Day XCVII: Mom

Here's something cute: I was born on Mother's Day.

And that's my mom. She's riding a skateboard in Colorado. Not bad for a sixty year-old, eh?

Kidding: she's forty five.

My mom is one of those people who doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks of her. She has butterfly tattoos and changes her hair weekly. Her regular use of the word "fuck" is a great indicator for the amount of time she thinks about what others have to say about her. I've always admired that in my mom. And sometimes find myself wishing a little more of that flippancy and self-assuredness found its way through the gene pool.

When I was younger, I dreaded growing up to be my mom. Don't we all? I was always told: "You must be Beth's son!" or "Don't you look just like your mom!" and I despised it. I hated that lack of originality and that a son, a male child, could be so similar to their female parent. Looking back, it's funny to recognize and observe that reluctance to be so frequently compared to my mother. Because now: I would be lucky to be half the person my mumsy is. She's dynamic and friendly, huge-hearted and caring. She's stubborn and driven, and doesn't settle for less than she deserves. 

At twenty four, my mom was raising a darling, charismatic, and dashing four year-old, and also my brother. Between my her and my dad, they somehow managed to raise two spectacular children, even at such a young age. If I had a toddler and another son in diapers at my age...?

Let's not even postulate. There's just no way.

So this is for my mother, my mom. 

No words will ever be able to express my gratitude and love for her, or even come close to giving back everything she instilled in me. I am one of the two most fortunate boys on this planet for having grown up with someone like her, constantly vigilant, always guiding our steps.

I love you, mom. 

And I will be forever full of admiration and respect for everything you've done, for everything you do, for everything to come.

#SundaySelfie: me and my godson, Bernard

Day LXXVI: Water

Amidst the the craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, my brother's fiance, Maria, and I found the most delightful little place.

I say that like had anything to do with it. It was all Maria's doing. 

In fact, on different shores of the same lake we discovered, Erick and Maria will be getting married this summer! And while they're spending the most wonderful day of their lives together, I will be the on business side of things, ordaining their precious union. 

I'm the lucky minister! (Thank god for online certification!)

Anyway, for the last three months, I've been racking my brain for all sorts of ideas and possibilities to include in my speech during their wedding. I've had some fortunate insight from Todd Mattson--my beautiful roommate Sibley's father--on how to do it right; I think I will be stealing some of his charisma before the wedding in early August. 

Mostly, my ideas have included quotes from Shakespeare and bell hooks, short passages from Take Me to the Zoo, and embarrassing and slightly violent stories from growing up with Erick. 

Tonight, we're going to talk about the different options for speeches that I've come up with, and what they're looking for. I suppose the latter of the two is a little more important... regardless of how quickly I plan on turning their wedding into a horrifying shit-show of older sibling melodrama about my younger brother finding eternal happiness before me.

But they had to know that before getting me involved, right?

Right.

Back to the delightful place: there's a beautiful reservoir  in Fort Collins that is nestled between towering, rounded hills and covered in soft waves of prairie grass and small shrubs. And right on the shores of the lake, my brother and future sister-in-law will be saying their vows, kissing the bride, and spending a day in exceptional happiness.

And in this beautiful little alcove, I had a thought.

As we descended a massive rocky cliff, Maria and I traipsed through painful bunches of brittle twigs and brush, careful to avoid  the numerous prickly pear cacti blanketing the ridge. We made our way to the shores of the reservoir, and hesitantly dipped our feet in to the undoubtedly freezing water. And, yes, it was cold. Very cold. A cold that permeates and settles beneath your skin.

But it was equally refreshing. The sort that only comes from water: quenching your thirst, cooling you down, rushing you along.

And that was my thought. Relationships are like water. The freezing kind. There are moments of terse and uncomfortable cold. Getting to know someone can feel so forced and unnatural, but, eventually, you ease your way in to feeling relaxed. Given enough time and work, you feel comfortable. And by the time you submerge yourself in the other, dropping well below the surface, your forget that the water was even chilly to begin with.

I'm sure there's more to explore there, but it was nice thought on a beautiful day, so I thought I'd share.

Perhaps we could all benefit from taking a leap.

Day LXXII: Selfish

There are few things in the world that are harder to hear than the disappointment in your father's voice.

One of those things is knowing you're responsible for it.

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Growing up, I was a good and happy child. I listened, worked hard, enjoyed meeting others, gave flowers to my mother's friends, went to church, smiled at strangers, and was (mostly) friendly to my brother. I obeyed adults. I did well in school. And doing well came with it's rewards. Presents, high fives, hugs, kisses, extra play time, video games, toys. The whole works.

But nothing compared to the praise.