my careless contagion

Lately, I listened to some old CDs I used to have. Actually, listened on YouTube. I don't know if I still have them. But one was the Cable Guy soundtrack (they gave them away), as well as the Surge CD. Actually, the Surge CD was two CDs; you were supposed to give one to your friend. Remember the ill-fated soda Surge? They tried to promote it with alternative music. The CDs are still out there. If you search eBay, you can find them for as much as $75. I own two because I didn't have any friends. Oh, and Millennium Hip Hop Party, a collection of 90s hip hop, for, well, partying, which was always a hit (go figure) at the few parties we hosted. These albums are time capsules from a better, more interesting time, about 25 years ago. Speaking of old music ... It's time for my semi-annual posting of One More Day by the Descendents (whom I saw perform in Philadelphia many years ago). This is my Father's Day post. In case it isn't abundantly clear, my father was not a good f...

Father and son package. Inseparable. Neither are anywhere near perfect, but they love each other a lot. Could you make these guys a part of your life? Could you take my hand and teach me — and my son — how a real woman loves and cares for those she loves? Do you have a big heart and beautiful soul? My name is Joshua. That's my son, Isaiah. That picture was taken this summer at the end of a long day of playing. We were both sweaty and tired, and one of us was way past his bedtime (you can see it on his face). My son is almost 6 years old. He's all I have in this world besides God. I'd like to share my life with a nice girl. Are you a nice girl?  First, my son. He's hyper. He's sensitive, too. He's a bit overwhelming. He's loud. He's fun. He's also super bright, but I'm pretty sure he has a learning disability. He may also be on the spectrum. I'm not sure. He is often overstimulated by ordinary things. Someday, someone will tell me what ...

Fishing used to mean a lot to me. I haven't been fishing in years. I'm pretty sure I can no longer tie a knot or pick the right lure or even cast correctly. But I have lots of memories of fishing. My ex-father-in-law was an avid fly fisherman, primarily in the Upper Peninsula. He even wrote a book about his experiences. He tried to teach me how to cast a flyrod. It is a delicate, dancing thing for which I had no patience. I was used to a different kind of fishing, the kind where you don't really catch stuff. No, I'm kidding. I caught my fair share of fish. And, once, I got to meet a guy my brother and I nicknamed "Rock Bass."  The above picture was taken at one of the many lakes in the Black Hills. I mentioned before my first fish was taken at picturesque Sylvan Lake. I'm not sure which lake is in this picture, but you can see the coffee can where I kept my worms. And that green tackle box? I still have it. It has tools in it now, one of ...

I wish my parents had divorced. That may seem like a strange statement, I admit.  This month, my parents marked their 50th wedding anniversary. That's quite a milestone, especially for a relationship so fraught with difficulties.  One thing parents do for their kids is teaching them how something is done. How do you live your life? Chances are you learned most of it from your parents. Parents think their words carry more weight with their children, but the most effective way they teach their kids is by their example.   I don't want to spend a lot of time dwelling on the psychology of why my parents got together in the first place, but I do need to sketch some things out. My parents met in college on a blind date. My dad was a jerk, but he called my mom later and was a different person so she gave him another chance. She thought, erroneously, that because my father was not good enough for her he would treat her well. That seems like a poor dynamic for any re...

Their names are A and B. A is a girl, 13; B is a boy, 8. It's been almost a year and a half since their parents separated. I recall A's mom telling me she overheard her daughter playing and saying something about being from a broken home. This was before the separation. Those words are haunting, and they also foreshadowed the coming sadness.  I don't know the full effect on these children of the separation and divorce of their parents. Surely there had to be signs along the way, clues that they can make sense of now. It's hard for me to try to extrapolate how they're feeling from what little I know about them. What I do know: it's not my world they live in, and I have no right to feel anything toward them. But I feel dead inside when I think of what they've had to go through and what they continue to go through.  There aren't words for what I want to say to them, but I'll try. I know they'll never read this. They'll never know the thous...

I'm the biggest fucking loser on the planet at this moment. As I close the door and step inside, my guts are churning. Just stepping inside tears me up. What should be the easiest thing in the world has become like a knife in my guts. The goodbyes get harder every time.  Little boys shouldn't cry so much. Little boys should be happy-go-lucky, tough as spit, and ready to take on the world. Every car ride shouldn't be so sad. I shouldn't hear him wailing as his mom pulls away. Will this ever get easier? I don't know if I'm making it harder or easier by walking away, but it hurts like hell every time.  Give it time, I hear. Tell him it's okay to be sad. Tell him he can be happy for the time we had together. Call me tonight. We can talk about your day. Oh, hell.  I've lost all. I sit in solitude, and the tears won't even come anymore. I'll schedule my tears for tomorrow when I have tears to give. I'm all out today. I went to sleep cryin...

The author with a full-blown case of the Blatz circa 1978. You can tell when you're talking to a real alcoholic because they'll identify themselves as one, even after going years without drinking. The mechanisms that make them an alcoholic were there before they started drinking, as well. I consider myself an alcoholic who doesn't drink. My father was an alcoholic. Well, he still is. But he stopped drinking many moons ago. It's been said that people use alcohol as an excuse to do and say what they want to do and say; it's okay because they were drunk or buzzed and didn't mean it. It's like kids saying mean things on the playground and then, "Just kidding," making it even worse because why are you crying when I was just kidding? It's a one-two punch. Well, my dad was a womanizer, too. Swore like I've heard no one else swear. In fact, I've never seen anyone get as angry as my father. I thought he was going to kill one of my ...

*My dad had surgery again yesterday. It's his second rotator cuff surgery. It seems like he's always going under the knife. And it seems like any time could be his last. I know none of us really know for sure when we're going to go. But, I will be very sad to see my dad go when it's time. This song reminds me of my relationship with my father. Does my father truly hate me? Ninety-nine percent of the time it seems like it. The other one percent is more like ambivalence. Honestly, he has never understood me, not even when I was a little boy sitting on his lap watching TV. We tend to dislike things we don't understand, and, I guess, I was no exception for my father. As the youngest of three boys, I found my own interests, even though I tried to do just as well as my brothers in things like sports and school. I wasn't the athlete they were, but I was much smarter than either of them. Sadly, my dad never recognized this fact. And, the fact that nothing ever beca...