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Welcome to Paradise

I was a lucky kid in many ways, but I was especially fortunate in terms of family vacations. My brother and sister and I were able to make yearly trips to Disneyland and Carmel, one-off trips to places like Chicago and Las Vegas for my mom’s medical conferences, and a number of trips over the years with our grandma and cousins (and without our parents). These were always interesting vacations, as my grandma did the grandma thing and let us make most of the decisions while we were with her. This resulted in quite a few interesting moments, like the time my brother insisted he didn’t need sunscreen at the beach and then ended up with such a horrible sun burn that she considered taking him to the hospital.

One of the earliest of these trips with Grandma Hook (which she was always called despite absolutely detesting this name) was when I was in 9th grade and she took my sister and me to Hawaii. My grandma had an old friend who owned a condo on the island of Kauai, and she agreed to let us stay there for about a week over spring break. For some reason, Grandma Hook was under the impression that we would be doing some form of “roughing it,” so she brought a number of interesting items, like alarm clocks, in case we were without basic necessities. Exactly how alarm clocks would have helped if we had indeed been in some sort of primitive shack I have no idea, but, at least in her mind, she had come prepared. Continue reading “Welcome to Paradise”

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Wu Tang Is For The Children

Nobody in my family can sleep. Between OCD, depression, anxiety, bipolar, etc., falling – and staying – asleep requires a gargantuan effort. We differ in how we approach this problem – meds? supplements? willful denial? – but we all struggle with it in one way or another.

My oldest daughter has dealt with sleep issues off and on since she was about 8 years old. There would be nights where she would go to sleep around 9:00 only to wake up at midnight and not be able to go back to sleep at all. Cold medicine, though, can knock her on her ass. So when she has the sniffles or a cough, a little Dimetapp goes a long way. My only concern was that I never wanted her to get to the point of needing it to fall asleep, so one time, after a week-long bout with mocos, I told her it was going to be her last night with the medicine. When she asked why it mattered, I explained my desire for her not to become dependent on it. Her response? “Why? Would I have to go to rehab?” This immediately activated my Amy Winehouse synapses, so of course I began to sing, “They tried to make me go to rehab, I said – “ Continue reading “Wu Tang Is For The Children”

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Take ‘Em To Church

I was raised in the Christian church. Not just any Christian church, but a Baptist church. Not just any Baptist church, but a conservative-ass Baptist church in the heart of the deep red Central Valley of California. I know California is generally viewed as some kind of haven for liberal thought, but the valley is decidedly NOT a part of that vision. This is a region that, despite being less than 50% white (or perhaps because of it), believes itself to be made up largely of “cowboys” and other such symbols of white identity. A classmate of mine once rode to the bus stop on a horse – a friggin horse. I don’t remember what happened to the horse after that; I just know she was on the back of a horse when she arrived at the bus stop. That was the end of my involvement in that situation.

I hesitate to sound anti-religious… Just kidding. I have no hesitation in that stance whatsoever. I understand that many people – some of whom I consider my closest friends – genuinely find comfort in religion and use it to become better people. While I am of the opinion that they are good people to begin with and their concept of religion robs them of the credit for their best qualities, I do not have any problem with this kind of religion. As long as they aren’t using antiquated notions of morality to judge people or trying to convert me, we’re cool. Continue reading “Take ‘Em To Church”

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Straight From Da Streets

A kid’s first boombox is a beautiful thing. Mine was a bit of the divine made by Panasonic which has survived to this day. (Side note: they don’t make shit like they used to. I’m not one to opine for the “good old days,” but I can’t think of any piece of technology made this millennium that has lasted even half as long.) It was, of course, unnecessarily large, considering it had but one CD and one cassette player, along with a few knobs for audio settings. These knobs were no small things, though, as I marveled over them as if they were indicative of the caliber of machine I had just acquired. Treble? Bass?? Good god, I could do ANYTHING with these controls!

I got this boombox at the age of ten after lusting after a friend’s stereo and begging my mom for my own. Yes, I had had a puny cassette player and even a Walkman (that will be a story for another time), but this was another matter altogether. This was the kind of the thing that made other kids ooh and aah over my luck at receiving such a marvel of modern technology. Looking back, I’m sure it was a below average music system, but at the time, the fact that my friends were in awe of it was enough for me. Continue reading “Straight From Da Streets”

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The Piano Has Been Drinking

me and my og super 80s radio

Picture the scene: an angelic looking three year old with golden ringlets and baby blue eyes tears her mother a new asshole for failing to properly position the sock on her tiny foot. The line is irritating her baby toe. Why do these socks have no ruffles? This outfit is unsatisfactory. The underlying meaning is clear: the three year old is in charge, and no one is happy.

I am that three year old, or at least I was, years before I learned what “obsessive compulsive” or “pain in the ass” meant, and even further removed from the psychiatric treatment that would make me slightly more tolerable as a human being. My mother, bless her heart, was always willing to be there for me as I worked through my ridiculousness, but our personalities were too similar when it came to such sensitive matters as getting dressed in the morning. Continue reading “The Piano Has Been Drinking”