To Be a Father

When my wife and I decided to get a dog, I wanted a big dog. Martha wanted a small house dog. We ended up rescuing an idiotic hyperactive basset spaniel mix. Cute but for too energetic for us after a long day at work, so we almost immediately began searching for our second dog. We needed another dog that could babysit our new dog. If that sounds hard to find, trust me, it is. We went through about 15 or so candidates before my wife happened upon a frightfully thin, recently spayed, stray castoff in a no kill shelter. We took our dumb spaniel to meet her, and it was like the two had known each other their whole lives. The basset/spaniel, Snoopy, was jumpy and energetic, but our new no-longer-stray, Jasmin, was shy and retiring. They complimented each other perfectly, and we all felt like a complete family.

It wasn't smooth sailing though. For starters, Jasmin was and still holds the title for the filthiest animal I've ever seen when I first met her. She was literally caked in layer after layer of dead skin, dirt, debris, and flea bites. It took most of an evening just to get to the point where we could see she had a double layer coat with the second layer being brown. Also the first night, after that epic bath, I put K-9 Advantix on her like a good dog owner should. Well, Jasmin, for some reason I still don't quite understand, decided to scratch the solution on her back and then lick off of her paws. Within an hour she started vomiting. I was panic stricken. I just got the dog, and now she was going to die in my kitchen. I quickly dialed the emergency company line on the back of the package. The none-too-sympathetic phone tech informed me to just watch her and go see a vet if she got worse. So for the entire night, I sat next to her and watched her for signs of worsening health. She vomited a few more times but was completely fine by morning. I was wreck, but it was obvious I'd found my dog.

Jasmin also had a few quirks in her personality that we weren't informed of prior to adoption. It didn't take us long to figure out that Jasmin had spent some time on the street. Snoopy was a two-breed house pup and had always been, so when he tried to strut and preen around Jaz, a smart Heinz 57 Virginia street hound, she was quick to put him in his place. He outweighed her by about 5lbs and was noticeably stronger, but Jasmin would routinely whip his tail without much effort and then punctuate her dominance by humping him. I had never seen a female dog hump another dog before, and Jasmin put so much energy and violence into the ritual, she would literally shake our hardwood floors. I can't explain the sight of to you, dear reader, but it remains one of fondest memories of living in Virginia.

But being from the streets, Jasmin had learned long ago that you can't count on your next meal. As a result she had the habit of looking for food at all times, especially in our trash cans. As much as you love an animal, few things test that love like showing up at home after a crippling day at work to see your place literally covered in trash you were sure you had gotten rid of the previous day. But we adjusted quickly, making sure all of our trash was inaccessible in a trash cans and not just easily tearable trash bags. We all also learned to not leave food of any sort within reach of a dog that with a 4ft vertical. I lost something like two sandwiches and a whole order of cheese fries to that hound before I learned the lesson. That dog also had a bad habit of hiding food for later. We figure that was a trick she picked up from savvy squirrels in the woods of Virginia. We didn't mind the food hiding until 3months later when you happen upon a half-eaten chicken wing tucked skillfully behind some boxes. In order to mitigate this behavior, we decided to feed her whenever she was seemed hungry. You know, to show that food would always be there. Well 6months and 12lbs later, we realized that the dog would eat herself to death if given the chance. Literally, there are times when she looked like a black sausage roll with legs. I strict diet brought her weight down and kept her healthy from that point forward.

You've heard of dogs that like to dig holes? Snoopy loves holes, but Jasmin wasn't one for holes. Jasmin dug tunnels, long, deep tunnels that would wind and stretch out across our entire yard in Virginia. By the time we moved, our yard which had been well maintained before Jasmin, was a lost cause and a monument to what one dedicated dog excavator could accomplish if she really put her mind and paws to it. Watching Snoopy stand behind Jasmin and get absolutely covered in dirt as she buzz-sawed through the Earth, throwing soil through her back legs, is another vision from Virginia I'll cherish my life long.

Though she had faults, they were far outweighed by her virtues. Jasmin was a tireless protector. No one could knock on the door, ring the doorbell, or look at one of her parents crossways without Jasmin's bloodcurdling howl to set them straight. It could be inconvenient in the middle of the night or when the offending doorbell was actually a part of a TV commercial, but I appreciated her efforts none the less. Plus, there was never any dog born that loved her people more than Jasmin. She never asked us for anything more than to be by us, around us, and near us. She was kind to the world in general, but the world wasn't always kind to her.

I still remember that day I took her to the vet for an x-ray. I had felt a hard knot in her leg and was afraid she had a tumor. The vet took us to a little room and asked us point blank if we had ever abused the dog. We were naturally mystified by the question...until we saw the x-ray. It looked like Jasmin's body was a galaxy of stars with each star being a piece of buckshot. Apparently, sometime in her life before us, some-fucking-piece-of-shit-douchebag shot her with a shotgun. It took everything the vet could do to keep us from breaking down right in his office. Who could shoot a dog like Jasmin? But, the truth is the assholes of the Earth are capable of far worse and for all their efforts, they couldn't kill her. She won. She did however develop a lifelong phobia of loud noises. Thunderstorms troubled her, but Independence Day and New Years were an absolute nightmare for her. She would just find a dark place to hide and try to go to a happier place. Eventually, through attention and love she came to understand that were there to protect her from the loud bangs and whistles. She could eat during those time after a while with us but still preferred a good hiding place before she could sleep.

One of the best things about Jasmin was her obedience. She would do anything she could understand if you asked her. She came when called instantly. You could leave the door open, and she wouldn't leave the house. She would stop barking instantly if ordered, and...she didn't need a leash for walks. She wouldn't run off if you walked with her. She would walk a little ahead of you, as dogs do. She would sniff the bushes, mark her new territory, and maybe find a nice neighbor's yard to drop a deuce in, but she would never run away and was always careful to keep her people within a safe distance. She trusted us so implicitly that she didn't bat an eye when we uprooted her from her native Virginia and moved to our home in the Great State of Texas. She just smiled her Jasmin smile and wagged her tail even as she got epically carsick for the entire trip.

There was nothing special yesterday when my wife decided to let Jasmin have some time off-leash as she let my 3-year old bike in our cul-de-sac. I had to go to work, and Snoopy unlike Jasmin is anything but obedient on a leash. It takes most of my wife's strength and attention to keep Snoopy form taking off on another of his “adventurers” so being able to let Jasmin just walk around is a Godsend. I saw Jasmin in a neighbor's yard as I drove away. I stopped and considered her for a moment. She was a little further away from my wife than I normally liked but not too far. I figured by the time I got out of the car and shooed her back toward the group, the group would've caught up to us anyway. I just smiled a little and drove on. On the road I saw my mother-in-law truck pass me headed home. I felt the same twinge I always feel when I know there is a car about to turn on our narrow street and my family is outside, but I pushed it down and kept on.

You see where this is going. I hadn't made it to work yet when my wife called sobbing telling me that Jasmin and been hit by my mother-in-law's truck. The incident was actually vintage Jasmin. You see, there was no activity Jasmin like more than harassing dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, dogs behind fences, dogs on leashes, and dogs on the street, Jasmin gave each one an equal amount of her wrath, especially if that dog was barking at her family. So when my mother-in-law stopped to get the mail and the neighbor's basset hound promptly bugled and scared the shit out of her, Jasmin wasn't about to let that challenge go unanswered. She made a beeline for that lousy hound just as her startled grandmother hit the gas pedal.

The thing about being a father that's different than being a mother is the idea of protection. A father's whole existence and being is tied to the idea of protection of his family, and the family in turn is allowed to feel safe in the presence of the father. The father provides the security and stability that a family needs to feel safe and happy. The hell of it is that To Be a Father, you have to understand from the very beginning that all of it is a lie. You have to know that you can't offer security, that your stability is a sham, and that, most of all, you can't protect anyone from life. That's the real enemy of us father's, life. Life doesn't care about you emotions, your fears, or your identity. Life happens just the way that it is supposed to happen regardless of your efforts. Sometimes that means you meet the love your life, and other times that means you lose something unimaginably precious.

From the night I nursed Jasmin through her poisoning up until today when I wrapped her in her favorite of my sweaters, unbuckled her collar for the last time, and laid her down into the welcoming red-clay of my hometown, I've always thought of Jasmin as my daughter. What that means is all those faults, quirks, and foibles weren't faults to me, they were cute, icing on a sweet cake. It means that everytime she ripped up the trash, nearly tripped me in the kitchen, or hid my car keys(never found them) I would just love her all the more. To me through my father's eyes, she always looked beautiful and perfect and never more so than today.

Jasmin, my love, my first daughter, I'll love you always. Thank you for seven great years!

For My Daughter

I love my daughter. I love her because I made her, and she is perfect to me. I love her because she's beautiful in every way. I love her because she is smarter than I ever imagined she could be. I love her because she needs me, and I will fight to protect her, even from herself.

I don't let her play with Barbie dolls. Barbie represents an impossible standard of beauty. Barbie represents a single race instead of diversity. Barbie represents style over substance. Her message is to buy, consume, and own rather than build, value, and create. Barbie leads to an unhealthy body image and a tendency to value the trite instead of the true. I will protect my daughter from this.

I don't let my daughter wear make-up. Make-up is a purely superficial affectation. It has no purpose and no use other than hiding something that is real under something that society says is beautiful. Make-up says that you must hide your true self in order to be considered beautiful.  Make-up leads to a distorted image of your own self worth as well as the worth of others as is evidenced by the popularity of "See what this celebrity looks like without make-up" articles. The point of these articles is sick: "You see. Without make-up all these beautiful people are just slags like the rest of us!" Make-up is sexist. Men aren't expected to wear make-up. Men don't have to hide their true selves in order to be considered men. I will protect my daughter from this.

I don't let my daughter wear inappropriate clothes. The clothes you wear help inform the world about how you feel about yourself and by extension how the world should feel about you. You will be treated only as well as you demand to be treated, and my daughter will not be treated as an object. Her worth is not tied to the approval of society and her sexuality. She will not be expected to parade herself to make friends. She will not degrade herself to fit in. She will not masquerade as a sexual adult when she's just a child. I won't let the world make her a victim. I will protect her from this.

So who is to blame for all this nefariousness threatening my daughter and yours? We are, the parents. 

Toddlers and Tiaras, Victoria Secrets' teen line, and baby bikinis come about because they sell well. Mothers of daughters are the main customers for this stuff not pedophiles, and fathers of daughters are the primary enablers.

The innocence of our daughters is precious, important, and temporary. We have to protect it for as long as we can, because eventually the world will notice them and then use all its power into making our children into what the world likes, unthinking sexualized consumers. 

My daughter doesn't like that I protect her. She wants to wear make-up and play with Barbie. She doesn't know that I'm fighting a war and that she is the prize. I hate when she's mad at me for protecting her, but I won't quit.

If they are to have any chance to fight the programming, we have to tell them as children that they are worth more than what people see. That they mean more to the world than a simple sex toy. That true beauty cannot be painted on, but must shine from deep within them. For this and this alone, I will protect my daughter,

From society,
From you,
From me,
And from herself.

And now for something truly offensive:

I Love You

Hello people of the world. I'm not afraid to love you. What do I mean by that? It means I'm a little different from most people you'll meet on the street.

Most people nowadays go through their day trying to desperately avoid connection to others. They make sure their kid's days are scheduled so that they don't have to talk to them. They get in their cars and tune out the rest of the world. They walk from their cars to their workplace without looking anyone in the eye. The get to work and hate everyone they see and everything they do. Then they go home and repeat the cycle.

Why do people do this? One reason is they don't think interacting with others is really necessary. After all what can some person on the street do to for them? “Can this person help me pay bills, keep my spouse happy, make my boss less of a dick, make my kids smarter, etc...? How can a stranger make my life better when I, the person living my life, can't do anything to make my life better? The thought that a person I don't know can have any real effect on me is ludicrous. Plus, I have like 600 Facebook “friends”, and none of them do anything for me.” The end result of this logic is of course,” Strangers don't matter.” But if that's true and we are all strangers to one another, then none of us matter, and nothing we do matters, and life doesn't matter... Nihilism is the order of the day.

The other reason people pathologically avoid connection is just plain old fear. People are afraid to talk to other people. Talking to a person you meet can only have two effects. Either you and this person will connect and find out you hate each other and you make an enemy or, the much worse option, you find out you like this person and you make a friend. If you make a friend, a REAL friend, then you'll start to care about that person and vice-versa. This is to be avoided. If a person cares about you, they may start to have expectations of you that you could fail to meet, and because you care about them as well, not meeting their expectations would hurt you. This is worse when it's your expectations that aren't being met, since nothing hurts worse than a betrayal. All roads lead to pain when you try to talk to people. The best thing to do is just avoid contact or limit all interactions to “Hi. How are you doing? Have a good day.” and leave it at that.

I reject both of these notions, the nihilism and the fear. I believe strongly that I matter. I believe that my actions and inactions carry weight in the world. I believe that we are all connected whether we want to be or not, and that connection is both good and necessary. I believe I need all the people around me. For example if I approach a man, shake his hand, look him in the eye, and tell him I'm glad to see him, I believe that man will feel better about life for a moment. There is a chance that small interaction may make him happy enough that he won't go home and fight with his wife like he was going to do. If I do that for him everyday, I may be able to prevent his divorce.

When I told my wife that one she said,” Isn't that incredibly arrogant to think you can save someone marriage just by talking to them?” Yes it is arrogant, extremely so. What could be more arrogant than believing that you make a difference? What can be more prideful than saying that your words carry weight? I'm not just some speck of dust floating on some muddy rock in space. I matter to the universe because I'm here, and as long as I'm here, I'm going to make as many people as I can know that they matter too.

As for fear, I'm not above that. I'm just more afraid of NOT being connected to people. Why? Because I'm a recovering alcoholic, and I know that people are the main reason I don't drink. Interacting with people keeps me balanced, helps me focus, and makes me want to be a better husband and father. Think about it. If you don't connect to people because you don't want to be hurt, then that means you are perfectly happy now. Are you? Is your life exactly where and how you want it to be? If not, then what are you really afraid of? Even if people don't matter to themselves, they matter to me, and that gives us all a reason to fight through our fears and love one another.

Nowhere is this more apparent than on Twitter. I love Twitter. It's like connecting directly to a person's brain. The ability to communicate instantaneous thoughts quickly is almost like a form of telepathy, and you can get to know someone quickly. This can lead to some...interesting conversations. Conversations the likes of which most people only have with their spouse, parents, or doctor. Some call this overly familiar or inappropriate; I say these are my loved ones and we'll talk as such. So, I'm sorry if I offend you when I compliment women on their boobs and butts and discuss adult themes(vaginas) with them, but I'm not going to stop anytime soon. I've met and befriended some incredibly cool people on Twitter. People I value more than I can really say. To Andi, Becca, Charlotte, the incredible Dev, Melissa, John, Kristine, Staci, my wonderful Wife, every member of The Village Hidden in the Pines, and all my follows and followers, you keep my alive everyday; THANK YOU.

So, in the end, it doesn't take long to care about someone, so don't be afraid to love. I do it everyday and everyday I'm happy about it. Though, it may look disingenuous to the uninitiated, so I submit the following affirmations.

If I type LOL, I'm actually laughing out loud.

If I RT you, what you said had value, and I want other to see.

If I star you, I putting you in my scrapbook.

If I compliment your looks, you are pretty to me.

If I say you are smart, I took your advice.

If I say you are hot, it means I would do you.

If I say it will be ok, I've been through what you're going through and lived.

If I say you are wrong, take it to heart; I'm not trying to hurt you.

If you think I'm wrong, talk to me and explain. I won't get mad if you don't

If I say you matter, you do.

YOU MATTER.