The challenge: list 15 books that have stayed with you. Here's the fiction list in no particular order:
1. The Stand by Stephan King. I read it when I was 13 and it was scary.
2. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. I've read this book twice so far, both times after the dissolution of serious relationships.
3. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Pivotal to the development of my youthful sense of intellectual alienation.
4. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I grew up in a house with a patriarchal, religious dad. It made me thankful that he never took us to Africa.
5. Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg. This book gave me a sense of my roots.
6. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Contemporary literature at its best.
7. Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. I don't know how I would have made it through high school without it.
8. Zami by Audre Lorde. Strong, powerful, revolutionary black lesbian in NYC? What's not to love?
to be continued...
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
three days later
The morning of the confrontation, the morning that we went to pick up F from her dad, I packed up Joe's few belongings and met up with him at his job site. I told him that he was all done staying with us for a while, but that Gertrude and I would put him up in a cheap hotel for three days. I wasn't ready to just put him on the street. I believe that alcoholism is a disease and I know how hard it is to kick addiction, even if you do suffer from amnesia. And here's the thing about his amnesia: his story doesn't quite add up. At first, I thought that "truth" wasn't that important. I was willing to see a guy who wanted another chance at family. If he felt he needed to have a story about amnesia, well I have to admit that it's a good angle to play. Now I'm thinking that amnesia is a perfect ailment for someone who refuses to take responsibility for himself.
The night he came to my house falling down drunk, beat up, and enraged he insisted that he only had one beer and that his boss bought it for him. I asked his boss when I was at the job if he bought Joe a beer last night. He said, "No." Joe persisted in his lie, saying it was his "other boss," a phantom named Skip who I'd never seen. Last night there were more lies and he didn't like the fact that I told him that he's going to have to figure out his own housing situation on Thursday. He was trying to say that his boss was a snake, hadn't paid him anything, and so he couldn't begin to afford a hotel room on his own. Since I know his boss a little, I called him to get his version of things. Of course, the story was different. And his was much more plausible. I gave Joe an opportunity to be honest with me. I've given him many in fact, but he refuses. When I started to gently call him on it, he got angry and accusatory. It's his way of not taking any responsibility. He minimized the help we've given him and essentially tried to turn me into the asshole. I wasn't having any of it. I calmly repeated my boundaries and the expectations I had that he get on his feet and understand the the free ride is over. It would have been different if he didn't insist on lying to me. So, last night he walked away into the night, having made his own decisions.
I feel disappointed. I believed in the power of love to change folks for a couple of days. But Joe isn't my responsibility on that level. I felt like I had a responsibility to give him a chance and that's what I did. But I can't sign up for extended drama. It's really triggering for me and not safe for my family. So, even though I feel sad for Joe and this whole tragic situation, I remind myself that the only time I heard from him before his "accident" was from prison, where he was repentant but again, free of any culpability.
The night he came to my house falling down drunk, beat up, and enraged he insisted that he only had one beer and that his boss bought it for him. I asked his boss when I was at the job if he bought Joe a beer last night. He said, "No." Joe persisted in his lie, saying it was his "other boss," a phantom named Skip who I'd never seen. Last night there were more lies and he didn't like the fact that I told him that he's going to have to figure out his own housing situation on Thursday. He was trying to say that his boss was a snake, hadn't paid him anything, and so he couldn't begin to afford a hotel room on his own. Since I know his boss a little, I called him to get his version of things. Of course, the story was different. And his was much more plausible. I gave Joe an opportunity to be honest with me. I've given him many in fact, but he refuses. When I started to gently call him on it, he got angry and accusatory. It's his way of not taking any responsibility. He minimized the help we've given him and essentially tried to turn me into the asshole. I wasn't having any of it. I calmly repeated my boundaries and the expectations I had that he get on his feet and understand the the free ride is over. It would have been different if he didn't insist on lying to me. So, last night he walked away into the night, having made his own decisions.
I feel disappointed. I believed in the power of love to change folks for a couple of days. But Joe isn't my responsibility on that level. I felt like I had a responsibility to give him a chance and that's what I did. But I can't sign up for extended drama. It's really triggering for me and not safe for my family. So, even though I feel sad for Joe and this whole tragic situation, I remind myself that the only time I heard from him before his "accident" was from prison, where he was repentant but again, free of any culpability.
Monday, July 13, 2009
it got ugly
It got ugly the night before last. Cops at my door. Drunken belligerence and a beat up face. It was one a.m. and I didn't want to deal with it. I signed for him and told him to just go to bed. He wouldn't do it. I'm not sure if he was expecting me to give him some ice and a bandaid or what, but I figured that he's a grown man and that he made his own choices about being at the bar all night. It got ugly after the cops left. He started screaming and I screamed back for awhile and then shut my bedroom door. He screamed a little longer and then, thankfully, passed out. Fortunately, Francis was still gone.
The next morning, I woke him up and explained that I needed my house to be a peaceful place. I explained that if "family" for him means someone you can shit on, then he was in the wrong place. He started making excuses. I didn't want to hear them. After another strained scene, he dragged himself to work. I changed the locks after he left and thought hard about what I should do. Gertrude and I ultimately decided that a hotel room for three days would be enough time to see what happens next.
As for my extended family, all of this has created weird drama with my mom, aunts, and grandmother. I don't understand it; I mean I understand it to a degree, but it is disappointing all the same.
And now it is Monday morning and I have to go to work and run a non-profit. There is no way I can show up to work and just lay low. I have to be on it. Making decisions, dealing with difficult situations, writing grants, working things out.
The next morning, I woke him up and explained that I needed my house to be a peaceful place. I explained that if "family" for him means someone you can shit on, then he was in the wrong place. He started making excuses. I didn't want to hear them. After another strained scene, he dragged himself to work. I changed the locks after he left and thought hard about what I should do. Gertrude and I ultimately decided that a hotel room for three days would be enough time to see what happens next.
As for my extended family, all of this has created weird drama with my mom, aunts, and grandmother. I don't understand it; I mean I understand it to a degree, but it is disappointing all the same.
And now it is Monday morning and I have to go to work and run a non-profit. There is no way I can show up to work and just lay low. I have to be on it. Making decisions, dealing with difficult situations, writing grants, working things out.
Friday, July 10, 2009
a week
It's been a week since my Grandmother called. It's crazy how much things can change in a week. Last night, Joe's smile and sense of humor made me remember the good ole' days of playing in vacant lots in San Diego when we were kids. Yesterday he fixed the weed whacker (I had given up on the damn thing) and mowed the lawn without being asked. The day before, he cleaned up all the dishes. In the meantime, he's been looking for a job. Still, we're taking it one day at a time. So far, the days have been good and I'm feeling hopeful for Joe. I'm thinking that maybe he just needed a soft place to land. Time will tell.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
family
He's got Black Gansta Disciple tattoos and tears of deep despair. I hadn't seem him in twenty years and now he's sleeping on my couch. It's a long story and it feels like it's just beginning. I got a call from my grandmother last Thursday. She asked if I could do something. She didn't know what, she just wanted me to get involved. She told me that my cousin had been beat up so badly that he lost his memory completely and was now wandering around the streets of Seattle. My cousin and I were really close as kids -kinda like brothers. He wrote me letters from prison a few times, but other than that there hadn't been any contact.
To make a long story short, through the power of the internet, a kind person who knew him from before found my grandmother's telephone number and called her out of the blue. Then grandma called me and then I called the random kind person and got in touch with Joe. I told him that I was his cousin on his mom's side and that I could come to Seattle and talk to him, tell him as much as I know about who he is and his past. I didn't hear from him for a few days and then he called Saturday. Gertrude and I were in Canada celebrating Pride in Victoria. Sidenote: Going to Canada to escape the 4th of July is our new tradition. It was a total bonus that it happened to be Pride as well.
Anyway, Sunday night we met up with Joe at a homeless shelter. As you might imagine, he was looking pretty rough. He's had a rough life and my inclination was to not want to be involved. I know that he's done some things that make it difficult to trust him. This is all very complicated, but I couldn't leave him on the streets because he's my family. Gertrude and I took him back to our place and he's sleeping on our couch right now. He doesn't remember things like what happens in a bowling alley (bowling seems really ridiculous when you try to explain it to someone who doesn't know what it is) and he longs for a family that will love him and embrace him. Much easier said than done.
So for now, he's sleeping on the couch. We're taking it one day at a time and I don't know what's going to happen.
To make a long story short, through the power of the internet, a kind person who knew him from before found my grandmother's telephone number and called her out of the blue. Then grandma called me and then I called the random kind person and got in touch with Joe. I told him that I was his cousin on his mom's side and that I could come to Seattle and talk to him, tell him as much as I know about who he is and his past. I didn't hear from him for a few days and then he called Saturday. Gertrude and I were in Canada celebrating Pride in Victoria. Sidenote: Going to Canada to escape the 4th of July is our new tradition. It was a total bonus that it happened to be Pride as well.
Anyway, Sunday night we met up with Joe at a homeless shelter. As you might imagine, he was looking pretty rough. He's had a rough life and my inclination was to not want to be involved. I know that he's done some things that make it difficult to trust him. This is all very complicated, but I couldn't leave him on the streets because he's my family. Gertrude and I took him back to our place and he's sleeping on our couch right now. He doesn't remember things like what happens in a bowling alley (bowling seems really ridiculous when you try to explain it to someone who doesn't know what it is) and he longs for a family that will love him and embrace him. Much easier said than done.
So for now, he's sleeping on the couch. We're taking it one day at a time and I don't know what's going to happen.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
private island
When I found out that Michael Jackson died today, it felt like a piece of my youth had died. Like millions, I loved the Thriller album. I listened to it all the time and wore a studded grey leather belt that had a buckle with Michael's face on it every chance I got. I longed for one of those zipper jackets but I had to settle for the belt because my family was kinda poor.
At the dinner table I said, "So, Michael Jackson died today."
"I think he faked it," Gertrude responded with confidence.
"Oh, so you think he's at some kind of Catholic boy's orphanage in South America?"
"No, a private island. I think he faked his death and is living on a private island." She was totally serious. She had clearly thought about this.
"Oh really?" I replied like a smart ass skeptic.
"He had a miserable life, I bet he was just sick of it," Gertrude continued to hypothesize.
"It couldn't have been all bad. I bet it was more of a life of peaks and valleys."
Whatever happened, I hope Michael has found some peace and that someone publishes the tell-all autobiography he had sitting in a desk drawer in Neverland.
At the dinner table I said, "So, Michael Jackson died today."
"I think he faked it," Gertrude responded with confidence.
"Oh, so you think he's at some kind of Catholic boy's orphanage in South America?"
"No, a private island. I think he faked his death and is living on a private island." She was totally serious. She had clearly thought about this.
"Oh really?" I replied like a smart ass skeptic.
"He had a miserable life, I bet he was just sick of it," Gertrude continued to hypothesize.
"It couldn't have been all bad. I bet it was more of a life of peaks and valleys."
Whatever happened, I hope Michael has found some peace and that someone publishes the tell-all autobiography he had sitting in a desk drawer in Neverland.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
casserole resolution
When we walked up to the picnic site, she was laying patchwork blankets and table clothes down on the ground about twenty feet from the covered site with tables and benches. JoAnn had reserved the picnic shelter for the wrong date. There was nothing that she could say about the fact that I did not bring a vegetarian breakfast casserole. Instead, I brought warm croissants with spinach and cheese. Everyone loved them. As it turned out, the table was not bursting with breakfast pastries. In fact, most folks didn't bring anything. I realized while I was there that most people in the family ignore JoAnn. Like when she said that she wanted everyone to stand in a circle and hold hands so we could pray. Really. I'm the latest addition to this family, but even I know that this ain't never going to happen. They're a bunch of irreverent, unashamed ex-Catholics. So, I actually ended up feeling a bit sorry for her. It was clear that she had these crazy expectations for the day that weren't met. I had a decent time and I was glad that I chose a gracious path and did not get into any further discussion with JoAnn. It's never about the casserole.
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