Earlier this month I received some very, very bad news. It was and is, to my mind, the worst thing a guy could hear. Perhaps worst of all, the situation is such that I cannot talk about it to anyone. This has caused some very interesting emotional responses from me, including the first time I’ve ever punched a wall.
A friend of mine once described me as a powder keg with an incredibly long fuse. Like a Great Dane letting a chihuahua pull on its tail, it’s going to take a lot more than the petty concerns of everyday life to make me bite. If I do, though, gods help you.
I think a lot of that comes from not fully appreciating my hugeness. I grew up small, and was picked on by bullies and teased by my peers with sufficient viciousness as to require frequent school changes. When I was a little kid I looked at my reflection in a magnifying mirror and made my second, and last, sincere wish. I wished I could be that big.
It happened between junior and senior year of high school. It was like I left school in June the smallest guy in the school and came back back in September the largest. I would think I had imagined the whole thing if I didn’t still have the stretch marks. My theory is that I was too malnourished to fulfill the design of my genes. Like a fish in a tank that’s too small, I had near-crippling pain in my bones and joints as a child. Every time I had free access to food I had a growth spurt.
I threw my lunches away in elementary school and often didn’t eat dinner. My step-dad was very controlling about food. Night after night, dinner was overcooked ramen, honey on white bread, and Kool-aid. If we had a family dinner, and my step-dad was sober, he’d just as likely tell me I was eating the easter bunny as slap me out of my chair.
By fifth grade, the school situation had gotten so bad my mom sent me to go live with my dad in Long Beach, California. My mom and dad actually got along pretty well up until then. From their example, I thought most divorces ended in lasting friendships.
My dad sent me to a small private school, but it was more of the same. A bully was making my life miserable and I would frequently break down crying during class. At first I tried to hide what was going on, but eventually my dad caught wind of it. My grades were terrible, and rather than miss going to my first ever baseball game, I let it spill.
My dad treated me as a rational person and taught me about life. He showed me important movies like “2001: A Space Odyssey,” “Alien,” “Pink Floyd The Wall,” and “The Terminator.” He let me listen to other than country music. He bought me toys, got me a cat, took me to Disneyland. In other words, he acted like a father, and like a parent.
Everything in my life began to turn around. The bully that picked on me became my best friend, and I became very popular. It turns out, he wasn’t even a bully. He just didn’t like my face.
My dad let me eat anything I wanted. I once became obsessed with getting a “triple order” of something, because I read it in Garfield, my favorite comic at the time. So my dad takes me out to this place and I order the chicken nuggets. This wasn’t McDonalds. This was one of those places that gives you a pound of chicken.
It turns out a triple order is a whole fucking lot. I guess that was the joke, that Garfield had casually ordered a quantity of food no human being could ever consume in one sitting. I hadn’t quite gotten it, but my dad had. Yet, he let me order it anyway. Not for nothing, I can’t consider buying extra anything without remembering that meal.
Unfortunately, the school only went to fifth grade, but my dad found this amazing school with a strong science program. This was the kind of school that took class trips to Washington, D.C. and was rightly referred to as an academy, as in, academia, versus a school, which just a big group, a corral for kids so their parents can work.
My mom said hell no and made my dad send me back. She stuck me in a fundamentalist Christian school and, in the time it took for my dad to transform me from a sobbing flunk-out into a future valedictorian, I was expelled for minor behavioral problems after my mom got into a snit with the school’s attached church.
There’s something I didn’t realize until today, though. When I was a kid I thought my dad was rich because he’d give me five dollars in quarters at the arcade and buy me dinner, or a book. He even gave me an allowance so I could take care of my own petty needs without his help or permission. Yet, he paid for the school month to month. Every month or so he would give me a check to take to the principal.
I never really thought about it, but I was only in that school for a semester, and an incomplete one at that. It really seems like you pay for that sort of thing in full. Unless you’re a single dad who still has to pay his married ex-wife child support. I never realized the sacrifice my dad made for me. Given the life that followed, I always just sort of thought of that time as a pleasant vacation.
I’m about as old now as my dad was then, and I can finally see those days through his eyes. He was 19-going-on-20 and my mom was 17-going-on-18. They both wanted to get away from their parents. He got married, joined the Navy, learned a useful trade, had a son, then a daughter. My parents were just kids then. They had their problems. If they were being honest with themselves, they’d both feel like perfect asses for the way they were.
Still, here’s the thing about that. Except for being mixed-race, we were a normal barely-middle-class family. I rode my bike, had adventures, and generally lived a normal life with normal ups and downs. I remember everything so clearly from that time, in stark contrast to the disarrayed shoebox of horrid flashbacks that is most of my “childhood memories.”
I remember what happened, but only now do I understand it. Maybe every man who grew up without his father must eventually seek to understand him, to understand what happened. When my father was 23 years old, his wife left him and took his two children to go live with his best friend. It only took a couple of months before the infatuation evaporated. She resented what a sniveling coward he was, and left, pregnant. My dad took her back.
I should start calling my dad Saint Patrick, because he actually took the cheating bitch back and raised another man’s child as if it were his own. In fact, I resented my half-sister a little, because dad overcompensated. It was as if he had somehow taken his sorrow, his anger, and his humiliation, and turned it into love for the very symbol of his cuckoldry.
I once told him how amazed I was by that. I have no tolerance for infidelity, marital or otherwise, so to take this symbol, this cartoonish “Jackass” sign hanging around your neck, and to raise it, let alone love it, is astonishing. He just shrugged it off, maybe even got a little mad at me. “She’s not a symbol,” he said. “She’s a child, innocent of all this.”
As my dad approached his thirties, his wife left again. I’m not sure why they divorced, but I assume it was my mom’s decision. I ultimately refuse to blame either one. They were so young. She got the kids, the house, and child support. He got regular visitation rights and peace and quiet. Of course, being a single mom is no cake walk, but as is her wont, she had a plan.
My mom joined the Navy or, at least, she tried to. During the recruitment process, it was discovered she had an inner ear defect that made her partially deaf on one side. So she went with plan B and married her recruiter, a career Navy man old enough to be her father.
You’re 28, a bachelor for the first time in your life, and your ex-wife just married some geezer who works where you used to work. I don’t know what I’d do in that situation, and I don’t really know what he did either. I imagine he worked his ass off and smoked a lot of pot. I imagine I’d do the same.
Still, you miss your kids. Your daughter’s still a toddler, but your boy’s old enough to take a short trip. But when you pick him up, you can’t help notice he’s acting a little strangely. If only you knew.
The weekend before that trip my step-dad took us to the beach. I was still naïve enough to think it was just a family fun day. When we got home, my mom took my sister into the shower to clean up. My step-dad asked me if I “wanted to go with my dad.” Of course I wanted to go with him. What could be better than a week with my dad?
I don’t know if my step-dad actually thought I wanted to go live with my dad and I misunderstood the meaning of the question, or if that was just what he told my mom. In either case, it was the wrong answer. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled off his belt. The scene was almost comical. He would hit me so hard I would jump forward a bit, but because he had my arm, the effect is that we would just go around and around, him beating me in a circle.
Eventually my mom heard my screaming and told him, too casually, to let me go. She called me into the bathroom, and I sat there in a ball at the back of the tub while my mom and sister showered. My dad didn’t know about that, nor did he know I had been getting in trouble in school for grades and behavior. I had been diagnosed with ADHD, but my mom felt the best treatment for that was the belt.
Whatever unease he picked up, whatever investigation he launched, it was cut short when the Navy reassigned my step-dad to Hawaii. We had lived in Corpus Christi, Texas. I assume my parents moved there when my dad got out of the Navy so my mom could be near her sister. With us gone, dad had no business in Texas, so he moved back in with his parents. Knowing how much he hated his own father, he must have been broke.
When he was 30 or so, he shared a house with his (new) best friend and a cardiologist who was almost never there. He started talking to his ex about joint custody. When the boy ran into yet another problem at yet another school, he had his son back. It was challenging at first, but the boy began to blossom. Anymore, the only time he cried was when his mom called to remind him how miserable he was.
Then, just like that, he was gone. Once again, his mother had taken him far away. I don’t know if my dad had threatened to declare independence, or if he didn’t think he should have to pay child support, or if mom had been chipping in on tuition and the awesome new school was too expensive. Maybe it was because the boy hadn’t been going to church, and the new school was secular. I don’t know what my mom was thinking, but I know what my dad did. He packed up his shit and left his nice, tidy new life behind. He moved to Hawaii, so he could exert his visitation rights.
It was great having my dad around but it was also hard. My step-dad was insanely jealous of him, and took his wrath out on me. He was out to sea for weeks, or even months, at a time, and he must have already caught wind of the little dating club that had formed among the Navy wives. In fact I believe my mom did make overtures at my dad, and that he refused them. She had always loved him, after all, and here she was, a woman at her sexual peak, shackled to a senior citizen
After that, things took a turn between my mom and dad. When my dad remarried, it was the final straw. My mom quit her full-time gig to pursue a side project, and sent me to live with her parents. She refused to let dad see us. She threw away his cards and letters, keeping any money for herself. She began telling us horror stories about him, that he would get stoned and beat her up, that he killed kittens in the microwave. Now your kids are afraid of you, and your son is under lock and key in Biloxi God-Damned Mississippi.
So, defeated, he gave up. I wouldn’t hear a word from him again until high school graduation, and I wouldn’t get to know him until I was old enough to buy plane tickets and appreciate single-malt scotch. When I think about my dad’s life back then, I think about the things that constitute manhood. Finding a woman and keeping her from other men, raising a family and providing for their needs, building a home and keeping it protected.
Most men don’t get much in life, but every male child — rich or poor, black or white, gay or straight — is born with the innate knowledge that the measure of his manhood is in keeping a mate, a job, and a home. It’s right there in the low-level opcodes, right next to “make fire.”
My own manhood has been made vulnerable by losing my job. Yes, I left willingly and amicably, and yes, I am working productively on United Lemur. Though my higher mind knows this is a temporary situation that will lead to bigger and better things, my lizard brain is on red alert. The shields on my ego are down, and the only thing keeping a meteor from crashing through, is the sheer vastness of the space.
It also calls for caution with my finances. Things are fine, but no big purchases or vacations for a while. I find myself at Safeway more and Whole Foods less. When I think about going into Zoka, I have to consider the cost of coffee. So it was particularly bad timing when I stopped by the house after lunch to find my wife’s computer missing.
I decided to work at Zoka for the second time this month because it was St. Patrick’s Day and I wanted to justify the expense of matching green, shamrock-in-the-O “O’Bama” shirts. I loved the sense of humor they presented. I imagined Obama updating his Twitter and seeing Acorn-hacked Obama logos all over the place and thinking, “That is hilarious.”
Our apartment used to be a doctor’s office. It is separated from the building, has a parking space in front of it, and has a little decal that says, “Entrance around front.” It also has a “Now renting!” sign in front of it. The sign has an arrow that could be seen as pointing to our apartment. People come by thinking it’s the manager’s office all the time. It’s easy to imagine what happened.
They try the handle. The door opens. They start to walk in, but freeze in their tracks. It’s dark in here. Their eyes adjust. This looks like someone’s living room. They’re confused; they call out, “Hello? Hel-looooooooo?” Are they in someone’s house? How the heck did that happen? Across the room, they see my wife’s 17-inch MacBook Pro. They stare at it, as a thought begins to form.
They look around, then slowly step inside. In a flash, their mind commits and they walk quickly to the laptop, grab it and its power cord, tuck it into their jacket, then walk, hurried but casual, back to their car. They pull away and drive off with their prize. They can go apartment hunting later.
I honestly don’t know if the door was locked or not. I used my key to get in, but that whole transaction is so habitual, I didn’t consider the amount of resistance in turning the bolt. I had just had lunch with my wife and had other things on my mind. When I noticed the missing laptop, I figured she had taken it to work and went back to Xcode.
There was no sign of forced entry, and nothing else was taken. I’ve lived in some rough neighborhoods. I know what a place looks like that’s been hit by a professional burglar. Even if they’re just going for a quick grab, they’d have taken my Nikon F5 (they wouldn’t know it’s not digital) and the three external hard drives just filled with all kinds of juicy data. They would have taken the iMac and the 42” flat-screen, the Wii and the Apple TV. They would have lifted the mattress and rifled through the drawers and shelves looking for jewelry or cash. They would have taken the mail, had a beer, played a game of pinball.
The fact that nothing was taken or disturbed except for the first thing you’d see standing confused at the door says this was nothing but some very, very bad luck. In a way, it makes me feel better. When you’re paranoid, seeing the universe act randomly is kind of comforting. It also means they’re likely to just wipe the drive and start using the machine themselves, not go digging around for personal information.
But it’s still a violation. Your Mac is an extension of yourself. They call it Home for a reason; Your whole life is in there. For my ego, at least, it’s worse that they took my wife’s computer. Space turned out to not be big enough after all, and my hull has been breached. If you were to measure my testosterone right now it would probably come back as “6-year-old girl.” I feel defeated, not by anyone or anything, but by life. I feel like I’ve failed as a man, and am embarrassed for myself. I feel afraid of strangers and generally resentful of other people. I spent the day lying in wait with a loaded gun, fantasizing about exacting justice, feeling like a Republican.
Then I saw what people are calling Barack Obama’s “More Perfect Union” speech. I felt like I just went back in time and heard Dr. King deliver “I Have a Dream.” I cried and cried, then watched it again and cried some more. I felt like I witnessed history, the point at which it all turned around. Finally, someone stood up and spoke the truth. Finally, a person who stands to lose everything had the guts to tell America to stop being ridiculous and start acting rationally.
And he did so masterfully. As opposed to the stuttering idiot we’re so used to associating with the presidency, Obama was eloquent and forceful. He stood up for a friend, without turning to absolutism. At the same time, he refused to call Hillary Clinton onto the carpet, instead criticizing his own side, like poisoning the wine with something to which you are half-immune. It was a living paradox — political strategy with honor.
Then he did that thing he does. He told you his way of seeing things, and made it sound so obvious, you couldn’t even argue with him. It was like he was telling you what you already knew, and in a way, I think most of us did. I think we all have that little voice of sincerity that tells us we’re not as offended, or as righteous, or as hateful, as we think we are.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this speech is why it was given in the first place. Obama’s friend and pastor made some comments and people started crying racism. This is the kind of shit we all knew was going to get thrown around in whispers. The accepted response is to do a little whispering of your own. This is what we call politics.
Obama said fuck that, and fuck you, politics. He did the political equivalent of turning to the guy with the snide remarks and saying, “if you have a problem, why don’t you say it to my face?” Except he didn’t even do that. That implies a taste for conflict. In truth, what Obama said was, “I heard what you said and you raise an interesting point. Let’s talk about this.” This is a man who has the temerity to stand up for himself and the strength to do so with a handshake.
In awe, but without implying anything messianic, I asked, What Would Obama Say? I think he’d say, “Man, up bitch. Seriously, get it together. Yes, you’ve had a really bad month, but you’re an engineer, known and respected by people all over the world. Solving problems is what you live for, so get some perspective and let’s think about this.”
He’s right. Sometimes being a man isn’t just about home and family. Sometimes being a man means realizing the present sucks, but you can’t let that affect the future. You have to take the first step, and grin and bear any pain, even in the face of bullies, whisperers, and life itself. Sometimes, the only thing a man has is his will, but it’s enough. Homes can be rebuilt, jobs regained, wives re-earned. Things get better and things get worse, but you can never really lose, unless you die a coward.
So, thank you, future President Obama. I owe you one.
Addenda 
Patrick Burleson
Mike, you have no idea how much what you wrote has touched me. My mother died when I was 5 and I was raised by my dad and a conglomeration of relatives and others. Looking back, I've gotten over a lot of the resentment because I see he was just trying to do the best thing he could for me.
I hope things go very well with United Lemur. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens with that venture.
And I hope you find the bastards that took your MBP. That's just wrong.
Mike, you have no idea how much what you wrote has touched me. My mother died when I was 5 and I was raised by my dad and a conglomeration of relatives and others. Looking back, I've gotten over a lot of the resentment because I see he was just trying to do the best thing he could for me.
I hope things go very well with United Lemur. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens with that venture.
And I hope you find the bastards that took your MBP. That's just wrong.
Geoff Cheshire
Great writing, Mike. Tough stuff. Often dealing with adversity and doing well despite it (and I'm a public defender, so I see a great deal of adversity) is doing what you did. Accepting that this sucks, is unfair, and all that, and yet—and yet!—moving on. Not letting events drag you down and becoming an accomplice in being a victim.
Keep up the good fight, and thanks for all you're doing for the Obama campaign (and your country).
(I know this won't help you right now, but for anyone reading—renter's insurance or homeowners insurance is pretty affordable, and would have probably covered the MBP.)
Great writing, Mike. Tough stuff. Often dealing with adversity and doing well despite it (and I'm a public defender, so I see a great deal of adversity) is doing what you did. Accepting that this sucks, is unfair, and all that, and yet—and yet!—moving on. Not letting events drag you down and becoming an accomplice in being a victim.
Keep up the good fight, and thanks for all you're doing for the Obama campaign (and your country).
(I know this won't help you right now, but for anyone reading—renter's insurance or homeowners insurance is pretty affordable, and would have probably covered the MBP.)
Alan Francis
Hey Mike, I wish there was something I could do. "The worst thing a guy could hear" has me spinning in about 7 different directions about fatherhood, marriage, health, parents and everything else.
All I can do is say I'm thinking about you, and you're one brave motherfucker. I wish I had your balls, bro.
Hey Mike, I wish there was something I could do. "The worst thing a guy could hear" has me spinning in about 7 different directions about fatherhood, marriage, health, parents and everything else.
All I can do is say I'm thinking about you, and you're one brave motherfucker. I wish I had your balls, bro.
Giuseppe
We don't know each other, but in this strange warped space that the net has become I've been following you, like many others, attracted by our similarities and fascinated by our differences. For what is worth when it's someone you never met face to face to tell you that, you're a good man Mike, and you're heart is in the right place. Don't be unnecessarily hard on yourself. Best of lucks man.
We don't know each other, but in this strange warped space that the net has become I've been following you, like many others, attracted by our similarities and fascinated by our differences. For what is worth when it's someone you never met face to face to tell you that, you're a good man Mike, and you're heart is in the right place. Don't be unnecessarily hard on yourself. Best of lucks man.
Jeff Hottinger
Ah man, this is a great essay. Maybe you should give up on stupid software and focus on writing. I kid of course, but this is a really awesome and pretty fearless piece.
Also, sorry about your wang/masculinity/pride, but it sounds like you are over it and taking the hit with a good deal of perspective.
I like how you tied it to Obama's speech too; you pulled the value out that I've been reluctant to attribute. I usually get frustrated by Obama- to me he mostly seems like a very talented orator who is absolutely committed to not saying anything at all. That only lasted about a third of last night's speech though, and the higher road theme is a fundamentally valuable one.
To stay focused, my last appreciative observation is that Safari 3's ability to resize any text input box is really nice for composing this comment. I guess everything is looking up after-all!
Ah man, this is a great essay. Maybe you should give up on stupid software and focus on writing. I kid of course, but this is a really awesome and pretty fearless piece.
Also, sorry about your wang/masculinity/pride, but it sounds like you are over it and taking the hit with a good deal of perspective.
I like how you tied it to Obama's speech too; you pulled the value out that I've been reluctant to attribute. I usually get frustrated by Obama- to me he mostly seems like a very talented orator who is absolutely committed to not saying anything at all. That only lasted about a third of last night's speech though, and the higher road theme is a fundamentally valuable one.
To stay focused, my last appreciative observation is that Safari 3's ability to resize any text input box is really nice for composing this comment. I guess everything is looking up after-all!
Rick Eames
Great story, but I was left at the end wondering about your father. Did you end up having a relationship with him, what happened to him? Your mom?
I grew up similarly to this in the opposite sense, and have zero relationship with my father, and now take care of my mother. Life is weird that way.
Years ago, I had saved a lot of money and purchased a MacPlus. it was my pride and joy. I was living with my aunt at the time, and one day she called me at work crying and told me the house had been broken into. I got home and saw that indeed, everything one could imagine was taken, including my beloved Mac (with my copy of Lightspeed Pascal, no less). It got worse when her insurance refused to cover my mac. It took a long time for me to recover from that one.
Keep your chin up, Mike!
Great story, but I was left at the end wondering about your father. Did you end up having a relationship with him, what happened to him? Your mom?
I grew up similarly to this in the opposite sense, and have zero relationship with my father, and now take care of my mother. Life is weird that way.
Years ago, I had saved a lot of money and purchased a MacPlus. it was my pride and joy. I was living with my aunt at the time, and one day she called me at work crying and told me the house had been broken into. I got home and saw that indeed, everything one could imagine was taken, including my beloved Mac (with my copy of Lightspeed Pascal, no less). It got worse when her insurance refused to cover my mac. It took a long time for me to recover from that one.
Keep your chin up, Mike!
Random Lemur
"When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Its something one hears often...has become a cliche, in fact. But reading your post, I thought: here is a guy who symbolizes what they mean by that!
Now if only we could all get out of our moping and inertia and get going with life! Its short, its sometimes hard..but there is a whole lot to enjoy in the few decades we get on this earth!
"When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Its something one hears often...has become a cliche, in fact. But reading your post, I thought: here is a guy who symbolizes what they mean by that!
Now if only we could all get out of our moping and inertia and get going with life! Its short, its sometimes hard..but there is a whole lot to enjoy in the few decades we get on this earth!
Random Lemur
Eep! Ok I have no idea how I wandered on to this corner of the internet this late at night... but I started reading and couldn't stop. I wouldn't say I enjoyed it because it isn't enjoyable to hear about the everyman's misfortune, but your tale (not to make it sound fictional) inspires. Bravo. I would be interested in reading more about your history, and suggest that the transition from your father to the Theft/Obama could be better.
Eep! Ok I have no idea how I wandered on to this corner of the internet this late at night... but I started reading and couldn't stop. I wouldn't say I enjoyed it because it isn't enjoyable to hear about the everyman's misfortune, but your tale (not to make it sound fictional) inspires. Bravo. I would be interested in reading more about your history, and suggest that the transition from your father to the Theft/Obama could be better.
Dirk Stoop
Keep your chin up Mike, you've got plenty to be proud of, more than plenty. I wish I could just drop by and buy you a beer somewhere.
Keep your chin up Mike, you've got plenty to be proud of, more than plenty. I wish I could just drop by and buy you a beer somewhere.
Andre
I feel ya man. Its tough. I've had a difficult time growing up, and have had/made my share of problems... once i learned though, that even when making no mistakes, one can still come upon hard times, i realized that life really is tough.
Sometimes I wonder, is it all worth it? Human relations are really hard, and I find my self increasingly tired... yet those times when there's at least a hope of making it better, those times when I can meet someone new, or simply move on, or even see another beautiful sunrise or sunset, i feel i can go on, i want to go on. I wanna see 'whats out there.'
Yea, lets see what's out there..,
I feel ya man. Its tough. I've had a difficult time growing up, and have had/made my share of problems... once i learned though, that even when making no mistakes, one can still come upon hard times, i realized that life really is tough.
Sometimes I wonder, is it all worth it? Human relations are really hard, and I find my self increasingly tired... yet those times when there's at least a hope of making it better, those times when I can meet someone new, or simply move on, or even see another beautiful sunrise or sunset, i feel i can go on, i want to go on. I wanna see 'whats out there.'
Yea, lets see what's out there..,
Left, the impact crater from one punch. Right, the foot-wide dent from my elbow as the arm recoiled. Not shown, the 8-foot debris radius of ejected material.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Smoking Halfpipe
