The Gospel According to "John"

So Jesus, having just spent several hours hanging out with this large group of folks from all walks of life is sitting down now at the base of a hill and he is addressing this same group of folks letting them know that it does not matter if you are poor or rich, young or old, jew or not, you are included in the Kingdom of God. -- this wonderful existence with God referred to as Heaven by the Jews that begins now, not later.

Everyone had to be so excited.  Even folks who were not allowed in the Jewish Synagogue, those folks were being told that they have a seat at this table.  This was a happy jubilant time for these folks. until Jesus drops the bomb on them.

KA-BAM!

In Matthew 5:20 (NIV), right after this little love-in, Jesus says this "For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven."

WHAT?  I would have been angry, I think.   So what is all this "every one is blessed, everyone is welcome" stuff he was gabbing about earlier?  Why say that, only to drop this line afterwards? Is this the old bait and switch we have become accustomed to with these types of individuals?

Look a little closer with me though.  This is what Jesus says.  "Unless your righteousness…"

Wait a second.  Jesus is saying the we have "righteousness" that those folks possess righteousness  All of us, each of us!  EVERYONE.   We all posses this inner goodness that he is referring to.

Born into sin?

So who is it that says we were all born with original sin?  I mean God himself says in Genesis after creating man and woman  "And he/she are good."  And now Jesus is referring to an inner goodness that EVERY LIVING SOUL POSSESSES.  This is the sort of stuff that leads me to believe that original sin, and sin from birth are constructs created by the early church, designed to make us need the church.  We got the sin, and the church has the solution don't they?  

So by telling us all these years that we have this disease within us, this scourge that we were born with, we all feel pretty bad about ourselves.  But, the church, they say "Come on over here folks, we have the cure, we can make you all better, well at least temporarily, you will always be consumed with sin, but we have the bandaid. " And we just go flooding to the first open door looking for the cure. Don't we?

So here is Jesus saying, NO.   You all are possessed by goodness, each of you.  

Apples to oranges

So lets continue.  He says "Unless your inner goodness surpasses (passes up, is better, beats) that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the Kingdom of Heaven."

Wait a second now, if each of us possess this inner goodness, then what control do we have of whether it is better or passing up that of the pharisees and teachers of the law?

Well the answer is we don't.  The answer is also that just by being there and listening to Jesus we/they already have surpassed the folks who depend solely on the rules.   All those people, who were just called Blessed, their righteousness already surpasses the Pharisees.   

Why so?

Because they were not depending solely on the law, they were not waiting for the next nugget of truth to be passed down by the teachers.  They were seeking out God on their own.  Not only were they rejects of the religion of their day, but they had moved on from all of that out of pure necessity.  Their inner goodness made them move on.  Their righteousness rejected the status quo and made them look for something better.  All of the folks who were so concerned with outer appearances and performance and appearing holy, those folks were lumped in with the pharisees.  They, along with the pharisees and teachers of the law had trampled their own inner goodness to run towards the triple-guarantee of the written word, the expressed rules of tradition and the holy words of a lost kingdom.

Jesus, was not interested in them, he was interested in these rejects, this band of dirty, homeless, diseased and impoverished people.  It's worth thinking about isn't it?

8 Things I Love About My Dad

My Dad, Thomas Martinez, turns 80 tomorrow.   I know, crazy right?  Anyone who knows my Dad, knows that he is full of energy, and is still working 3 full days a week.  They also know that he doesn't look or act 80.

I always imagined an 80 year old man to be shrunken, hunched over, walking with a cane, hearing aids, glasses, mumbling to himself.  And here we have this guy who stands  5’ 10”, good posture with no help from any kind of brace, still cuts his own grass, still works on and washes his own cars, doesn't even have a limp, has most of his hair, still sees well without the aid of glasses, still hears well again with no hearing devices.

Dad cutting my Son's hair  June 2012

In honor of 80 years, I was going to write some kind of tribute and so I settled on 80 things I love about Dad.  I realized that some folks would actually want to read this, so I shortened it to just 8.  So, each of these things represent a decade of Dad’s amazing life up until now.  However, you must keep in mind that I have only known the man for 46 years, so my experience with him is rather narrow.

So, without further ado…

8 Things I Love About My Dad

8.  Dad talks tough, but he is all about self-control  - Yeah I have Dad to thank for this.  Sometimes growing up Dad would bark at us, even threaten us within an inch of our life, but he never killed us – not once.  This led me to believe that 1.  He was either a lot of talk, or 2.  He would have killed us but there was a rational part of him that was able to reign it in so that he did not end up having to spend the rest of his life in prison.  Self-control, I learned it from him.  Thanks Dad, 1. For teaching me how not to kill my kids even when they deserved it and 2. For not killing me.

7.  He never failed to provide for us no matter what – You know in the several years that I lived at home, the country went through all sorts of economical fluctuations both good and bad.  There were the really amazing times, like the day Dad brought home an RV and told us that he bought it.  Just like that.  One day we were a family of 5 driving around in a Chevrolet Station Wagon, the next in a large fiberglass camper that slept 6.  Dad drove us all over the place in that thing.  We even took a two month vacation one Summer with the thing and drove all the way to Canada.  Then there were the tough times.  It was the big oil crunch in the late 70s.  In case you didn't know, Dad is a hairstylist and has always cut hair so long as I have known him.

In the late 70s, no one came to get their haircut anymore.  So, rather than make excuses, Dad took on some other jobs.  We never knew there were money problems, because dad never complained about it, ever.  Me and my brothers never heard him blame the economy for tough times, or use the recession to take a break from having to work or look for work.    He just, worked and worked and worked and made no excuses, because he didn't have to.

We never saw an interruption in our every Saturday pizza, and our regular weekly meals.  We always had a new wardrobe on the first day of school, except for Chris who refused to wear new clothes.  J  My Mom and Dad both cut hair to provide for us, and it worked.   They still do.  I learned that a Man does not make excuses; he makes money and brings it home for his family, period, no matter what.

6.  He loves my Mom stubbornly – My Mom is amazing don’t get me wrong, but sometimes the things she fought us for seemed silly, even ridiculous.  However, we never told Mom this, or Dad.  See, we knew that bad mouthing Mom was pointless with Dad.  Not only did we risk dying, but Dad would probably have first killed us, then in defending Mom’s honor he would have killed us again while telling us we were wrong and Mom was right and to shut up about it.

Niagara Falls June 2012

That’s right I said he would kill us twice.  Because once you have gone as far as to kill your kid, you can’t get booked for killing him again, so why not?  Anyway, not only did dad defend Mom even when she was wrong, he let us know in no uncertain terms, that Mom always came first, period.  I think he knew that once we were long gone and grown up, she would still be there with him, and she never forgets anything.  Or he just loves her that much.

Either way, I learned 1.  What love looks like in a marriage, and  2.  How the best approach to parenting is a team effort –a united front.  Thanks Dad for teaching me that.

5.  He is the life of the party - a true entertainer.  Man can that man dance.  Party after party, event after Mexican event, quinceaneras, weddings, funerals, there was Pop moving faster than the speed of light with his feet, moving Mom all over the room while everyone else was winded.  When he wasn't dancing he was cutting up with the relatives.

When my grandmother was alive, I swear dad saw it upon himself to make her laugh every time she turned around.  One liners, complicated jokes that took setting up, crazy off the wall comments.  Dad was a goofball, and people loved it.  They still do.  Today, Dad works in a large building full of hairdressers, mostly women and gay men, and he has them all in stitches most of the time.

He is a comedian alright, but he can also sing, and he can sermonize and deliver a eulogy that would bring Hitler to tears.  He is also a story teller.  Everything that has ever happened to Dad will be in a story of sorts - a dramatic retelling of the event with details that had to be slightly embellished in order to make it interesting of course.  Mom is the fact-checker in the relationship and is commonly on hand to let folks know that “it did not happen like that.”  But when she is not around, the stories are amazing.

Dad has always been an artist when it comes to making people laugh, cry and listen.  I have always tried to mimic his ability to do so, and maybe one day I will be as good as he is at it.

4.  He doesn’t half-ass anything – My Dad is not just a hairstylist.  He is also a barber.  But not just a barber, but a licensed barber instructor.  Wait and that’s still not all.  He is also a cosmetologist.  And…  you guessed it, a licensed cosmetology instructor.  If you don’t happen to be in the know, a barber, is different than a hairstylist and the two are different than a cosmetologist.  It was not enough that Dad cuts hair for a living, he had to be the best.  He spent a great deal of time in his early life traveling around and doing shows for folks, explaining to them how to cut hair and style hair and color hair in ways that he knew best.

Aside from all of that, Dad is a carpenter, and an electrician, a plumber, an auto mechanic and an all around handy man.  He was never satisfied to pay someone to do something that he could do himself.  I spent many a Sunday under the hood of a car or under the car itself with Dad while he fixed things and I handed him tools.  Occasionally he would bump his head on something and then I would learn new words to add to my vocabulary.  Dad is an explorer, a learner and a tireless student.  A few years ago I gave him a computer, and to this day he not only uses it daily to read scary conservative political emails, but he actually gets on Facebook and posts on people’s walls.

Facebook, at 80.  Wow.  Dad you taught me that “if that guy can do it, I can probably do it too.” You taught me how to troubleshoot what’s wrong with my car and my friends cars.  You taught me how to dig a hole, mow a lawn, paint a building, pour cement, lay bricks, trim a hedge, change a light bulb in an oven, fix a dryer, hammer a nail, put up sheet rock, frame out a building, put in insulation, lay carpet, build a roof, shingle the roof, fix a motor, clean a battery connection, change a fuel filter, change oil, fix brakes on a car, pull the head off of a motor and replace the head gasket (without catching the fuel line on fire), and  the list could go on and on, Pop.  I have learned so much from being around you and from just being unafraid to try something new and then eventually master it.  That is you in me.  Thanks!

3. He can still kick above your head – in the 80s I was pretty much convinced at the age of 15 that I was going to be Rocky Balboa.  I had purchased a 60 lb body bag to suspend from a rafter in the garage and pummel on during my intense work out sessions.  I also had a speed-bag to practice my punching on.  Dad helped me hang that up by building a custom fixture for it out of wood.

One day, me and my friend were in the garage hitting the bag when Dad walked in.  He had to be in his 60s back then, and he said, “I don’t need to do all that punching, because I can KICK…”  on the word KICK he lifted his leg straight up off the ground and hit the bag right where the person’s face would have been, nearly knocking the bag off of it’s rope  “…above your head” then he brought his leg down and walked off.

Me and my friend laughed a little bit at the randomness of it all, but we were both impressed that he could do that.  My Dad can still kick “above your head.”  Not sure when that will come in handy, but if anyone ever needs a good kick above the head, just ask Dad, I am sure he has been waiting all these years for someone to need him in that way.

My Dad has periods where he works out and some where he doesn't  but he has always been strong and healthy and tireless.  I hope to aspire to that one day.

2.  He is strikingly handsome – Okay, now I understand that this is a subjective point of view here, but my Dad is pretty handsome.  I mean he must be, because people say I look just like him, so it has to be true.  See what I did there?   Yes, I always thought that my dad with his ability to use his voice, and put on an act for anyone anywhere would have made an excellent Hollywood actor.  I think he missed his calling honestly.

I have had girlfriends in the past tell me that my dad is handsome and that they would stay with me forever because I would probably look like him as I grew older.  All those girlfriends have left me for other reasons entirely, but that is beside the point.  The problem was with them really.  No seriously, they were all bad bad girlfriends.

1. He had regrets.  He made changes – okay, serious here.  My Dad has made some pretty solid decisions in the past.  He has been stubborn at times and made rash decisions.  Haven’t we all?  But, I got to see him have regrets.   He let me know when a decision he made was a bad one.  He let me see that side of him that fails, and then gets up and tries again -- tries something different this time.

He let me see the part of him that realizes that his point of view was wrong and then he let me see how he changed his point of view to accommodate for his new knowledge.  It was subtle and one of those things that we never talked about.  My Dad showed me that he could appear very stubborn, but deep down he learned from his mistakes and he did not go on making the same ones.

Because of his regrets, he changed.  This has been a major, major thing for me.  I am who I am because of this.  My whole life has been about one stubborn decision after another, and how I have had to learn and learn and learn and change to accommodate for what I have learned.

Because I was younger I got to see Dad raise kids, make decisions about money, about drinking alcohol, about morality and  culture.  I saw him change from a guy who bad mouthed one group of folks, to a guy who praised those folks later.

Dad, thank you most of all for making mistakes and not being afraid to admit when you were wrong about something.  Thanks for teaching me how to accommodate and change based on my knowledge of the world around me changing.  I know you don’t agree with me when it comes to politics, but the reason I am who I am today is because of what you taught me.

I love you Pop.  I hope your next 80 years are just as amazing as these have been.  Happy Birthday!

 Your son -- you know, the hard-head…

Me (in my diaper) and Dad (In his barber smock)

Jesus is For Losers

(Song written by Steve Taylor)

But Jesus called them to Himself and said, "You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and those who are great exercise authority over them. "Yet  it shall not be so among you; but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. "And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave -  "just as the Son of Man did not come to be served,  but to serve, and  to give His life a ransom  for many." (Matt 20:25-27)

The Opposite of Winning
Part of getting older for me has been dealing with loss in many big ways.  There is the loss of my children as they grow old enough to not need my protection, my income and my wisdom; the loss of respect that folks seem to get just for being over 40.  There is the loss of youth, virility, strength and time.  Likewise, there is the impending loss of mobility, health, and eventually life iteself to be concerned about.

So no, I do not find myself at the age of 46 saying victoriously the word “WINNING” like the equally old Charlie Sheen most recently.  Instead I can say with much certainty and conviction loudly that I am “LOSING!”

Every day I stand to lose more and more.

So what happened?
I mean really, this is not the glory story I was told as a teenager in my Jesus-freak youth group.  Certainly it does not smack of the usual optimism.  I mean, that would suppose that you believe the same stories I did.  You are special.  You are important.  You will do great things.  You have a special purpose. You can be a winner.  You just have to work hard and be good and everything will work out for the best.  This lack of optimism may be taken as negativity or worse still, morbidity, but I find myself just wanting to be very honest here.

No, you do not get everything you ever wanted in life.  No love does not stay the same and never change. There is no happily ever after and the sun WILL NOT come out tomorrow most days. If you find something good, I mean really awesome, in your life time you will most likely lose it, and probably in a horrendous way.

However, when I look at the Christian church and most Christians these days you would think they missed the memo.  They are all about winning and claiming the victory.  They seem fixated on simply emoting happiness as if being a Christian has somehow fixed all of their problems.  There was a while there when I played the same game.  Regardless of what happened to me I would simply praise Jesus and of course neglect to tell any of those other smiling happy Christians who never experienced problems about my woes.

We are all Losers
But, the truth is they are all losing – we are.  Right now, in fact you too are losing… something.  It could be love, money, time, friends, family members; other loved ones, life itself, health, longevity. Seriously, the list goes on.  A case could be made that each of us are losing far more than we are winning and will continue to lose even in the midst of winning.

Jesus on the other hand was a Master loser.  He knew how to lose and how to lose big, with little dignity and little saving face.  He demonstrates to us how we can go on with life even after losing so much.

Don’t believe me?  Show me a scripture where Jesus tells us to “Play the Lotto, because you can’t win if you don’t play.”  How about just one that says “Build a big nest egg for your self and constantly defeat your enemies.”  How about one that says “Amass a great big happy family, or obtain a large lovely home, own the most cattle, win, win, win?”

You won’t find it – I looked.  Instead if you truly reflect on the words of Jesus, you will find a common thread among just about everything he has to say.  Here’s a hint – it’s not about winning.

Jesus says “the last shall be first.”  Loosely translated this means that the biggest losers will actually be the winners.  In the upside down world of Jesus and his Kingdom of God, there is value in being last.

Jesus goes on to say things like:

“The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again.  No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” (John 1:18-19)

Really?
As “Followers” of Jesus aren’t we supposed to be like him?  What would it take for us to value other people’s successes over our own?  This is antithetical to just about everything my parents, church, and school taught me.  Isn’t it all supposed to be about victory, success, winning, building a mansion in the sky, achieving more for myself?

I have this tattoo on my left arm that I have had now since October of 2004.  It is a stern reminder of this message.  Often-times I forget the tattoo is even there, but when I look at it for more than a few seconds, I quickly sober up and remember this mandate.

The tattoo says “Ars Moreindi” in a Gaelic script.  The Latin words simply mean, “The Art of Dying (Death).”  My Mom would think this was awfully morbid and has voiced her opinion of my tattoo on a few occasions, but I continue to try and cling to this message in selfish moments – moments when I want to hold on to my life too firmly – times when I reign supreme and no one else matters — times when I am pursuing the American Dream at the expense of other people and in spite of those that are not doing so well, times when I know I am right and the other person is dead wrong.

A year ago, just after Easter, I lost my home. He is Risen!  I lost my Home!  He is Risen Indeed!  Someone could have died, but He will come again!  Everything I own was in limbo for weeks at a fire restoration facility.  He is Risen!  I am not a fan of Easter.  In my opinion it was a holiday created by Christians designed to gloss over Jesus’ entire life’s work including everything he ever said and demonstrated, by celebrating his resurrection from the dead.  Whoop-dee-freakin-doo, I was not feeling very Easterful last year.

If you were unfortunate enough to catch the movie “The Passion of Christ” you know that Jesus didn’t just rise from the dead though, right? He was tortured to death first.  It took hours.  At least he didn’t have to watch the movie, or work closely with Mel Gibson.  But seriously, read the white spaces in the Bible (between the words) and see exactly all that he lost prior to his end on earth.

He lost his status as a carpenter. He lost his family business. He lost dignity and respect. He lost his position in society as a teacher. He lost all of his friends. He lost the possibility of ever having a wife and kids of his own. He lost his Mother and Father and brothers and sisters and cousins.  Don’t you think he wanted those things?  Don’t you think he loved his family and friends as much as we do?

He gave up on all that stuff, all those people.  He was good at giving up wasn’t he?  He held on to everything – every blessing, every friendship, everything —  very lightly.  It’s like he knew that he could lose it all at any moment, and was already prepared to do so.

How then shall we live? 
If we are to be followers of Jesus, why do we fight so hard to not just keep ALL that we have, but to get more and more in spite of others?  Why do we work so hard and for so many hours away from each other?  Why do we fight so hard for principles that have nothing to do with these words of Jesus? What are we trying to do anyway?

Does the fact that Jesus lost everything somehow mean he did not care about anything?  I don’t think so.  I think he cared an awful lot about all of it, all of us and all of them.  It’s just that he knew that life was a blessing.  All of the good stuff did not BELONG to him, nor did he have a right to possess it.  So when he lost it all he was most definitely hurt by the loss, but he somehow knew it could happen.

Sometimes I feel that we as Christians missed the point completely of his death.  We see it as a means to his resurrection, which we celebrate so victoriously on Easter, being remarkably silent on Good Friday. We see him as a winner, a victor over death, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Prince of Peace and all that other mumbo-jumbo which means very little to people who are still alive and having to live with loss on a regular basis. So rather than embrace loss as a way of life, we are forced to sort of pretend that everything is lovely all the time and losing a loved one is no big deal because we will “See them in Heaven.”

We don’t understand why things go so wrong at times and why even though we are living “victorious” lives we still lose so much.  We think sometimes that maybe we are not living victoriously enough and that is why bad things happen.  So we turn it up a notch, the entire time going in the wrong direction, moving further and further from the God of losing — moving more and more towards the God of winning — a fictitious, evil god that is never satisfied.

Or even worse, we blame God for the bad things — for the loss.  See him as some kind of cruel cosmic game master in the sky plotting against us, we who have served him so well for so long.  How could God take these things away?  We deserve so much better.  How does he expect us to claim the victory when he keeps taking, taking, taking?

What we fail to see is that we as followers of Jesus, are to lay these things down — give them up — hold on to them looser than we currently hold on to them. No one can take them away from us, no one, because we lay them down on our own accord (John 1:18-19 again). I know, hard words to hear, and harder words to live by.  Thanks a lot, Jesus.  Why couldn’t you have just told us to infiltrate a major American political party and dominate the federal government with the intentions of legislating morality based on our own interpretation of scripture?  So much easier.

The Loser’s Club
The good news is that we are not alone.  Not only is God with us (in my opinion), but we have each other to lose with. We can have our own Loser’s Club to be associated with. 

In the novel “It” by Stephen King there was a special kind of camaraderie that the main characters shared in being part of this special club of kids called The Losers’ Club by their schoolmates.  But in the end, this band of would be losers somehow proves over and again their ability to sacrifice everything they have for one another.

Love, sacrifice, commitment, compassion, these are the principles that come about when we are used to losing and are held hostage by no-thing.  Jesus knew that.

In The River

In the river I'm gone
In the river I'm gone 
In the river I'm gone
In the river I'm gone
(Sarah Masen's song, The River, from the album, A History of Light and Shadow, 2007) 

I never thought much about that part of Christianity that is all about escaping the cruel evil world.  

I remember being told sometime back when I was a youth that if I got "saved," then eventually I would get to leave earth and go live on a cloud in Heaven, or in a mansion in Heaven and I could never quite reconcile either of those with reality.

For one, does Jesus really get off on big houses?  I mean is that what our reward basically amounts to is a large house with many rooms and servants and a decent sprinkler system?  How about a few Rolls Royces while we are at it?  Does God come over to your mansion for dinner parties and will I have to wear a fancy antebellum dress on this ocasion?

The cloud idea was also a little crazy.  Wouldn't you fall right through?  If not, how do planes fly right through clouds and how many Heaven-dwellers are knocked right off the tops of clouds when planes fly by?  Also what about issues like exposure?  Wouldn't we eventually die if we had to spend eternity outside like that, with no shelter?  

Yeah, I know this is coming off a little silly.  Really, I don't mean it to, but you know it is me talking.  I tend to lean towards the silly.   Anyway, the main point of their sermons is this:  "Your life truly sucks right now, doesn't it?  If you accept Jesus Chirst (he always has a last name in these sermons) as your lord and personal savior, not only will it get dramatically better, but eventually you get to leave behind this shithole."   Okay, I may have gone a bit beyond with the term shithole, but you get the picture.

Christianity was a means to escape the world. If I can dwell on Heaven a little more, I don't have to dwell too much on what is going on right now, right here, and right in front of me.  I needed that as a teenager.  I really did.  My life did suck.

No, I did not have abusive or alcoholic parents.  I did not have a heavy drug habit or anything like that.  Nopers, as a teenager, I was just plain unattractive and unpopular and desperate for friendship and acceptance.  Sounds a bit like something a drama-queen might say.  In fact I was so unpopular and unwanted by most kids my age, I thought that becoming a Christian, though being a form of social suicide, would be much better than the life I was living up to that point.  In fact, I needed Jesus as much as I needed anything back then.

I eventually grew up and I eventually grew to realize that this world is God's creation and that I am also his creation.  I learned that escaping was not at all what Jesus was talking about when he said things like Love your neighbor as yourself, and go the extra mile, and do not divorce your wife, and do not objectify each other, and that the kingdom of God is here, near, and now.  Jesus was overly concerned about how we treat others right now, right here, and on earth.  At no time did he say "forget all that shit, we are out of here in 5, 4, 3..."  He just simply doesn't say that ever.  

So I have settled into the idea that Heaven is really not at all what we think it is, and neither is Hell.  We simply don't have the answers.  None of us do, and neither does the Bible.  But, sometimes I still want to just hide.  Sometimes I still want to get away.  Sometimes I could just withdraw from everything and everyone and just totally isolate myself.  I don't get it.  I don't understand it, but it's true.

So, when I heard this song by Sarah Masen, I just fell into it.  I listened to the lyrics and I just fell into it.  For me, "the river" is not just the equivelent of spiritual bliss, it is a means to escape all of the hard stuff.  A way to run into god's arms and just cry, or sit and be quiet or just relax. Because sometimes I am like this big kid.  With all of my knowledge and education and experience, sometimes I want my big daddy to just wrap his arms around me and hold me.  

At those times, I am sick of my job, my church, my life and people and I just want to escape it all and be with someone who I think not only understands me, but maybe who understands me more than I understand myself.  Maybe this is a form of Heaven.  Well it seems that way to me.  This is a place that I can go whenever I want, but there is also a certain amount of depravity in staying there, isn't there?  Sarah, has put her music online for folks to listen to and I invite you to quietly listen to this song with me.  Below are the lyrics.

Click Here to download the song:

I could never get close enough to your fire

And now that my flame's gone out, I won't try
Cause I'm in the water under and going down tired
And if there's life at the bottom, I guess I'll find out
 
Somehow I knew I wasn't meant to burn on
And how could such darkness make any sense, I don't know
But everything is pulling like Easter, somethings begun
But everything's moving toward something that's already done

In the river I'm gone (x4)

I can see your light on the surface, now it fades
But I am still alive, some second wave
And I can hear singing, some distant parade
And over and over, I hear the same refrain

In the river I'm gone (x4)

Come with your weary
Come with your thirst
Come with your fading 
Come with your hurt
What is not is now
Come with your doubt
Come on

In the river it's gone 
In the river I'm gone
In the river it's gone
In the river I'm gone

Come to the river
Come with your burdens
Come into the river 
Come

In the river I'm gone (x4 and fade)

When I was Just a Little Girl...

Just read an article on Huffington Post that made me think back a bit to when I was a kid.  I know weird, right?  I never talk about being a kid.   Okay, that was admittedly a bit of sarcasm.  I frequently talk about my childhood, but that is because I think childhoods are important.  I think they shape us into the adults we become.

The article by Kristen Wolfe entitled Dear Customer Who Stuck Up For His Little Brother was about a teenager (around 17 YO) who in fact defended his little brother’s (10-12 YO) decision to choose a video game that had a female lead character in it and a purple controller for the game against his own father who was threatening the child with bodily harm if he chose these things.

The father stomped off angry and the boys, though emotionally affected stood firm together.  It is an amazing story.  The father wanted his son to choose something more “manly” apparently, something with guns or zombies in it, but the boy insisted that he wanted the girl-game.

I thought about why the father was so insistent and I think it is because somehow he believes that if the boy chooses more manly games, then the boy will somehow grow up to be… more manly.  The opposite argument also works in this case, if in fact the boy plays with girl-games, then he will most likely end up to be gay, or a girl – which is one in the same for this father obviously, and both are anathema to the father.

But, is this assumption true?  I mean, when I was a young father raising my boys I think I felt like it was my job to mold my boys into “men.”  And my definition of men was something like this father’s.  It was tough, strong, manly, or masculine, or macho, and straight, not gay.  I was deluded into believing that somehow just by the toys I let them play with, the clothes I let them wear and the things I let them do, I could somehow make this sort of thing happen.

So I only let them play with toy cars and trucks and other stuff like that.  When kids were playing dress-up and putting on dresses, I did not allow them to play that way.  I made crude jokes about gayness and gay people in the home to make sure the kids knew that this was not an acceptable way to be.  I did everything I knew to try and control their future outcomes.  I believed that I could somehow, prevent gayness, or create straightness if you will.

Years later, I am convinced that I was wrong to try and do this.  I also now realize that being a man has nothing to do with a person’s sexual preference.  After all, there are plenty of tough determined men in the military stationed in Afghanistan right now on behalf of our country who happen to be gay. 

I realize also that there is no way for a father or mother to create or foster or nurture or make kids grow up to be straight.  You can certainly make them miserable by trying -- as the father in the article certainly was able to demonstrate.  I don’t know what the scene was when those boys got home or in the car on the way home, but I can imagine that it was not a pleasant one.  Just because dad backed down in the store it does not mean that the discussion was over.

Here’s another thing, does playing with cross-gendered toys mean that you have a gender identity issue?  Does a boy playing with Barbies make the boy instantly gay?  Does a girl playing with a set of tools make her a lesbian?  What is wrong with people?

When I was a small boy I distinctly remember that my favorite person in the world back then was my Mom.  She was a SAHM, who took being a Mommy to the nth degree.  She saw it as her duty to spend every waking moment with me, caring for me, playing with me, reading to me and talking with me.  She also did a fair amount of cleaning.

Seriously, a lot of cleaning.  I don’t mean like dusting and then sleeping.  I mean hard core cleaning.  I honestly think she was a bit OCD  However, when she cleaned she would play the most beautiful music.  While most Moms of that day were listening to top 40 stuff of the 70s or Motown, Mom would play her Doris Day records from the 60s.  I grew up listening to Doris Day and singing “Que sera, sera.  Whatever will be, will be.  The future’s not ours to see.  Que sera, sera.”

My favorite toys back then were a plastic toy vacuum cleaner, a few dolls and a golden brown teddy bear, appropriately named “Goldie.”  She had a husband teddy bear named Ted.  I think he was actually doing my dark brown teddy bear (Markeesha) on the side, but that is another story.  These were a few of my favorite things. 

You know why?  I wanted to be just like Mom when I grew up.  And she seemed to favor these things, including the vacuum cleaner.  It’s a miracle that my favorite toys weren’t an old dust rag and a mop and bucket, considering how much Mom cleaned.  No, instead it was toys that could let me play like my Mom.  I wore her shoes around the house too and liked to make things with her.

Guess what, I'm not attracted to men in the least.  So, there you go.  My worst moment as a child growing up?  The day my Mom put all my girl toys in a plastic bag and I never saw them again, including my Goldie bear.  I cried and cried and cried.  It was heart-breaking.

Maybe she too was afraid of her influence on me.  I still believe that spending all that time with Mom and playing with tender toys and listening to Doris Day and having my Mommy wipe me down with a cold wet wash-rag and stay by my side all night when I had a fever made me into the caring and compassionate man I am today.  Thanks Mom.  I forgive you for taking Goldie away.    

“When I was just a little girl, I asked my Mother what will I be.  Will I be pretty?  Will I be rich?  Here’s what she said to me.”  “You will be a good man, John.  You will.”

The Night (of the living dead) Before Christmas

The below story is a Christmas gift from my little brother (Darrell Martinez) to me, my family and subsequently all of the folks that read this blog.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through our apartment, not a creature was stirring, except our four cats.  I mean really, try and keep four cats from stirring -- it can't be done.  The stockings were out, hung from coat hangars on the kitchen door.  The Christmas lights were on, tangled and tied around the balcony... with care, and the tinkle-dribble sounds of two fish tanks hung in the air.  We slept quite soundly, long used to the noise, of those damn four cats and all of their toys. Anthony in his Snuggie® -- hogging the bed, and I in my Decepticon® PJs sleeping the sleep of the dead.

When all of a sudden I awoke to such racket, like a loud sawing-grinding-vibrating repeating grating... oh that was just Anthony snoring... nevermind, I went back to sleep.  But, I woke again to the shattering of glass,so I crawled out of bed to kick some cat-ass.  Out to the living room I stumbled in vain -- ready to bring down that mad Christmas kitty-pain.  But Oh! With my bleary half-shut eyes did I see, but Santa himself-as plain as can be.  He had come through the patio windows as we don't have a chimney.  He was all covered in mud and looking quite dingy.  His hat was all torn and he held in his hand, the leg of a reindeer that had been gnawed-on quite bad.

He smelled of a sewer that had puked up rancid meat and I hoped against hope that he couldn't hear my heartbeat.  "Murr-aah?"  He moaned, as he looked right at me.  "Fuck!"  I exclaimed as my shorts filled with pee.  Then, here he came running and the blood in me surged, I knew that this Christmas-hell-beast needed to be purged.  From my home, from this holiday, from this block at least - so I tackle-blocked his ass back down to the street!

Over the balcony he flew and fell with such a clatter, that the neghbors next door came out to see what's the matter!  Chang, Bang and Tian -- the Asians next door -- all fell to Santa's blood thirst in a scene of much gore!  Santa grabbed onto Chang -- grabbed him full in the face--and blood and hair flew all over the place.  Bang screamed out shrill and then tried to run, but Santa got to him quick -- the end to Bang-Sun!  Tian just stood there quite frozen in fear, and Santa smashed him hard with the bloody foot of his deer.  

Down went Tian and Santa did feast.  And I knew in my cockles I'd have to "sleigh" the beast.  So onto my laptop -- I flew with such speed, and posted to facebook my dire Christmas need.  Then into my closet--I rummaged for the sword, that had been won on Ebay--for a hefty reward.  Then out to the lot--I ran with much haste, for this crazed undead Santa I needed to waste.  People were running now, all this way n' that - and Chang, Bang & Tian were up from their nap.  Returned from the dead, though not quite entirely --They chewed on that annoying dog from the bitch in twenty-three.  I dispatched them most quickly--with a sword through the head.  "Must finish this fast and return to my bed!"  Santa had vanished, screams all around, so I followed the noise and guess what I found.  A bath most bloody-to my eyes did appear, of my neighbors all falling to brain-hungry reindeer.  

With a red suited fat-man running around quick, I knew in a moment -"His ass I must kick!"  Then he roared ugly, up to the sky, and 'round came his minions in the blink of an eye.  Half-eaten and bloodied I chopped them as they came.  As Santa shouted and groaned, I downed them by name. "Die Dasher!  Die Dancer!  Die Prancer and Vixen!  FALL COMET, FALL CUPIT, FALL DONDER AND BLITZEN!"  Slashed the tops of their heads, chopped at them all!  Slashed away!  Chopped away!  Diced away all!  

Then bloated but hungry, Santa came for me fast, it was finally time that I dispatched him at last. His eyes shined at me, crimson.  Oh yes, very scary.  His cheeks were all a'torn, his nose dripped of cherry.  His lips curled back to bare broken teeth, I drew up my sword and threw down the sheath.  I put my blade in his face and slashed at his belly.  his gut spills out thickly like a bag full of jelly.  He lunged at me sharply, his finger grazing my nose.  Then I gave him a nod and up my sword rose,  In a bright slash, in a grand swooping sweep- I took his head off cleanly and he fell in a heap.  With a twitch and a quiver he died once more, not knowing what nightmare he encountered before.

I kicked at the corpse of the old elf in red--making quite sure that the hell-beast was dead.  Then came the town clock - clanging out twelve, and I laughed when I heard it, in spite of myself.  So I turned 'round quickly and shouted out right - "MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-FRIGHT!"

-- Darrell Martinez 2011

I want a GI Joe with the Kung-fu Grip

When I was a kid I remember having such definite dreams about Christmas gifts.  One year I was sure I wanted the GI Joe with the Kung-fu grip.  Not sure what the draw was for that man-doll back then. I just knew it would be cool to have one.  He had a tiny little fist that was separated in half at the palm and when you flipped the lever in his back down his hand would close into a magical kung-fu grip that could fuse carbon steel.  Well, I never really tested out the whole metal fusion thing, but I was convinced it could happen.

The cool thing about GI Joe toys was that there was no GI Joe cartoon back then, no GI Joe Movie, nothing.  GI Joe was an imaginary character that did not exist in reality or in TVLand or the Movies.  At the time, my favorite cousin in-law was actually enlisted in the Marine Corp and away from home serving in some place called Vietnam in a war that affected me very little at the time other than the absence of one of my favorite playmates.

Jodie looked a little like GI Joe.  So, it was easy to imagine that when we were fighting crime with GI Joe, Jodie was there taking out criminals left and right with his kung-fu grip.  When we were saving the damsel Naked-Barbie from Ken’s chronic domestic abuse, Jodie was there rescuing the poor girl and sweeping her into his arms after high-kicking Ken in his bronzed-tan face.  Of course it was only temporary, because Jodie was married to my favorite cousin Sandy, and Naked-Barbie was always convinced by Ken’s multiple apologies and bouquets of plastic flowers that life in the dream home with Ken was all she was good for.  For some reason Barbie never had clothes on in my house.  I think it was a bit of a trade-off we made.  See, I grew up with four brothers, no sisters.  So, it makes sense that Barbie would be naked, thus… Naked Barbie.

The year after that it was Stretch Armstrong.  Stretch was a rubber man that was filled with what had to be radioactive jelly.  As you tugged on his arms and legs they would stretch to the furthest extent of the rubber making him the amazing stretching man.  That is until Stretch developed ulcers in his armpits and the inguinal region of his crotch.  Not just ulcers, but bleeding ulcers.  That gooey clear jelly stuff would get on you and it was a little like getting rubber cement on you.  It did not come off easily, soap and water did not work to remove it.  It took days for that stickiness to go away.  Kids I knew back then that owned a Stretch Armstrong are now dead from cancer.  Just saying.

Life is easy when you know what you want for Christmas isn’t it?  The question is fairly benign, but if you think about it, when you know what you want for Christmas, you know a lot.  You probably know what it would take to make you happy, and that is more than most folks can say.  Sure, sure the obligatory response is, I just need my family and I will be happy, or I just want to be home with those I love and around my friends.  But, when we are honest, most of us have settled for realities that are far from what we REALLY want.  Isn’t that true? 

I mean do you really have the greatest job in the world?  Maybe you do, but most people, the lucky ones are somewhere between “well at least I have a job in this economy” and “I get paid and it’s not complete torture.” Many others hate their job.

Are you really with the person you want to be with for the rest of your life?  Is there really such a person?  Do you even like your kids?  Is there really just one thing that you could receive at Christmas that will make your life significantly better?  Is there?  Be honest.   Do we really even have something in our head when asked “what will make you truly happy?” 

Life was so simple when I was a kid.  That GI Joe, Stretch Armstrong, Huffy bike, roller skates – those things made my life wonderful as a kid.  They were all I needed to ensure happiness that year.  Maybe Christmas is about making our kids happy by getting them that one thing, but for adults it’s about learning to be happy without that one thing.  Maybe Christmas for adults is about longing, awaiting, expecting.  I mean, the thing about Christmas is this.  Jesus comes, but then he goes doesn’t he?  He goes in such a gruesome way.  Life is kind of like that.  The things we long for, the things we await, they do come eventually, but then they are only around for awhile and then poof – their gone. 

That is why we learn to appreciate what we have.  It’s not because we can’t go out there and get better.  It’s not because we are doomed to only have a little.  It’s because we know that everything is fleeting, everything temporary.  Even when we get exactly what we want, we almost always have to give it up.  On top of that, we almost always want more, don’t we?  More.

We learn to appreciate what we have because, what we have is just like all those other things.  It is just as temporary, just as fragile, yet just as good.  As we get older we learn that everything and everyone have a lot in common.  That toys break, that family is just that – family.  They are part of you.  Anything you don’t like about them is probably your fault, because they are really part of you and you of them.  That the perfect person we thought we wanted to be with proved to be crazy, sickly, or perfect for some other guy or gal.  That the job we thought we wanted, turned out to actually just be “work” in the end.

Maybe Christmas is about realizing that nothing is right, everything is wrong.  It’s about knowing though that things will be better one day.  It’s about longing, awaiting, expecting for that perfection.  It’s about Jesus, and other stuff.  I wish each of you a very Merry Christmas.  Love what you have – who you have, and if you find yourself longing for more, join the rest of us in that longing.  It’s called being a grown-up, welcome to it.

Maybe if Naked-Barbie caught on to this strange kind of Christmas Spirit, she would have left Ken eventually and gone to a shelter for women, taken him to court, divorced him and gotten the dream house, sold the house and went to college, and ultimately built a life for herself of “not enough” like the rest of us.