I am pregnant.
Now, being a dude, if this statement were literal fact, I would be quite confused and, I suspect, rather wealthy (because of all of the paid talk show appearances). But, I, in this case, is “we” and “we” refers to my lovely Lisa and me. We are pregnant. We are having a boy. We are due on Christmas Eve.
This new journey brings with it a treasure trove of inquiries.
Am I man enough to be a role model for a (my) boy? Where do I get those onesies with Bob Marley on them? Will I ever experience another private moment with Lisa? How do I protect this child in a world where protesters make their point by raiding Carhart stores (MLK would be like “Whaaaaat?”)?
The list of questions and concerns is endless. But, fatherhood allows zero time for doubts. And so, I’ll turn to the two men that I look to when it comes to being man enough for anything: my father and Frank Sinatra.
In Frank’s song “Soliloquy,” he muses on fatherhood.
“I wonder what he’ll think of me, I guess he’ll call me the old man. I guess he’ll think I can lick every other fella’s father. Well, I can.”
I wonder what my son will think of me? I wonder what his face will express the very first time I take this child into my arms? To what lengths will I go for this boy?
My father went halfway around the world for me.
“I bet that he turns out to be the spittin’ image of his dad. But he’ll have more common sense than his puddin’-headed father ever had.”
Into this world comes a child, born of two who are in love. Our combined selves have created this son and our combined selves will shine through. I hope so very much that he gets the best of me. I pray that this little boy has strength enough to overcome, will enough to thrive and courage enough to conquer.
I will do all that I can for him. He will travel. He will listen to amazing music. He will learn from my mistakes and have the freedom to make his own. He will experience, he will thrive and he will know what it is to truly live.
“I gotta get ready before he comes. Gotta make certain that he won’t be dragged up in slums with a lot’a bums like me.”
I do not know what form of man makes for a great father. But I do know what kind of man I am. I am a man who loves my son’s mother completely, without doubt or reservation. I am a man who lives life joyfully and sees adventure in every little moment. I am a man who has crossed borders, strived to make a true difference in the lives of others, experienced pain, regret, joy and fear. I harbor no hatred, no prejudices, no ill will. Is that enough to raise a son? Who knows? We will certainly find out!
On Christmas Eve, my life will change forever. Suddenly, there will be this new and amazing gift, this life, this son. I will hold him and his mother and I will cry.
There, within some random hospital room, our family will become one, life will have a new meaning and my world will dance and burst with joy.
Into this world will come my son. I have felt his movements within her womb and I keenly await his first movements beyond it and all those that follow. No matter his age, his place or his skill, my arms will hold him just as tightly then as they will during that first precious meeting between the two of us.
I hope that his head is full of hair, his eyes mirror his mother’s and he does not mind that his father is a silly bald man, eagerly stumbling through fatherhood.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
And I Have Returned!
Life, my friends, is insane! I love the ride that I am currently on, but it has left little time for my little blog. For that, I am sorry! I see that many new pairs of eyes have stumbled upon my musings. Hopefully they have been enjoyed!
I will be, once again, posting my experiences here. I assure you that I have yet to die!
For now, please accept this piece that I wrote a short while ago from my perch in Guatemala. It extolls the virtues of giving of one's self completely and having the time of your life whilst doing it! Enjoy! (New material is on the way!!)
Have you ever sat alone in your room fantasizing about how your life would be were you the one in charge of it? Did you hope for adventure, a hugely diverse friends group, the need to play hard and live fast and the right to cross borders once denied you? During these fantasies did your heart cry out for freedom, hard, yet meaningful, work and the opportunity to change the world? Do you dream of working your ass off and not getting paid? Well, I’ve got just the thing for you! Volunteering!
The life of a volunteer is harsh. The schedule is insane, the work is exhausting and the breakdowns are always just a moment away. A volunteer’s existence is much like that of a slightly rabid puppy. We bound about, entertaining everyone. Our moods are constantly happy, no matter what surrounds us. Wherever we are, we seem to live on curiosity and risk taking. Sure, we may foam at the mouth a bit, but hey, we’re certainly cute, aren’t we?
A volunteer is a vital cog in so many of the world´s various devices. From those that choose to exploit volunteerism (read “internship”) to the truly great causes of this land, volunteering helps this world go round.
I am currently a volunteer in public relations here at Safe Passage (safepassage.org). Unlike other organizations who ask for thousands of dollars to take advantage of you, Safe Passage asks for only $50. Obviously, one must choose their cause based on a bit more than the cost, but I won’t lie, it certainly helps to have that money in the bank to support this free living, modern hippie lifestyle.
Safe Passage’s goal is to break the cycle of poverty present within the community of the Guatemala City garbage dump. Thousands survive off of that dump. Safe Passage works with the children of those families, ensuring them an education and helping them move on from a future of toiling away in the dump. I can get behind a thing like that. And so I did. In August of 2008 I moved to Guatemala and have been caught up in the rollercoaster life of volunteering ever since. Little did I know that this so called “experience” would be one that would not only change my life forever, but change the way I look at life and at this world of our’s.
For each volunteer here at Safe Passage the experience is different. For each volunteer in general, in fact. Most of us here at Safe Passage are at least 1,000 miles away from home, I am 3,000 miles away. That sort of separation breeds life!
Volunteers are rock stars, that is they live the life of rock stars. Their schedule is the same, sleep encompasses about 4-6 hours of a 24 hour day, maybe less. Work and play make up the remaining hours. To survive working hard one must play hard. Volunteers are pros at separating work from play. During the working hours (here, those hours run from 6AM to 6PM) life is fun, but not inappropriately so. Once we step off of that bus at 6PM, though, the fun begins in earnest. Volunteer parties, nights on the town (in Antigua), love trysts, fast friendships and pure adventure, anything and everything becomes fair game to the life of a volunteer.
One factor rules them all, however and that factor is love. Each and every volunteer at Safe Passage loves their job, loves their kids, loves their team mates and loves their life. They have chosen to become a volunteer and they wear that label with pride. Times get tough, but never tough enough to dampen the spirit of a volunteer. In the end, it is all about the caring, all about the donation of this chunk of our life to the cause that we have chosen to champion. It is all about them, not us.
Yeah, volunteering is good for your resume, it’s good for your psyche and it’s good for your afterlife; but, above all else, it is good for you and the people that you serve. Everyday I feel the affects of what I do for Safe Passage. Every smile, every hug, every tearful visitor who finally gets to witness what we do brings me back to that first moment when I was a tearful visitor wondering if there were any more worthy people on this planet than these volunteers.
Volunteering isn’t a dying art, but it certainly isn’t thriving. Safe Passage is constantly in need of volunteers as are so many other organizations around the world our in your own home town. Will life as a volunteer agree with you? My friend, there is only one way to find out! I pitch Safe Passage because it is what I know, I write this article because I am a freelance journalist trying to support my free living, volunteer self. I gave up a solid career with 3 newspapers and a men’s magazine to come and volunteer and I could not be happier. Give volunteering a try, there’s nothing to be afraid of! 10 months on and I haven’t caught Swine Flu!
For more information on volunteering with Safe Passage, check out their website safepassage.org or email at volunteers@safepassage.org.
I will be, once again, posting my experiences here. I assure you that I have yet to die!
For now, please accept this piece that I wrote a short while ago from my perch in Guatemala. It extolls the virtues of giving of one's self completely and having the time of your life whilst doing it! Enjoy! (New material is on the way!!)
Have you ever sat alone in your room fantasizing about how your life would be were you the one in charge of it? Did you hope for adventure, a hugely diverse friends group, the need to play hard and live fast and the right to cross borders once denied you? During these fantasies did your heart cry out for freedom, hard, yet meaningful, work and the opportunity to change the world? Do you dream of working your ass off and not getting paid? Well, I’ve got just the thing for you! Volunteering!
The life of a volunteer is harsh. The schedule is insane, the work is exhausting and the breakdowns are always just a moment away. A volunteer’s existence is much like that of a slightly rabid puppy. We bound about, entertaining everyone. Our moods are constantly happy, no matter what surrounds us. Wherever we are, we seem to live on curiosity and risk taking. Sure, we may foam at the mouth a bit, but hey, we’re certainly cute, aren’t we?
A volunteer is a vital cog in so many of the world´s various devices. From those that choose to exploit volunteerism (read “internship”) to the truly great causes of this land, volunteering helps this world go round.
I am currently a volunteer in public relations here at Safe Passage (safepassage.org). Unlike other organizations who ask for thousands of dollars to take advantage of you, Safe Passage asks for only $50. Obviously, one must choose their cause based on a bit more than the cost, but I won’t lie, it certainly helps to have that money in the bank to support this free living, modern hippie lifestyle.
Safe Passage’s goal is to break the cycle of poverty present within the community of the Guatemala City garbage dump. Thousands survive off of that dump. Safe Passage works with the children of those families, ensuring them an education and helping them move on from a future of toiling away in the dump. I can get behind a thing like that. And so I did. In August of 2008 I moved to Guatemala and have been caught up in the rollercoaster life of volunteering ever since. Little did I know that this so called “experience” would be one that would not only change my life forever, but change the way I look at life and at this world of our’s.
For each volunteer here at Safe Passage the experience is different. For each volunteer in general, in fact. Most of us here at Safe Passage are at least 1,000 miles away from home, I am 3,000 miles away. That sort of separation breeds life!
Volunteers are rock stars, that is they live the life of rock stars. Their schedule is the same, sleep encompasses about 4-6 hours of a 24 hour day, maybe less. Work and play make up the remaining hours. To survive working hard one must play hard. Volunteers are pros at separating work from play. During the working hours (here, those hours run from 6AM to 6PM) life is fun, but not inappropriately so. Once we step off of that bus at 6PM, though, the fun begins in earnest. Volunteer parties, nights on the town (in Antigua), love trysts, fast friendships and pure adventure, anything and everything becomes fair game to the life of a volunteer.
One factor rules them all, however and that factor is love. Each and every volunteer at Safe Passage loves their job, loves their kids, loves their team mates and loves their life. They have chosen to become a volunteer and they wear that label with pride. Times get tough, but never tough enough to dampen the spirit of a volunteer. In the end, it is all about the caring, all about the donation of this chunk of our life to the cause that we have chosen to champion. It is all about them, not us.
Yeah, volunteering is good for your resume, it’s good for your psyche and it’s good for your afterlife; but, above all else, it is good for you and the people that you serve. Everyday I feel the affects of what I do for Safe Passage. Every smile, every hug, every tearful visitor who finally gets to witness what we do brings me back to that first moment when I was a tearful visitor wondering if there were any more worthy people on this planet than these volunteers.
Volunteering isn’t a dying art, but it certainly isn’t thriving. Safe Passage is constantly in need of volunteers as are so many other organizations around the world our in your own home town. Will life as a volunteer agree with you? My friend, there is only one way to find out! I pitch Safe Passage because it is what I know, I write this article because I am a freelance journalist trying to support my free living, volunteer self. I gave up a solid career with 3 newspapers and a men’s magazine to come and volunteer and I could not be happier. Give volunteering a try, there’s nothing to be afraid of! 10 months on and I haven’t caught Swine Flu!
For more information on volunteering with Safe Passage, check out their website safepassage.org or email at volunteers@safepassage.org.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
An Ode to Culture Shock
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor … or, I guess, rock strewn path, mountainside, whatever.
Yes folks, that bit of Poe-ishness is in celebration of the fact that I have been “home” for about a year now. Is the culture shock finished? For the most part, yes. I still awake in the wee small hours of the morning and have a few moments of “where in the world (literally) am I?”
You see, I moved so many times during my year before living in Guatemala, my almost two years in Guatemala and now my almost one year returned from Guatemala, that my brain has yet to settle into one country, let alone one building!
I do tend to float out of sleep every now and then, completely convinced that I am lying in my bed, just off of the open-air courtyard of my co-expat Valerie’s home. I can smell the tropical breeze, I can taste the earthiness of the air, I can feel the unbridled freedom that accompanies living abroad.
My brain slowly starts to whirl with its own little checklist of what I need to buy from the market; should I chill at the park today? Where will I be lugging my laptop today? Do I need to say a few prayers (because I need to ride the chicken bus)? Whom do I need to meet up with?
Should I make any calls today or should I just disappear into Café No Se’s dark, eccentric, traveler-laden interior and see who I can meet? Or should I disappear into the surrounding mountain towns again; really feel the third world’s jungle close in about me?
Then it hits me. Nope, I’m in my condo or I’m at my amazing girlfriend’s house. Snap out of it, dude.
As the holidays approach, my mind tends to turn to my people abroad. Last year at this time, I was barely a member of these United States again. Thanksgiving crashed down upon me. I sat at a table, surrounded by numerous friends and family, people who had – just days before – been thousands of miles away from me.
In front of me was a plate piled high with food. I could not wrap my head around the abundance going on in front of me. I had went from beans and tortillas for lunch every day (when in Guatemala City) and small portions of exotic street foods and fruits for dinner, to this mammoth plate of meats and starches lying before me.
My mind was spinning. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If the Safe Passage kids could see me now! They’d be like, “Que en la mundo?”
The joy of being “home” was only equaled by the sadness of being non-Guate once again.
Christmas came just as fast as Thanksgiving, it seemed. The lights and trees and abundance of giving brought my mind around just enough to enjoy my most favorite of holidays. But, yet again, there was a layer of sadness present underneath my joy.
Christmas in Guatemala was spent on the ocean, hotter than I’ve ever been, taking long draws off of cold Gallo and peeling the skin off of my freshly caught, perfectly cooked fish. There were gifts, there was a tree, of sorts, there were friends, but there was no familiar Christmas cheer. The Christmas I knew in Guate (along with the Thanksgiving that brought a weird, yet lovely, mix of Italian and Guatemalan fare) was raw, it was completely new and it ended under a barrage of fireworks that filled Antigua’s valley with various colored smoke.
This year, I feel that I am ready for the shenanigans that surround our most treasured of holidays.
Armed with my Bell’s Christmas Ale and fresh off the Turkey Trot stomach, I am supremely prepared for two, yes two, Thanksgiving meals. The Lions better win as they will be my only entertainment in my near coma/paralyzed state.
And, armed with my 3-D glasses and my State Theatre tickets, I am more than prepared for Christmas fun.
That’s right world, I am (mostly) back. This past year has (mostly) healed my mind of culture shock.
Yet, there remains a sadness within me, however slight. I feel it now. It yearns for Guatemala and Toku Bar.
This year, I am thankful to have had something so very amazing in my life that I should pause and miss it so very much.
Feliz comiendo! (Happy eating!)
Yes folks, that bit of Poe-ishness is in celebration of the fact that I have been “home” for about a year now. Is the culture shock finished? For the most part, yes. I still awake in the wee small hours of the morning and have a few moments of “where in the world (literally) am I?”
You see, I moved so many times during my year before living in Guatemala, my almost two years in Guatemala and now my almost one year returned from Guatemala, that my brain has yet to settle into one country, let alone one building!
I do tend to float out of sleep every now and then, completely convinced that I am lying in my bed, just off of the open-air courtyard of my co-expat Valerie’s home. I can smell the tropical breeze, I can taste the earthiness of the air, I can feel the unbridled freedom that accompanies living abroad.
My brain slowly starts to whirl with its own little checklist of what I need to buy from the market; should I chill at the park today? Where will I be lugging my laptop today? Do I need to say a few prayers (because I need to ride the chicken bus)? Whom do I need to meet up with?
Should I make any calls today or should I just disappear into Café No Se’s dark, eccentric, traveler-laden interior and see who I can meet? Or should I disappear into the surrounding mountain towns again; really feel the third world’s jungle close in about me?
Then it hits me. Nope, I’m in my condo or I’m at my amazing girlfriend’s house. Snap out of it, dude.
As the holidays approach, my mind tends to turn to my people abroad. Last year at this time, I was barely a member of these United States again. Thanksgiving crashed down upon me. I sat at a table, surrounded by numerous friends and family, people who had – just days before – been thousands of miles away from me.
In front of me was a plate piled high with food. I could not wrap my head around the abundance going on in front of me. I had went from beans and tortillas for lunch every day (when in Guatemala City) and small portions of exotic street foods and fruits for dinner, to this mammoth plate of meats and starches lying before me.
My mind was spinning. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If the Safe Passage kids could see me now! They’d be like, “Que en la mundo?”
The joy of being “home” was only equaled by the sadness of being non-Guate once again.
Christmas came just as fast as Thanksgiving, it seemed. The lights and trees and abundance of giving brought my mind around just enough to enjoy my most favorite of holidays. But, yet again, there was a layer of sadness present underneath my joy.
Christmas in Guatemala was spent on the ocean, hotter than I’ve ever been, taking long draws off of cold Gallo and peeling the skin off of my freshly caught, perfectly cooked fish. There were gifts, there was a tree, of sorts, there were friends, but there was no familiar Christmas cheer. The Christmas I knew in Guate (along with the Thanksgiving that brought a weird, yet lovely, mix of Italian and Guatemalan fare) was raw, it was completely new and it ended under a barrage of fireworks that filled Antigua’s valley with various colored smoke.
This year, I feel that I am ready for the shenanigans that surround our most treasured of holidays.
Armed with my Bell’s Christmas Ale and fresh off the Turkey Trot stomach, I am supremely prepared for two, yes two, Thanksgiving meals. The Lions better win as they will be my only entertainment in my near coma/paralyzed state.
And, armed with my 3-D glasses and my State Theatre tickets, I am more than prepared for Christmas fun.
That’s right world, I am (mostly) back. This past year has (mostly) healed my mind of culture shock.
Yet, there remains a sadness within me, however slight. I feel it now. It yearns for Guatemala and Toku Bar.
This year, I am thankful to have had something so very amazing in my life that I should pause and miss it so very much.
Feliz comiendo! (Happy eating!)
Life in the Pilot's Seat
I sit on an island. A humid, hot breeze carries with it the smell of the sea. I am perched on top of a barstool while a palm leaf ceiling fan buzzes quietly overhead. The breeze rustles the tiki bar’s once living roof and the bartender pops the cap off of my second Key West lager.
On my right side, clad in sundress and shades, sits a beautiful girl. Her name is Lisa and I am in love with her. On my left side sits a man of 50, balding (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and very, very drunk. I am not in love with him.
He tells Lisa and me about life; its ups and downs, its twists and turns. He tells of his experiences in the cockpit and bedroom and how nothing in life can be lived without the wisdom of both arenas. He bounces on his stool, full of enthusiasm and hate for his ex-wife. He flails wildly as he remembers his youth and attempts, daily, to recreate it.
He is a severely wasted pilot in a tiki bar on some small Key nestled in the middle of the Florida Keys. and Lisa and I have just happened to stop by for some conch and a beer.
His wisdom runs the gamut, from tailwinds to headwinds; he sings a drunken tune of life. He is the perfect fixture on this Keys trip and I am in awe of the fact that I have FINALLY been dropped into the middle of a Jimmy Buffett song.
As the conch fritters crunch between my teeth, I soak in the wisdom of this hapless Joe. Lisa looks at me and smiles a knowing smile, trying her best not to laugh at the poor kid’s antics. I am not worried, so I smile back. If this silly pirate says anything crass to my lovely Lisa, I know that she’ll knock him off of his barstool with one quick jab. She certainly is my kind of girl.
The pilot is crass, of that there is no doubt. His stories are oftentimes cringe-worthy, but he leaves well enough alone with present company, a fact I rather regret, as a picture of my Lisa knocking someone out would fit quite well on Facebook.
Slowly but surely, the man’s talk tames and true-life lessons emerge. He talks of never wanting to be a father, how he hated kids and loathed anything that would keep him tied to one place and person.
Yet, now that he has his daughter, he is completely wrapped around her finger; he would die for her, he loves her more than he ever thought possible. Even though his feelings for the woman who helped bring his daughter into the world are a bit less than love, he can’t help but love the fact that they met, he says. For without that, there would be no her. Continued...
He speaks of the freedom of the open sky and the constant bite of the travel bug. He talks of times gone by; near misses, full crashes and opportunities grabbed and lived. He talks for the entire time that Lisa and I sit with him.
Just as I throw back the remainder of my last beer, one that he bought for me, I find his arm suddenly around my shoulder.
“We’re both a couple of ugly bald guys,” says the aged aviator. “Life happens fast and love comes and goes. She’s way too pretty to be with you. You better marry her. Hold onto her and marry her.”
As Lisa comes to the laughing defense of my looks and we walk back to the Prius to continue our journey to Key West, I think on this parting shot.
I climb into the driver’s seat, a seat I constantly occupy in my own life (figuratively speaking). I look at Lisa and I know the flier is right. Life does come at you fast. Eat conch, absorb sun and marry above your bracket … especially when she is this utterly amazing.
On my right side, clad in sundress and shades, sits a beautiful girl. Her name is Lisa and I am in love with her. On my left side sits a man of 50, balding (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and very, very drunk. I am not in love with him.
He tells Lisa and me about life; its ups and downs, its twists and turns. He tells of his experiences in the cockpit and bedroom and how nothing in life can be lived without the wisdom of both arenas. He bounces on his stool, full of enthusiasm and hate for his ex-wife. He flails wildly as he remembers his youth and attempts, daily, to recreate it.
He is a severely wasted pilot in a tiki bar on some small Key nestled in the middle of the Florida Keys. and Lisa and I have just happened to stop by for some conch and a beer.
His wisdom runs the gamut, from tailwinds to headwinds; he sings a drunken tune of life. He is the perfect fixture on this Keys trip and I am in awe of the fact that I have FINALLY been dropped into the middle of a Jimmy Buffett song.
As the conch fritters crunch between my teeth, I soak in the wisdom of this hapless Joe. Lisa looks at me and smiles a knowing smile, trying her best not to laugh at the poor kid’s antics. I am not worried, so I smile back. If this silly pirate says anything crass to my lovely Lisa, I know that she’ll knock him off of his barstool with one quick jab. She certainly is my kind of girl.
The pilot is crass, of that there is no doubt. His stories are oftentimes cringe-worthy, but he leaves well enough alone with present company, a fact I rather regret, as a picture of my Lisa knocking someone out would fit quite well on Facebook.
Slowly but surely, the man’s talk tames and true-life lessons emerge. He talks of never wanting to be a father, how he hated kids and loathed anything that would keep him tied to one place and person.
Yet, now that he has his daughter, he is completely wrapped around her finger; he would die for her, he loves her more than he ever thought possible. Even though his feelings for the woman who helped bring his daughter into the world are a bit less than love, he can’t help but love the fact that they met, he says. For without that, there would be no her. Continued...
He speaks of the freedom of the open sky and the constant bite of the travel bug. He talks of times gone by; near misses, full crashes and opportunities grabbed and lived. He talks for the entire time that Lisa and I sit with him.
Just as I throw back the remainder of my last beer, one that he bought for me, I find his arm suddenly around my shoulder.
“We’re both a couple of ugly bald guys,” says the aged aviator. “Life happens fast and love comes and goes. She’s way too pretty to be with you. You better marry her. Hold onto her and marry her.”
As Lisa comes to the laughing defense of my looks and we walk back to the Prius to continue our journey to Key West, I think on this parting shot.
I climb into the driver’s seat, a seat I constantly occupy in my own life (figuratively speaking). I look at Lisa and I know the flier is right. Life does come at you fast. Eat conch, absorb sun and marry above your bracket … especially when she is this utterly amazing.
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