Not only do I most-certainly not need a divorce, I absolutely could not be happier with my marriage.  And that, apparently, makes me a minority.

     I’m not one to brag and boast on social media sites or around the water cooler about how great my wife is or about how much I love her.  I don’t feel the need to affirm it or to convince anyone else of it.  But, every now and then you’ll have one of those encounters or circumstances that reminds you.  Even I get a little complacent and take my wife for granted.  I think we all do from time-to-time.  You get caught up in the daily struggles and you sometimes lose sight of the big picture.

     I don’t expect anything more from my wife than I expect from myself.  She affords me the same luxury.  We don’t try to control each other. We don’t raise our voices to one another and we are always very careful what we say to each other in times when emotions are running on high.  We don’t expect the other to give themselves up completely to the other.  We maintain our individuality while at the same time creating a symbiotic identity as a couple.

     I sit and listen to people complain about their marriages and their relationships and can usually offer no real empathy anymore.  Years ago I was in a horrible marriage and have had less-than-stellar relationships before and after that.  But, I learned a very valuable lesson that ultimately lead me to an equally valuable reward: you cannot expect someone to truly love you, to respect you, to honor you…until you’re able to love, respect and honor yourself.  Fact is, if you have a low opinion of yourself, anyone that has an opinion contrary to that is either going to seem disingenuous or damaged.  You will always see them as though there is something wrong with them.  How else could they possibly see anything redeemable in you?  If you don’t value yourself, how can you market yourself as such? 

   My advice to those of you that are in bad, abusive, neglectful, drama-filled relationships is this: get out.  Get out now.  Being alone is better than being miserable (and subsequently making most everyone around you miserable as well).  I have lived out both scenarios.  I was co-dependent and had horrible self-esteem and every one of my relationships reflected that.  I can tell more about a person by the way they interact with their significant other than by any other means. 

     I would kill or die for my wife without hesitating, rationalizing or even thinking about it.  No consequence would be too great to keep me from protecting her.  This is because of her value to me.  It cannot be put into words as her value to me doesn’t come from words.  It comes from years, actions and results.  We have built a great life together.  We’ve done this because it’s what we want.  We work long hours and make sacrifices today so that we can count on all of this being here tomorrow.

    We are not perfect.  At no point was I ever insinuating that we are.  We have our flaws, both as a couple and as individuals.  Some days are harder than others and there have been arguments and fights and even thoughts of going our separate ways.  We are not perfect and we know it.  We know it about ourselves and we know it about our relationship.  It’s that knowledge that makes it possible to get past those imperfections.  There’s no such thing as perfection.  Not in the world.  Not in life.  Not in love.

                                                          “…you can put a bullet in my brain, but you can’t kill a word I’ve said”

I’ve always loved that line.  It absolutely captures how I feel about my words, my thoughts and why I express them.  I tell people constantly that I’m outspoken, garrulous and even abrasive, but somehow, people are always shocked or offended when the shit rolls off my tongue.  Instead of wasting your time getting upset – why don’t you ask yourself why my statement or question bothered you so bad in the first place.  What nerve did I hit?  Was I saying it to be hurtful?  Was I attacking you?

People “talk shit” about me all the time.  They always have.  Very rarely to my face, though.  Not sure why.  I’m not a particularly violent man.  I’ll defend myself when necessary and I’ll become aggressive if the situation calls for it.  People don’t “talk shit” to my face for the same reason they don’t do it to anyone else’s face:  they’re fake.  They’re fake-ass phonies that hide behind a thin veil of politeness and courtesy.

So, at least give me this much: I don’t talk behind your back.  I don’t slander you when you’re not around.  I say what I have to say to your face.  Fact is, a lot of you respect me for it.  A lot of you appreciate my brutal truth and my sharp tongue.  I think some of you even feel a need for it…because your mind is numb from all the “morality” and “decency” that you pretend you give a shit about.  If I offend you: good.  Maybe I made you think for a second.  Which, is probably something you’re not used to.  You’re used to being told what to think, told what to do.

You either love me or hate me…but, I’ll be damned if you tolerate me.

What I do know is that my wife is an incredible person.  If you know my wife, you know it’s impossible to say anything negative about her.  If you did, I’d assume you were being petty and jealous anyway.  She is intelligent, kind, selfless, talented, dedicated, strong, creative…the list goes on.

She works as many hours as I do, is working on her Master’s Degree, and still manages to keep my underwear clean and folded.  The kitchen always smells of something delicious and our finances are always in order.  I feel bad for people when they complain about their domestic situations.  I feel bad…and often…awkward…because I can’t join into the conversation.  My wife is not petty, jealous, emotional, greedy, insensitive or lazy.

Don’t think I’m trying to paint a story of rainbows and unicorns.  We’ve had our problems and issues.  We’ve battled each other’s demons as viciously as our own.  There are compromises and irritated feelings in every relationship.  Ours is no different.  It’s not perfect.  We argue, we fight and we get on each other’s nerves on a regular basis.  But we never say hurtful things to one another…we respect each other first and foremost…as people…as spouses.

I love my wife beyond anything that I ever thought my emotions could ever render.  She was able to breathe color into a cold and gray soul that was comprised mostly of ash and mire.  Anyone who knew me before meeting her would agree.  I never knew happiness or self-worth the way I do now.  She makes me the person I am today.  A person I am damn proud of.  A person that can hold his head up high.

A person who can smile.

So, when I tell you that I would kill or die for my wife…it should bring a chill to your skin how very serious I am.   Without her I am less than zero.  My worth was cashed in long ago.  By being with me, she has extended me an endless line of credit that I am very careful with.

Moral of the story: I love my wife.

I have no reason to celebrate it. I have no reason to celebrate my father. My father is, for lack of a more graceful slur, an asshole. Every bad trait I have is from him. He is the source of most of my demons. I have tried to forgive his selfish, cold, lack of humanity over and over again. Each time, I get burned and reminded why I distanced myself in the first place.

I have created countless excuses for him. I have wasted an unfathomable amount of hours trying to justify the things he has said and done.

I wait patiently for the cancer to take him so that I can bury him figuratively and literally. I’m tired of trying. Every son wants the approval of his father. I’m no different. I have ached and suffered for years wondering what it is that’s wrong with me that my own father would act towards me the way mine does. I have cried enough tears to flood Mars. I have wasted so much time.

So, this Father’s Day will come and go for me. No cards will be sent. No gifts. No phone calls.  Nothing more than another Sunday.

Why now?

I’m really not sure why after all these years that I decided to finally do it. I’m not sure why I ever wanted to do it all. That’s a philosophical, and sociological, quandary for another time. The point of this is to explain the meaning behind my tattoo.

The tattoo

My tattoo is simply the phrase, “…you reap what you sow.” in an old typeface font patterned after a German-made typewriter that was popular in the thirties. I wanted the font to be simple and easy to read. I also have a strange affection for old typewriter fonts.

The meaning.

I mentioned being an avid drug user in my twenties. Some was for recreation. Some was for experimentation…and some was just to kill the pain. I grew up in an alcoholic home. It left me with demons that, at the time, I wasn’t prepared or capable of dealing with. My problems had a victim, but they needed someone to be blamed on. It’s easy to blame other people for your problems. It’s easy to make everyone a scapegoat. I was in enough pain and didn’t need the burden of being responsible for it’s resolution.

It’s only been in the last few years that I have come to realize that even though other people have the ability to create obstacles for you…it’s up to you how you react and deal with those situations. If you say it’s too hard for you to overcome something…that’s your decision. Not anyone else’s. Ever. It’s called accountability. Along those same lines, if you live in a world where you are powerless to overcome the actions of others, then you will always be at the mercy of others. If you fertilize a world of anger, blame, regret and spite…then that is the world you will live in. That is the fruit you will harvest…you will reap what you have sown.

Location. Location. Location.

Many of my friends, even those that are sporting ink themselves, were a little shocked that I had my new affectation splayed down the inside of my left forearm. Why did I choose that spot? Three reasons: 1.) it looks damn cool. 2.) it sparks conversation 3.) I’m not a liar. The first two reasons are pretty easy to understand, but that last one may seem a bit confusing. I feel that people who get tattoos, people who claim to love tattoos and crave “ink therapy”, but then cower at the thought of having any ink below the safe confines of a short-sleeved shirt because they’re afraid of what the masses may think…are liars. They’re fakes. They’re pretending to be these “normal”, clean-cut drones that fit in with what is deemed socially acceptable. Now…maybe you just don’t want any ink below your elbow…or maybe you have a job where you are strictly prohibited from having visible tattoos. If so…that’s fine. If you’re just afraid of what people think or you’re afraid they may cost you some great job in the future – then you’re a fake and a liar. Besides, I don’t ever want to work for a person or company that has that strong of a negative opinion over something as potentially benign as a tattoo. If it bothers an employer that much – then we obviously have very serious fundamental differences and I’d be miserable working for you anyway.

So…that’s the skinny. Quit whining about being fat, broke, miserable, unhappy or bored and start taking some accountability for your world. After all…it is YOUR world. In the meantime, if you have any ink – tell me what you have, where you have it and why you got it.

He doesn’t practice or preach anymore. At least not in a church. He has his reasons. He and his son, Derek, are two of the most knowledgable people I know in regards to the Bible and Christianity.

One of our favorite past times during the holidays was to argue both. Rarely did either side come out a clear winner, but one thing that they, and our debates taught me, is that if you are truly passionate and enveloped by your beliefs – then no matter how spiteful, venomous or aggressive someone may be in their attacks on your faith – it’s like throwing mashed potatoes at a tank. It simply doesn’t matter. There’s no reason to become defensive or combative. Doing so is reminiscent of a small child lashing out after they have depleted their supply of rationale and repertoire.

Keep in mind that when I speak of faith and beliefs, I’m not only referring to those who believe in God or Allah or whomever. An Atheist believes in something. An Agnostic believes in something (though they’re not sure what).

The point is that if you feel you need to lash out, be aggressive and combative every time someone questions that which you call your rock – you may want to use that energy to explore the core on which you stand.

There was a time when I could let loose a flurry of words and sentences that would flow together seamlessly into a poignant, elegant thought-provoking concept.

…those days seem to have passed.

Now, it seems as though if it’s not a TV guide or the instructions on the back of a box of brownies – I can barely focus long enough to read let alone compose some life-altering manuscript.

I’ve decided that in order to start writing again – I’m going to have to start reading again. It’s just that simple. It’s part of the craft. When I was a teenager…I would have torn up some blogspace had it been available. I was (surprise) a contributing member of my school’s newspaper, I took every writing, literature, advanced composition class I could get my hands on and, at one time, I was even a full-time staff-writer for the local newspaper in my hometown…and good at it! My vocabulary (and it’s use) would baffle people and leave them thinking that I made up words (that’s a true story).

I stumbled upon WordPress and think that it may be exactly what I need to flex the old writing muscle again. I was good at it. I was damn good at it. Now I struggle with it. There’s just something intrinsically “not right” about that.

Hopefully, with the coming of the new year, there will be a reemergence of an old skill.