my careless contagion

I know it's weird I'm already posting again, but I wrote the last post a while ago, so now it's not weird, right? Yeah, probably still weird. But I write when I get the urge, and last night, I got the urge, thus, I wrote. Haha. I hate using the word thus. Or thusly. How about the word firstly? Talk about a dog of a word. Haha. Hey, it's my blog. I do what I want. Onward.    Youth Brigade was founded in 1980, and they still tour, and even someone as bad at math as me knows that is a long time for a band, especially a hardcore band, to be around. It may help that three brothers founded it. They also founded Better Youth Organization, and they were always a positive voice for the next generation. I don't recall if they were straight edge, but I always thought of them that way. Loads of respect.    Last Day of the Year was always my December 31 anthem, going back maybe 20 years. When I lived in a college town the lyrics were appropriate because I could see "people ...

The night before kindergarten started, you fell asleep with your hand in mine, beneath your baby blanket that didn't cover your legs, and your head on your "Go," the stuffed helicopter you had since you were a toddler. It felt too much, too soon. Weren't you still my baby boy? It's clear we have you only for a time. You are borrowed. You belong to God, but this time with you is a gift He wants us to have.

The above photo was taken when I was pretty young. I'm the one on the left and my oldest brother is next to me, and then the middle brother on the right. This was taken in the first house we lived in on Minnekahta Ave.  I don't know when my family stopped celebrating major holidays like Easter. I think some of my family still do celebrate. Maybe we stopped after realizing we had a million eggs to eat. I remember eating hardboiled eggs days after Easter, their flesh unnatural colors like pink and blue and green in spots.  This photo is funny for many reasons. I am particularly taken with that egg I'm holding. I'm also half-dressed in what looks like a sort of tutu. My oldest brother is wearing an animal print robe, which no child should ever wear. My brothers look like they are so over decorating those eggs (was it early in the morning?). I look like I want to marry mine.  I recall the little cubes or whatever we dropped into the cups that had the spoons in them...

Dressed up for church. I'm the little one. Every day has a feeling. Sunday is the first day of the week on my calendar. But it always feels like the end. Monday is the beginning of something. Sunday is for saying goodbye to a week. The way Sunday feels has changed over the course of my 42 years. When I was a child, Sunday was for Sunday school and church. My earliest memories of church were of boredom. I often fell asleep during the services. Maybe it was really early in the morning. Maybe the preacher droned on. My mother played piano for our church. (I'm referencing one church, though we went to many over the years.) Her fingers played the notes even as she sat in the pew next to me. I watched her "play" the piano and studied her fingers. I studied my father's fingers, too, though his were harder and hairier.   I'm the little one. No, not the dog! The most exciting thing about Sunday was the Sunday paper, in this case, the Rapid City Journal. T...

Oh, the sanctity of fatherhood, the grandest of manly accomplishments. It's more than just the creation of life, of joining egg and sperm. It's a spiritual journey of sorts and a proclamation of manhood. While many more dollars extol the sacredness of motherhood on Mother's Day, not much is made of Father's Day. What gives? Well, maybe it's because most of us have dads who suck. Why celebrate that shit? I hate my father. I have many reasons. Shall we? My father has no idea who I am. After 41 years, he has no fucking clue. How does a man watch his son grow up (okay, maybe he wasn't around) and not know who he is, what he is made of, his strengths and weaknesses, or anything for that matter? And how am I always wrong, no matter what I say? I'm 41 years old and you're still correcting me? And you wonder why I am silent? When my father learned I was to become a father, his words of wisdom to me were: "Maybe now you'll get your shit togeth...

Recently, I realized I’ve been back in the Black Hills for five years now. Though I was born in the Black Hills, this second time living here has been quite a different experience. When my family moved away from the Hills, I was 10 years old, a far cry from the 36-year-old man who moved here five years ago. Coming back to the Hills was about starting over. I sought a different life as well as a reboot for my marriage. Though I succeeded in living a different kind of life — a life new and challenging — my marriage continued to falter and eventually ended. It’s hard to put into words what happens when a relationship that’s persisted for more than 20 years ends. It’s safe to say I plunged headlong into a vortex of depression, a depression unlike any I’ve ever experienced.  The last five years have not been defined by sadness, though. About four and a half years ago, one of the most amazing things — something I thought would never happen — strode into my life. I became a father....

I always wanted to be a father. I remember working with people who said they wished I had been their dad. Let's face it, dads are in the doghouse these days. So many men have reneged on their responsibilities at home to their wives and children and, most importantly, to God. I thought I could be a good dad. My son sometimes feels like the easiest person in the world to live with. He's smart, vocal, clear about his opinions, and wants to do the right thing. The flipside of that is a monster I cannot even see around. It fills the room and all I can see is that beast staring at me — immobile, resistant, defiant, foul, and hateful.  Parenting is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Doing it alone is even harder. My heart hurts for all the single moms and dads trying to make a living, trying to raise good kids, and trying to have a life (if that's even possible). It is the single most humbling task I've committed myself to. I never go to sleep at night thinking...