Our anniversary is today. We’ve been together nearly half our lives. We’ve suffered through deaths and created life. We’ve battled my demons and evolved our relationship. For twenty-two years we’ve been married and though I’m far from a perfect husband, I strive for it.

If I had her gift for writing I’d be able to describe how she’s kept me from drowning with her indestructible positive outlook. How her childlike excitement for a thrift-store purchase reminds me to savor the little things. How her nonsensical words keep me from taking things too serious. Or how her smile doesn’t just brighten rooms, it brightens lives.

Instead I’ll settle for continuing to work to be the perfect husband because quite simply, she deserves it.

GVOYSAO (Gratuitous Video Of Yourself Shucking An Oyster) - Don’t try this at home!

An example of ways I’ve devolped to put myself in danger of bodily harm. (@jaydeflix with the narration)

Each of us has our own personal boundaries and those of us that are socially responsible also recognize the boundaries of the company we keep. Not only did I cross one but blasted right through the other. I knew when I was saying it I had crossed a line but I figured the shock value was worth the price for a good joke. I hope I never make that mistake again.

In the company of a young friend of my son’s, I “fag” in an offhand derogatory fashion. I knew her older brother is gay (hell, I’m likely catering his wedding). I simply wanted the jaw dropping response to my punch line. Not only was it in poor taste, I was the responsible adult around a table full of seventeen year old kids.

The table full of “kids” acted like mature adults and casually moved the conversation along. I should have apologized immediately. I should have made it clear that, at least in my opinion, that word should be in the same boat with the “N” word, retard and the cavalier use of “rape”, slowly sinking at sea.

I don’t think the girl took offense. She’s been back since and we’ve spoken as usual but I owe her a private apology. I also need to make a public apology to people I love and respect. To my good friend who had a sex change operation. To the memories of Joe and Bret who, as a couple, contracted and died of HIV/Aids. They deserve better from a friend.

He loses his temper, screams at his wife and punches the door. He’ll pick a fight with anyone in the bar that looks at him funny. Through it all he sees himself as macho. He thinks this is the way a real man is supposed to behave.

I have news for him. A real man can change his own oil then clean up and cook dinner. He’ll make tea for his wife while she’s out for her daily walk. A real man can talk his way out of a fight while still defending his honor. He treats his wife as an equal and argues fair. A real man can control his temper.

I tell him about my struggles and how I work on being a better man every day. I tell him how humility won’t kill him and being wrong isn’t a failure of character. I explain that taking admitting fault and taking responsibility can diffuse the situation. I also point out it’s a lot of work.

He’s a bright guy. I like him and know he’s ultimately a good person. I just hope he is willing to make the effort. Otherwise, I’m going to have to kick the crap out of him!

Arrg!

(Behind the scenes: The pants are women’s and too small. Held them together with elastic hair ties. Cut the shirt sleeves and sewed the cuffs inside the jacket cuffs. The 3 ear rings are all necklace pendants. The boot cuffs are leather jacket sleeves. Took the easy way out with the sword but the sheath is an  old belt, inverted to hold the sword. And I look fat as hell.)

Joe DiMaggio was once asked why he played so hard, he replied: “Because there is always some kid who may be seeing me for the first time. I owe him my best.”

Some days it’s nearly impossible to get out of bed. I don’t know if it’s just depression or my addictions clawing at me. But every day I get up, I shower and I prepare to perform. No one ever sees my struggle. I smile, I laugh and I give people my best. Some days are harder than others but I have to push through.

I have an ability, I guess you’d call it. I make people feel good about themselves. I feel the need to share it. People, whether I know them yet or not, shouldn’t have to suffer for me. So I bury my self-loathing and personal struggles and I give my best.

Chop Suey as you’ve never quite heard/seen it. 3:00 of pure…??

I shared him with the family minutes after the C-section and cried for the first time I could recall. I slept on the floor in his room for the first few months in fear of SIDS. I woke for the 2am feedings and perfected the swaddle that he loved. I fed him his first solid food covered in a garbage sack. Mom was with him all day but I did what I could when I came home from work.

I read him a bedtime story even if it was Scruffy the Tugboat for the umpteenth time. Eventually, bedtime stories became simply ‘reading at bedtime’ and I took him through the likes of James and the Giant Peach, The Big Friendly Giant and The Hobbit. Reading was the first thing we noted him excel at.

I taught him to fish, throw a ball and shoot a basket but when he made it clear he didn’t have my passion for sports, I didn’t push. When he joined Karate at five, however, I was determined he would see it through. I attended the tournaments and practices and at eleven he became one of the youngest black belts the school had produced.

I asked him to measure a person by what he learned from them and that pre-judging by race, religion or sexual orientation might rob him the opportunity to meet someone wonderful. His friends were always welcome and nearly always at our home. I treated them all the same whether I personally liked them or not.

I talked to him about respect and authority making sure he understood he was to show deference but he also had the right to question and had my support to do so. I never punished him for challenging something as long as his explanation was well reasoned, even if he was in the wrong. He was clear this applied to anyone including teachers.

His education was his responsibility, I explained. The teachers were there to disseminate the information and it was up to him to make sure he understood or asked questions if he didn’t. I volunteered in the classroom and attended every recital, play and ceremony. He always had two parents in attendance.

I never hid I was a recovering addict/alcoholic and shared my own experiences with the hope he and his friends could learn from it. I made it clear how hard my life has been and that my story is not typical. I wanted him to understand that smart choices now would make it far easier. Occasionally I ask “You know why I love you?” and his response is always “Because I’m me.” I wanted him to understand he was his own person and all my shared wisdom and beliefs were simply for him to consider as perspective.

I know my wife is as much, if not more responsible for who he is but I can take pride in being his father. For 18 years I’ve tried to be the father I wish mine had been and I can admit to myself today I was at least a success in that.

Magical

Tasch is the most determined 18 year old kid I’ve ever met. In addition to maintaining his grades as a high school senior, holding down a job at DQ, he’s single handedly insured bands and venues for the Saturday Night Showcase.

It’s typically four to six high school bands from around the area hosted in a venue where friends and fans can attend free of charge. While the bands typically play covers of popular rock songs, occasionally one of the bands has a short set of originals. Tasch’s efforts were brilliantly displayed last weekend at the Langus Riverfront Park in Everett.

The park sits along the Snohomish River and Tasch reserved the primary shelter and the most beautiful evening of the entire summer chose to reward the kids. Fifty or so friends and fans showed, fired up the BBQ and expressed their loyalties. Four bands played. One of the kids took a shot at standup during one of the ‘change-overs’. The other breaks were filled with The Cramps, CCR and Radiohead.

The Wife and I have known many of the kids since middle school. The kids brought us hotdogs and the bands did their thing. It was actually a magical evening. Here are a few shots of the gang.

Let me try this again.

Friday, the Boy and I went to Summer Camp. A concert hosted by @1077TheEnd. 10 bands for $20…spread over 8 1/2 hours. I’m getting old so I only shot pictures of the first four bands from the front row. The Boy, however, was determined and stayed smack in the middle for all 10 bands. He was immensely proud and diligently snapped the rest of the pics I’m posting now.

(Sorry for the cryptic posts prior)