Why do bad things happen to good people? An answer...

Why does tragedy inflict its pain on so many innocent people in the world? To an atheist, the answer is simple, that is just the way life is, no more, no less. To those of us that believe in a Higher Power, natural disasters, illnesses, hunger, and so much more play a role that contradicts our strong belief that our God is a god of love. If the foundation of our belief system can so easily be challenged, what are we to do to be able to stay true to what for so many is the only source of hope in our lives? How do we answer the question, why do bad things happen to good people, and worse, why is it that God does not intervene to keep these things from happening in the first place? I remember clearly challenging God in my mind and heart when my father died at the young age of 44. I can only imagine how some of the people that I love must of felt when they lost their sons and daughters at even younger ages. Accidents, cancer, drugs, suicide, all have marked the hearts of beautiful people that did nothing to deserve the agony of losing a loved one to these tragic culprits in their lives.

The largest fear that I have always carried inside myself is whether I could ever survive the same tragedies that these people have survived. In fact, in my prayers I have always told my God to spare me, keep me from ever having to face such pain. Nobody should have to bury a son or a daughter. The degree of anguish to such a terrible reality is in my mind, unbearable, far beyond my ability to survive. Yet it happens to good people on a daily basis, without apparent rhythm, much less reason. Watching my oldest son make terrible choices in his life has by far been the biggest reason for me to make every effort in becoming a better father. I think that it is much more a matter of me trying with every ounce of my being to never have to face the pain of losing him than it is anything else. You must understand, I know this boy better than he knows himself. In fact, ironically I truly believe that I know him better than I know myself too. I can see in him the most amazing and beautiful things that nobody else is able to see. He is by far, the most talented young man I have ever met. To me, no matter what he does he is the most beautiful, loving, caring, and full of God person I know. The problem is that he is yet to know this himself. In the wilderness of his mind even though it is totally full of God's gifts there is still no self awareness of who has put it all in there for him. My son is destined to do great things in his life and to be a great man. However, only God knows when it will all come to pass and how much of it will I ever be a witness of in the end.

You may notice that in very few of my posts I have openly written about my belief system. There is nothing to hide, and the reason is simple, I have always tried to live what I believe, with very little need for having to talk about it. I have always wanted to allow my actions to speak for themselves. I am by no stretch of the imagination a saint, but I do hope that my goodwill, my caring, my humility, and most of all my love will reflect not only who I really am, but also the true intentions of my heart. In essence, I believe that God knows me well enough and He understands all my strengths and all my weaknesses. Recently I have had to face more and more the reality of how little power I have over the outcome of so much that matters to me in my life. This is probably the main reason for sharing these few posts that bring out more of what I believe in, and why I do so with so much conviction. More than the Benedictine medal embedded in a beautiful cross on my dresser, the seventeen empty glass jars that once contained candles which I lit in prayer, the short statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe, a compact prayer book, and the subtle marks of my knees on the carpet floor in front of it all, my heart and soul are the true source of my faith. I know, that regardless of my inability to make any real impact in my son's heart at his young and carefree age, there is a much greater power at work that has a plan for him and his life. I for one have absolutely no doubt that God is fully aware of what needs to be done in my son's life for it to come full circle and be of true value to all of those that surround him. There will be a moment in his life that will challenge all odds and bring forward the most amazing outcome. Of this I have absolutely no doubt. I do not believe this because of religion, it goes far beyond any crutch or emotional need that us humans might have to create something mystical when we do not understand what we see. I believe because I have learned that deep inside me there is a gap, a void if you please, that no matter what I might try to fill it with, nothing will work but my God. I do not profess this lightly since I have done an extensive search in my life to remedy this void with many other sources, but none will do. It is only when I let go of my mortal desires and the need for my body to feel whole, that then and only then I am able to find what my heart truly yearns for after all.

I plead to your sense of fairness, to that little voice inside of you that is constantly telling you that what I am sharing with you is absolutely true. Nothing in your life really makes total sense until you add God into the equation. You might, just as I have done myself many times, find a million excuses to ignore what your heart is telling you to be true. I am telling you today, just as the sun will rise up tomorrow morning, there is nothing you or I can do to run away and avoid the reality that there is something much greater than just existing for the sake of it, or because that is what science might teach you. I for one am more of a scientist at heart than you might ever be, and still I know, I really know that there is much more than just physics to life. Intertwined in the fabric of space, time, and our existence, a much more profound understanding is required to be enlightened than just science in itself. Go ahead, I challenge you to spend your life in search of this meaning that eludes us all in the grips of science, sooner or later you will be exactly where I am today asking almighty God to bring whatever it is that your soul will need to be whole so that you can be at peace.

So why is it that bad things happen to good people? Maybe the answer is much simpler than many have made it out to be. Maybe there is no such thing as bad things. They are all just things. Some may seem better than others, after all love definitely feels better than hate. However, how would you know what true love feels like if you had never felt hate? How would you know to appreciate life, if you had never experienced what death is like? A bad relationship gives much more meaning to a good one that wanders into your life afterwards. A difficult child, teaches you to appreciate the one that is constantly trying to please you and be fair with your efforts as a parent. Don't be so quick to judge God when a natural disaster, a terrible disease, or an accident brings you to your knees. After all, if life was perfect, then how would you be able to recognize the face of God when it walked into your life in the shape of so many miracles that you know you have had so far?

"I am waiting dear Lord, take my son and make him what only You are capable of making him into, so that I can give testimony of your almighty power and love."

Dad

Today I pray...

Oh Lord, You need to know that I am nothing without You. All I am it is because of You. You have always been inside of me...always! Today I kneel to You and raise my arms asking for You to take care of all of my needs. Please God, today I pray that:

When I am lost...guide me.

When I am hurt...heal my heart.

When I am sad...bring joy into my life.

When I am lost...show me the way.

When I am sick...heal my body.

When I am confused...explain it to me.

When I am afraid...give me courage.

When I am weak...give me strength.

When I am wrong...show me the truth.

When I am proud...show me humility.

When I am angry...bring me peace.

Only You dear God can make sense of my life. There must be a reason for the path that You have taken me. As tough as it may seem today, I know that there is meaning to your will. As long as You are by my side, I do not need anything else. Thank you dear Father, I am yours to make of me as you wish.

Amen.

"Can you fix us?"

The streets were wet from a recent downpour that had managed to at least wipe them clean from the otherwise dirty aspect that they typically have during this time of year. Somehow though, all the smells had managed to remain intact as if hovering just under my nose. An odor mix of dirt, wet animal hair, and something else remained attached to every step I took. Well, at least it's not cold, I thought to myself. It was already dark when I found myself dragging my large duffel bag on wheels, the one that I recently bought at Costco prior to my last trip to Puerto Rico, through a desolate street in search for a place to hide it so it would not be stolen. I looked at my watch and realized that I had much less time than I had originally anticipated and a bit of anxiety found its way into my otherwise apparent sense of calm. Eventually I found a hiding place, good enough that now I don't remember where I left my bag in the first place. As I walked towards the agreed rendezvous point a familiar face crossed my path, but at the moment I just could not place it. This seemed to be happening to me lately, so I just brushed it off. Minutes later I was walking down another half empty street accompanied by two old friends that I had not met in a very long time in search of a little cafe that we used to love to hang out at. When we eventually found it, from the outside it seemed so familiar, yet as we walked into the place it seemed totally foreign to me. I could not really tell what was so different from before, but maybe it was the layout, I thought. The place was called "The Cookie Basket," we walked in and stood waiting for a while for someone to come up and offer to seat us. Eventually I got tired of waiting so I walked past the reception area into the next room to find it totally empty. In fact, it was more than empty, it was what seemed to be in a state of abandonment. Even though all the tables and chairs were in their usual positions, nothing else was in sight. No plates, no silverware, no salt and pepper shakers, not a single napkin. Aha! I instantly placed the previously unrecognized face that I had encountered just a few minutes earlier, it was one of the servers that had many times in the past attended our table at The Cookie Basket! Why was the place open, but empty? I returned myself in sight of my friends still waiting in the reception area and waved them over to come and see the empty chairs and tables, then I blanked out.

When I came back to it, I was walking down a dirt road across some very nice homes in a kind of rural or country type neighborhood. It was no longer night time, instead it was a very bright and clear sunny day. Even though there were not that many trees on the opposite side of the street where no homes had yet been built, one after the other, each of the homes on my right hand side had beautifully trimmed lawns and many trees surrounding their estate. Only the last home on that road had it's garbage cans out for collection, so I kept walking towards them as the early afternoon sun managed to raise my body temperature at least several degrees above normal. Soon I was standing at the curve and gated entrance to a beautiful home that vaguely reminded me of a past that just did not want to rush itself into the forefront of my thought process. The trash containers were all empty, which explained why the rest of the homes did not have theirs out too, apparently trash collection day had already come and gone and the owners of these had neglected putting theirs back into their yard. However, sitting on the ground and just next to the curve was a pile of scattered papers that under closer inspection turned out to be pictures. I leaned over and one by one started to turn any and all of the ones that were upside down. In my mind the first thing that became apparent was that these were actually not just photographs, these were memories. Contained in the bunch were many pictures of several children and adults during various times of their lives. I could count at least four different individuals in all, and from many of the photos it was obvious that they were all related as a family. To the left, and a bit higher towards the gated curb I saw something else very unusual. There were three clay sculptures of what seemed to be heads of sharks. No larger than the size of an average dinner plate, the scary looking teeth showing fish were a bit disturbing to look at. I left them untouched and returned to the photographs on the floor. As I sat down in front of them I decided to try to put them in some kind of chronological time order, and as I did this, a little bit at a time a story started to reveal itself in my mind about this otherwise unknown family to me.

From the side in my peripheral vision I sensed motion from inside the gated grounds. In an effort to not be caught snooping through the occupant's trash, I got up on my feet and started to walk back the same path from where I had started. The movement inside the fence turned out to be a large recreational vehicle approaching the exit of the estate. As it drove past me it stopped only a few tens of feet away from my position and my heart started to beat faster not knowing if I had gotten myself into any trouble for spending time in front of their luxurious home. The door of the RV opened and a pleasantly looking middle aged lady stepped down and walked towards me. As she approached she asked, "why did you leave?" I did not answer. As she moved closer the RV door closed and the vehicle continued its drive down the unpaved road and away. From her calm tone of voice I could tell that I was not in any trouble. She reached for my hand, took it, and started to walk me back towards the curve and gated entrance to her property. "Show me and tell me what you were doing here," she said as we finally stepped in front of the now half organized pictures of what was obviously her family. Even though I wanted to, I was not even sure how to answer her question so instead I reached for the photographs and continued organizing them as I thought they should go. "Oh, so you think you can fix them, huh?" she said as she watched me continue with what I had started. "Well, if we are going to do this right, we are going to have to get out of this infernal heat first!" she said as she grabbed the remaining pictures and again my hand, and dragged me at a much faster walking pace towards the inside of her beautiful home.

Once inside I was instantly able to appreciate the magnitude of wealth of this family. The home was pristine and full of extravagant details. Light colors were the theme, and everything that was supposed to shine, shined brightly. I felt amazingly out of place with my dirty shoes, clothes, and anything else that was visible in my person, yet she managed somehow to quickly make me feel as if I belonged there too. We spread the photographs over a large glass table in what seemed to be some sort of reception or family room area. As I quietly continued to sort the graphic representation of their lives, I heard as the RV parked in front of the house and the rest of the family walked into the home one by one. A teenage boy and a younger girl entered first, then finally the engraved and stain glassed double door closed behind an older male which I took to be the father of the kids and probably husband of the kind voiced lady. The kids rushed by without even looking towards me, almost as if I was not actually there in real life. The husband, on the other hand, glanced my way as he peeked over his bi-focals while checking a handful of mail that he was carrying in his hands. He then quickly spoke to his wife and asked, "Are you sure you know what your doing?" To which she replied, "Yes, leave me alone." As she sat down next to me she curiously watched me continue what I had started and asked me, "Do you think you can help? Can you fix us?" To which I simply answered, "Yes," and then I woke up.

It was close to 4:00 a.m. this morning when I woke up from this elaborate and detailed dream. It all seemed a bit surreal because of the overall lack of preoccupation from my part, otherwise the level of detail was uncomfortably real. From everything that I can remember, I summarize that I was homeless. What I was feeling in the first part of the dream mixed with the preoccupation of hiding my luggage was a sense of worry about not letting anyone of my friends know that I was living without a home. None of the people in the dream, not even my friends, are anyone that I can recognize in real life, yet during the dream they all felt totally familiar, including the server from The Cookie Basket. In the second part of the dream I could feel an incredible sense of peace within me, and a total understanding of the relationship between the various characters in the photographs, yet again, they were all fictional to my real life. As I sat at their table I saw myself handling the photographs and at the same time I can vaguely remember my thoughts in which I understood how their family needed help. In my thoughts I knew I could digitally alter the images, clean them, restore them, and finally place them into beautifully looking frames, and then somehow these changes also actually took place in their lives. It was all as if what I did to the pictures could slowly alter their past, present, and future lives too.

I wanted to share this dream with all of you because in a strange way I feel as if it has true meaning to the relationship we have developed while writing this blog. A few posts ago I talked about dreams, and how I believe that they somehow typically add up to be a continuation of our lives. Not necessarily one at at time, but the overall sum of them tend to reveal so much of ourselves. This forum and method of communication has the power to help others even when we are not even aware that we are doing so. I for one do not feel the same desperation I felt inside me during my original posts, when it all seemed so hard to explain and put in writing. At a minimum I have freed myself from many of the demons that ruled my mind with questions, doubts, and a lot of hurt. The simple act of forcing myself to understand my situation, to see it with fresh eyes, to find the correct words to share my life experiences with all of you has given me much of the answers that I was looking for in the first place. In essence, my life is pretty much the same, yet I feel as if I have made so much progress from within that I am much better equipped to go one living it. Strangely enough though, I do not feel able or capable of fixing any of the things that are so difficult for me to deal with within my life, but understanding them has made it a lot easier to bear.

Dad

The rocky shores of his mind...

I live on the northwest side of a hill that is part of a geographical landmark in Southern California that has been named Blue Mountain. At 1,200 feet above sea level my home sits quietly with an unobstructed backyard view of both the beautiful San Bernardino National Forest and the Angeles National Forest. On clear days this ridge of almost continuous mountains paints a majestic landscape that includes the snow caps of Mt. Baldy to the northwest, San Gorgonio Mtn. to the northeast, and everything in between. Too many times to count I have hiked to the peak of those mountains and sat eating my lunch while contemplating the panoramic view from high above. Even though I would find it difficult for my words to do justice to the amazing sight, sooner or later I could probably paint for you a mental image that would at least transport your mind and give you a decent description of the view. Huge granite boulders cover the top side of these peaks which extend themselves high above the forest tree line and most of the time clouds too. It is typically at least 20 degrees cooler at those altitudes and since nothing close by is any higher, the wind rushes around everyone and everything that has reached the summit. Many times I have laid there with my back flat on top of a stone bed contemplating the beautiful blue sky and watched a hawk float almost motionless above me riding a jet stream of air for what seems forever in the same spot. If the Santa Ana winds have recently brushed away the weighted contaminated air of Southern California, from high above one can see endless miles of populated areas that can be identified by geographical and man made landmarks alike. Lakes, rivers, airports, buildings and freeways all telling a story of how men have relentlessly conquered this portion of the United States leaving very little evidence untouched of the region once called the wild west. I am always impressed on how quickly things change down below, yet how unspoiled it is at the top. The timescale for geological effects to make their mark is so much larger and less impacting than that of civilization.

Landscapes come in many variations. Rocky mountains and iced covered glacial, sandy shorelines and rocky seascapes, dry deserts and plush green valleys, simple streams, rivers and waterfalls, all come to mind. In their unique way they all have a kind of beauty that is undeniable to just about anyone. Sure you might prefer one over the other, but in essence, almost nobody would say that a view of Niagara Falls is ugly even though its power and might can wreak devastating consequences to anyone or anything that would fall to its will. The same can be said about the desert, which in its own unique way manages to take our breath away during sunset, even though its hostile dryness could kill almost any unprepared creature in a matter of hours. This contrast which I have painted in your minds between the different kinds of landscapes in nature carries much of the same qualities contained in the human mind. Usually, in a very short amount of time I find myself easily recognizing the difference between a warm caring individual, and that of a cold detached one. As if there were colors in their character that simply give way to my mind painting their portrait as a human landscape. Apparently, just as I have a peculiar taste in selecting my favored kind of scenic picture, in this same manner I have developed my preference as to what I find attractive or unattractive in another human being. Sure, there are physical qualities that steer me clear or towards certain individuals, but the painting is never complete until I have added all of the colors of their personality.

It is said that the longer amount of time you spend with a particular individual, the more you start to look, talk, and behave like them. I am not sure what defines the flow rate and directionality of the absorption of these personality traits and qualities between humans. Will two people with significantly different personalities still assimilate from each other some of the opposite qualities given enough time? Does age and gender contribute in a significant way to the final outcome? Role modeling bases its effectiveness on the above concept. However, I have seen people that have had terrible role models in their lives come out in the end as total opposites to the effects of bad influences. It is as if an inner filter did the job of containing the negative behaviour and utilized it as an example of what not to do in life instead. It always amazes me when I discover this in people that confess having terrible parents or guardians in their lives. What actually made them rise above it all? I wonder what the statistics are with regards to who survives these unfortunate conditions, and how many succumb to its consequences?

As a father I have tried hard to provide my two sons with enough positive influence in their lives so that they are able to at least have a good image of what a father should be like with their kids. I can actually see in both of them some of me, which is greatly rewarding especially with respect to their affection. When I am able to hug them and feel the returned embrace, get a kiss from them, or watch them care about their mother, I feel as if not all my efforts have been in vain. However, I find that the contrast that is so easily discernible between so many different kinds of nature's landscapes carries much of the same qualities of my oldest son's personality. Just as it takes absolutely no effort in my part to recognize in a landscape what has been and not been touched by man, after years of dealing with his unusual behavior, I also have no problem recognizing how different he is from his younger sibling. To me the contrast is remarkably clear and obvious. So the challenge has never been in recognizing the differences, the difficulty has always been in adjusting my own responses and reactions to fit his needs. I can tell that even though he frequently attacks my efforts to get close to him, our connection is strong and he fears losing the solid availability of my care. In the past, sometimes I found myself confusing his rejection and reacting toward it in an unproductive manner. More recently I have learned to recognize that his mental wiring, for lack of a better term, so far has not allowed him to learn the difference between reactive and impulsive behavior versus understanding and fitting emotional responses. Day in and day out I see how his friends seek him out for social interaction, yet it has taken them some time to adjust to his raw lack of interest when he is too tired or depressed. I too have learned just as they have to accept him for who he is even when he is angry and what many times seem like impossible to bare with. However, as a father I do not have the luxury of simply ignoring his lack of control, so I keep trying to find different ways of teaching him how to change, especially any kind of behavior that is potentially harmful to himself or others. This has all proven to be extremely difficult and many times it almost feels like a wasted effort since he can go on and on for as long as I am trying to reach him, simply blaming everyone and everything around him other than himself for his inappropriate behavior. This tiring attitude wears me down making me doubt whether he is incapable of any self-control or simply unwilling. Because of this I have opted to pick my battles and only have talks with him when I can tell that my efforts will not be turned around by his disguised hurt that reveals itself as intense manipulation and obsessive behavior.

Deep inside I can tell that my son is actually dealing with his own emotional battles. The truth is that we all are and it would be ridiculous to assume that he would be any different. I am trying really hard to understand him and truly believe that he is doing the best he can to surpass his emotional challenges. My greatest goal of all is for him to know that he is not alone and that I am not going to abandon him, while at the same time try to teach him the difference between acceptable and non-acceptable emotional responses so that he can be healthy and safe. When I look into the landscape of what is his mind, I see big turbulent waves crashing against a rocky shore. In between the fearsome roaring of his emotional ocean there is an incredible sense of beauty that only time seems able to tame. I will steer clear from the edge, careful not to walk into the dangerous waters to avoid getting hurt beyond repair, but I promise not to leave my post and much less abandon him. After all, I love him more than he'll ever know.

Dad

What color best discribes your life?

I treasure my memories because contained in my mind I have buried an endless source of events that I find myself digging out from time to time to help me see, relive, and enjoy so many beautiful and wonderful moments. Inside the biochemical reactions in my brain, neurons have found a way to store just about everything that is important to me. Childhood faces rush to the surface making me smile, as one by one remind me of how lucky I have been to share with these individuals that somehow touched my life. Friends, family, and even pets come pouring out of my gray matter forming images of what they looked like at the time that they were filed away in my head. Without any effort or control a message that tells my lips to create a smile instantly performs its duty and an overall feeling of well being takes over my mood and emotions. I've said it before and I will say it again, what a wonderful gift this ability to recall our past is for us sentient beings!

My life, just as yours, is not just composed of great happy memories. If you have been reading this blog you can surely recognize that sadness has also touched me in many ways throughout my days. In fact, not to sound overly dramatic since I have seen many more heart breaking events happen to family members and friends, but if I were to assign a color to describe my own life, I would definitely not pick pink. I'd say that if pink represented a beautiful perfect life, and black one of terrible hardships, pain, and despair, mine is more like a lite melancholic shade of blue. Probably something like the blue of the rocket ship rocker and the background sky in the picture above. In other words, my life experiences have added many colors to my emotional state. Just as expected, the abundance of positive moments has overruled the typically expected gray that comes from the physics of mixing too many colors. It is for this reason that I am so grateful to God, since I am fully aware that He has been very good to me overall. I share the above so that you will not be misguided when I start to describe the topic of this post, my dreams.

Lately I have been having some of the strangest dreams. While I was in Puerto Rico on vacation during the Christmas holidays I mentioned to my mom that for several days in a row I dreamt that I was in a wheelchair. Interestingly, none of the dreams actually had much to do with me not being able to move from the waist down, instead the plot typically carried on as most of my dreams do, but instead of me walking...I rolled. Almost instantly, once I told her that I was dreaming that I was unable to walk, in my next dream I simply had an accident and died instead. I think I liked it more when I was rolling than when I was a stiff. Most recently I have had several dreams in which I have been ordered to serve in the war. In my dreams I find myself making out my last will and testament, plus preparing all of those that are in my life to the cold realization that I would probably not come back once I was sent to Afghanistan. Even though I work for the Department of Defense, my job as a civil servant does not require me to actively participate in the risky and dangerous reality of war, so in essence the plot of my dream is far from being a possible outcome in my life. In fact, if it were not because of the repetitiousness of the dream in itself, I would probably not even remember it at all. What is it exactly that my mind is processing while I am asleep that takes its shape in this particular kind of dream? Is it important, should I be concerned, and does it matter in any way that I am having these dreams?

Even though I am curious and wonder the meaning of these kind of dreams, in real life I am not feeling ill, have no plans to do anything of significant risk, and am most definitely not depressed. So why would my subconscious decide to play such a strange game by untangling my life with such radical conclusions? It is true that sometimes I feel exhausted with having to deal on a daily basis with so much sadness because of my lack of power over my son's complicated personality and behavior, but never to the extreme of wishing myself dead. On the contrary, the more tired I get from this unavoidable part of my life, the more resigned I am to the reality that God must have a plan and that I am needed here to be part of it. In fact, the hidden wheelchair metaphor in my dreams probably makes a lot of sense, since it surely represents my feelings of acceptance to my powerless role in the life of my son. Dying, that on the other hand is just plain weird, don't you think? Unless of course it might represent an unavoidable end to some part of my life. In other words, some things just come to an end regardless of what we try to do to avoid it.

What are dreams anyway? One school of thought is that dreams are how our subconscious interprets certain emotions we are dealing with at the moment. Others believe that at nights, dreams are a sort of cover up that hides the actual process of filing our thoughts. The actual process of archiving memories is a mystery and the research conducted on the subject reveals very little with respect to why we dream, much less the subject matter of our dreams. One thing is for sure, the alternate reality created in our minds while we are asleep, many times seems just as real as our awaken state of reality. This in essence is related to the school of thought about dreams in which it is believed that if one collects enough of our dreams and analyze their content and learn about the individuals daily life, eventually we can quantitatively find a consistent pattern within them that basically represents a continuation of our wake state that reveals our conceptions and concerns. In fact, the University of California in Santa Cruz has a study titled "The Quantitative Study of Dreams" which is extremely interesting and insightful. Me being an engineer and scientist at heart, I tend to gravitate to believing the enlightening results from this study.

So if my dreams are actually a continuation of my wake state which over time reveal many of my conceptions and concerns, then it might be safe to say that just one or two dreams are not enough to give a big enough picture of what is in my head. After all, my conceptions and concerns are definitely complicated to say the least. However, this is assuming that someone else is in charge of interpreting my dreams, not myself. For a stranger to be able to make a reasonable interpretation, he or she would require that I kept a journal of my dreams for years before they could truly gauge what they are all about. the interpreter would also be required to get to know me and the people I interact with in order to make any reasonable comparison of their interpretation versus my wake state life. However, since I myself am aware of what my wake state life conceptions and concerns are, plus I have better access to the details contained in my dreams, it stands to reason that with enough practice I should be able to interpret my dreams better than anyone else. Of course, this line of thought stands true for all of you individually too. It is most likely that nobody can make more sense of your own dreams than yourself.

What could any of this have to do with parenting, you may ask? Well, in essence it probably has everything to do with parenting since knowing and understanding myself is fundamental in my ability to guide my children in any way. If I do not know the true reasons for my own concerns, how can I in all fairness expect my children to understand me? The stronger I have a grasp of my own beliefs, the clearer and healthier the motive of my concerns become, allowing me then to be consistent and fair with my children. Nobody really likes the "because I said so" answer to the frequently asked question of "Why?" Is it not more effective to have a good reason to why your children should not run with scissors? Of course that is an easy one, but wait until your child wants to know why he or she should not do drugs, not have sex, not to drink alcohol, or simply why they should believe in God. What I have discovered is that with my son, the answers that my own parents gave me are simply not enough. I must find in my own conceptions and concerns the true reasons to answer those questions in order to be heard and hopefully believed. The credibility of my words is only as good as my ability to truly relate my life to what I am saying, and for this I need to know myself very well.

I might initially feel confused when I dream of myself on a wheelchair, but then eventually I understand how powerless I have been feeling lately with regards to the situation with my son. It definitely bothers me to dream of myself dying, but there is no surprise to this dream either, since in essence I, like all of us, am dying a little bit at a time from the day I was born. I cannot run away from the fact that I am a mortal. Being sent to war is another way of my mind making me face the facts that I am not in charge of everything, some of my life is truly out of my hands and most definitely unavoidable. Those are just recent dreams, a few in thousands that I believe adequately define my current conceptions and concerns. I like my life regardless of the challenges that I have faced, so I assure you that I do not mind its color. Even though I gravitate towards wearing black and gray, when it all comes off, yes, a melancholic shade of blue is who I truly am.

Dad

Eating tomato sandwiches...

Many, many, many years ago (maybe not so "many"), when I was in high school, tomatoes made their first impression in my life when a classmate decided to do the "Grow your Plants with Music" science fair experiment. I am sure that by now this project has been done a gazillion times and most likely never been proven a success. The young man created two acrylic boxes to enclose a tomato plant in each of them. In one box a tomato plant was grown in a quite environment, in the other, in addition to a tomato plant he also placed a small speaker that was attached to a recorder that played music continuously. OK, can you figure out the problem with the setup of his experiment? Even though he had bought perfectly healthy tomato plants that both seemed to be just about the same size, he watered them equally and exposed them to the same amount of sunlight, enclosing just about any plant inside an acrylic box will deprive them of precious carbon dioxide which is essential to the well known process of photosynthesis. Sure enough, sooner or later both of the plants wilted and died. My friend obviously did what all kids our age would of done, he took the shortcut and went back to the store a few days before the science fair and bought two brand new tomato plants. This time though, instead of both being the same size he made sure that one was much larger than the other in order to prove his not so scientific hypothesis. In fact, as I recall I am pretty sure he won first prize at the science fair at our school that year. What was the lesson learned, you may ask? First prize at the Science Fair definitely does not mean you are the smartest kid in your science class.

There is a particularly splendid satisfaction that comes from eating something that you have grown on your own. I cannot claim to have a green thumb, since most of the time too much care must go into growing healthy plants and time is by far my least abundant commodity. Years back during a warm southern summer, when I was an engineering student at the University of Mississippi, I remember sharing a trailer home with a dear friend and classmate to save money on rent. My friend was an amazing guy by many standards. He was an excellent study mate, a descent drummer, extremely handy in vehicle repair, hard working as a cook in various establishments while he attended college, and yes, you guessed it, had a green thumb. Starting from seeds in little black cups filled with nutrient filled soil and sitting on the edge of the kitchen window of his previous dwelling he managed to grow at least 10 or 12 tomato plants. By the time we moved in together the hungry for more water and soil plants where ready to be transplanted and soon enough some beautiful tomatoes where on their way to our dinner table. I am not sure if it was the fact that they were so fresh, or the pride of having grown them ourselves (I add myself loosely into the growing part of the story), but they tasted exquisite and delicious! It was during this summer that I consumed my first tomato sandwich. If you have never had one, do not waste your time by trying one out with store bought tomatoes unless you have access to buying them from a farmer's market where they are totally fresh and organically grown. Also, I am not a vegetarian, but in my opinion once you add any kind of meat into making the sandwich, forget about calling it a tomato sandwich. Instead, go veggie only and trust me when I tell you that you will never taste anything else like this in your entire life. You start with the freshest whole grain wheat bread you can find, add some fresh lettuce, a slice of Swiss or provolone cheese, a good portion of sliced tomatoes, add a bit of salt and pepper, and then grill it on a skillet until the bread is nice and toasted and the cheese has melted. Mmmmm, you will be in heaven! What is the lesson? Don't ever write about something as delicious as a southern tomato sandwich when fresh tomatoes are out of season!

You might find it odd or strange, but to me raising my kids has been a lot like the two stories above. In the first one, all the right good intentions were in place when my friend set out to do his science fair "Grow your Plants with Music" experiment. I am sure he did not originally intend to cheat in any way when he set out to prove or disprove his hypothesis. As a father I have always had the best of intentions with respect to everything that has to do with parenting my children. However, not everything I did was correct, effective, and sometimes not even fair. Not understanding what I might of been doing wrong, many times I made mistakes that wilted some of the possible beauty of my children. Divorce, for instance, is by far one of the most written about emotionally impacting events on children's lives. I never set myself a goal to purposely dissolve my marriage after 18 years, yet even with as much as I adore my children I found it essential for my own survival to take that dreadful and painful road. In essence, the original plan of providing my children with a single healthy family environment was eventually replaced with an as close as possible alternate life of separate households. Similar to the young man that concealed the truth about his mistake, I have many times also found myself concealing some of my own mistakes in order to find it easier to live with myself. There were probably more things that I could of tried to do to keep the family together, yet the divorce shortcut was all I could focus on during my own frustrated and failed relationship. Just like the plants that needed a healthier environment full of carbon dioxide to survive, I needed my own emotional nourishment too, so I walked away to find it regardless of the consequences and impact on my kids. This is probably why today I now live in a constant state of trying to be as good a father as I can possibly be in order to make up for any damage my selfish act of breaking the household might of caused. However, I honestly believe that by me being emotionally healthier I am definitely more available to my children and have in fact become a better father too.

You might be wondering how it is that I can correlate my story about growing my own tomatoes and making tomato sandwiches to raising my kids? It is actually quite simple. Remember how I mentioned that my shortcoming as a gardener was tied to my lack of time? As a father, I have learned that giving my children the right amount of time is probably the most valuable and effective commodity in nourishing their well being. I might not have the time to grow my own tomatoes, but one thing is for sure, I need to always have the time to raise my kids. The reason my children "taste" so good to me regardless of the difficulties I have encountered through the years is because I have spent so much of my time growing, pruning, nourishing, feeding, and taking care of them. Some of the people that know me in person and have been privy to my particularly challenging circumstances have commented that they cannot imagine going through it all themselves. "How can you give so much...love so much...care so much?" Easy, these kids are "my" tomato plants...they are mine to take care of as long as I have air in my lungs!

Dad

Planes, trains, automobiles, cat toys, and wooden decks...

My flood and rain saga has not ended. Even though the amount of flooding was minimal this time, over the weekend some of the rain still found its way inside my home. As a consequence I had to take a day to work to create more drainage on the other side of my house in an effort to keep the water level in the soil below the footing of my living room space when the ground is saturated. I started at 9:00 a.m. and was not done shoveling dirt back into the newly placed drain pipes until a bit past 11:00 p.m. If there is one thing that I have learned throughout the years is that any home project I envision might take 3 to 4 hours, all I have to do is multiply it by 3 and I will have the exact number of laborious hours it will take to complete. I am a pretty handy guy, but looks are deceiving when it comes to the simplicity of manual labor. Below the innocent sight of some pavers on what might seem to be just dirt, hide all kinds of mysterious barriers and challenges. This time, even though the trench to be dug was only 30 feet long instead of the previous 70 feet project from the previous week, under the shorter distance laid concrete, wire mesh, and wood. Who lays a concrete patio floor without removing the old wooden deck first? It is that same rotting wood that is actually making canals to bring water from everywhere else in the backyard against the footing and foundation of my home. Needless to say, now I was back on a full treatment of muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatory drugs to be able to come in to work today.

Some of the simplest things in life are amazingly complex when I take the time to look at them carefully. I am surprised as to how many times something completely innocent looking finds a way to create problems. A simple hollow plastic ball that my cat uses to frolic and kick around in the back yard seems innocent enough, but when the little red and blue ball falls into the pool it sinks to the bottom where if left there unattended it will get stuck on the suction intake of the automated pool floor cleaner. I have found the pool vacuum stuck in the same place for what was probably hours due to the cat dropping her toy accidentally inside the water. As Murphy's Law will prove itself over and over again, the lesson is simple, no matter how small, innocent, or inconsequential something might seem, when something can go wrong, chances are it will go wrong. In fact, in physics this concept of incredibly small statistical probabilities holds the answer to some of the most amazing discoveries including the creation of sentient life on our planet. If there is a chance of something happening, no matter how small a chance, eventually it will happen given enough time.

I wonder if this concept of statistical probabilities holds water in the universe that is a person's mind? If I gathered enough information with regards to someones personality and behavior, could I somehow calculate the probabilities of possible outcomes? Is this not the same kind of logic that profilers use when they seek to identify an unknown subject based on the signs he or she leaves behind while interacting with their victims and the world around them? I find it interesting that when investigations are conducted to discover the root cause of a plane, train, or automobile accident, most of the time once the fault is found to be "human error," the research is typically concluded. The human error is swiftly categorized under "fault" or "no fault" depending on whether the individual that committed the error had any chance at avoiding the final outcome or not, and then penalties or pardons are applied. When I take a closer look at this concept, I cannot help but realize that even though we might categorize other reasons for the accident as "mechanical, design, or material failure, " it still all boils down to human error since humans are the ones that create, design, and build things in the first place. All that is left is "an act of God." Rain, lightening, wind, birds, dogs, anything that nature throws at us without rhyme or reason is then categorized as "an act of God."

So where am I going with all of this, you may ask? I suppose I am just having a little fun with the concept of blame. After all, we tend to put a lot of value and weight in assigning blame to someone or something when things don't work out too well. I remember a long time ago joking around following the blame trail to its final and ultimate conclusion and making the argument that in the end it is really all God's fault. Remember this is just a joke, but in essence a reality too so if you want to feel better when something bad happens that you might think is your fault, all you have to do is follow the train of thought that ultimately God was the one that created my cat, the rain, birds, dogs, you, me, and our ability to think for ourselves and make things such as planes, trains, automobiles, cat toys, and wooden decks. I feel much better now!

Dad

Anonymous...

As you read this blog, you might think that I am a very public individual that is willing to pour his heart out upon request. It certainly might seem that way from so many personal stories that I have shared with you so far. However, I want you to know that nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, this is probably the greatest challenge I have forced myself to face in my entire life. This medium might give the initial impression that I am trying to teach you something, and if in the process of me sharing my stories you are learning something useful, then that is fine with me. However, the truth is that I do not write in order to be heard, I write in order to hear what you might have to say to me that might help. As much as I have learned in my journey to become an effective father, I still have what seems as oceans of doubt with respect to parenting, teenage behavior, and what sometimes feels like a unique and very hard to deal with reality with my oldest son. So you see, as therapeutic as my blog truly is for me, my main goal is really to learn from the wisdom of others, including you.

When I called my sister in Plano Texas yesterday, probably the most loyal reader to this blog, she once again found a way to provoke my thirst to discover more answers to so many of my questions about parenting. I can tell that she cares immensely for me and my family. From the instant she climbed aboard what now seems more like the "Starship Dad4Life" with a mission to boldly go where no father has gone before and explore the parenting challenges of teenagers, she has constantly provided me with great feedback. One of the main reasons that the relationship with my sister works so well is because in between her advice a robe of love envelopes each word with constant encouragement. It would be very hard for me not to listen to her when she is always interjecting compassion with her words. Part of her advice yesterday was for me to ask you to share more by writing comments, giving your own advice, and sharing your own stories. Her biggest questions were, "Who else is going through these kind of problems?...What do other people do to cope?...Are there other resources that any reader has found that have helped them?" All excellent questions that I am sure everyone reading could benefit from their answers.

We are on the verge of crossing the 2,600 hits on this blog in which I started posting less than 6 months ago. It still amazes me that so many of you are able to find the time to read it. From the bottom of my heart I want to thank you and once again encourage you to write to me or share with the rest of the class your own stories, comments, and advice. Remember that you can post your words anonymously and your privacy will be always be respected. If you know of someone that has travelled this crazy parenting road and could inject their knowledge for all of us to learn from, please forward them the link to this post so that they can read and contribute. If you know of someone that could benefit from our shared experiences, it would also be great if you sent them the link so that they can participate.

What do you have to say? Interesting question, huh? There is plenty to be learned from our parents, grandparents, and elders. There is also plenty to be learned from our own children when you give them the opportunity to speak up and tell you what they are thinking. I managed to be the nosy dad and find the recent letter that "anonymous," another teenager, sent to my son and two of his friends. Honestly, I am baffled and truly impressed with what it contained. If it were not because I feel as if I was betraying someones trust by doing so, I would love to post it here for all of you to read. Maybe in time my son will be in a better place and I'll be able to ask his permission to post it. For now my comments will have to do some kind of justice about its content. The outside envelope had all the tell tails that identified it as written by another teenager. the inside however, was typed and then printed with an effort to conceal the originator's identity. Each of the three recipients were individually addressed with clever and even poetic nicknames. To each individual the writer confessed how much he or she cared for them and for what reason such a bond existed. Then in beautiful words the worries of a comrade revealed themselves expressing fear not only to the path the three readers were on with the use of drugs, but also for how their personalities were being eroded with their careless behavior. I really wish I knew the identity of the writer. In the context of all that was written, love, fear, hurt, compassion, worry, and genuine concern was all summarized in a single page. There was no abusive terms, no delinquent expressions of hate or anger. Instead, in a noble effort of true friendship this individual was able to express eloquently every single one of my parental fears at whatever his or her tender age might be. This my dear readers is nothing short of God's loving hand inspiring a selfless soul to reach into the heart of some very complicated teenage minds. If this young and wild free spirit is able to teach anything to my son, should there not be hope of us older and tamed parents to teach each other too? Really, what do you have to say?

Dad

How long can you hold your breath under water?

When our planet takes its seasonal turn and the hot summer months arrive in California, nothing can be more enticing than the beautiful cool and crystal clear water of a well cared swimming pool. It is almost as if my skin feels drawn towards an oasis and is begging to be tempered by its wonderful cooling effects. A few years back before I bought my home and while I was living in Redlands, California, my boys and I spent quality time having fun in the main pool of the apartment complex that we lived in. The second floor two master bedroom unit which we occupied was just around the corner from the gate that gave us access to a basketball court, racquetball court, a gym, the jacuzzi, and a very large pool. In all, the apartment complex had a total of three pools. However, the main pool was at least three times larger than the other two and the closest to our place. As a prerequisite for all three of us to decide to go and get wet, my oldest son would first take a peek from his bedroom window to make sure that nobody else was using the pool. To my surprise, even though hundreds of people lived in the surrounding apartments, very few would actually make use of the pristine water hole, making it a lot easier to meet the mental requirements that my son had established in order for us to have some fun. Several times I made it a point to try to convince him for all of us to go to the pool while just a few other people were in it, but I only recall being able to twist his arm once and never again. When this happened, the outdoor sharing time was limited to me and my youngest son, whom almost never declined an invitation to go have a good time with his dad.

In the few years that we lived in that apartment, my oldest son never made a single friend from the surrounding area. As I have already mentioned in previous posts, this behavior began a lot earlier. In elementary school he rarely had more than two friends at a time. It is interesting though, if you saw him interacting with his current pack of buddies it would never cross your mind that he has any kind of social interaction deficit. As I have recently mentioned, it is not uncommon for me to arrive at my home and find him surrounded by anywhere from six to nine other teenagers having a good time. To be honest, even though many times the tribe which he hangs out with can drive me to the brink of madness, I feel a lot better with his current social interaction than when he would be locked up in his singular mental and emotional world instead. These boys and girls that are contained within his social bubble are far from the ideal choice that I would prefer he interact with, but the alternative of limited or no social interaction frightens me even more. At least within themselves I have been able to watch as they all make mistakes and then provide each other a support system to recover from the consequences of their deeds. It is a very slow process, but nevertheless it is a positive process, which allows them to learn from each other's failures as a collective.

I have discovered that it is not uncommon for anonymous letters to float around among this clan of teenagers that has been created. A concerned individual will write about his or her worries with respect to some of the wild behavior that goes on amongst themselves. The empty envelopes which originally contained these letters find themselves dropped on the floor for me to carefully inspect before filing them away. With terrible penmanship they address one, two, and even three individuals at the same time while the sender keeps his or her anonymity by simply writing "from a concerned friend." Rarely am I able to get my hands on the original content which would probably scare the life out of my parental mind. Most frequent than not, the remains of the letters are burned in the back yard of my home and then left mostly in ashes for me to pick up as the ground's keeper. I always ask, just in case my son is willing to share any of the content of these letters, however, their secret society is kept intact with his persistent silence. My second query is typically with respect to the well being of the parties addressed on the envelope, for which an almost angry "everything is fine DAD!" reply always follows leaving me clueless to the main drama at hand.

A favorite thing to do when we would all jump together into the pool was to time ourselves to see who could hold his breath the longest under water. We'd play tricks on each other trying to make the record holder lose control and start laughing during his record breaking attempts. It has been a while and I cannot remember what the standing record was at the time, but it really did not matter because the point was for us to share and have a good time together. Some time while residing at the apartment complex we watched a magician try to break the world record for holding his breath under water. In the show they showed techniques that he used to slow down his heart rate and oxygenate his blood during his attempt. As all three of us learned to do the same things, little by little our under water breath holding personal records got better with time. Afterwards the planet took it's course around the sun and we found ourselves embracing colder months with pool access limited and then eventually closed for the winter. By the time warm weather came back, our fun for free had expired with much more serious problems creeping their ugly head within us and even though I tried to get us all to go into the pool together, we never did make it back in.

Now we have our own pool with a beautiful view of the San Bernardino Mountains in the back yard of my home. When warm weather shows up we are back to sharing in the water by tossing a ball and a few other things between each other and sometimes we compete a little by trying to break records of how many laps each of us can do. However, instead of holding my breath under water I find myself holding it above while waiting for things to get better between me and my son a little bit at a time. Every time I discover the ashes of a burned letter between teenage friends, I find myself feeling much of the same sensations that I used to feel while holding my breath under water. Anxiety, doubt about my abilities, and strangely enough sometimes a lot of a peculiarly and similar solitude that I felt while submerged inside a pool. Even though my kids are just a few feet away, I feel isolation. Is that not the strangest feeling? I hope this feeling goes away soon. I am very used to being able to connect and be part of their lives and I do not care for the current disconnect.

Dad