Baba Yaga
Is it sick that I only get the inspiration to write when I’m sad? I’ve been wanting to put pen to pad for a while now but didn’t have any source material from which to draw. Now if this sad thing is true, then that means I’ve been relatively happy. Is it better to be happy and boring or sad and creative?
Just finished up the worst season of my head coaching career, and you know what, I’m not that miserable. In years past, I would normally be one step away from harakiri. Don’t get me wrong, it really sucked, but it wasn’t life ending sucked. It was a giant mix of putting my laundry away sucked, cleaning up dog shit sucked, and you couldn’t wait to get home but someone ate the leftovers you were craving sucked.
Why wasn’t it Thanos snaps his finger sucked? (You know what’s another level of sucked?! The meal, service, and price at Mesa St. Grill. IYKYK). I have the best people. Miles is, well, better than any person I’ve ever met. My friends got me, got me. My girlfriend is an angel and thinks the world of my raggedy ass. My coworkers, the ones I fuck with anyway, are super supportive and appreciate the never ending work we all do together.
But my happy makes me uneasy. I’m in my bag when I’m in my dark place. I coached my ass off when my marriage was falling apart. I’m in my best shape during breakups. The shows, movies, and music I love are twisted. Where does motivation come from if not from hurt feelings? Am I going to lose my edge because of this new peace? And another thing, honestly, I like being angry.
Maybe I should take a scene out of Michael Jordan’s The Last Dance and find something trivial to take personally. With the nonsense that I deal with on the daily, it would be really easy. Growth? Transcendence? Stay above the bullshit? Nope. New Year, Old Me. Let’s. Fucking. Go.
Adore
Miles told me that he was going to get a tattoo. I reacted just like my mom would have.
“Why?”
He responded just like I would have.
“Because I want one.”
There was a back and forth with me trying to guide him and he letting me know that he already entertained all of the possibilities and that he knew what he was doing. The next day, he had already made an appointment and given the artist a deposit.
Fast forward to today. His appointment was at 2. My girlfriend, Taylor, and I decided to go bar hopping. Not much hopping involved as we ended up just staying at our first stop. The big soccer game was on which meant no jukebox access. I had some bangers lined up. I can’t drink and not have music playing. Doofy soccer fans smh. We had some sporadic convos with our server, Steph, but we just people-watched mostly.
The game ended and we were a few drinks in. First song? The Weekend remix by SZA and Calvin Harris. I invited my boy, Drew, to join us. I texted Miles to ask how everything was going.
“How is it?”
“Almost done.”
“We’re at HQ. Come through.”
“Got you.”
Drew arrived. We caught up on work and the wild weekend he had. The door opened and the sunlight flirted with my line of sight. It was Miles. He went around the table and said what’s up to Drew and Taylor. He walked over to me.
My first question. “Did it hurt?”
He smirked. “Yeah man.”
I giggled.
Everyone asked to see it. It was Korean writing and a tapestry wrapped around it. Taylor and Drew asked, “What is it?”
Miles worked his way toward the empty bar stool. “It says Leigh.”
I thought he was being a smartass. “Shut up. What is it really?”
He sat down and looked me in my eyes. “It says Leigh. What makes you think I’m lying.”
I changed the subject to keep myself from tearing up.
Last Action Hero
I always wanted to go skydiving. It was the final test and one I had not yet taken. Something held me back. My kids. They’re older now so I don’t have the fear of them losing their father to some doofy mishap. That is definitely not the story for them to have to tell when asked about their parents.
“What is your dad like?”
“He passed away.”
“I’m so sorry. Do you mind if I ask how?”
“When I was still in the womb, he went skydiving. His parachute didn’t open, so he plummeted to the ground at a high rate of speed and bounced off the ground like a basketball.”
“What?! Really?!”
“Yes really. A Black man skydiving…wtf?!”
“Damn. Wtf. My condolences.”
I was deathly afraid of heights as a kid. My G ass Korean mother would go up on the roof in the summers to clean up and connect our air conditioner. I’d slowly climb the ladder step by step to help. The problem wasn’t going up. It was always finding my way down. I hated that feeling. Being afraid. As afraid as I was, I made it a point to work my way through it.
Roller coasters. That was my first step. It began at the local carnival. There was one that would come twice a year to Northgate Mall (that’s how old I am. It was called Northgate mall then.). From the carnival to Western Playland. The famed El Bandito. The largest roller coaster I had ever seen to that point. Eyes closed and fists clinched, I suffered through it.
My last level to conquer…The Colossus at Six Flags in California. At the time, it was one of the biggest roller coasters in the country. The line was long which only heightened the suspense. As we were seated and the safety bar lowered, the ride operater gave us our “last rites.” Basically if something happens, it’s your dumbass fault. The cart (it’s actually called a roller coaster train. I just looked it up) walked up the track in the same way I trudged up the ladder those summers. My teeth were as tight as that one friend’s wallet when it’s time for the next round. The cart climbed…click, click, click. It stopped. I don’t know how long it was but it felt like the running time of Titanic. No Godly reason why but I opened my eyes.
We were at the top of the lift hill (the name of the peak…I looked that up too.) We had to have been a mile up. I was frozen. And then…we plunged toward the depths of hell at Top Gun 2 speed. I felt like my cheeks were going to peel off my face. Insert Tom Cruise visual. As dramatic as all of that was, it was over in a finger snap. My heart was beating through my chest. For about 45 seconds, I controlled my fear of heights. And my pants were dry so there’s that.
2pm in El Paso
I’m dying. Not really, but kind of. How soon? Who knows. It’ll be sooner than later. I hadn’t had a check up in years. I never get sick so why would I? Well I’m older now and something told me make an appointment. So I did.
I had a little window of opportunity to bounce from work. They finally put The Water Dance by DJ Flexxx on Apple Music so my shoulders were doing their thing on the way to the doctor’s office. I checked in and as I was filling out the paperwork, I got called in. That’s never happened! I’m usually in the waiting room for an hour, then called into the smaller waiting room where I would usually wait for an hour, until finally getting called into the room to get seen by the doctor, an hour later. The nurse took my height and weight as I completed the forms. She then took me into a room and sat me down. She asked me to lift up my sleeve to take my blood pressure.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes ma’am. Why do you ask?”
“It’s high. Like really high. I’m going to come back in 5 minutes to do it again.”
She left and came back. My thoughts were a little wonky at that point.
“Okay, let’s try it again.”
“Better?”
“A little but it’s still high. Have you been stressed, getting headaches, blurry vision?”
“Nope. I feel like I always feel.”
“The doctor will see you shortly.”
Well damn. That’s not what I was expecting. I was just telling all of you how free I’ve been since my mother lifted my overthinking away as she joined the angels. The kids have grown up and are out of the house now. My diet isn’t the greatest but it isn’t terrible either. I work out…sometimes. This new job and position have been daunting, but I thought I was handling it all relatively well.
The doctor asked me to purchase my own blood pressure monitor and log the readings every day for the next two weeks. They drew six viles of blood for the battery of tests they were going to run. Man…
The ride back to work had a different feel. No Water Dance. 070 Shake conducted the tunes. The shoulders were still.
Moms had high blood pressure. She had two big strokes, the second one took her. After the first one, her doctor told us that her brain scan showed that she had hundreds of mini strokes over the years which she thought were just headaches. Moms was a tough, tough lady.
And now here I am. I guess I have to make some changes. I’m not scared to die. I still have a full head of hair, more grays than before but still full. My life insurance will set Asia and Miles up comfortably. I’ve done most of the things. Want to spend some more time with my kids, visit Iceland with Miles, watch my grandson play, dance with my nieces, cook up for my boys a few more times, do a dj set one night. Nova and Bo need me. I still have work to do too. I haven’t hit my stride yet as a head coach. I’ve got some fire shit in the tuck. Just wait.
Changes…getting old is a mean maiden. Something told me to get checked. Maybe it was Moms. Always looking out. I have things to do. I’ll make time.
Progress Report
September 13th, 2023. It’s my birthday. I’m 47. Today…I’m Asia’s and Miles’ father. I’m Kingston’s grandpa. I’m Cathy and George’s brother. I’m Charlotte and Carolynn’s uncle. I’m Ok Hui’s and Joseph’s son. (I miss my mom. Still think about my dad.) I’m an ex husband. (Still feel like I failed at times.) I’m a teacher and a coach. A damn good one. I’m my friends’ friend. A damn good one. Still hoping to add value and prove my worth. I’m still striving to find the answers. I’m still angry, still sad sometimes, but I’m happy more often than not. I have a long way to go, but I handle things better than I ever have. Far from satisfied, I’m ready for it. Today…
For Eden
It isn’t David’s way, so I may be off for sharing this. I apologize if I am.
I was at a function prepping for the all star game when I got a text. “Please tell me what happened. And please tell me what they need. I am so in shock.”
“What are you talking about?”
“And so sad and I know you have to be too... Shit …Call David please. He needs you right now.”
“I just heard Eden died this morning. No one knows and they don’t want people knowing but I need to do something to help.”
“And I know how close you were. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted you.”
I’ve never understood funerals. The funerals themselves and everything that leads up to and follows them. Really opened my eyes when I was ten going through the whole production of my dad’s. I watched my best friend, my brother, memorialize his wife, the mother of his children, my sister-in-law. He did all of the things that people never see behind the scenes. The medical stuff, the law stuff, and the funeral home stuff. I watched him field countless phone calls, text messages, and pop ins. I watched him curate pictures, videos, and music to present a celebration of her life. I watched him stand for hours and smile, entertain, and comfort person after person. I watched him do all of this while trying to shield his children from this inexplicable loss and mourn the love of his life. I watched how everyone was focused on themselves and not my friend.
“What happened?” Why do people ask? Does it matter? It’s okay to fall back and it’s okay to shut the fuck up. Fuck intention. It’s about execution. How do we show up for people? What does that look like? It isn’t the charade of what happens during a funeral. It’s what happens long before and long after. Someone I trust once told me that I’m really protective of my friends. Maybe, but I mean isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?
Tyson walked in as I was finishing up. I looked outside into the parking lot and saw her Tahoe. I walked over to the driver’s side and Eden gave me the look she always gave me. Half smirk, more smile. She lowered the window to the back where Tatum and Tre were climbing over the seats completely oblivious to me standing there.
“Say hello to Uncle Leigh and give him hugs.”
They ran over and said hello and gave me a hug as briefly as possible and went right back to what they were doing. They love me but they had an elaborate, imaginary 6 year old scenario to tend to. You know how kids do.
Eden stepped out and gave me a hug. Her hugs were legendary. The best combination of comfort, security, and love. Definitely on the Mount Rushmore of hugs.
We caught up a bit then stepped into the deep stuff.
“How are you Eden?”
“I’m okay.”
“Don’t give me the brush off answer. How are you doing?”
She started to tear up.
“All good according to my last check up…but I’m not the same. It’s difficult for me to eat. It’s gross. And my eye is all fucked up.”
“Stop it. You’re beautiful. Always will be. Now fix your face. The kids don’t need to see you crying.”
She laughed. “You’re so raggedy.”
She then went on…
“You need to come over more often. I know you’re super busy during football season, but you can make time once a week to have dinner with us. The kids need their uncle and David needs his brother.”
“You know I hate eating in front of people.”
“We’re not people. We’re family.”
“As soon as the season is over. I’ll make time.”
We gave each other a big hug and I drove off while she waited for Tyson to finish up.
David asked me to put together a playlist for the memorial.
“You’ve always had a good feel for this kind of thing. Just make sure it has this song. It’s by The Beach Boys.”
“I already know the song.”
“Are you sure? What’s the name of the song?”
“God Only Knows.”
“How did you know?”
“Because it sounds like Eden.”
Who we are is how we will be remembered. Eden and I went way back. I was there at the beginning. Their first date. The very beginning through everything in between. Eden was cool and funny. She was tough and dorky. She was warm and beautiful. Man…she glowed. No hyperbole whatsoever. She really lit up the room. I will forever remember her that way.
That One Summer
Thursday, July 7th, 2022. It was here. The premiere of Thor: Love and Thunder. Was I that excited? Am I that much of a Thor stan that it inspired me to write? No. It brought on quite a different feeling actually. I was downcast. It was the first Marvel movie that we hadn’t watched together on opening weekend.
Tuesday, June 7th, 2022. Graduation night. We all stood around waiting for him to make his way toward us. Us being me, Asia, my sister and her family, my brother, my ex wife and her family, and his girlfriend and her family. While we were waiting, one of our football manager’s parents approached me. They went on to speak highly of Miles as he and their son had become good friends over the year. They thanked me as I was also their son’s English teacher. They finished with appreciation…of the way everything had fallen into place during a very special season.
“Watching all of the boys…Those Friday nights were so much fun. You know one of the things that we’ll miss the most? You and Miles standing next to each other.”
Yeah, me too.
5:30 am, Monday, June 20, 2022. Miles wanted to spend some time in the Valley with his girl and his friends before he had to report to college. I had already been up for a few hours. I don’t sleep much, but I was especially uneasy that night. He had packed his car the night before, so all he had to do was wash up that morning.
“All right Dad, I’m leaving.”
From my bedroom to the front door…Longest walk of my life. We hugged each other. I didn’t want to let go, but I didn’t want his shoulder to get wet either. I couldn’t hold back the tears; the dam broke.
“I love you. Be careful and text me.”
I was barely audible. I turned away. Tears, snot, whale sounds…all of that shit. It was the ugliest of ugly cries. I stood in the doorway as he drove off.
Convos
Her: “What do you think it is?”
Me: “90 percent. I have this 90 percent thing. It’s pretty harsh, but we can get into that later.”
Me: “What do you think it is?”
Her: “We don’t really invest in each other anymore.”
Me: “Explain.”
Her: “When I grew up, I knew all of the people who lived around me. Not only did I know them, but our entire families knew each other. We spent time together. Backyard cookouts, birthday parties, school dances…two of my neighbors are actually the godparents of my kids.”
Me: “Wow. I didn’t know, or even care to know, any of my neighbors’ names.”
Her: “You see. That’s what I mean. Investment can’t happen without communication and meaningful communication can’t really happen without investment. They’re tied together.”
Still King of All the Wild Things
I didn’t want it to end. Last game of his school career. Last game that we get to spend together. Last game of the best years of my life. Tears welled up in my eyes.
My mom watched him while I was at work. Asia was already in school at that point so it was just Grandma Ok Hui and the monster. I knew he was going to be fast when he started crawling. The boy could scoot. I would turn my head and he was out. All you could see was a whirlwind of his diaper covered butt, tiny knees and feet, and a bottle full of milk hanging from his mouth. I’d chase him and then you’d hear giggles and panting. The giggles were his. The panting was mine.
As he got older, we had a routine everyday. He would wait for me to get home. He could hear my car pulling up in my mom’s driveway. I could see him peeking but I never let him know. I would walk into the house and yell out to my mom. “Hey Ma, where’s Miles?” My mom had these sheer curtains that covered the long vertical windows that hugged the front door. Behind those sheer curtains was Miles attempting to hide. Ignore the fact that the curtains were translucent, tiny bare feet could be seen like Scooby and Shaggy’s. I’d get closer still calling out for Miles. “He must have run away. I better go.” More giggles. One more step. I’d rush him, throw him up in the air, hug and kiss him. From picking him up because he wanted to go “upee”, laughing at fake farts, motorboating his stomach because it was “tummy time”, making him watch old favorites like Godzilla or The Last Dragon, telling him about the glory of back in the day, or talking trash on the sticks playing Mortal Kombat…We’re as close as close can be.
Fast forward…To this day, people in general, but more specifically my students are afraid of me. My classroom stays quiet. I don’t know where it falls as far as decibel levels but it’s in the vicinity of a church, a library, or maybe a morgue. Everyday at 11:45, that silence was broken by little feet turning over followed by giggles and panting. The door opens. My desk is in the back corner of the room. Miles runs in to give me a hug with art projects in his hand and a sly smile on his face. He was enrolled in the CDL program here at Franklin High School at the time. It’s a preschool environment where the high school students work with kids ages 4-5 under the supervision of a teacher who directed the curriculum. It ran from 8:15-11:30 and the kids were to be picked up by 11:40. I made an arrangement with Mrs. Pedraza and Ms. Yost, the CDL teachers, to have one of their students walk Miles to my portable because my English class didn’t end until noon. Walk Miles never happened. He would haul ass from CDL to the ramp of my portable leaving the student teacher scrambling and frazzled trying to keep up. The giggles were his. The panting was theirs.
They stood no chance of catching him. He had years of honing his elusiveness running away from me at home. Grabbing a hold of Miles is like trying to catch a fish with bare hands while running on ice. You better bring a gang and check your ego at the door...he always makes the first person miss and he always lets you know about it.
The student teachers would come in and apologize. I assured them that there was no need to. My students couldn’t wait for him to come in. As afraid as they were of me, Miles was quite the opposite. Once he came in, he would immediately dig in my desk drawer for the snack that I would bring for him. He would then go to the front of my class, snack in hand, to the chalkboard and proceed to draw a picture of himself being some radiating giant, buff, Goku-like figure and me as some tiny, little man. (That continues by the way.) His back was always to me in order to cover up my view. Then the dramatic reveal. The students in class would snicker and look back to see my reaction. He was in stitches the whole time and fed off their energy. They loved him and were absolutely smitten being able to see that side of me.
My conference period was right after lunch so it worked out well. Other than that block of time in the morning, he was with me the rest of the day. My conference led to our major sports period for football. Never bored and always glued to whatever we were working on, Miles was right there with me. He would ask me a thousand questions...the what, but more importantly the how and the why of everything. During water breaks, he’d snatch a ball from the quarterbacks and we played catch. His face when I made errant throws was meme worthy. The players engaged and connected with him as often as they could. He was one of them in his eyes. They didn’t know it but those daily interactions were priceless. They helped instill a confidence that shaped who he was becoming.
Confidence he had. Miles was infatuated with superheroes. As soon as we came home after work and practice, he would immediately run into his room to change clothes. A few minutes would pass and his bedroom door would fly open. Smoke rose and Miles came out as Spiderman, Wolverine, The Hulk, Batman, or a combination of them all. Okay, there was no smoke but that’s how I see it in my head. He had the costumes from Halloweens past, but to him, they weren’t costumes. They were uniforms. He ran down the hallway like he was called into battle, jumped from the sofa, he punched and kicked me as I walked by. He also lied on his stomach to color, snacked at his little table in front of the television, and napped in that day’s costume. Absolute bad ass.
When he turned 5, Miles bugged me everyday to put him in little league football. I didn’t. I wasn’t worried about him getting hurt. It was all about why he wanted to play. It couldn’t be because I was a football coach or because I played or some other association of thinking that was a way to earn my appreciation. I loved him from the moment he was conceived and football had nothing to do with it. He played flag football that year. He had fun, but he wanted the real thing. Fully padded and full contact. He was relentless. I kept him waiting just to be sure...until he was 6.
Miles loved the game. He loved the details and he loved the work. While most of our high school players began their summer workouts in the summer before their freshman year, he started in kindergarten. He got up with me everyday and went through all the drills with our players. I spent Saturday evenings back then flipping between game tape of our next opponent and watching college football. He would hop on the couch and watch right along with me. Plenty of snacks on hand of course. His attention gravitated on players who were small and quick like he was. Reggie Bush, Tavon Austin, but his favorite player was LaMichael James and the Oregon Ducks his favorite team. “Did you see that?!” “Dad. Dad. Dad. Did you see that?” He would then pop up off the couch and mimic moves that he had just seen.
It wasn’t easy in the beginning. He went through some growing pains his first few years in little league. He played for the famed Northeast Raiders. Most of the kids, hell all of the kids, were bigger than he was. Size always catches the eye of many coaches. He was initially overlooked. His days consisted of going to his elementary school, walking to the high school, and staying with me until my practice was over. I’d rush him over to his practice at the park, drive back to the high school to tie up any loose ends, and then head back to the park where he was. A lot of the parents had folding chairs and pulled up next to the area where the kids were. I’d stay in my car, listening to music, while watching from a distance. It wasn’t that I was disinterested. I loved watching him. I was annoyed. I happen to be in a profession, teaching and coaching, where everyone believes that they have a valid opinion that surpasses your expertise. Watching Law and Order doesn’t make you a master in court proceedings. It’s okay to just shut the fuck up. The answer to many of the world’s problems is people just shutting the fuck up. Rant over...Miles was frustrated. He was starting at corner and backing up at running back. “Dad, I’m better than those other guys.” He was right. He was better. “I’m not going to talk to your coach. If you think you’re better, you have to keep working hard. Make the coach an idiot for not starting you. They’re always going to discount you. Now what are you going to do about it?” I passed down some advice a wise old Korean woman once told me…”Work your ass off and never take shit from anyone.”
Miles did something about it. He was a lockdown corner and he took a lot of pride in it. He called himself the “clamp god.” And when he got his time at running back, he shined. He could catch and block better than anyone they tried to put in front of him. But when the ball was in his hands, that's where he shined. And as time passed, he put everyone on notice. He used those initial experiences of being overlooked to create a soulfire of grit and resolve. It was undeniable.
Years passed and we made a couple of moves. With every move, Miles was right there with me. From El Paso to San Antonio to South Texas...not easy for anyone, let alone an 11 year old, to have to choose between what is comfortable for the unknown. There were definitely some hard days. Especially in San Antonio. He attended a very affluent, all white school and I was unhappy with where I was working. (Mr. White, the principal of Sam Houston High School in SAISD at the time, if you’re reading this...Fuck you. You’re the worst human being I’ve ever known.) Completely away from anything familiar, we leaned on each other.
We had each other and we had football. One of the parents of the players I was coaching there asked if Miles was interested in playing on his little league team. He was. He immediately made an impact. He started at running back in the Typha youth division in San Antonio. The same division from the show Friday Night Tykes. Teams were loaded with the likes of Jamaal Charles’ son. (Yes, that Jammal Charles.) Miles’ team was terrible and got busted every week, but he did thing. He played his butt off and earned the respect of every player on the field.
The time that we spent in San Antonio was short lived. Thanks to the above mentioned Mr. White. With plans to move back to El Paso, a man with whom I spent my whole career, asked me to give it one more go. This time in South Texas, Los Fresnos to be exact. I was hesitant. I needed to mull it over and I needed to visit the school. Sight unseen would never happen again. Irresponsible is an understatement. I did what I always did when I was going to make a big decision. I asked Miles for his thoughts. He was not excited.
To be honest, I wasn’t excited either. Miles and I made the drive to Los Fresnos to hopefully make the best decision possible together. The trip was eye opening. It wasn’t like any place we had ever been. Really small town atmosphere. During that visit, Miles interacted with some of the coaches and the players. I had two interviews for head coaching positions back in El Paso. I had a decision to make…Head back home or make one more run with friends? I’ve never been one to solely pursue a title just for the sake of it. I know what I bring to the table, and as long as my work is appreciated and recognized, I’m good. The players and the coaches with whom I’ve worked have always known what’s what. Miles gave the go ahead and we decided to try out South Texas.
If the school where I worked in SA was Eastside High from Lean on Me, Los Fresnos was like Rydell High from Grease. Miles was one of the only Black kids, and he was one of the only Asian kids, which made him the only Black and Asian kid. But that’s one of the beautiful things about sports, specifically football. If you can ball, making new friends is easy. Miles could ball. He became friends with a group comprised of the best athletes in his class. It was easy living. It should have been anyway. I realized that I was a little out of place there. More open minded and more experienced than what was the norm. The pace got to me. A little slow for my taste, but Miles was happy and it provided some stability to what the last few years had been. For him, I could deal with it. At least, I could stomach everything until he graduated.
He was a middle schooler when we arrived. Everyone immediately knew who we were. We would go to Walmart and hear, “Hey Coach!” I’d politely acknowledge the person with a half smile and a wave. I’d take a few steps and ask Miles, “Do you know them?’ He would look at me and respond, “No. Do you?” Just part of the adjustment of living in a small town.
He was really starting to blossom during those years. His teachers and coaches paid him the highest of compliments. I’ve never been good at taking them so there would be an awkward exchange. “My boy’s wicked smaht,” as Casey Affleck once said. His teachers were blown away, almost intimidated. His coaches would tell me how he was different…how hard he worked and how intensely he competed. They never saw him throw a fit when he was still a preschooler and lost a drill to one of our varsity kids. “Let’s go again!” One day, his coach told me something that happened that day. The team had to cut practice short because so many kids were failing. A study hall session to throw out some life rafts to those drowning. “Hey Miles, you have good grades. Why don’t help these guys out?” the coach asked him. His answer? Miles replied, “I’ll help anyone and everyone, but I don’t do lazy.”
Miles went from football to basketball to track to summer workouts with no break. And during his free time, he asked me to take him to the gym or he was playing with his friends. He competed harder than anyone around. Unfortunately, there was a cost. He suffered a stress fracture in his foot his freshman year. He missed half the season and was miserable the whole duration of the rehab. What was the rehab? Rest. It was the only time in his life he ever had to sit still.
His sophomore year, he suffered another setback. His back had bothered him from time to time all the way back to eighth grade. I never let him milk his discomfort when he was little, so he learned how to just tough through everything. As the season was going to begin, the discomfort turned to pain. I took him to a doctor, then another, then another. They couldn’t pinpoint the exact problem. I finally took him to a specialist and got an answer. He stared at the CT scan with a confused look on his face and rotated the image several times. “Your son is missing a vertebra. The L5 to be exact. The added pressure caused a stress fracture to the L4.” Great job, Dad.
He took it easy for the next few weeks but there was no way that he was going to sit out. Built different. It’s become a catch phrase but no one lives it like Miles does. One day, one of our so-called superstar seniors who skipped out on most of the summer workouts wanted to be the hype man during our sprints at the end of practice. Miles was gassed and wasn’t going for it. “Shut the fuck up, you poser.” Everyone stopped. The two got into a shouting match. “You shut the fuck up.” “We worked all summer and now you want to be a cheerleader?! Shut the fuck up, poser!” None of the other players said anything. All of them commended Miles for what he had done when practice was over, but none of them had the guts to say anything at the time. Mind you Miles was just a sophomore. He was hurting all season but didn’t miss a game. Anytime we needed a big play, he made it. It was clear Miles was the leader of the team that year. He finished as runner up for district newcomer of the year. Built different.
His junior year was a mess. Covid shortened the season and we had players opt out. The team looked promising in the spring but losing 8 starters decimated the hope of building on the momentum of last fall. We only played 6 games and went 2-4. Miles was a unanimous 1st team all-district player but the taste we had as the last game played out was like the sixth chew of a stick of Fruit Stripe gum.
My longtime friend and career colleague, Coach Brown, came in after the disappointing season and asked to speak to me and Coach Horner, another career colleague and close friend. What came next was unexpected. Brown had met with the superintendent and he was told that he was being reassigned as our head coach and athletic director. The world of coaching is one that is misunderstood. Coaches are judged on their wins and losses rather than maximizing the potential of a group in a given year. This is high school, and because we can’t recruit, we have no control of the talent or ability of the players with whom we work. Parents are selfish and have no perspective on what it is that we do. And loud parents pressure school officials to make decisions based on little to no merit.
Coach Brown held a virtual team meeting and told our players what happened. I preferred going to work even though it was all virtual at the time. I taught my classes and made my way home. As I opened the door, Miles came out of his room. He didn’t say anything but the look on his face communicated plenty. “I have no problem just teaching until you graduate. What do you want to do?”
“I’m not going to play for some scrub coach my senior year. I’m playing for you. If we have to move, then we have to move.”
Miles had already begun playing basketball as the school was going through the process of hiring the new guy. One of the coaches on our staff wanted the job so we all pushed him forward as Coach Brown transitioned out. The finalists were announced and he didn’t even get an interview. Small town politics at work. Fishy stuff.
The first day the new guy came in was my last day coaching the kids. He made some ignorant comments about us during his first speech to the team. As he spoke, I got up and left. I walked straight over to the principal and told him that I wouldn’t be going to the athletic period any longer. I do G shit from time to time.
The new guy made his rounds introducing himself to the kids. The kids who he thought looked the part anyway. He walked past Miles. Again, Miles was playing basketball at the time so the new guy didn’t get a chance to actually see him work. It didn’t take long. When Miles went back to football full-time after basketball season was over, he let the new guy know and reminded everyone else that they were the citizens of Albuquerque and Miles…well he is the one who knocks. Soon thereafter, the new guy went after Miles like a contestant on The Bachelor. Everyday it was, “Great job Miles! You’re going to be perfect for this position. I have big plans for you.”
Then, he went after me. “Hey Coach, I’ve asked around, and everyone keeps telling me what a stand up guy you are. I spoke to the Sup, and he is going to allow me to make a new coaching position just for you. I think you can really help me out on the offense with your experience.” Word? It took you 3 months to ask about me? This new position doesn’t happen to coincide with you finally realizing what kind of player Miles is, does it? Douche.
There were a couple of job opportunities lined up in El Paso for me, but I was going to follow Miles’ lead. He had long earned it. We had pretty much made the decision to leave South Texas so it was just a matter of when. One morning on a regular school day, Miles called me at 9:30. He told me that it was going to be his last day. He asked if it was okay. I told him that I trusted him and that we would talk about it when he got home.
He got home. He then went on to tell me how the new guy cut all of his reps during the workout that day. It was the morning after I told him that I was passing on the offer to join his staff. Miles then told the new guy that he needed to talk to the team at the end of the period. The new guy asked Miles if he could wait until the next day. “No, I can’t. This is my last day.”
The new guy was caught off guard. “Umm, okay.” Miles waited for the coach to finish speaking and stepped up…”All of the coaches and players who have been around have seen me over the years and you know what I’m about. To come in today and get no reps? I’ve worked too hard to get treated like this. Today is my last day. I’m out.” The coaches and players went to show him love and wish him well. It wasn’t the time. He was pissed. That was a Monday. I made some calls, we packed and cleaned up, and we hit the road that Friday.
Miles had already made his choice on the school that he rather go which meant I made a decision on where I was going to be working. The pride of the westside…Franklin High School. We set ourselves up in an apartment, I started working, and he began working out with the team. Quiet, confident, talented, with a work ethic that’s second to none…Miles was welcomed immediately.
The summer flew by and his senior year was upon us. A new team with a new staff while also being my first go at being the head coach. (Long story short…I was named interim head coach a few days before the season began.) I had a quick adjustment to make. I spent my whole career calling games from the press box. The angles allow for a clear line of sight and the seclusion from the noise of the crowd secured the clarity I thrive in. Because I was the acting head coach, I had to be on the field. Miles and I got to interact in a way that we never had before. When the offense was on, he was the glue. He knew what I was thinking and I trusted him more than I have ever trusted a player. When the defense was on the field, he and I were right next to each other on the sideline discussing the adjustments that needed to be made.
We started off 0-2 after facing two tough out of town opponents. Game 3 was versus Andress at Andress. The school from where I graduated, had so much love for, and the school where I just finished second for the vacant head coaching position back in June. They were 2-0 and riding high with a surprise win against Franklin the previous year. It was a huge game and we needed the win. We went up early 13-0 in the first quarter. They battled back with some big plays in the second quarter to go up 14-13. We got the ball back with a minute and thirty seconds left on the clock in the half. We were surgical in our execution as we made our way to the 25 yard line. We had 8 seconds left and 1 timeout. Time enough for two plays. Miles caught a swing out of the backfield and sprinted toward the sideline. Their inside linebacker sized him up and took an angle to meet him to tackle him for what should have been a loss. Miles put on the brakes, cut inside and made 7 more guys miss on his way to the end zone. Our guys went crazy; their guys folded. It was the play that broke their backs and we went on to win the game 41-21. Miles knew what was on the line and did what he does. Just one of many plays that contributed to our team winning 8 straight games and the district championship.
The season ended in the first round of the playoffs. Odessa Permian. Tall task. Even though we lost, Miles balled out. He has never been intimidated. From little league until now…never. He scored his first high school varsity touchdown versus Permian his sophomore year and he scored his last versus Permian. Maybe not the last. He has the All Star game this weekend. And with some college offers already presented to him, his football days aren’t over just yet.
It has always been something sad or dark when inspiration hit me to write. We moved back home, we ate lunch together everyday in my classroom, my sister and her family came to almost every game with Miles Big Heads and cowbells in hand, my brother got to fly in for a game, friends got to see him in person for the first time, and Miles got the recognition and appreciation he deserved. Most importantly, he had a blast. There was only one thing missing. I know she was watching but I wish Miles could have seen my mother’s face reacting to seeing him play. Nothing sad or dark, just a sweeping feeling of content that I hadn't felt in a long, long time…maybe ever.
I ran into a young lady one of my first few days back at Franklin. She introduced herself as one of our teachers on staff and was actually one of Miles’ student teachers back in his CDL days. She wanted to assure me that she wasn’t a creep or weirdo; she just wanted to share something with me. What came next blew me away. She told me what a cool kid Miles was and really enjoyed having him class. She told me how he made an impression on her and how she eventually had a child of her own…and she named him Miles.
Long live the king.
August 15, 2021
We had planned on starting the morning with practice at 7. The rain hadn’t let up in days. In El Paso, Texas. Unrelenting rain. The kids came in. And we waited. We had an extended film session. And we waited. A little talk about making good decisions and we let the kids go home. No need to hold them hostage. Our staff talked about the week ahead, cracked some corny jokes, traded a few funny stories, and made our way out as well. I needed to work out. I put on the latest episode of a podcast I’ve gotten into lately, “No Skips”, and did just enough of a workout to make an old, out of shape guy feel a little less old and out of shape to get through the weekend. And guess what I witnessed as I opened the door to the outside world as I left…Blind Melon. My 90s people will get it.
I had to run home to take a quick shower. It was high school football media day at the County Coliseum. A select group of players, including Miles, and I were to meet there for photos and interviews. Of course the shoot was running late. Not all bad though. It gave me a chance to chop it up with the guys while we waited. The company actually organized a pretty cool shindig. For me, it was the 9th circle of hell. I hate taking pictures, talking in that capacity, and just any attention really. But I buried it for the sake of promoting our kids. As much as I hate it, I’m not too shabby when it comes to that stuff. Well what was supposed to take an hour lasted three.
Three hours of torture. But not really. I gained some insight on how my guys operate in that setting. Saw them light up and let loose with the mini Super Bowl press junket. Trying to hold my coach face steady, I became a fan. It’s a special thing to work with these guys. One kid in particular…He just happens to be my son. To see his smile light up the room, hear him speak so eloquently, and then observe the overall way he carries an conducts himself with such confidence; I’m a fan. Blessed to be in the presence and share moments with such an incredible human being. By the way, he mentioned me a few times during his interview. Just saying.
So, quick wrap up…I celebrated a year of my mother going home, one of my favorite people just left, Miles started his senior year, and I was named interim head coach a few days before our first day of practice. This all happened in the last two weeks. It really has been a crazy time since I arrived back home in EP.
It may sound crazy but I feel good. When everything seemed easy and in place for me on the outside while I was living in South Texas, I was really unhappy and full of turmoil on the inside. The chaos around me right now is my comfort zone. I don’t feed off drama; that’s not what this is. It’s difficult work but it adds value. I’m challenged and I thrive in this setting. Boring doesn’t cut it for me. I have a one of a kind support system with people whom I love and love me back. One particular loved one has been beyond supportive throughout this whole thing. One day, I expressed to her my nervousness in taking all of this on. She listened and then rhetorically asked, “Have you ever let anyone down? Have you ever not come through?”
Nope.
Maps
There’s a curious interest with traveling. Beautiful, far away destinations that could only possibly come from the stroke of a paintbrush by the hand of God. Places that tingle all of your senses with introspection and dreams. Frozen moments that burn imprints.
Photographs are all they are. Because what is a place without people. The value of the places I’ve visited is determined by the people with whom I’ve connected, or not.
I spent 6 years in the Valley. I lived 30 minutes from the island. Driving down long stretches of beach, late night bonfires, shark fishing, and the sunrise inching above the waves. One high school towns and Friday night lights, Ultimo Taco, and countless hours at The Dog House.
As I left, a few people reached out to me. “Let’s have a drink before you go.” I slipped away. I didn’t want to make me leaving a thing. Much more than a few Polaroids...shared time and space, connections made. I’ll remember you.
It’s Complicated
“It’s complicated.” I replied.
Some people get wild. Others get sloppy. There are those, like my dad did, who get angry. I open up when I drink.
A group of friends and I decided to have some drinks a few weekends ago. It was a Saturday afternoon and we went to our favorite local bar, The Dog House, around 4:30. Horner, Donte, Vivian, Victoria, and visiting from Arizona was her best friend Tiffany. There were college football games on all of the televisions and music playing in the background from the jukebox. Our conversations generally start with issues at work. As people started to arrive, the ambient noise began to rise. So as the drinks started to flow, the volume of our voices rose as well. And when the drinks flow, the conversations get deep.
Horner: “Idea...Let’s all head to my place. I’ll order some pizza.”
Me: “Cool. I’ll stop by the liquor store and stock up.”
There’s a Feldman’s Liquor Store right around the corner from the bar. I grabbed a bottle of vodka, a case of pineapple cider, and some pre-mixed cans of ranch water. I was on Michelob Ultra that day so a case of that, too. Horner’s place is only a five minute drive away. Everyone was already there as I walked up with the goods. Alexa was playing the jams and the crew was sitting on the couch. Drinks in hand, the conversation started back up.
Horner and I asked Tiffany a bunch of questions being that we didn’t know her. She handled it well. I caught her leaning over and whispering to Victoria. “Are they always like this?” Yes. Yes, we are.
We went around the circle asking each other questions and telling random stories. Horner loves pushing buttons, probative and in fun and always entertaining, so there’s that element. Then, there was a moment...Tiffany dropped what seemed to be a bomb that everyone wanted to know.
Tiffany: “May I ask you something personal?
Me: “Everything is personal, if you’re a person. Of course, you can ask.”
Tiffany: “It’s been 12 years, why haven’t you been in a relationship since your divorce?”
Silence. All eyes were on me. It was an awkward moment because I had just stepped out of Horner’s apartment to field a phone call. I was standing as she asked the question so it felt like I was a beauty pageant contestant on stage during the interview round. No pressure though. For some reason, people come to me for advice and counsel yet tell me that I’m intimidating and tip toe around asking me questions about me. Odd space indeed.
Me: “I’ve been in one. It’s complicated. I...I didn’t want my kids to have to deal with my dating ups and downs. They have enough on their plates. I went through it with my mother after my dad died. And if it means that I have to sacrifice my personal life, then so be it. I can carry the weight.”
I’ve been asked that question randomly over the years and I usually give a similar answer. It’s an easy answer though. I probably need to see a therapist to unpack all of this shit more honestly and accurately.
Being a good father has been the driving force in my adult life. I’m obsessed with it. And not in the way that obsessed is used now. (Note: You’re not obsessed with Starbucks, Target, sushi, or a multitude of other random meaningless things, or by definition, you’re not obsessed. Having to say literally is completely unnecessary unless you’re talking to an idiot. And air quotes? GTFOH with air quotes.) I didn’t want my kids to have my childhood. I had to make up for my mother’s and father’s shortcomings. I had to make up for my ex wife’s and mine as well. At the same time, I can’t make myself a martyr. There is nothing honorable about fatherhood when used as a shield or an excuse.
There’s another, underlying truth: I’m scarred and scared. I never pictured myself ever getting divorced. Work it until it works has always been my mantra. I couldn’t make it work. There were years there when I was miserable. I realized that things weren’t going to change. To say that I was crushed is an understatement, but I stayed for the sake of my kids.
Truth: I’m not the easiest person. I realize that I can be a tough hang. I’m a smart ass, a know-it-all, and not the most expressive in almost all cases. My face has a constant scowl which makes me unapproachable. My job is really important to me. Some people hate theirs; I love mine. It’s been there for me when my love life wasn’t. Along with my kids, it can really monopolize my time. Being with a football coach is far from easy—if you know, you know. I also go through spells when I have to recharge, and those spells lead me to disconnect and disappear. Not because I need a break from my partner specifically, but a break from life...Sometimes an hour, sometimes a day, sometimes a week. I need the time to work things out in my head. That’s my process. It takes a really strong and patient person to handle the mess that is me.
Truth: I’m a saboteur. I have this superpower. I can see a fake future and thwart any possible hurt before it happens. 20/20 vision of all the potential disagreements, arguments, and problems. But how can you hold someone responsible for things that haven’t happened yet? You ever see Minority Report? Same premise. Same flawed premise.
Communication can be such a delicate dance. As good as I am with words, language is just flat out clumsy at times. Here is something simple, so simple that it sounds hollow and stupid, yet it is resoundingly deep if investigated and analyzed. People know what they know...and people don’t know what they don’t know. That includes me. I’m people.
My friend Lacey recently mailed me a book about attachment disorders. I can’t keep hiding behind my own ignorance of not knowing. The only way to find out is to find out, so I’m doing the work. Work it until it works; work it until I work.
Better Days
“How are you doing?”
“Everything is everything.” (always my default answer.)
‘No. How are you doing, really?”
Make sure you take note of the people who dig deep to find out how you’re really doing. It may seem insignificant, but oh what a difference it makes.
“I’m actually pretty good. Really.”
They try. I’m pragmatic, bordering on cynical. I also tend to be guarded and wall myself off to most. It isn’t their fault and I don’t blame them. It’s a me thing. I process differently than what they’re used to.
My mother passed away on August 1, 2020. It came out of nowhere. It wasn’t Covid, it just happened. 2020 man...2020 has been Ramsay, Joffrey, and Littlefinger all wrapped in one. And to think that we still have an election and two months left of this funky ass year.
I had gone back and forth with the idea of taking a trip. Go visit my mother in Austin or go to visit my sister, nieces, and friends back home in El Paso. The few months that led to that point were off. I wasn’t in the best state. I really enjoy working. Why? It gives me a sense of purpose where I can use my gifts to add value to the world. It also keeps me busy and distracted. I live in my head. Some of you may call yourselves overthinkers. The dilemma of yin and yang sitting on your shoulders whispering in your ear during moments of indecision, I know that unease. I feel for you. But with me, they yell through Beats headphones on full blast at all times of the day and night drowning out any sense of comfort and peace; I don’t sleep.
I asked Miles if he wanted to go with me. He’s usually dismissive and quick with a “no.” He’s about his friends as every boy his age is, and now that he has a car, he’s firing that “no” at me like Johnny Ringo. It never stops me from asking. I left it fairly vague but wanted to plant the idea in his head to see whether or not it would grow.
A few days passed and I decided to pull the trigger. I’m not very impulsive but I was starting to come unglued; I needed a quick trip to recharge my battery. Southwest had a good deal going so I bought a ticket. It was a Tuesday and the ticket was for Thursday so you know the price had to be right. Single dad, teacher salary...first world problems. I asked Miles one more time thinking that he was just going to turn me down and ask me to stock the fridge and leave him some money. He was with it. He hadn’t seen my sister and the girls in a long time. “I’m going to graduate next year and then I’ll be off to college. I may not see them again for a while.” Moments like that remind me that Miles is the shit.
“Done deal. I’ll buy your ticket right now.” This was the first time that we had been on a plane together since our Disney World trip when he was 4. We’ve always driven everywhere. I don’t take trips often mainly because I feel a way about leaving Miles. He’s always been low maintenance and mature in how he carries himself, but it never sat well with me. Probably stems from my own childhood baggage. This isn’t an episode of My So Called Life so let’s keep it moving.
We were off. Plane ride was great with the whole social distancing thing. No one in the middle seat? On the whole plane? Game changer. We got the rental car, checked into the hotel, and immediately back in the car to get some food. First stop, Wienerschnitzel. Yes, Wienerschnitzel. Judge me if you want. There isn’t one where we live now. 3 dogs each and some chili cheese fries. We got back to the room and hog-assed it out. It was a gluttonous euphoria. I felt happy, then gross, then sad, then satisfied...the roller coaster of indulgence and self loathing.
After the food coma, we went to the Ft. Bliss Cemetery to see my dad. I usually talk to him for a bit, say a quick prayer, and kiss his gravestone. Next stop, Magic Barbershop. Always in that order anytime I visit home; my dad, then the barbershop to see Gaby. It’s a funny thing with Gaby. She’s been my barber since I was sixteen. I barely said a word to her for the first four years or so. And since then, you can’t shut me up. We can talk about anything and everything. We greeted each other with a smile and a hug. The first thing that she asks me anytime I see her is the same... “Do you have a girlfriend yet, Leigh?!” She’s awesome.
Miles and I hung out all day and made plans to visit my sister and her family. My bad ass nieces love Miles. They kind of like me too. I usually don’t tell anyone when I’m in town until I’m town. I called my boys and decided to meet up at one of their houses later that evening. Drewski, Ryan, Frank, and my guy Horner decided to make a last second, impromptu as well and met us as soon as he landed. We’re pretty simple so it was just some beer on the porch, music in the background coming from a portable bluetooth speaker, and good vibes. The weather was actually great. Summers in El Paso can be brutal but it just happened to be overcast with billowing thick, gray clouds filling the sky that day.
It was just like old times: drinks, crude jokes, hyperbolic recollections of embarrassing moments shared, criminally asinine arguments, and flashes of vulnerable insight. It ended ridiculously late as it always does. Enough water and time passed to get sober of course. I dropped off my boy Chops (his name is Saul but I don’t know if I’ve actually ever called him by his name) and headed back to the hotel. Just so you know, my end of the night drive home playlist is undefeated.
The next day, Miles and I wanted to see the girls but we had something very important planned first. We had to get some Korean food. There are a handful of Korean restaurants in the Northeast that just get it right; get at me for the Yelp review. Because of the military base, there is a decent sized Asian community in El Paso. Korea has US military bases as well. So while it may seem odd, it makes perfect sense. For all of you who have been completely perplexed about my racial makeup, there you go.
There is a hospitality and a rudeness that is so delightful at a mom and pop Korean eatery that can’t possibly be described; only experienced. I love it. Instantly reminds me of everything about my mom. Miles and I larded out and went to our room to take a nap. Correction: I took a nap and Miles got on the sticks (that’s Playstation just in case you didn’t know.) My sister wasn’t going to be home for a few hours so we had some time after lunch. A quick 15 minute drive to her house and there they were. The whole family: Cathy, her husband Chris, Charlotte, and Carolynne...They’re the Griswolds. Time spent with them is always quality time. My sister is who I should have been.
The tour continued with plans to see as many people as I could squeeze into a few days. I didn’t know when I was going to be back. Miles and I were going to visit my mom and my brother the following weekend. The order was really just a flip of a coin. We had spoken about it and just happened to decide that El Paso was first, then Austin. Back to the room, Uber Eats, and the Laker game. Miles is a huge Lebron fan. As the game came to an end, a friend invited me to have some drinks so I stepped out for a few hours. Another fun night back in good ol’ EP. Again, the music that plays in my car on the way home is unmatched. I opened the door to the room and Miles was faking like he was asleep. We laughed because it was something that we used to do when he was little and hadn’t done in years.
I woke up to my phone vibrating. I was going to just let it sit but something pushed me to check out who called. I saw my brother George’s name and I knew. I knew even before I called him back. We don’t call each other often and never that early in the morning. He answered and I could barely make out what he was saying. He was inconsolable and sobbing unlike anything I’ve ever heard out of him before.
“George. Take a breath. I’m guessing I already know but what’s wrong?”
“Mom had another stroke early this morning. She’s in the hospital but she probably won’t come out of it. I don’t know what happened. She was doing so well. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault, man. What do you need me to do? I’m in EP right now but I’ll catch a flight out tonight.”
My focus was on Miles the whole time but my vision got blurry as they started to well up. He overheard our conversation; he put the pieces together. My lip quivered. I shut and squeezed my eyes dry and took a deep breath to gain my composure. I told him that we were going to fly out to Austin because his grandma was about to die. He took it as I would have...quietly, calmly as he was processing everything in his head. I called my sister; George had already spoken to her. She was still heaving with the flood of sadness and drowning in tears. I told her that Miles and I were going to swing by before our flight.
I was trying to figure out how to tell Asia. She spent a lot of time with my mom and had a bond with her that I can’t explain. I never spent any time with my extended family, and to be frank, didn’t want to. Asia is also a very emotional person. It’s absolutely delightful and intoxicating when it’s good. It’s a powder keg when it’s bad. She had already heard the news. She just so happened to call Cathy earlier. It was probably a blessing that it happened that way. My sister’s delivery tends to be a lot more soothing than mine.
I really wanted to keep it to myself, but I told a select few...people close to me. An unnamed loved one was first. My good friend Justin texted me because we hadn’t seen each other yet this trip and he wanted to meet up somewhere. The timing…he was the second person that I told. He reached out to all of the people I know which turned into me getting inundated with texts and phone calls. They were just trying to show their concern the best way that they knew how. But they should have known. I didn’t want it.
Miles and I arrived at Cathy’s. She fell into my arms. I leaned in and whispered, “Wipe your face. The kids need to see us hold it together.” She hugged me a little tighter and exhaled. My best friend David met me at my sister’s. His son Tyson had a basketball game at the Y and he had his twins, Trey and Tatum, with him as well. All of them playing together with Miles and Cathy’s kids was a healthy distraction for my sister.
She died about an hour before we landed. George picked us up from the airport. From there, we were going straight to the hospital. Saturday night in Austin and there was no traffic. Eerie yet comforting. With Covid, we didn’t even know whether all of us were going to be allowed in at the same time if at all. We got in and had to go through a maze as they were trying to control the flow of people. Following the arrows on the floor like breadcrumbs, pushing through random plastic curtains, giant buttons prompting nurses’ voices granting us entrance like some spy movie, we made our way to her floor. George had built a rapport with the nurse in just a couple of days. She took us to my mom’s room. My brother went in; I took a second. I asked Miles if he wanted to see her one last time but also let him know that I was completely supportive of whether he did or not.
“No,” he replied and I left it at that. I told him that I would be right back. I walked into the room thinking that I was prepared for what I was going to see. I wasn’t. She was lying on the hospital bed...in peace. But there was nothing peaceful about that shit. Not for me nor those of us left in her wake.
It broke me. This whole time, I was trying to hold everything together for my brother and my sister. Stoic as always. But the moment I saw her, it hit me. It hit me unlike anything that I’ve ever felt...like a tidal wave crashing and plunging me to the depths of the dark and I was caught in an undertow of sorrow. I couldn’t fight back the tears this time. It buckled my knees and knocked the wind out of me. I had to grab the railing at the edge of her bed to catch myself and gather my faculties.
I’m thankful that my sister wasn't going to be able to fly out. There were no flights available until the next day but George was able to call her to cancel as my mom had already passed a few hours earlier. Cathy would have crumbled and it would have been devastating for her to see Mom that way. The original plan was for us to be together to pull the plug. God and Mom made sure that we were spared that heartbreaking ordeal.
I walked out of the room. I didn’t want Miles in the hallway for a long stretch of time. He didn’t either. That may have been the first time that he’s really seen me cry. In fact, the last time that I cried like that was 6 years ago when I was driving to San Antonio to coach at a new school thinking that there was a possibility that Miles wasn't going with me.
He asked if he could wait outside for us. There was a bench right outside of the door where we walked in. He is very introspective and processes almost everything internally. The nurse expressed her concern and condolences and asked if we needed anything. She offered to call the hospital chaplain. My brother said yes. I had my reservations. He entered the room. He engaged in some small talk with my brother, and George being who he is, took it and overshared as he usually does. I know people have their own way of dealing with grief but damn. I cut them off, and asked the chaplain to get on with it. He recited a passage from the Bible, said a prayer, and asked if there was anything that we needed. I quickly responded before George had a chance to…
”No. We’re good. Thank you.”
I was hurt and angry but I probably would have been agitated all the same. He didn’t know us. I really don’t have patience for anything superficial and this wasn’t the time.
We spoke to the nurse and made the arrangements to have her body transported to El Paso. She told us on many occasions that when the time came, she wanted to be buried with my father. My brother was exchanging pleasantries with the nurse as I walked away. I didn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary. Miles was scrolling through his phone as I approached him. My face was red and swollen. I took a few seconds to bury my head in my hands as if it was just sadness contouring I could wipe away. George finally came outside. As we made our way through the relatively empty hospital parking lot, a lady who was audibly falling apart just got unexpected news of a relative’s passing and collapsed into the arms of the person I assume to be her spouse.
So off we went back to El Paso on a flight to check into another hotel room. For those of you who do this kind of travel on the regular, I feel for you. I flew Asia in later that evening. We picked her up from the airport and went straight to Village Inn. I have a thing for Village Inn that is quite inexplicable. My kids don’t get it either. Breakfast for dinner is undefeated. I love seeing my kids together. Being that Asia lives in Houston now, they don’t see each other very often anymore. They bicker most of the time, but they’re oddly close. They have a lot of inside humor that no one else understands and when they make each other laugh, It becomes an avalanche of finishing each other’s sentences and infectious giggles; it’s as good as it gets for me.
There were a few moments that struck me and the tears flowed. Not many though. I’ve made it known how much my mother means to me. My mother is the most influential person in my life and there isn’t a close second. I cannot possibly even scratch the surface of her impact on me. The people around me know this well and they were keeping close tabs on me. This is where it goes a little left. I started this thing answering the question of “How are you really?” with “I’m pretty good.” If you’re someone that I care for and love, I’ve thought about you dying and me being without you. I’ve thought about it and will continue to think about it. A lot of time spent alone as a kid and having my dad die at a young age will do that. It isn’t some morbid Final Destination scenario. It’s more of a self preservation and hardened conditioning mechanism that I’ve developed.
My mother was actually married three times. My father died. Her next husband left her with a note. My mother was functionally illiterate and he left a note. The note basically stated that he left because of me. Albert couldn’t deal with the reality that he couldn’t compete with me being the man of the house. He should have realized that he didn’t have to. Making my mother happy was the only thing that should have been on his mind. But he was in the military as was my father and her third husband. I was precocious and a free thinker and that was in direct conflict to their lifestyle, so I can see the issues that they had with me. I do admit that easy I am not.
People leaving was something I became familiar with. I found security in my insecurity which had me teetering on sociopathic qualities. There’s this thing called the enneagram that analyzes personality types and I’ve learned that I’m wired that way. I’m a type 5 which means I’m way more logic based than feeling based. In my logic, people leave and I had to get used to it. Thus my routine of imagining the people around me dying and my reaction to them not being around.
I think her first stroke two years ago hit me harder than her death. Many days I thought about her not being around before but her stroke brought it to the forefront. She was always a spark plug but the stroke made her light dim a bit. To be honest, I probably thought about her dying everyday since her stroke. It was still unexpected and caught me off guard especially since we were going to see her the next weekend. El Paso then Austin...If I had just flipped the order of our trip. It fucked with me for a while.
Her funeral was on a Monday. WIth Covid, we could only have ten people attend. Not that she would have necessarily wanted more, but my mother deserved better. My peoples offered their support and wanted to come. A close friend, Lacey, checked on me periodically but not in an intrusive way. She was brief, deliberate, and effective in letting me know that I was on her mind and just a stone throw’s away if I needed anything. I appreciated that so much. She took the time and effort to recognize and respect how I operate; it didn’t go unnoticed. One of my oldest friends, Robs (only a select few call him Robs), called me once he heard the news. We reminisced about how mean my mom was but she always made him feel welcome at our place. He talked about how she was like a second mother to him, and how he wish he could have come down from Portland for the service. I would have had them all there if I could have. I cried once more. 4 cities, 7 days, and 8 flights later, we finally made it home.
About a week after I got home, I made one of our favorite dishes, fried Korean dumplings. We have fond memories of watching my mom make these ridiculously delectable dumplings, trying to help at times (more like getting in the way at times), and savagely devouring them when they were cooked. She only made them on special occasions as they take hours and hours to prepare. I’d watch but never really fully appreciated the amount of work until I did them myself. She would have been so tickled to have seen me take the torch.
She was far from perfect, but she was the best mother that I could ask for and an even better grandmother to my kids. I’ll forever miss spending time with her in the kitchen talking about life while learning how to cook. I’ll miss the effort of trying to make her light up so much that even her eyes smiled. I’ll miss my kids sharing some kooky Korean story as told by their “Crazy Grandma Ok Hui.” As much as I could continue to drive down the long, sad toll road of memory lane, I won’t. She gave me all that she could, and look at who I’ve become…it was more than enough.
This is unfinished. I really don’t know if I’ll ever finish it to my complete satisfaction, but it’s the first thing that I’ve written since she passed. Raw and unrefined but I’m sure you understand. It was more about me getting words on paper, expressing thoughts and feelings, and I felt that it should be shared. I was in a funk over the last year or so. The week of her passing snapped me out of it. My mom did that for me as she left this place.
So how am I really? I’m pretty good.
Nerd Beginnings pt. 2
What can I say about Mrs. Jones... She reminded me of Paula Deen without the racism. She made my move into the second grade relatively seamless in what could have been a horribly traumatizing experience. I don’t know if I would have handled that transition without her. Being the short kid is one thing (I lived on the front row of class pictures), but being the short, biracial, nerdy kid who just skipped a grade felt something that I can only describe as the components to a song by The Cure---minus the hairspray. That’s what my anxiety was telling me anyway. It turned out to be a completely different experience.
The students were warm and welcoming. Mrs. Jones must have prepped the class about my arrival in the previous days. Do y’all remember school boxes? The kids these days have streamlined plastic pencil cases that look like they were made by Elon Musk. Our boxes were clunky thick cardboard boxes that looked like the Model T. In your box, which fit nicely in your cubby underneath your desk, was: Elmer’s Glue (if you had paste, your parents had low expectations for you), safety scissors, Crayola crayons, pencils (if you were rocking with the Husky pencils, your parents had low expectations for you), and the spoiled kids had the fancy, scented markers (like for real…why did the black marker have to smell like that?!). So let me tell you about my class. All of them had scented markers and they all shared them with me. I had a blast that year. Except for Coach Ortega: our PE teacher. She was the third meanest lady I had met to that point in my life. My mom of course the GOAT. The second was my next door neighbor. She barked when kids walked on the sidewalk in front of her house. She would absolutely lose her shit when a ball bounced off our shared chain-link fence when we were playing in our front yard. Even her raggedy ass dog was in on it...always snitching on us. That being said, Coach Ortega turned out to be okay. More than okay. It took me a while, but I came to understand why she came off that way.
Thank God for Mrs. Jones. More than anything, she helped me adjust to dealing with an uncomfortable, unexpected move. She also gave me a safe place to recognize and embrace my inner nerd.
I finished my first two years of school and I had another 3 month long summer break. Everyone usually looks forward to the summer. I didn’t. Simple rule, my dad’s rule: be home by time the street lights came on. I would wolf down a bowl of cereal and leave the house as early as possible. There were days when I would make it back home on time. Mostly, I didn’t. The ten minutes of getting my ass whooped was worth not having to be there.
Mrs. Martin was my third grade teacher. She was absolutely delightful. If pumpkin spice latte was a person, it would be Mrs. Martin. This was the year when I noticed girls were cute, became fluent in multiplication and division, and suffered my first criticism from a teacher.
It was our introduction to cursive. Yes new kids, we were taught cursive. We had a tablet (a tablet was bound sheets of paper, not an Ipad) where we worked the letters of the alphabet in cursive, a focus on one letter each day, and a list of words that began with that specific letter. Homework was given every night to write each word a given number of times. Yes new kids, we had homework. Mrs. Martin returned my homework one day and it stated that it needed improvement. Needs improvement! What?!
I was devastated. Do you remember Ralphie’s reaction to his C+ in A Christmas Story? School was so easy to that point, how could I have possibly done something that was less than exemplary? I went home with feelings of confusion and hurt which turned into anger and focus. I asked my brother for one of his old notebooks. There was always scrap paper in the back of old notebooks. Who has ever gone through a whole notebook? I practiced page after page, over and over again until there were no more hitches and the ink rolled out of my pen on paper as smoothly as a Michelle Kwan on ice.
Them: “Why is your handwriting so pretty? You write like a girl.” Me: “Thank you. I appreciate it.” My handwriting is something in which I take a lot of pride. Seems like it would have been an insignificant thing, but it reinforced the value of difficulty and practice. I needed it. It was the biggest lesson that I took away that year and I have Mrs. Martin to thank.
Nerd Beginnings pt. 1
I never attended preschool. To be honest, I don’t think that my mother was informed of what preschool was. Before she went to work, she always made sure that I had plenty of pencils and paper in the house. You get restless being a four year old at home alone for eight hours. The PBS shows served as my preschool. My mom expected to see what I had learned for the day when she got home. Addition and subtraction tables, the letter of the day and basic words, and doodles. Anytime I asked my mom to draw with me, she did. She would always draw the same thing...A bird in a sky full of clouds with the sun shining through them. It looked like something from Simon in the Land of Drawings.
I was five years old when I entered kindergarten. I was so excited and nervous to finally start school. My birthday is September 13th. Back then you had to have turned five years of age by September 1st, so I actually was a little past the cutoff. My mom had to pull off a Danny Ocean type caper to get me in. She had put some things including our school clothes on layaway. It was never much; I had two new outfits and my brother George’s hand-me-downs to fill the week. When she finally made the last payment and brought them home, I was bursting at the seams. My brother and I shared a room in those days. I scanned the selection and pieced together a first day fit fit for fashion week. That’s how it felt at the time anyway. I only got one pair of shoes then. They had to last from September to September. They were Pro WIngs (the Payless Shoe Store brand), but to me, they were as fresh as a pair of Off-Whites. Those were the days when a new pair of shoes made you run at light speed. I couldn’t walk into our room without a stop and stare pause into what was hanging in the closet.
We lived about two miles or so from the school. My mom walked me on the morning of the first day. “You know your way back?”
“Yes mom. I’m good.”
I walked to and from school every day afterward.
Kindergarten was everything that I hoped it would be. Mrs. Butler took care of us like we were her own. I made some friends. I was a star student. It was a break from being at home. I loved it.
The month of May rolled around which meant the end of, if I must say so myself, an absolutely stellar kindergarten year. (I have a school picture somewhere at my mom’s house where I wore a patchwork blazer with a Charlie Brown shirt underneath---That shit was fire!) Quandary...I wasn’t looking forward to summer vacation. It seemed like an eternity then. I couldn’t wait for September. Fall has always been my favorite time of the year and it has almost everything to do with the start of school. I was assigned to Ms. Shenk’s first grade class. She was different from Mrs. Butler. Where Mrs. Butler had a very nurturing grandma quality about her, Ms. Shenk was a bubbly beautiful blond with fun aunt energy. I only had a few friends from kindergarten who were with me. I’m an introvert which made me an extremely quiet kid in class. I really dislike attention so I did as much as I could to be invisible.
Ms. Shenk would try to poke and prod to get me to open up. Nope. You’re cool and all but that’s not going to work lady. Life had already taught me a few lessons. One of those lessons is that quiet is better. Toward the end of the first week, she conducted the lexile level assessment. That’s the old school reading grouping test. You remember those groups...the Yellow Birds, the Red Birds, and the Blue Birds. I didn’t notice it for what it was then but what a dick move.
She had a little circular table adjacent to her desk. One by one, she made her way down the roster alphabetically. A student was called and sat in a chair at the table. She had a piece of paper in her hand, but I had no idea what was actually on it or what she was doing with it. She had the class working on arts and crafts on the far side of the room. We were in the first grade so let me just tell you that Rodin and Picasso we were not. “Lee, it’s your turn.” (I was way too shy to correct people on the pronunciation of my name, so I went through elementary school as Lee. Tragic.) The piece of paper was a list of words. The words were organized in columns increasing in difficulty top to bottom, left to right. It was go time.
She gave me the sheet and asked me to read the first column. To quote the great Ed Lover, “C’mon Son!” I breezed through it but still really didn’t grasp what was going on. She asked me to read the second column. Easy Peasy. On to the third column. Knocked it out like Glass Joe in Mike Tyson’s Punch Out. Ms. Shenk started to light up. “Good job Lee. Now let’s see how far you can go.” (I still cringe when people call me Lee.) Fourth, fifth, sixth column...It was like the cafeteria scene in Oliver Twist. “Please, may I have some more?”
She asked me to flip the sheet over. Word after word, I gobbled them up like that hungry, yellow guy. When I finally stopped, I looked up. There was an expression on her face that was something between confusion and amusement. I would imagine that it was due to how quiet I had been in her class to that point.
“Do you know the meaning of those words as well?’
“Yes ma’am.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
She told me that she was going to call my mother later that evening. I thought I was in trouble. It was going to be the first call home from one of my teachers. My mom answered but I had to be there to translate. Ms. Shenk asked if my mother could come in for a conference. I was really on edge at that point.
My mom asked, “What did you do?!”
“I don’t know Ma.”
“Okay. We’ll see. You better not have.”
I walked to school as I usually did. My mother was going to meet with Ms. Shenk at 3:30. (Another dick move to torture me and schedule the conference after school. Just sayin’.) I was as anxious as a late intern who drank a Big Gulp sized mug full of coffee on a hot morning looking for a restroom only to see an out of order sign.
“Mrs. McWhorter, I need to speak to you about Lee and his recent reading test score.”
Expecting the worst, my mom glared at me, looked up at Ms. Shenk with a forced smile and said, “Okay.”
“Because he tested so high, I want to give him another test. If he scores like I anticipate that he will, I would advise that he skip my class and be placed in the second grade. With what I have to do to teach the rest of the class, I really can’t do much for him.”
“Okay.” She looked at me and asked, “This is good, right? Leeya, Is this something that you want to do?’ (Here’s another little juicy tidbit. My mother, because of her accent, called me Lee-ya. I have issues, man.)
Not much more of a conversation between us at that point. It was two-minute drill tempo and all of us agreed. I took the test and said goodbye to Ms. Shenk and my classmates. I was in the first grade all of two weeks. And just like that, off to the second grade I went.
Sister, Sister
I’ve never been much of a sleeper so I would get up super early to watch The Snorks. Who got up early to watch The Snorks?! She would wake up a little later and spent the next three to four hours glued to the TV with me. Dungeons and Dragons, The Littles, CBS Storybreak...but how did we know that the cartoon session was over? Kung Fu flicks, Godzilla movies, Tales from the Darkside (whose sick ass idea was it to schedule Tales from the Darkside after cartoons?) but it began with WWF wrestling. I don’t know if she was into it, but she rode with me. During commercial breaks, we would reenact the signature moves of Hulk Hogan, the Iron Sheik, the Junkyard Dog, and Jimmy Superfly Snukka. Side note: wrestling was really racist. Running back and forth across the living room like we’re bouncing off the ropes, body slams onto the couch cushions, and elbow drops on the bed—-She was always game to humor me.
My sister Cathy was the combination of being the girl and the baby in our household. She was the third cutest baby ever. My kids are tied for first. (Asia actually looks just like my sister.) All of us doted on Cathy. It’s probably the one thing that we did unified as a family. We had a dog then. It attacked Cathy one day; she hadn’t even turned one yet. My dad took the dog out to the desert and shot it. It was one of the few things that my dad ever did to show that he cared.
My brother George was halfway through high school when my dad died. Though not his fault, when he went to college, that put a little more on my plate. I really didn’t see it as a burden. It was just doing my part. Cathy was my little sister and I needed to make sure that I protected her. From wrestling, slap boxing, basketball in the front yard, and riding bikes to coloring and playing with dolls. Just so you know, I wasn’t playing with dolls. I was playing with action figures. Jem and the Holograms vs GI Joe and the Transformers. Never forget the Legos, can’t forget the Legos.
She was spunky; tough just like my mom. She would shoot sass at my friends whenever they came over. There were times when I had to speak to her teachers because she was bullying the boys in class. I would nod my head and assure them that I would take care of it. Little did they know...
Me: “What happened?”
Her: “I didn’t like the way he was talking to me.”
Me: “Okay. Don’t worry about it. Moms’ got you and I do too. Keep doing that shit.” (That’s not a typo. Around our way, we say Moms.)
I made sure she was ready for school in the mornings. Fights for bathroom time and wolfing down cereal...my mom or my brother would drive Cathy to school. I would walk with my boys. She and I walked home together once the last bell rang. There was a Circle K on the way home, and if I had a spare dollar or some change, we would share some Now and Laters or Bazooka Joe gum. (The comics were so corny but we couldn’t wait to read them.) Once we got home, I made sure that she was set up with a snack and helped with any homework that she was assigned. That was the rule in our house: homework first. I’d do mine and race outside to play with my friends. She was never far behind.
She’s always had my back—-Always. Let me take that back. Well there was this one time when my high school girlfriend and I were on a “break.” (Don’t hate me but I hate Friends.) I had a girl in my room and my girlfriend decided that she wanted to show up. No warning. In the prelude leading to this train wreck, Cathy and I had the all too common brother-sister tiff. Per usual, I was talking shit. Cathy knew I had a girl in the room with me. I didn’t hear the doorbell. There was a knock on my bedroom door so naturally I assumed that it was Cathy. Nope. That was a top five wrong assumption. It was my ex. And under the covers, there was another girl in my bed. “But we were on a break!” Not my best moment...
Other than that one time, she always has had my back. Cathy was with me when we moved to Korea and she was with me when we moved back to El Paso. She was with me when I graduated from high school and she was with me when I almost flunked out of college. She was with me for the birth of my two babies and she was there for the death of my marriage. She’s never judged me. There really hasn’t been a key moment in my life that she hasn’t shared with me.
I’m her big brother. She actually calls me her big brother—-mind you she’s two inches taller than I am. I feel like Kevin Hart standing next to her. I call her Gigantor, she calls me shrimp, et cetera, et cetera. She was a decorated honor student, a National Merit Finalist, and a multisport athlete excelling in volleyball. I went to all of her games; always sat in the top corner of the bleachers of the gym. She usually had the jitters. She would find me during the warmup and I would put my finger across my lip like a mustache to make her laugh. (Her name is still on a couple of championship banners hanging in the rafters at our high school.) She was a superstar. Her teachers had to have been befuddled asking themselves, “Really? Leigh is really your brother?!” She is also one hell of an educator. She was named teacher of the year in her district just a few years into the profession.
Obviously, I was never very fond of anyone that she dated. Let me walk that back. I was funky as hell to anyone that she dated. My friends would amuse themselves and jump right in and play off me like that scene in Bad Boys 2 when Will Smith and Martin Lawrence punked the kid who was trying to take his daughter on a date. She actually married a great guy and has two beautiful little girls. Charlotte is something like Olive in Little Miss Sunshine and Carolynne is more like Eleven in Stranger Things: yin and yang—-pretty reminiscent of Cathy and me. I have a blast being their bad uncle. I really love seeing my sister’s reaction when I encourage them to do wild shit. Cathy has been the best aunt that I could ever wish for my kids to have. She has been instrumental in Asia’s upbringing. She’s the best sister.
With the pandemic, this is the longest I’ve gone without seeing her. Sometimes I wish we could go back to Saturday morning cartoons and running through the sprinkler in the front yard on hot summer days. I miss her.
Momma’s Boy
If I pour myself a drink at her house, she’ll check me. “Ma, I’m a grown man. I can have a drink.”
“I don’t care if you’re 50, I’ll always be your mom and still tell you what’s what.”
Chun Ok Hui was born in Pusan, Korea on December 25, 1948. She absolutely loved school, but after her third grade year, she had to drop out to help on the family farm. Later, she married my father, Joseph McWhorter, and had three children: George Louis, Leigh Adrian, and Catherine Anastasia. She was a full time mom, worked at a restaurant as a server, and studied her ass off to become a US citizen all by the time I was four years old. After my father drank himself to death, she took on another job and did her best to make sure that we always had everything that they needed. From football cleats, basketball shoes, and track spikes to piano lessons, I never went without. She did the same for my brother and sister. A tall task for a mother of biracial children. All three of her children graduated from college: one nurse and two teachers...Badass single mom shit.
My mom never sat down. She always had to be doing something: cleaning, cooking, yard work—always something. When I was a kid, I didn’t appreciate her like I should have. I just figured every mom was that way. Why was she always so busy?
Our talks consisted of me jumping into whatever chore she was focused on at the time. At the beginning, my timing was off. I had to figure it out. Talking to my mom took split second precision. Find the rhythm like shooting the pocket in double dutch. Holding the trash bag while she was sweeping or washing the dishes while she cooked. She’d explain the steps of her recipes while giving me stories from her childhood. (I’m a pretty good cook, by the way.) Those were always the best conversations. That mom thing...whatever it is, she has it.
I was five and we had just moved to the section of El Paso affectionately known as the Northeast. If you’re from El Paso, you know about the Northside. If you’re not from EP, don’t go to the North without a guide. The kids on my street were a little older and different than what I was used to. They instigated a fight between a boy named Joey Baker and me. Joey was a couple of years my elder. I had never been in a fight before. I didn’t understand what was going on. Why were we fighting?
I walked home, nose bloodied. My mother saw the blood and asked what had happened. I pieced it all together for her like I was on the witness stand but she didn’t need an explanation. Even though she never graduated from high school, she had a doctorate in the streets. With the prowess of Judge Judy, she surmised exactly what had transpired. My tiny 4’11” Korean mother proceeded to walk me down to his house. It was like the hospital scene in Malcolm X. The kids were still out front playing. “Go beat his ass.” Because her English was limited, my mom didn’t mince words; she was direct. “Now.” She has a scowl that would make a hardened criminal cower. We squared off in the yard and went at it again but with a different result. My mom watched and then walked me back home. “Don’t take shit from anyone...ever.” Her English was broken but she somehow enunciated curse words like Samuel L. Jackson.
Tough love but definitely love and always love. There is no doubt about it. Not many hugs or spoken “I love you’s” but the episode of my first fight was just one of the countless examples when she showed her love for me. No denying it; I owe every ounce of good in me to my mother. It’s amplified even more so with her grandchildren.
My kids love their Grandma Ok Hui. She does kooky Korean shit but it’s such solid stuff. They know that they’re going to have a random array for fruit on a platter and eat meals until they’re about to explode. There’s no such thing as a full stomach in a Korean home. Whenever cold and flu season was about to hit, she’d make me ginseng tea and chicken soup. And she made me drink it boiling hot. “It’s not the same if you drink it when it cools down.” As if it somehow lost its magical healing powers when it cooled down. You want to know something? I can’t remember the last time I got sick. You want to know something else? I’m always cleaning, cooking, and looking for anything to keep myself busy. I also give my kids ginseng tea and chicken soup whenever cold and flu season is about to hit. Kooky grandma turned morphed into kooky dad.
She had a stroke a couple of summers ago. She lost the use of her right arm and couldn’t do much without rigorous assistance. My brother just happens to run the best stroke unit in Austin so we moved her in with him. I Facetime with her every Sunday. She is not technologically savvy in the least bit. While we were living in El Paso, she would call me to go to her house, because she thought her TV or cable was malfunctioning. She accidentally pressed the input button. It was the source input button every time. “Mom. The source button? Word?” And we’d laugh. She still fumbles with the phone when we get on FaceTime. She holds the phone at weird angles, zooms in way too close to her face, or reverses the camera. And we laugh. Compared to my siblings, I easily put her through the most grief. Also compared to my siblings, I easily gave her the most laughs. It’s definitely a point of pride for me.
My kids and I went to visit her last Thanksgiving. She was already sitting up, speaking more coherently, feeding herself, and moving around in her walker. She’s tough, man...a fighter
Daddy/Daughter Things
I was absolutely terrified of my father. We really didn’t interact unless he was angry and he happened to be angry all the time. Resting Michael Myers face. I never saw the man happy; I never saw him laugh...ever.
While my parents were at work, my brother at school, and my sister at daycare, I would be home alone for eight hours a day. I was four ---it was a different time so don’t judge. My mom prepared me on how to function on my own. Don't answer the door, don't answer the phone, and don't go anywhere until someone comes home. Though I’m pretty sure that she knew that I snuck out. Whenever I got hungry, I’d make myself a sandwich, cook some ramen, or heat up some Campbell’s soup (Chicken Noodle O’s was my fave). I spent a ridiculous amount of time in front of the TV as a kid. I watched the PBS educational shows on a loop: Sesame Street, The Letter People, Readalong, the Electric Company, 3-2-1 Contact. Over and over for hours and hours...I taught myself how to read and do basic arithmetic. What else did I watch? Looney Tunes. It was my dessert after the educational shows. I would completely lose myself in those cartoons.
“Bully for Bugs” was one of my favorite shorts. Quick summary...Bugs Bunny got lost, as was a common occurrence during his many travels, and stops to take a moment to look over his map. He just so happened to surface in the middle of an arena where a bullfight was taking place. Bugs rubs the bull the wrong way, and then of course, the hijinks ensue.
I was 20 when I found out that I was going to be a father. I didn’t flinch. I asked my now ex-wife to move in with me (we weren’t married at the time). I was going to do it right. I was going to be a good father. My baby was going to have memories of me happy and laughing, memories of us happy and laughing.
In my group of friends, I was easily the last guy that you would have picked to have an unplanned pregnancy. Well, I was the first. They couldn’t believe it when I told them. “Are you sure it’s yours?!” The thought never crossed my mind. I embraced it. The next nine months were spent daydreaming of who I wanted to be and what I needed to do. Questions asked and answered: don’t be like my dad. I didn’t find out that my baby was a girl until the day she was born. Asia Reign blessed us all and entered the stage on May 20th...a Taurus.
I know everyone thinks that their baby is the cutest baby ever but they’re wrong. Asia was the cutest baby ever. My mom told me that Asia was the cutest (my mother is the meanest lady I’ve ever known so it must be true). I still had a year left of college so she would stay with my mother until I finished with class. I raced home everyday to get back to her.
She was so animated. Her faces killed me: a smile, a frown, the way her eyes got huge when she saw the bottle, the intense concentration when she had to poop. From cradling her in my arms to crawling around on the floor with her to reading to her every night, I couldn’t get enough. Where the Wild Things Are was on repeat. I always whispered an affirmation as her eyes became heavy as she fell asleep...but that’s something that I don’t share and I keep for myself.
She loved our walks in her stroller around the neighborhood. She bubbled with excitement as she took in all of the sights and sounds. She pointed and shimmied at dogs barking, birds hopping on the ground, the leaves rustling in the trees, cars passing by, and people in their yards. Prolific she was; walking at 8 months and talking at 10. She was the smartest baby ever. (The. Smartest. Baby. Ever. I said what I said. See above for clarification.) Her first word was “dada.”
Dada’s number one priority was to protect his baby. From that security, it was also my job to instill unwavering belief in herself. The world can be ugly and cruel. I didn’t want Asia to be afraid of anything. To this day, I really can’t put my finger on it but that Bugs Bunny cartoon popped in my head. I squared her up, pointed my index fingers, put them on top of my head, scraped and stomped my foot on the floor, and snorted with an angry scowl on my face. I provoked her to mimic me and do the same. “Bull Time” was born. I figured that if she could run me over, then the world didn’t stand a chance.
It was never scheduled. No matter the situation whatever time of day, when either of us yelled, “Bull Time!” we immediately stopped what we were doing and it was on. After the square off, we would charge each other to see who was going to flinch or get flattened.
It began with us standing about two feet apart. Asia would take a step and cower. As time passed and she gained more confidence, we increased the distance. Two feet turned into ten feet. Again this was an exercise in overcoming fear, so I let her buck me and I would fly back and lie motionless. What actually happened most of the time was she'd burst into laughter at the moment of impact and I would wrap my arms around her and launch her up in the air.
It went from ten feet to twenty yards. She would back up all the way down the hallway and sprint toward me in the living room. “Bull Time!” Groceries in hand, reading a book, relaxing on the couch; it didn’t matter. “Bull Time” took precedence. She no longer gave me warning. I had to keep my head on a swivel. I’d come home from work, and before I had a chance to place both of my feet through the door, the cutest maniac would fervently sprint and buck me unannounced with the force of a Mike Tyson body shot. She caught me pretty good a few times and I buckled. Mission accomplished. Asia wasn’t afraid anymore.
My life didn’t necessarily go as scripted (cue up “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” to play in the background). I got married, had my son Miles, got separated, got divorced, and moved cities twice. Asia took the divorce hard. She was 11 at the time and her idea of divorce was shaped by her friends' parents' messy battles. There were a few years that followed when she hated me. I anticipated the hate, but it didn’t hurt any less. It almost broke me. But I also knew that it would pass once she was given time to see the divorce settle from a distance.
There’s a scene in Training Day where Ethan Hawke’s character talks about the key to life being how we manage our smiles and cries. Those years were lean on smiles. A straight face was the best I could muster most days. I found myself surfing the waves of melancholy. I felt like Sisyphus pushing a boulder of cries. But whatever funky mood pervaded my day, it immediately dissipated my being and was replaced with irrepressible joy whenever I hopped into the DeLorean back to the sound of my Asia’s sprinting little feet smacking the tile floor.
I keep that, and other priceless memories, in my savings account. My goal was simple: I wanted Asia to brave whatever monster stood in her path. I failed to see it then, but it was bigger than that. I was making an investment. “Bull Time” was a deposit that continues to increase in value greater than any stock, bond, or fund. And from the interest, I draw joy whenever I need it. Hopefully, she does too.