Single On Valentine's Day (a rant for single people)

A friend of mine recently attempted to insult this misogynist asshole I know.

Forgetting I was single, she said "And that's why he isn't married."

As if...

As if being married...or in a relationship is somehow inherently superior to being single.

Single seems natural to me.

I was BORN single.

I am HAPPY single.

I would consider having a girlfriend, but she would have to be AMAZING!!

Because my life is in fact AMAZING already and everything that comes into it must be to this standard.

My band is amazing.

My friends are amazing.

My kids are A-FUCKING-MAZING!!

I have the car I want...the guitars I want...I even have the fucking TV I want.

I live in America where I have such mind-bending decisions as to WHICH pizza will I order tonight? Or should I watch The Office again? start Breaking Bad over? or watch a movie?

There are WAY MORE GOOD THINGS TO DO THAN THERE ARE HOURS IN THE DAY.

So why accept an average person for a mate?

I am NOT down on monogamy.

Some of the best times in my life were had with a "special someone", but the idea that just being in a relationship is a good thing is asinine.

Most couples are miserable.

They are two people caught in an endless loop of unresolved childhood issues, projected and played out on each other and it is just sad.

When I DO meet a girl it usually plays out like this:

"Oh she's pretty." then I talk to her.

And I find out...

She lacks intelligence...or lacks ambition...or says something stupid like "Who has time to read?" or "I don't like Sonic Youth." or "Who's Wes Anderson?"

Or I meet someone who is totally amazing, but the attraction isn't there for one or both of us.

Which is awesome, because then I have an amazing new friend.

I LIKE single people.

I like people who have inner-strength and who aren't looking for someone else to complete their lives.

People say to me often "You have such high standards."

And that's the key isn't it?

Lowering our standards.

That's what people do, right?

People are so lonely that they lower their standards and end up in a relationship with some asshole.

One day at a time they SETTLE for a person who isn't what they dreamed of and they make excuses for them.

And this allows them to make excuses for themselves.

And they make excuses for their shit job.

They call it acceptance... so it doesn't sound so bad.

And then they tell us single people that our "standards are to high"

Perhaps our standards for what we require in a mate SHOULD be high.

And our standards for what we will accept from ourselves should definitely be high.

Perhaps being single is to be admired.

Perhaps self-sufficiency should be saluted over codependency.

Perhaps Cupid needs glasses.

Or a decent therapist.

Or maybe he should just switch to tranquilizing darts.

Instead of those real ones that often seem so misguided.

2:00 AM or The Time I Got Stuck In the Snow In The Hood and a Bunch of Black Dudes Surrounded My Vehicle

Returning home after 1 am this morning...from visiting friends and exchanging late Christmas gifts...nearly home...feeling cocky...explaining to my kids, Clark Griswald style, that it's all about driving..."People don't know how to drive in this shit...if you keep cool and keep moving, momentum will carry you through."

God, sick of listening to me, stops my vehicle cold.

We are stuck.

Right in the middle of the road.

Just a few blocks from our home.

Spin...spin...forward...reverse...forward...reverse...the smell of burning rubber.

The gas gauge is on E...I cannot do this rocking back and forth thing for much longer or I will be stuck in the snow and out of gas as well.

A bunch of black guys start walking towards our van.

Now when people tell a story and they say "black guy" or "Asian lady" I always stop them and say "Is this person's skin tone essential to the telling of your story?"

In this case it is, because it may be self-implicating.

I wonder if I was more afraid due to the fact that these young men were black.

I analyze it against, imagining a group of white guys coming up on my van like that and I think I would have been just as scared considering the time and place.

But I wonder...

As I exited the vehicle I could hear my own words in my head, the words I have said in defense of my neighborhood a thousand times...

"This area isn't so bad. Don't be out on foot late at night and you will be alright. All those people you see on the news are always getting shot at like 2:00 AM. Nothing good is going on around here at 2:00 AM."

I look at my iPhone and think about how it is currency for thieves.

It says it is 1:47 AM an then it ominously powers down.

Taking the safety off my weapon I get out and say "Sup guys." realizing in my British Peacoat, Old Navy sweater and graying bead, that I am completely lacking in street cred.

"We thought we would try to push you out." one of them says.

Slightly relieved, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I can no longer tell if I am just a father trying to protect his children or some kind of racist who has fooled himself into believing that he was evolved.

"It's been a long day. Just need to get this van unstuck and I'll figure it out tomorrow." I say to myself.

I start to say "Good lookin out", but remembering my Old Navy sweater, I say "Oh thanks guys. I appreciate the help." and we all start to push.

We push hard...we get it rocking back and forth...my sense of guilt increases with each failed attempt...finally one of them says "Man, I'm gonna run home and grab a shovel."

"Where do you live?" I ask.

"Just a few blocks thatta way." he points.

"Nah man. You guys get to where you are going. Thanks so much for your help, but it is freezing out here. I just live a few blocks away. I'm going to walk home...change outta these wet clothes...grab my shovel and come back and dig myself out."

With that, we shook hands, and the kids and I started walking home.

...

When we got home I told my teenage son to get into some dry clothes and to come help me.

As we got back to the van it was ridiculously cold. The wind was whipping and we were using the shovels to steady ourselves.

I reluctantly handed my son a piece and said "I doubt you will have to use this, but just in case."

I was grateful for all those trips to the shooting range and the firearms safety courses. It was a strange feeling knowing that my little boy was no longer a little boy, but someone who could save my life if worst came to worst.

The thought of my son having to shoot someone disturbed me, but not as much as the thought of someone shooting him.

I wondered if all that target practice and thousands of hours of Call of Duty would translate into him being able to put someone down if we were put in a life or death situation.

Then I told myself to stop thinking such horrible thoughts.

It's 2:00 AM in Emerson Heights...it is -20 with the windchill and we are all business.

...

We began digging.

The cold biting.

About every 10 minutes we would get in the van and try to rock our way out.

Nothing changed.

Digging and more digging.

I hadn't seen a car for an hour.

Tires spinning.

Frustration growing.

Digging..digging...

I knew if I left it here my mini-van would be gone in the morning.

Impounded...hundreds of dollars to get it out...missed work...we had to get this done.

Digging...digging...breaking through ice...silent discouragement...no talking...

Digging...

...

A set of headlights approach.

As it comes into view my I see it is a 4X4 truck with tinted windows.

It stops directly behind us.

I try to see through the windshield, but I cannot so I keep digging.

The tension in my body mounts as the truck sits there, idling.

I think of Henry Gates.

I think of American Psycho.

I think of No Country for Old Men.

I reach in my pocket to make sure my salvation is still there and for the second time I take the safety off.

The truck backs up and goes around us, driving over the curb, with great ease, in the process.

Frosty air comes from my son's mouth as he says "What a dick! It was harder for him to go around then it would have been for him to help us!"

Then the truck stops and slowly backs up toward us.

It comes to a stop and yet again nothing happens.

I continue to dig and finally...fucking finally...one of the doors open.

I reach in my pocket and wait.

I look at my son.

He has stopped shoveling and has his hand in the pocket of his coat.

"Well ...well...well...what have we here? Front wheel drive, huh?"

A man approaches with a chain, kneels down and hooks it to the trailer hitch on his truck.

"I told you if you need anything to just give me a call." and with that I recognize the voice and when he turnes around I see the smiling face of my friend Tony.

"Oh my god, dude. You saved my ass!!"

"Yeah these things got some power, but front wheel drive. That's the problem. They can't really pull you out once you get stuck." he says affixing the other end of the chain to my vehicle.

"Dude I thought you were gonna kill us. Why did you sit in your truck so long behind us like that?"

"Oh, I was just trying to see if I could push you out, but I was afraid I would bust your tail-lights, the way these line-up." he pauses "Thought I was gonna kill you, huh? No I've been drivin around in this gettin people unstuck all night. This thing will drive through anything."

"Let me know if you need anything else."

And with that, he was off.

Never have I appreciated the warmth of my home so much.

Never have I been so grateful for good friends...and good strangers...who become friends..when situations that require us to stick together arise.

I was grateful for the struggle and the relief when the struggle was over.

I was grateful for shovels and dry clothes.

I am grateful that I was wrong...and that my neighborhood is beautiful...even after dark and sometimes... and that good things do happen around here... at 2:00 am.

God Bless Us Everyone

I remember when I was 5 and my mother and I were walking out of a fast food restaurant and she dropped her Coke on the ground.

Sadness enveloped me.

I remember how excited my mom had been to get this food.

It was rare for us to go to a restaurant.

In fact I can only recall one other time.

I knew she couldn't afford another Coke and I knew the meal wouldn't be as good without it.

I don't think I knew that I knew all this at the time.

I just knew that I felt overwhelming sadness as I stared at the syrup racing toward it's unknown destination, filling crack and crevice as it went.

It seemed to have some place to go and at the age of five I already knew that life was hard.



Someone, taking that in might say that my mother had a weight problem and didn't need fast food and a Coke.

They would have a point.

My mother eventually lost her legs due to her weight issues.

Perhaps this judgmental, hypothetical person would have said that God was knocking the Coke from her hand in an attempt to save her life...

They might say that she should spend that money on buying her son clothes that fit him or put it in a savings account to "better her station" in life, but looking back, I'm not sure my mother could have bettered herself.

I think perhaps she was born on a low rung of society and didn't have the equipment to climb out.

Perhaps it was her destiny to suffer.



This belief terrifies me.



Where is The American Dream in that nightmare?

How does a loving god fit into a world that just isn't fair?

"We hold these beliefs to be self-evident that all men are created equal...."

I want this to be true so badly.

I pray to a god I want to believe in that indeed all PEOPLE are created equal and that I may have eyes to see and ears to hear this epiphany.

But I watch people...and I listen...

And where I live there seem to be a lot of people who have fallen in and can't climb out.

I ask my son about an obese woman we see walking with sandals and no socks.

She is crying.

"What should she do?" I ask him.

He wants to answer. He thinks hard.

"I don't know." he says.

"What should she do?" I ask my daughter.

"Help her!" she screams at me.

"How?"

"She needs socks." she says.

Looking around for a shop, I do not see one.

Quickly I take my own dirty socks from my feet and put my shoes back on.

"Hey" I say lightheartedly as I get out of the warmth of my car "put these on will yah? You're making me cold just lookin at yah."

She seems distant, but she takes the socks and begins putting them on her swollen red feet.

As she goes to put her sandals back on I realize I haven't thought this through.

Her shoes are flip-flops and you can't put them on over socks.

I actually feel upset that I have to give her one of my favorite pairs of shoes.

And I am even more annoyed at myself for feeling this way.

She never says a word and she doesn't stop crying.

She never even looks at me.

As I drive away, I lecture my kids about how you have to be careful when dealing with the mentally ill, I chastise myself for not feeding her.

I didn't even think about it.

With my feet wet and cold I asked my children "What can that woman do better?"

My son said "Perhaps she is already trying her hardest."

As we drive past an old man we constantly see having heated conversations with himself, my son says "We have been learning about schizophrenia in school. It's like your mind is broken and won't function properly."

There is silence the rest of the way home, but the kids are not looking at their iPhones.

They are looking at the people.

They are seeing the struggle.

As we carry our groceries into our warm house my son says "It's not their fault, but it's not our fault either."

"I know" I say. It is all I can get out, because my voice is cracking.

"What can we do?" my daughter asks.

"I don't know." I say "But we'll figure something out."

Holidays, Hospitals and Things Left Unsaid

These holidays always turn me melancholy.

I drink more...and laugh more...

And for some reason it's okay to love more.

No one looks at me sideways.

I drive and listen to orchestral Christmas music.

And I tear up very easily.

When I roll through poor neighborhoods I imagine the children and their parents and how the holidays highlight the disparity between the haves and the have-nots.

My heart aches and I want to save every last one of them.

One year I was drunk and explaining this to my friend.

I told her how I wanted to anonymously give them all what they needed for Christmas.

On Christmas morning all the children would look up at their parents and feel so loved and taken care of.

And the parents would wonder what happened and their faith in miracles would be renewed.

My friend was laughing hysterically and said "You know what you are describing, don't you?"

I looked at her quizzically and she said "You want to be Santa Clause." and she fell over laughing.

I had never thought of it that way, but yeah, sure.

But of course, it is obvious I am just trying to heal some wound in myself right?

That I am trying to save that little Mykl who wondered why Santa didn't bring him presents when I tried so hard to be good...

But I can't save the world.

And children go hungry.

And little ones fall through the cracks and I cannot catch them...

And Santa skips a lot of houses in the hood...

And people tell their kids that it is because they were bad, because that is easier than admitting the truth...

And I don't even come close to knowing how to mend these tiny broken hearts...

So I drive to the hospital to visit my mother and she has once again nearly died and once again I am limbo between wanting to love her the way I imagine a son is supposed to love his mother...

And wanting to be angry at her for what she did to me and what she let others do to me.

But it is too late for all that...

The time for "Why didn't you protect me?!" has passed...

We are all too old for that now...

And she doesn't know anyway.

No one knows anything...

But there are other people there...other family members who I never see.

Simple people...who I used to hate for their simplicity...

And I am starting to appreciate now for their simplicity...

And I don't know what to say to these people...

And I feel that they hate me..but I realize that is just me projecting...

So I accept that I have nothing to say to them so I talk to them about simple things...

And I keep my opinions to myself...not because I am fake, but because I know they wouldn't understand and I don't want to hurt them...

And we talk about football...and we talk about food...and we talk about things I don't care about at all...

And it's not so bad...

The things I imagine define me I had to leave at the door.

They don't know I am a feminist...

They don't know I am a gay rights supporter...

They don't know I am a singer in a rock band...

I might as well tell them I am a space alien...

They talk about Jesus and they talk about  9/11...

They talk about Peyton Fucking Manning!!

And then one of them ask me if I like Linkin Park...

Which would have been enough to make me throw a punch a few years ago, but I realize it is not meant to be offensive...

It is their way of trying to understand me..and to connect with me...

So I say "Well...they certainly are very successful. My band could learn a lot about marketing from them."

Because I appreciate this effort and want to reciprocate...

And then my uncle says "You probably don't remember planting potatoes with me when you were a little kid."

"I was four." I say.

"Yeah!!" he is excited "And I enjoyed digging those holes with you so much that I knew right then that I wanted to have a boy of my own and that's why I asked you to marry me." and he looks at my aunt.

They smile at each other and their eyes twinkle and I think about their kids and try to remember them.

I remember that they have four...all adults now.

"It's because of you that I have this amazing life." he says.

"It was at night I say...I always thought I imagined that."

Everyone is smiling...

And somehow...for a moment...everything makes sense.