Its time.

I don’t intimidate much, but this was new territory for me. In the time since I retired and started taking care of the girls full time, I stop doing what had worked for me before. I ate like shit, I didn’t drink a lot, but I drank enough and I smoked my beloved cigars every damn day. When I finished up with school (for the last time, I think) I was pushing past 300 lbs like a runaway train, out of breath just walking up the stairs and headed nowhere fast. I thought my path in life after I retired would be different, but storytelling or at least the chance to, dried up. It kills me to admit that something that I loved doing was pretty much gone, for whatever bullshit reason anyone wants to admit to. I really thought I was headed somewhere with it, but that door closed in my face.

When the opportunity to apply for a job I had been watching from afar for over a year (they only hire once a year) came up, I applied. I don’t have to work anymore, but I need to give back to the community that took my family in.  Another opportunity popped up and I could basically pick my date when I started, but there’s an issue. If I get tired walking up a set of stairs, how in the hell can I do either job? So I walked in. Not triumphantly, but the door was unlocked and I turned the handle.

I used to make jokes about people who did crossfit. With their motivational socks, every sentence that starts and ends with the word “crossfit” and the cult like appearance of it, but I needed it. It didn’t need me, but walking into a gym full of people doing things that my body could no longer do gave me a reality check. This was work and I had wasted the last 3 years avoiding it. The first person I talked to was more jacked than I had ever been or even dreamed about. She was a nice enough lady though, kind of walked me through how everything goes and asked where I live. I told her a couple of miles away and she snapped back that it was a good thing, so I wouldn’t have any excuses to not show up. I instantly became the same fat guy they had seen over and over. Someone who wanted to make a change, but didn’t last long enough to be remembered. I didn’t tell her that I was intimidated, I didn’t tell her that my fathers heart stopped in the gym while he was working out, leading him into a vegetative state and later to his death, while I was in Iraq. I just said that I had wasted enough time and it was time to get to work.

Going into a situation as the “fat guy” doesn’t go as unnoticed as it does at deer camp. Hunting has become one of my passions, and hunting takes all body types. I didn’t think that a class that was loaded with people chiseled out of stone would be as accepting. I was wrong. Im positive that I am the most out of shape person in the group who has started there and possibly the most out of shape that ever came in, but we all had to turn that same handle to get in the building.  Within 5 minutes of being there, I got daps, handshakes, a couple bro hugs and a feeling of being welcome. The gym is loaded with vets, which is something that means a lot to me. When I retired, the phone didn’t ring nearly as much with calls from other military types. This gym forced me to interact with those like me, which I hadn’t realized how much I missed. I hunt with other combat wounded veterans and I love them dearly, they are my brothers. This was something that was different. I got to sweat again, which doesn’t happen too much while sitting in a deer blind.

It hasn’t been long at all. The lactic acid is still fresh on my muscles, my legs and upper body hate me everyday, but I need this. I need to sweat again, to feel physical exhaustion and that corresponding pain. I have found a way to incorporate all that elk, halibut and whitetail in my freezer into my everyday life. Im not eating for pleasure which has been something dogging me my entire life, I’m eating so I don’t suck so much the next day and I have the energy to finally finish a workout. There are things that I can do, things I don’t do so well and there are things that my body just won’t let me do right now. As much as I wish that I could be the finished product, I know the journey is part of the reward. I’ll be there tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. Those days and the previous days all start the same, with a turn of the handle. Go get you some.

            

Phew, its almost 2017

Man, what a year. This has been a weird one for sure. Celebrities who I grew up admiring are dying (Yes, I liked Wham and Prince too) and half of America seems to think the world is going to end, the other half thinks that America will be great again and everyone is so busy telling others their opinions that I just don’t want to hear it anymore. I will most definitely not be doing that here. We always come to a point in the year where we start thinking of what we want our new years resolution to be. With a body by Haby’s bakery in Castroville, Texas, it is safe to say that getting in “shape” outside of round is off the table. So I started thinking about it. Save money (not gonna happen, we have 5 kids, 2 of whom are teenagers) or do charity work are things that are wonderfully nice to aspire to, but there is simply no time. As I sit writing this, its about 2:40 in the morning, and this is my time to do those things that I enjoy. I have fallen in love with writing. When 87.3% of your day is spent sharing your world view with a 4 and 2 year old, there is not much adult interaction and writing is a great way for me to express myself.

I found joy in writing and telling my story for the Moth, which is an amazing organization that gave me the opportunity a couple of times to tell people who I would most likely never interact with the story of losing our daughter and rebuilding our lives in the aftermath. Technically, I did get a standing ovation in Santa Barbara after the last show I did with them. I counted 6 people (that I could see) out of around 600 standing and clapping. After conferring with my friend and fellow storyteller, he said that even one person standing counts. I finally finished my Masters degree, which I tell you about so you can offer me silent congratulations or small amounts of money (whichever is more convenient). Finishing my degree was a big deal to me for several reasons. 1) I wanted to show people that just because you literally spent 5 years in high school, it has nothing to do with your academic potential 2) I wanted to show people that you don’t need to be a refined, scholarly type to do it. This is demonstrated by my Carhartt heavy wardrobe, bushy looking beard and a deep love of hunting and all things redneck. 3) I wanted to do something positive for myself and my family after hitting several tough years with PTSD. I chose an academic path to give me something to work for and something that I could hang my hat on, when I completed it. I need positive in my life that I helped create, I need to do good and if I cant do it in the Army, I had to find an outlet, and I did. That is completed, so I look forward to my next challenge. Learn the guitar? Why not.

 So I round back into my New Years resolution and I have decided. My resolution is to drive around teenagers as little as possible. There is a history behind this decision and I would like to share it with you. In 2009 I was in Afghanistan with a great group of guys and my bomb dog, Purzell. One day, we had to go get a bad guy. We were supposed to leave around a certain period of the evening and we did. We were supposed to get there at a certain time of night and we most certainly didn’t. Why? Was there a major shootout, IED, or Bin Laden sighting? No. We kept getting lost. For like 10 hours. If you haven’t been to Afghanistan, where we were going was most definitely off the beaten path. It was one of those places that you look out during the day and go, “There is no fucking Wal Mart anywhere near here”. There are no road signs, there is no, “Take a right at old man Perkins barn”, its all the same. Dirt road, which is either a road, or not, no one really knows. During this 10 hour adventure, which I lovingly call, “Operation Turnaround”, we did just that probably two dozen times. As daylight broke, we got on the right “road”, got the bad guy, Purzell found some explosives, everyone came home safe and it was a great day, outside of a unique encounter with a bull, who was tied off at the hoof with a shoddy piece of rope. One hoof, pissed off bull. I don’t know how we didn’t get gored, but I digress. What does this have to do with driving around teenagers? Well, I experienced Operation Turnaround 2, while taking my daughter to pick up her friend, with a final destination of La Cantera mall. With the benefit of an Apple iPhone, we turned around about 6 times in a 20 minute period, ending up around 5 miles outside of where my daughter swore we were supposed to be.

As the journey to the mall began, my ears were filled with the sweet gossip of teenage girls, which is light on sweet and heavy on gossip. When we finally reached the mall, much like the end of the original Operation Turnaround, I had another job to do. It was not writing a report about the explosives we found or celebrate with my dog. My next job was to go to Sams club with a 4 year old. She is the beautiful, profanity spewing sweetheart that we all love. Everyone who meets her loves her, but she is a unique shopping partner to say the least. With a family totaling 7, those conventional shopping carts just don’t cut it. We have to take those huge “L” shaped carts that are mostly reserved for the mom and pop shops who get their foodstuffs from Sams. So the 4 year old sits on it as we navigate the aisles. These things have horrible turning radius only being nosed out by the car shopping buggies that you see at HEB, that don’t hold a lot of food and don’t turn for shit. She wants something in every aisle. Literally. I want that. “Emily, that is bleach, you don’t need bleach”. She wants bananas. I can do bananas. We finally finish at Sams and victory in Operation Turnaround 2 has been had. I can definitely take a kid or two to the grocery store, I’ve been doing it for awhile and honestly, it’s kind of fun. Sometimes. Driving around gossipy teenagers is another story, and while this resolution will probably fall by the wayside, it was the safest one to make. This has been one of my longer blogs for a simple reason. I missed writing for you all. I wanted to share some fun stuff with you during these turbulent times. I don’t have to worry about balancing writing with school anymore, so I get to fall back in love with writing and it’s been long overdue. Happy New Year to everyone who has followed and there will be more to come!!!

Luckenbach and the world between

Friends,

  It has been awhile. Life sometimes gets in the way of things you love, even if what gets in the way are things you also love. Dearly. I was sitting half drunk on my porch, smoking a cigar, which is a little out of the usual for me. The half drunk part, not the cigar. Something shook me a bit the other day and I cant ignore it. I started this blog to talk about what its going like from a Soldier to a stay at home dad. I also started it because its cheap therapy and a way to reach out to people who may have shared some of my same life experiences, be it war or fatherhood, which sometimes seem like the same thing. I ran into a buddy who reads the blog on Saturday and we caught up a bit. I knew I would get back to it, but didn't know when or where or why really. Most of my writing takes place late at night after the kids go to sleep, but its dinner time now and I need to write. Hot dogs and beans can wait for a little. Its the food of the family with two adults in grad school. Money is not plentiful and the kids are young enough to think that beans are an acceptable side, so thats what we do. That and cowboy breakfast. cheap, easy and they like it.

Back to what made this blog tonight. I am woefully behind in my last three classes in school. At this point, I don't know if I care anymore because, frankly I would rather be on a ranch doing anything or helping fellow combat wounded vets, but I picked my poison, so now I gotta drink it. My wife and I finally scored a date to Luckenbach for Whitey Morgan and Cody Jinks show at one of our favorite places, so we shoveled aside school for the night, bribed my brother in law with free wifi and pizza and headed up. There is something beautiful about the Hill country. We always find land we want to buy, houses and ranches that would be perfect on the way up. The conversation usually goes with “if we win the lottery” or “if our credit didn't suck”, we find these places and its soothing. It wasn't the trip or the show, which was absolutely awesome, as we are both huge fans of theirs, but it was something that happened before that shook me more than anything since our daughter died 5 years ago. 

My kids follow me everywhere. At least the two little ones. I must be entertaining. 2 year old was in the bathroom while I was taking a shower. I could lock the door, but she would just continually bang on it and when I went hunting in Post,Texas in January someone removed the outside knob to the door, so it wouldn't work anyway. Ill replace it eventually, I know. While I was showering, she shoved a shampoo bottle into the tub, because she's 2 and its funny to her. It hit my foot and I yelled at her, probably cussed, and picked it up. I peaked my head out of the shower and she had retreated to the toilet and was looking in my direction. I apologized, told her  I love her and let her know that its not ok to do that. That was the easy part. I closed the curtain and got back to my shower, standing towards the curtain and a pink luffa thing hit my other foot. I kind of froze. There was no way that I made that happen. Then another one. It wasn't her, it wasn't me, was it Melissa, our daughter who passed reminding me why I chose this post retirement life? I don't believe in that stuff, at least not until that day. Maybe she was telling me that a knock on the foot from a shampoo bottle wasn't that big of a deal, when we look at the big picture. I think about her everyday. What would she like? What foods, toys, cartoons and why isn't she here? Ill never get those answers, I hurt everyday looking for them and I know that I will  never find out. Maybe those two little pink luffas that hit my other foot were a reminder to get over myself and remember why I chose to stay with the kids. 

So here I am, still half drunk on the porch, cigar gone listening to all nighter, by Cody Canada and I'm starting to get why I'm back writing and not cooking an easy dinner. Its time to do what we love, love who we are and who we hold the closest and remember the the short time was could hold those who went to a better world. God bless.  

         "Only the dead have seen the end of war"

                                             - George Santayana, 1922

         Its a quote that I have heard before, but never really paid that much attention to. Tonight, while flipping through the guide for the TV, I saw a documentary with the same title, read the description and figured that I would kill some time with it. I was half paying attention, half doing homework, when they began talking about the Jordanian embassy bombing in Baghdad in 2003. I think my body froze. I was there in the aftermath of that bombing. I fumbled for the remote and rewound what I had missed. There is the rubble. There are the burning cars. There are the exact steps I stood on with my team leader. There is the fish place right down the street. There are the drag marks in blood from the dead bodies. That day was the first time that I learned that you never stand in black spots, because those spots used to be people. An occasional shoe, and some body fluids are all that are left besides those damn black spots. There is video from the UN bombing. We had been there a week or so prior, ate lunch in their cafeteria. Their food was awesome. There is the parking lot where I peed on my friend Ashley Kennedy's vehicle tire, because he called me fat and he's 200 lbs of muscle packed into a 180 pound body, so its the only way I could get him back without getting tuned up. It goes a bit further, talking about Haifa street. It shows militants firing mortars into the green zone. I got wounded by a mortar round, right outside the green zone. This part was from 2004. I got wounded in 2004. Were these the guys who fired the mortar that wounded me? Im getting a little amped up. I can feel it in my body. I keep flexing my hands. I left all this behind when I retired. Im not that guy anymore.
    I used to be good at being that guy. I loved deploying. I got numb to the death, I craved the mission and what it could bring. It only makes sense to those who did it. It was the best drug I have ever taken, and watching the Baghdad I knew, when I left it physically in 2005 brought me back. I dont know how to feel about it. What I am watching through someones camera lens, is what I saw with my own eyes and it all makes sense. The quote that I all but ignored, because I don't need to hear people romanticize war, who have never been hit me like I rock in my face. I think about every deployment everyday. Sometimes, if the weather is right, it feels like Baghdad. I used to be obsessed with eating Afghani food when I came back from there in 2009. Now I don't even like to smell it. It reminds me of too much. I ate alot of it when I was there, and I will be the first to tell you how good it was. Just dont show me any today or let me smell it.
   I have made a new life for myself and my family. I should be worrying about school, the 3 kids of mine who have strep throat and how I can keep from getting it, because i'm going out to Santa Barbara next week to tell Melissa's story for the Moth. I feel like i've been pulled back into a different world. I finally have to admit to myself that I think about war everyday. I miss it. I hate it. I love it. It is part of me. It is a part of me that will never change, because it had that much of an affect on me. I yearn to talk to my friends that I went to war with. I talk with one or two, be it on the phone or social media on most days.  When we get together, we talk about things that only that brotherhood allows. I don't tell things to strangers. I tell things to the people I literally bled with. It is true. As much as I ignored it beforehand, I truly know that only the dead have seen the end of war.

                         

The song

What will the song of my life be? I ask, not because I have taken a large amount of peyote and done a maypole dance, but because my words will die with me. I love music and there is nothing better to me than eating tamales at Floore's with my wife and listening to damn good Texas music. There is something about pedal steel that just resonates with me. Its from the soul, be it up or down, its just something that I connect with. I cant play it, hell, I cant play the guitar in my closet, but I want it in my song. I'm at a point in life where my past career won't matter again until my obituary, much like the first kid I struck out in little league(Im looking at you, Robbie Hayes) and my current life is based on how good I am at changing diapers and the fact that all kids are accounted for. This is not a midlife crisis, as I love my wife fiercely and my kids, as crazy as they drive me, are amazing in their own unique ways and I realize how lucky I am to have them. They see the hope in me, they occasionally fall asleep in my arms and they laugh at my jokes. This is another one of the things that I love. I don't socialize much anymore. I have seen two of my friends from Washington state more in the past year than I have seen a friend who lives a couple of miles away in two years. We hunt together and I love that too. I hunt because it helps feed my family and it makes me feel useful. The drunken washer/beanbag tossing is hilarious and the shit talking keeps us all laughing, I wish I could take that with me. I find a certain peace out on ranches that I dont find in the city and I wish I could share it with my family. It may be a possibility one day, but for now, with fucked up credit, even a doublewide on 6.2 acres in D'hanis isnt a possibility.
 So I lose myself in the cigars that will eventually kill me, the laugh of my kids that make me whole, the music that heals my soul and the wife who has loved me for longer than I ever deserved. Maybe I am in the sweet spot of life and i'm too worried about the past or too busy to looking forward to enjoy the now.  I know i'm not the only one who does it, we all do. I just don't know why. I know for a fact that today will suck. Not because of the Presidential primaries that have ripped our country apart with childlike taunts that would have most definitely got your lip split on the playground at River School or Tularcitos, but simply because sometimes life bangs you when you least expect it. I will dust myself off, but as we get older and the stakes get higher, picking yourself up gets harder. Its in my blood to continue to get up until they throw Texas dirt on me, because its what my father did and if I ever learned something from him, is that we don't quit. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.
 So where do I go from here? Where do you go? What is my song? Am I doing life right? I can only wake up tomorrow, change the diapers, do the dishes and laundry, smoke that cigar and hear that pedal steel. What are you going to do?

Where I am

        In a house with 5 kids and even more animals, privacy is rare. If given the choice between staying in a luxury hotel or trading that for 20 minutes of solitude it would be a tough choice. As my 3 and 1 year old daughters walked into the bathroom, with our dog Lefty, dutifully following them in and plopping right down at my feet, my 3 year old asked, “What is that?” Caught redhanded taking the medication I have been taking for years to help with the PTSD that we all live with, I didnt really know what to say. First, im trying to go poo and take medicine, because multi-tasking in our house is a necessity to get anything done, and secondly, because she doesnt know why I take medicine. She was not there when I was a different person, on a lot more medicine, thinking about suicide far more often and trying to fit a square peg in a round hole with my mind. It was something that the whole family fought with and it was an ugly time. I hated the person I was, because it was far easier for me to just “click out” of the whole feelings thing and just go with the fast, often painful solution. I tried to open a guitar on my head one day, during an especially bad time, and to let you know, that a bridge to a guitar does not break very easily, but will leave you with a huge scar on your forehead.

    We lived like this for a couple of years, a constant roller coaster, a fight I would never walk away from, behavior that made me ashamed and an inability to care about any of it. Through time, with a wife who should have left me years ago, a great doctor and a great social worker, I stayed alive and out of jail. I needed less medication, and found the sweet spot where I could function, feel and be a contributing member of the house. I found hunting. Whether you agree with hunting or not, it gets me in an open space, through the kindness of others and it helps me provide for my family. I am not one of those “scary” trophy hunters that people who know nothing about hunting assume all of us are, but I hunt because I need to feel like im doing something positive for my family. Thats not to say that I have not taken a shot at a huge 11 point buck, only to be foiled by a fence wire, but in tradeoff, I ended up taking two doe( doe, a deer, a female deer.....) which provided the family with more meat in the end.
    So as I have an inquisitive 3 and 1 year old, and the damn dog, who is a great foot warmer, looking at me for guidance as to what I am taking, she cuts me off. “Is it so you dont get a cold?” In the world of a 3 year old, a cold is tragic. It keeps you from playing and having fun. I took a moment to think about it. “It kind of is, ma’am. It helps me feel better, but its only for me and not for you.” While there is medicine that I will take for the rest of my life, there is medicine that we don’t always see that we take too. How good I feel when I see the kids and wife smile and they tell me that they love me, how I feel when im out on a ranch, with nothing but land all around me and even when the damn dog is laying on my feet when im trying to go to the bathroom.

The bed

Have you ever seen Willie Wonka and the chocolate factory? The old one. Gene Wilder. This fine movie has a portion of it that is currently parallel to my current situation. No, I did not win a golden ticket, get sucked into a huge tube for drinking out of a chocolate river or turn into a huge blueberry. I’m talking about the sleeping situation. I have not gone off the deep and and purchased a bed gown with matching cap, my grandparents have long passed, so they aren’t in our bed and we have not started sleeping head to foot( I don’t like feet), but its something similar. If you know me, or have read any of my previous blog entries, you know, to be frank, we have a hell of alot of kids and dogs. Call me a bad parent, but our 1 year old sleeps in the bed with us. Along with my retired bomb dog, who sleeps at my feet, my wife’s pom, who sleeps on her pillow, on top of her head( sometimes mine, which is confusing, because I will often have dreams that I finally have hair, and usually wake up disappointed) and our 3 year old, who literally has a bed 5 feet away from our bed, but usually ends up with us.
    This is alot to take in, so lets take a breather. We have a king size bed. More than enough room for two, and even a one year old. When you add two dogs, and potentially a third if you get up to go to the bathroom, or get a diaper, or fill a bottle, or turn the wrong way, there is a 90 lb lab who jumps up to take your place and the 3 year old, who has migrated from her bed, things get confusing and uncomfortable. I currently occupy about a popsicle stick worth of space on this once king sized bed. If you have kids, you know that they tend to move when they sleep. Quite a bit. My 3 year old moves like a pop locker who just watched Breakin’ and will do the robot, topped off with the kickworm, from her spot, to the bottom of the bed, and back to the top or the side. There really is no method to her madness. The one year old, is fairly still, except when she rolls over to slap you, or kick you, because she loves you so much, she feels the need, in her sleep to smack or kick the everloving, hair having dream out of your mind with her tiny, strong legs and hands. She’s tough and i’m not anymore. I bruise easily.
    This is my problem. It is my struggle. How do I fix this? As most of you know, I have spent a fair portion of my fatherhood running around foreign countries with a rifle in my hand and I have missed shenanigans like this. I don’t want to go Joan Crawford and strap the 3 year old in bed, and the bomb dog has carte blanche to do whatever the hell he wants, outside of getting used diapers out of the garbage can and shredding them on the bedroom floor, which makes for an awkward first step in the morning. He still does it, and I hate it, but then he jumps on the bed and cuddles up with one of the kids, so he has found his safe spot where he cant get in trouble, and I get to clean pee diaper crystals off my feet. YEA!!!
    So we are back to where we started. I currently have my wife, asleep, 3 year old with her feet in the 1 year olds face, bomb dog next to her head and the pom on top of the pillow. As I type this from my popsicle stick space on the bed, I don’t know if I really want to fix it, to be honest. One day the bomb dog will pass away, the kids will get too old to think mom and dad are cool and we will have an almost empty king sized bed. Sometimes in life, we see problems as just that and not the blessings that they really are. One day, this bed will be a lonely place with only two of us.