How to ever capture the emotions of a day? So many ups and so many downs. So many lonely moments and so many warm, intimate moments?
The most important thing about today, and this date, is it is one of my kids' birthdays. I remember the day he was born. It had been 13 years since I'd had a child, and when he arrived, he became my second son.
But he wasn't my youngest for long. Within a few short years, he was the oldest of three. A middle son, with two older sisters and one younger sister.
This weekend, he will become the head coach of his younger sister's soccer team, even though it will be another year before he will no longer be classified as a "minor" himself.
Tonight, at our little family birthday party, his oldest sister and her two young children came to celebrate at his Mom's house. We decided it would not be safe to gather at my house, where tensions on the street out front remain high, amidst a string of retaliatory gang-related murders that took the life of one of my neighbors last week.
While playing with his nephew and niece, the birthday boy also received an energetic call via Skype from his other two nephews in Sacramento, the children of my middle daughter.
This all gets confusing sometimes, this family story. Yes there are a lot of us, which is ironic, given my status as paternal head of the family tree. After all, I live alone, am single, and am a writer -- the epitome of a lone wolf.
Check out my career as an investigative reporter, and the improbability of all of this becomes clear.
Yet nothing I've ever done, or no label ever applied to me has ever felt real to me. I'm none of the things others ascribe to me. I am, have always been, and always will be a complete outsider, except in one very special sense.
And that is when it comes to my family.
But this is not about me. This is about my son's birthday. I picked him up from a friend's house after school and drove him to the Haight. We bought a few items of clothing from the stores he likes best there. As we walked back to my car, I showed him the flat where his older three siblings grew up, just half a block from the corner of Haight and Ashbury.
Back at Bernal, we ordered pizzas. His Mom brought cupcakes, like she did when he was small. We lit candles and sang the song. He smiled and played happily with his three-year-old nephew, who was in a rambunctious mood.
When it was time for the little guy to leave, with his Mom and baby sister, he looked out of the window and saw the strange night sky of lights twinkling through the fog of Twin Peaks.
His eyes got huge and he started to feel scared.
His uncle gave him a big hug and told him he would be fine. His Grandpa scooped him up in his arms and carried him out into that dark night, to secure him in his seatbelt.
"We have to be careful in our car," he told his Mom.
His uncle jogged back up the stairs, as his Mom drove him off into the night. After one more round of hugs, I did so as well.
-30-
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Comfort for the Afflicted
The mourning goes on out front day after day. The police drive by. Kids play. people light candles and burn sage. Guys drink beer. Neighbors stop by while walking their dogs or carrying home laundry, groceries.
As the light fades, and the chill of night starts driving us inside, people trade stories of the little things in life -- spider bites, the Giants' disappointing collapse, kids' soccer, people moving in, people moving away.
The crowd out front is so mixed -- black, white, Asian, Latino -- that it well represents our community. All different kinds of people; all concerned with the same kinds of things.
In the aftermath of this tragedy, the best we can do is connect with one another, share thoughts, and try to act more like a community than isolated groups of individuals hiding in fear behind closed doors.
-30-
As the light fades, and the chill of night starts driving us inside, people trade stories of the little things in life -- spider bites, the Giants' disappointing collapse, kids' soccer, people moving in, people moving away.
The crowd out front is so mixed -- black, white, Asian, Latino -- that it well represents our community. All different kinds of people; all concerned with the same kinds of things.
In the aftermath of this tragedy, the best we can do is connect with one another, share thoughts, and try to act more like a community than isolated groups of individuals hiding in fear behind closed doors.
-30-
Thursday, September 01, 2011
It's Time to Notice
As she and I reached the top of the hill walking the dogs yesterday, my daughter and I saw a red-tailed hawk scream and fly toward us, not 20 feet over our heads, as it soared above from one perch to another.
I momentarily felt a shudder at the site of this predator, not out of any sense of personal danger, since what raptor would bother with an old man who is over the hill when younger, sweeter food is available nearby? (Well, not literally over the hill at that particular moment, but on top of the hill, but you get the drift.)
No, what I was feeling was what it must be like to be a mouse or other small creature, hearing that scream high overhead and sensing that wingspan, those talons, those eagle eyes, that beak that tears.
I suppose part of my instinctive response was protective of my daughter, but rationally, no bird could represent a threat to her, either. Though only 12, she is tall, strong, and athletic and could easily swipe that hawk out of the air and send it tumbling into the dirt if she wanted to.
Of course, she would never do such a thing, because she loves animals -- much more than I do -- and volunteers at the SPCA to protect them, whereas her Dad has a checkered career as a hunter and fisherman, things I should probably admit to her someday, even though it will lessen me in her eyes.
***
Out front of my house, the memorial to my fallen neighbor grows. When I got home tonight, a man was crying and wailing, as other men drank beer and bore witness. The candles and flowers continue to arrive.
The pain felt by those who loved him is palpable on this block. He has two young daughters who now no longer have a Dad. His mother sits on her porch forlorn and aging rapidly.
A guy I know well at the corner store stood outside today looking sad. I gave him a hug. His eyes filled with tears.
What can you say at a time like this?
I also watched my athletic son play soccer today -- his high school team won again, that's three in a row, and this looks to be a very promising season. He very nearly scored anther goal after getting his first the other day.
So much hope and so much hopelessness, all in the same day. The soccer coach told me that he is counting on my son to help some of the Latino kids on the team develop better study habits and improve their grades.
Every day there is a mandatory study hall for the kids who want to play soccer. This is a good thing, I think, although it extends their schooldays to ten or eleven hours most days, and causes me to have to do a lot more driving than I would want to do.
But that's a small price to pay if my son, who is an A student, can help other kids who otherwise might fail become C students. The incentive is soccer. Anyone who doesn't think race and class is still a major factor in who succeeds and who doesn't in this society isn't paying attention.
Sports are great, and it's fun to watch my kid compete and be successful. But I value his work as a fellow student helping other students do better in school far more.
Because all of these kids -- black, white, Latino, Asian -- are "our" kids. They represent our future. The kids who murdered my neighbor are, by police reports, very young Latino kids, perhaps very much like the ones my son works with in study hall to help stay in school and get their diploma.
Some join gangs, are given guns by older men, and earn their stripes by murdering people like my neighbor. Others stay in school, get better grades, earn a diploma, and get a job.
The difference between one outcome or the other can be razor thin, for teenagers.
Those who think we exist on a level playing field are delusional. This society remains deeply biased when it comes to race or class or even gender. The greatest compliment I can pay to my son is he knows that and he cares about that. He has a big heart.
Meanwhile, he's also an extremely competitive athlete, which just happens to give him credibility in the eyes of those kids who are failing in the classroom but will listen to an upperclassman about why it's important to study and learn.
We all should be studying and learning. Maybe most of all, those of us who enjoy the privilege of not being from poor, minority communities. Maybe we are the ones who finally should start trying harder to become real Americans, instead of blaming others for being poor, for turning out how our system dictates they should turn out, as failures.
-30-
I momentarily felt a shudder at the site of this predator, not out of any sense of personal danger, since what raptor would bother with an old man who is over the hill when younger, sweeter food is available nearby? (Well, not literally over the hill at that particular moment, but on top of the hill, but you get the drift.)
No, what I was feeling was what it must be like to be a mouse or other small creature, hearing that scream high overhead and sensing that wingspan, those talons, those eagle eyes, that beak that tears.
I suppose part of my instinctive response was protective of my daughter, but rationally, no bird could represent a threat to her, either. Though only 12, she is tall, strong, and athletic and could easily swipe that hawk out of the air and send it tumbling into the dirt if she wanted to.
Of course, she would never do such a thing, because she loves animals -- much more than I do -- and volunteers at the SPCA to protect them, whereas her Dad has a checkered career as a hunter and fisherman, things I should probably admit to her someday, even though it will lessen me in her eyes.
***
Out front of my house, the memorial to my fallen neighbor grows. When I got home tonight, a man was crying and wailing, as other men drank beer and bore witness. The candles and flowers continue to arrive.
The pain felt by those who loved him is palpable on this block. He has two young daughters who now no longer have a Dad. His mother sits on her porch forlorn and aging rapidly.
A guy I know well at the corner store stood outside today looking sad. I gave him a hug. His eyes filled with tears.
What can you say at a time like this?
I also watched my athletic son play soccer today -- his high school team won again, that's three in a row, and this looks to be a very promising season. He very nearly scored anther goal after getting his first the other day.
So much hope and so much hopelessness, all in the same day. The soccer coach told me that he is counting on my son to help some of the Latino kids on the team develop better study habits and improve their grades.
Every day there is a mandatory study hall for the kids who want to play soccer. This is a good thing, I think, although it extends their schooldays to ten or eleven hours most days, and causes me to have to do a lot more driving than I would want to do.
But that's a small price to pay if my son, who is an A student, can help other kids who otherwise might fail become C students. The incentive is soccer. Anyone who doesn't think race and class is still a major factor in who succeeds and who doesn't in this society isn't paying attention.
Sports are great, and it's fun to watch my kid compete and be successful. But I value his work as a fellow student helping other students do better in school far more.
Because all of these kids -- black, white, Latino, Asian -- are "our" kids. They represent our future. The kids who murdered my neighbor are, by police reports, very young Latino kids, perhaps very much like the ones my son works with in study hall to help stay in school and get their diploma.
Some join gangs, are given guns by older men, and earn their stripes by murdering people like my neighbor. Others stay in school, get better grades, earn a diploma, and get a job.
The difference between one outcome or the other can be razor thin, for teenagers.
Those who think we exist on a level playing field are delusional. This society remains deeply biased when it comes to race or class or even gender. The greatest compliment I can pay to my son is he knows that and he cares about that. He has a big heart.
Meanwhile, he's also an extremely competitive athlete, which just happens to give him credibility in the eyes of those kids who are failing in the classroom but will listen to an upperclassman about why it's important to study and learn.
We all should be studying and learning. Maybe most of all, those of us who enjoy the privilege of not being from poor, minority communities. Maybe we are the ones who finally should start trying harder to become real Americans, instead of blaming others for being poor, for turning out how our system dictates they should turn out, as failures.
-30-
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