Tag: family

A nice girl

Opened my door early morning on Valentine’s Day to find that Mouse had dropped off some fried chicken for me and the boy. She just wrote, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Logan Lo.” I thought that was nice.

She knows me so well.

Speaking of the boy, spent the day running around with him and met up with his teacher for parent/teacher conference. He scored the highest academics for his class, which I kinda expected. What made me much happier, however, was what she told me after:

Me: I’m more concerned about him socially. I didn’t have many friends growing up. (pause) Any, really…
Her: Oh, he’s very popular! Other kids seek him out. Because, he’s kind.
Me: Aren’t all kids nice?
Her: (laughs) No, not at all. He doesn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body.

I loved him so at that moment.

I thought, “Alison would be so proud.” It’s what we always wanted from him. Kindness floats, after all. It is it’s own armor.

My brother was in town with his girl, Q, who met the boy for the first time.

Her: He’s a great kid!
Me: I’m legally required to keep him for another 12 years.
Her: (laughing) Then you’re one lucky person!

The next day, we went to see ABFF for her kid’s birthday party. Despite having a full brekkie and lunch, he still managed to eat a slice of pizza and a full bag of gummi somethings.

Him: I want more!
Me: God, you’re so my kid.

Then the next day, we went to The Madison along with the SIL.

I told you once that Alison brought me there early in our relationship. While eating, I saw two old co-workers – each walking separately – that ended up getting hitched with each other. I remember waving to Anita who didn’t seem to recognize me but is such a nice gal that she waved back at us.

Alison said, “That’s nice of her – to wave at someone that she doesn’t think she knows.” She always thought the best of people. We said we’d meet up with them one of these days but never got the chance.

That was a nice day. Fuck.

I called the entry where first ate there, Batter Up, because Alison told me that the first baseball game ever was played right there. What’s funny is that the SIL told me the exact same thing.

Ended up getting a salad for myself as I’ve been cheating on my diet all week.

Didn’t help because I ended up eating half the SIL’s food AND half of the kid’s.

Plus I had a White Russian and a Bloody Mary as well.

Think I’ve developed a thing for white Russians.

Afterward, we were supposed to go skiing at American Dream  but decided that the kid would enjoy Uban Air in NJ; actually, a friend of Mouse’s had mentioned going there during her birthday party but they didn’t have room for him in the car and I was sick so I figured I’d make it up to him.

Man, did the kid have a good time.

Me: We have to go.
Him: Noooooo! One more minute! Please!?

It was really nice hanging out with the SIL and the boy.

He ended up staying with my SIL overnight and I went home and slept for thirteen hours. 13. Hours.

If you’re a parent, you know that’s like the equivalent of winning the lottery.

It was the afternoon when I woke and I dashed off to see my mom, who was just discharged, and family for dinner.

Me: How do you feel?
Her: Good. Tired. (wistfully) I wish you’d meet a nice girl like your brother.
Me: Stop calling him a nice girl, mom.
Her: What?

There’s more, but it’s getting late and I have a night of tossing and turning to start.

Location: four hours ago, my childhood room, looking for some chocolate
Mood: seriously full
Music: I don’t want it at all if I can’t have it all

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Rock in a Stream

Food’s an interesting trigger.

When I had the mutton curry in the Bahamas, it reminded me of the very first time I ever had any curry.

It was actually one of my dad’s favourite dishes. He made it at least once a month. I remember that I thought it was disgusting the first time I had it. But it grew on me.

Fast forward to earlier this week: I’d been talking to my mom a lot for various reasons and I remembered the curry and thought of my dad.

While at a Korean supermarket near my pad, I came across my dad’s fave brand and bought it.

Sleepy Logan spent a good part of the night chopping up some goat, onions, and carrots to make it. My dad loved goat but only made the curry with chicken, otherwise my mom wouldn’t eat it.

This whole night, my pad smelled like my childhood home and – if I closed my eyes – I could imagine him making it downstairs while singing a Japanese song.

Boy: What’s that?
Me: Curried goat. My dad liked it.
Him: Can I try it?
Me: Sure! (gives him some)
Him: (makes a face, shakes head)
Me: (laughs) Maybe in 42 years, you’ll have it again and think of me.
Him: (putting food on plate) That’s a long time!
Me: It happens just like that, kid. (snapping fingers) Just like that.

Don’t have the words to express how much I miss my dad.

I’ll just simply say that my heart aches in a way I hope you never feel but know you will one day. For that, I’m sorry.

Because it’s just awful. It brings you to your knees.

On a related note, my mom’s been dealing with her own stuff recently but that’s her story so I’ll leave it there.

She told me something once years decades ago that I used as a guiding principle of my life prior to Alison getting sick and I was reminded of it recently.

When I was a kid, got upset one day over something that was probably nuthin.

Her: You let the world affect you too much. You should be like a rock in a stream.
Me: What does that mean?
Her: Imagine a rock in a dirty stream for a 100 years. You take it out and smash it open, you’ll see that the inside is dry. It’s unchanged. Nothing from stream got into the rock. It’s in the stream but unaffected by the steam.

There’s a power to being in the world but unaffected by it. Of course one should change and grow but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about having hopes and goals and pursuing them, unfettered by the whims of the world.

People ask me how I’ve done so much in my life and my mom’s comment to the teenage me is a major reason why.

To me, things are either productive or just mental masturbation (OK, I watched Star Wars, The Rise of Skywalker recently but that’s another story). More on that later.

My 20s and 30s were best described as living a pretty blissfully uninvolved in life. I went to or threw parties (and invited 2,000 of my closest friends), worked, traveled, washed, rinsed, repeated.

I was in the stream of life but unaffected by it. Even when I met Alison, it was the two of us separate from the world. We were in it, but separate from everyone else. That was nice in its own way.

That is, until November 8, 2015. Then I felt every bump, bruise, and papercut. Because she suffered. And I felt all of it.

Mouse once said that, in some – not all – respects, it’s harder for the caregiver than it is the cared-for. That’s true, although my dad and Alison suffered more than I would wish on anyone I didn’t despise. Even then…

Speaking of wishing:

Mom: I wish…I wish things were different for you.
Me: Me too. But wishes are just that: Wishes. I’ll be ok. Honest. I survive things. It’s what I do. Even when I don’t wanna.

I’m still affected by the world but – gradually – less so, I think. Maybe in time, I can be who I was once before? One can only hope.

I wouldn’t mind, actually, if it was just me and the kid – in the world but unaffected by the world. But I don’t think that’s possible anymore.

Cause I want the boy to be in the world, more than I want not to be.

Little girl at the park: You want to be my friend?
Boy: (nods, laughs, and spends the rest of the afternoon with her)

Location: Chatting with new old friends around the way
Mood: affected
Music: Mama don’t cry, long as we try. Maybe things change?

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Some things demand perfection

Dear Son;

Owls.

Stephen King wrote in On Writing that writing is, “Telepathy, of course.” That’s the power of words, of language. It passes time and space. Mr. King made me think of a bird, just as I did to you right now.

You just turned four recently but you could be 14, 44, or 94 when you read this. I may not be here when you read this but long after I’m gone, these words – my words – will be here and, suddenly, I’m with you again.

That’s why I keep everything I find that has your momma’s words on them. Even all her labels. It’s how I can hear her even now.

Words live on long after we’re gone so words matter.

Recently, I worked with your Uncle Chad on something called a Schultz Choke. It’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever learned but it has to be almost perfect to work. So I practice it.

I’ll teach it to you one day.

I suppose that you’re tired of my teaching you things. Maybe you even hate me at times. Because I demanded perfection in certain things that you think aren’t a big deal.

I understand. I sometimes hated my dad because he was always teaching me things, things that I didn’t think were a big deal. Now I get it.

I wish he were here to teach me one more thing.

But I digress. Yes, not everything demands perfection – often, good enough is good enough. But some things do. The Schultz Choke demands perfection, for example.

Language demands perfection as well. Because it has to be almost perfect to work the way you want it to.

In speaking, the right cadence, the right volume, the right words, the right body position – all these things affect how the listeners hears what your soul wants to say.

In writing, all the more so. Because – since you’re not in front of them – you don’t have things like cadence, volume, or body position to help you communicate. You only have the naked words themselves and  grammar to organize these words.

And that’s why things like vocabulary and grammar matter so much to me and why I’ve made such a big deal about it all these years. Because the loneliest people I know are people that don’t understand that if you cannot make yourself understood, you’re speaking Martian while everyone else is speaking English.

Just a few weeks ago, Aunt Roz came by to tighten up an important speech. Because I spent years writing and editing to understand how to string words together to give my thoughts life and she wanted my help in being understood.

Her: Speech was a hit! The jokes that got the loudest laughs were definitely yours.

Ending up with your mother was just a thought in my head but it was words that made it happen.

If you learn nothing else from me, I will teach you this, the power of words. And, ideally, the Schultz Choke, perhaps some kali, and how to make a decent bowl of chili.

As I just said: You don’t have a soul. You are a soul, you have a body.

Your soul is what writes and speaks. I hope it does so as perfectly as possible so that it can be heard the way you want to be heard.

Because, my hope is that you’re a soul that has something valuable and good to tell the world.

It’s all your mama and I ever wanted for you.

Him: When is mommy coming back?
Me: She’s not. She can’t.
Him: Because she got sick. (nods) I miss her.
Me: I miss her every day. Every day. But she gave me you and that makes it all a little better.
Him: I love mommy. To the moon and back.
Me: Me too. (sighing) Me too.

Dear Son… 001
Dear Son… 002: Wait and wish
Dear Son… 003: Rain happens
Dear Son… 004: Understanding is gold
Dear Son… 005: Language is telepathy

Location: Yesterday, swinging lightsabers near Columbus Circle
Mood: busy again
Music: You’ll be more than alright.
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