always been synonymous with these things. People don’t understand that just because something is “insured” doesn’t mean there’s no price.

I have a very different view of a mother stealing a can of baby formula or a loaf of bread and can of tuna, than I do people raiding a Best Buy. Yeah you stole a 65” flatscreen but it’s not going to do you any good with the power out. The mother on the other hand is obviously feeding her children.

So you cleaned out a Coach store and stole 50 handbags but what good are they?

I was thinking about these things in the wake of hurricane Ian. 

There are reports of looting in some areas of Florida. The problem is people looting a grocery store to feed hungry children are treated the same as the assholes who clean out a Best Buy. Someone taking one pair of sneakers is treated the same as someone taking 50 pairs.

These are not the same thing. In the moment though, police aren’t going to be able to differentiate the person who’s a criminal out of necessity and the asshole criminal who’s in it due to opportunity, and for greed.

I’d bet that most grocers would hand a mother a can of formula, a loaf of bread and can of tuna and not think about it. That’s serving the community. The grocer would probably be happy to pass out one or two items each, to folks who were orderly and asked nicely.

But when a mob of people breaks in after a disaster, taking entire cases of stuff for themselves with no intention to share, that’s morally wrong and speaks to a selfishness and greed that’s detrimental to the community.

For me personally I always thought there was shared moral code all Americans understood. An almost absolute definition of right and wrong. The past few years have made me question that belief.

I find myself asking what has happened to the country I grew up in. What happened to feeling like you could trust the intentions of others and take their stories at face value? When did we forget that lying is wrong?

I used to stop and help stranded motorists, I used to pick up hitchhikers, I used to buy meals for homeless people or folks that were down on their luck. Now I do none of that. It’s not because I don’t care, it’s because I can no longer tell if someone is really in need, or if someone is trying to play me.

When did we lose our way?

A more important question is, “Can we find our way back?”

I know that looting is going to become a problem in the coming days across Florida. I just hope that the police and everyone else is mindful that, some people are taking only what they need to survive or feed their children, and aren’t too quick to judge.

30 Years

I’ve been a little blue the past few days. I’m not sure why that is.

On the other hand God knows there’s a lot that I could be blue about. Almost all the news is bad. I find myself waiting for the next new atrocity to come out of some country or our own government.

Yesterday was particularly tough. I wasn’t sure why, but the day seemed just harder than usual. To be fair, the day started out with a glorious sunrise. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen. The dog sniffing my face asking, “Are you awake yet?”

I scanned the headlines, pausing to read one of the many articles about the new preponderance of IRS agents. I smiled thinking about my Dad he’d be having a shit fit about it.

Dad really didn’t like the IRS, and apparently the feeling was mutual.

Then it hit me. It was the 30th anniversary of my Dad’s death.

Whoa! I thought I was doing the math wrong. I wasn’t.

I hadn’t really been paying attention to the number of years that had passed, but I wonder if some part of me was acknowledging the anniversary without bringing it to my conscious mind.

30 years ago, by this date it had been a rough couple of months. Little did I know at the time, but things were going to get a lot rougher before some semblance of “normal” would return.

In that moment 30 years ago, I had only what was immediately in front of me. A family that I barely knew telling me how they thought I should do things.

My younger Brother, (who was old enough to carry a gun in the DMZ in Korea and later Desert Storm, but couldn’t buy a beer,) who I was trying to protect at least from the most egregious of the “Helpful” suggestions? Commands? Demands?

My Dad had been through some rough times in the last few years of his life, he was trying to stand up a business doing something that he seemed to love. He’d left the state he grew up in, and moved in with his mother in her home state. I think his plan was to jump start the business and then purchase his own home in a, sort of charming, small town in The South.

I don’t know. He never shared his plans with me. I can say that Dad had reduced his possessions considerably and become a minimalist. Whether that was due to financial need or life choice I also don’t know.

Somewhere along the line, he’d discovered he had cancer and it was too far along for any effective treatment. Perhaps that was part of the drive toward minimalism on his part.

When he died, as the eldest Son, the responsibility for all the “after life” decisions fell to me.

My Brother had been raised by my Dad more so than I. It only seemed right that he should be calling the shots so I gave my Brother as much control as he wanted. I took on the things that were “too much,” given the circumstances, and the role of running interference with the family.

I’d like to think that Dad would have appreciated the arrangement. Especially when he understood my reasoning.

All of this flooded back crashing into my brain. Suddenly, I was reliving it in a way.

I felt terribly alone.

Many times over the past 30 years I’ve wished Dad was around. I’ve wished that I could chat with him, discuss politics, have a drink, go shooting, or get his take on trouble spots in my life. I’d have appreciated his wisdom even if I went my own way. While I wouldn’t have appreciated his knowing grin when going my own way blew up in my face, I’d like to have had the experience.

I suppose I could use a bit of a pep talk from Dad. Over the past 5 years or so, I’ve felt like I’m being kicked and beaten, then kicked again while I’m already on the ground. I’m having a very hard time getting up and wonder, “why bother” often enough that it worries me.

I’m losing the game, and have no more plays. I’m out of clever tricks. Why not just take my ball and go home?

I could really stand to hear, “Son, you’re alright. Rub some dirt on it, walk it off! Get up off your ass, FIGHT! Tear the fucker’s throat out. I’ve got your back.

Encouragement like that would be welcome right about now, just as it was when I was a boy.

Yeah, I’m 60+ but my Dad is still my Dad, and I’m still his Son.

Hmmm… Okay Old Man… Message received. I’m getting up off my ass, give me a minute.

I miss you Dad…