Rise of the Sidekicks

As a straight white male, there are a few aspects of American life I will never experience.

I will never know what it’s like to be gay in America. I will never truly know what it is like to come out of the closet with your parents and closest friends. Even though I’ve observed friends of mine go through that process, I’ll never feel that same feeling of trepidation, the worry of rejection and loss mingled with the hope of acceptance.

I will never know what it’s like to be a woman in today’s culture. I know (statistically speaking) one in six American women have been the victim of rape or attempted rape – and the frequency of sexual assault is much higher, yet I’ll never be one of those statistics. I will never feel the shame or stress of being openly harassed in public. I’ll never fear the intentions behind the way dudes look at me in passing.

I will never know what it’s like to be a person of color in a white world. I have never watched TV without finding characters who shared my lack of melanin. No one has ever crossed the street to avoid coming into contact with me and I’ve never heard a driver lock their car doors when I walked by. I’ve never been stopped by the police because I resembled a suspect in a crime. And I’ve never worried that my interactions with a cop could be fatal for me.

image courtesy of USA Today

My friends who are not white, straight, or male have lived these through these troubles. Intellectually, I understand what they’re going through, however I only share their trials vicariously. There is no first hand experiences for me. I know what happens but I don’t know at the same time. I hear their stories, I grieve with them in times of hardship, yet I cannot fully comprehend what it like to be them without actually being them.

Racism is the America’s original sin. Our nation was built by slave labor and sharecroppers. At every moment of progress, there’s been someone wealthy and powerful pulling strings ensuring there will always be loopholes to legally exploit and disparage African Americans. Bigotry infects our culture - from explicit and obvious forms of hatred to subtle biases of which most are unaware.

Battling racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, and other forms of prejudice is an underdog’s fight. For generations, discriminatory language has been socially acceptable. Exposure is essential to overcoming the bonds of hatred. Unfortunately, those mired in their own bigotry are unlikely to befriend someone they hate based on bias.

A homophobic person isn’t giving an empathetic ear to a gay person describing anxiety over revealing their sexuality. A misogynist will dismiss a woman’s admission of feeling unsafe in the workplace. A white nationalist will laugh off a black person’s account of racial profiling. Bias deafens us to stories contrary to our world view.

If those with narrow world views won’t listen to a story from someone in the LGBT community, or a woman, or a person of color, who’s story will they accept? They’ll listen to a straight white dude.

At this point in history, honest stories are crucial. Black narratives have the power to influence a generation, change the tide of legislation, and instigate waves of legal reform. Recent events have awakened a righteous anger across white America, they’re finally recognizing something is unjust and needs to change. This isn’t a new feeling to my black friends. They have felt this injustice their entire lives. They’ve been urging change for years yet no one listened until now.

With eyes slowly opening to see the institutional problems in our criminal justice system, many are still uncomfortable with or dismissive of black voices. They see something wrong but are not ready to listen to those impacted by injustice. This is where I come in: your racist uncle might not listen to Killer Mike address the challenges of being black in America, but he’d listen to me. He’d listen to you sharing real stories of real lives affected by real pain.

However, this is where white allies need to be careful. It would be easy to take over the story and make it about us. “Look at us white folk fixing everything.” Doing so would turn us into a move trope come true: the white savior.

Movie tropes are storytelling devices common enough to become predictable. When used, movies follow a similar course of events. Like dudes walking away from explosions. Sure it looks cool but does the main character have to walk away triumphantly while something blows up in a giant fireball behind them? Or do damsels in distress always have to say “my hero” when rescued from peril. While we’re at it, why do damsels always have to be in distress?

Tropes are used because they’re familiar. They’re comfortable. They make writing easier. The white savior story found from animated classics to war dramas to sci-fi blockbusters. FernGully. Dances with Wolves. The Last Samurai. Avatar. In each of those stories, a white person begins as an oppressor for a native population. Then once they’ve immersed themselves in the minority culture, they turn against the invading forces of their fellow white men and save the locals from desolation.

This fate awaits white folk if we’re not careful. We could easily insert our white privilege into black stories to save them from our white oppression. Look at us, hail the conquering hero. It's a temptation we must resist.

We (white people) need to remember African Americans are the heroes of their story. From slavery, to sharecropping and segregation, through redlining and the drug war, into our current state of militarized police and racial profiling, our system has been set up to hinder the pursuit of the American dream for minorities. They suffered every plot twist and escalating tension in the story of these United States. This is their long dark night of the soul. They are the protagonist rising to face the villains of racism and bigotry. If we are to become their ally, we must not replace their role as hero.

Heroes need sidekicks. Batman had Robin. Captain America had Bucky Barnes. If life is a comic book, white people need to be the sidekick, there to support and elevate black heroes and not demote them to a footnote.

Share the stories from black people to those who won’t listen to black people, but don’t repeat them as if they’re your own. Crave justice but don’t take over someone else’s cause just to make yourself feel better. Use your privilege to elevate those who lack privilege. Support those fighting against impossible odds. And do all you can to make the fight easier for the hero.

You know, like a sidekick.

Pondering 40

A year ago, my fortieth birthday arrived and was pleasantly celebrated then ended without much fanfare. However, I crossed this milestone with a measure of optimism. I reached 40 years of life with a wonderful and beautiful standing beside me, supporting me and encouraging me. The two of us had solid plans for our lives and dreams to pursue. I had been losing weight thanks to a healthier diet and more active lifestyle. Our kids were happy, the farm was functioning, and life was good. By the end of the year, we were celebrating New Years Eve with games, drinks, friends, and laughter. 

 Then 2020 began. 

 I know it’s been a tough year for everyone. Weird weather. Earthquakes in the Inland Northwest. Murder hornets. And a pandemic that closed schools and businesses everywhere. Government orders to shelter in place. It’s like the events of the last five months have been scripted by a sadistic 10-year-old member of the Future Anarchists of America. 

 We’ve promised our kids tickets to their first big grown up concert for their sixteenth birthdays. Christian turns sixteen in September so we got tickets to the Hella Mega Tour in Seattle: Green Day, Weezer, and Fall Out Boy. Thanks to the Coronavirus, that tour has been delayed until 2021. 

We had planned and saved and budgeted and planned some more to make a road trip to Cheyenne for Frontier Days in July. This is the first year I’ve planned to take the whole family, and I haven’t been there since I was a teenager. Unfortunately, this is the year it’s canceled. Another casualty of COVID-19.

However, as this year is wild and unprecedented for all Americans, it isn’t the global health crisis that completely derailed the optimism I held last May. I turned 40 in good health and great spirits. This year, things got weird.

In January, we discovered Annie was pregnant. That was a bit of a surprise. Since then, we’ve been hustling to amass all of the necessities of welcoming a newborn to the world, reorganizing the house to fit the eighth member of the family into our small home, and taking measures to protect the baby’s health. All of this during a pandemic making it harder to shop for baby goods and challenging to navigate hospitals for prenatal doctor appointments.

If that wasn’t enough, this is the year my body decided to fall apart. For most of my life, I’ve been healthy. As a kid, I was rarely sick and never missed school due to illness. I reached adulthood healthy and active. As a grown up, my biggest health issue was obesity. Despite being overweight, I didn’t have any other issues. My heart was strong, I had never broken a bone, never endured surgery for any reason, never been hospitalized. My only adult trips to the ER was for a bloody nose that wouldn’t stop bleeding and for chest pains that were diagnosed as a strained muscle. 

My streak of good health ended in 2020. In March, my gut started to hurt with what I thought was constipation. After three days of pain, I drove myself to the ER. They ran labs and took CT scans. Then I was admitted for an extended stay. My diagnosis: acute diverticulitis with perforation. In plain English, my colon was infected and it ruptured, leaving a hole in a place where a hole should not exist. 

When I was discharged, they sent me home with a prescription for a couple different antibiotics, instruction to rest and avoid heavy lifting, a low fiber diet for a couple weeks to be replaced by a high fiber diet, a list of foods to avoid, and hopes that my colon would heal on its own. 

A month later, the stabbing pains returned, worse than before. This time, Annie drove me to the hospital. I was admitted again. The diverticulitis had not healed. The perforation remained, and the infection was worse. In addition to the infected colon, they also discovered an abscess leaning against my bladder. Doctors did a procedure to drain the abscess and scheduled a partial colectomy. When it was time for surgery, plans changed and they gave me an ileostomy instead. They also discovered the infection spread to my appendix so they took that out at the same time. When the operation was complete, my small intestines were disconnected from my large intestines. If you’re familiar of how the body functions after such a procedure, you know what I had attached to my stomach. If you don’t know, you could google it, but I recommend you don’t want to know. 

With protective measures in place at hospitals concerning the pandemic, visitors were not allowed during my second stay at the hospital. This left me lonely and restricted to FaceTime to talk to Annie and the kids. My older daughter struggled with this predicament. More than just missing me, she hated the idea of me being sick and stuck at the hospital. According to her, I was the one who stayed, who was always there. Suddenly, her vision of me was no longer true. I was discharged on her birthday, and the phone call to tell her the news that Sunday morning is probably the best gift I could have given her. And her reaction was priceless.

The Wednesday before my 41st birthday, I returned to the care or surgeons to have an ileostomy takedown – a reversal of the surgery I had four weeks earlier. The doctors reconnected my small and large intestines, and sent me back home to rest and recover. 

My recovery is going well. However, these last few months are not what we imagined they would be. For me to be hospitalized twice while Annie to be pregnant and for all of this to happen during this moment of history seems like a cruel joke. It is also peculiar for my body to suddenly start falling apart after a lifetime of remarkably good health and the progress and changes I’ve made to be healthier. 

2020 in review so far inspires one singular question. What in the name of all that is good and holy is going on? When I pondered what it meant to be 40, this is not what I had in mind.

What It’s Like to Be Me: The Family Man Pt 1, For the Kids

I got a little behind schedule with my soundtrack project. I had intended to finish the first chapter (In the Beginning) during the month of April. However, a hospitalization and surgery derailed my train of progress. Instead, that last part was posted a week ago and I’m scrambling to play catch up. Today is the first entry from the next chapter in my life and the songs that accompany this era. I call it “The Family Man”

I was 23 years old when I got married and this selection of music covers the next decade of my life. I got married, my oldest son was born, we adopted a couple kids, bought a house, and took vacations. For a while, I thought I was living the life of my dreams. After all, my conservative upbringing taught me that this is what I was supposed to do: grow up and start a family. What could go wrong?

The Verve: “Lucky Man”
“Happiness, more or less.” These opening words have been truer in my life than many other lyrics over the years. When I got married, I chose this song to represent who I was, and the life I lived up until that moment. It worked for me, after all, I felt like a lucky man. Years have passed, circumstances have changed. Happiness looks (more or less) a little different for me than most people. I’ve lived other lyrics from this song, wondering, “But how many corners do I have to turn? How many times do I have to learn?” Somehow, through all of the struggle, strife, and loss I still feel lucky – perhaps now more than ever.

Ben Folds: “Still Fighting It” and “Gracie”
I was never one for traditional lullabies. When I sang my kids to sleep, I selected normal songs for normal adults. Songs like “Hey Jude” or “Landslide” or “Mad World.” A pair of Ben Folds songs worked their way into the list of songs I sang while rocking my kids to slumber. First for Christian, was a song reminding us “Everybody knows it sucks to grow up.” I connected with Ben’s perspective of how everything changed the moment he picked up his son, understanding the difficulty of being human, and the promise to share those story over a couple beers twenty years from now. With Chloe, I sang her a song Ben wrote for his daughter – although, I swapped out the name Gracie in the lyrics for my daughter’s name, thankfully the two names rhyme. There’s a line in the song which felt as if Ben could have written the song about me and my girl, a line that could describe those precious moments many parents share with their kids: “You nodded off in my arms watching TV. I won't move you an inch even though my arm's asleep.”

Will Smith: “It’s All Good”
On Will Smith’s first solo album, he sampled Chic’s “Good Times” for a song celebrating the good life. It is exuberant and cheesy. There was a lot of struggle in my life. Raising a kid on the autism spectrum. Being a foster parent. Marital conflict. Still, I’d listen to this song and think it fit my status, “All sun, no rain, no strain, can't complain.” Conversely, there was a lot of rain and strain and I did complain. I was delusional. Yet if there was one line that did truly describe my predicament, it was Will’s musings about his son, “Mom, your wish came true, I got one just like me.” These days, I listen to this song more as an aspiration of where I want to be, “Hustle cause I wants to, not cause I have to,” and less of a way to feel how I’m currently living.

Sho Baraka: “Fathers, 2004”
In “Fathers, 2004” Sho Baraka provides the best description of what it feels like for me to be a dad. “I'm a lover, a provider, I'm a teacher, I'm a fighter, I know there's grace for me even when I'm wrong.” This song is the daddy anthem. Verse by verse, Sho gives advice, the kind I hope to instill in my kids. First for his son, “Pray without ceasing, but keep your eyes on the system. Always speak up for the weak until somebody listens.” Then for his daughter, “Baby girl don't be easily impressed. Stay clothed in righteousness cause it's harder to undress.” And finally for other dads, “Peace to all my fathers who are working through their flaws. Fulfilling their duties and they don't do it for applause. It's true, any fool with a tool can reproduce but a father is that dude that'll see it through.”

Staind: “Zoe Jane”
When Aaron Lewis sings “Sweet Zoe Jane, it’s easy for me to replace it with my girl’s name, “Sweet Chloe Lu.” However, despite being a song Lewis wrote for his daughter, the spirit of the song is one I have for all of my kids. “I wanna hold you, protect you from all of the things I've already endured. And I wanna show you all the things that this life has in store for you. And I'll always love you.” It’s an earnest and somber song, always reminding my how important my role is in raising my kids.

Family Of The Year: “Hero”
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero. The comic book superhero kind of hero. The type of hero everyone adores and celebrates. Then I had kids and my idea of heroism changed. I no longer wanted to be your hero, I wanted to be their hero. Then I heard a song saying “I don't wanna be a part of your parade.” I didn’t want fanfare or celebration, I just wanted to do my job and be a good dad.

What It’s Like to Be Me: In the Beginning Pt 8, The Beat of My Own Drum

My mom always told me I came out looking for a party, born with a surplus of energy. According to the stories I’ve been told, baby me was lit from the second I awoke until 8pm exactly, at which point I would fall asleep wherever I happened to be: the stairs, the hearth in front of the fireplace, in the recliner at Darrell and Sue’s house. Until the hour my internal clock expired, I was a wild and crazy kid.

I was also an odd child. If anyone had explored my childhood musical preferences, they’d have found me out of step with normal kids. My earliest musical memories were listening to The Righteous Brothers, Phil Collins, Chicago, Amy Grant, and The Beach Boys. I marched to the beat of my own drum, even if that drum was off beat or in an unconventional time signature. The first song I can remember being my favorite was Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love” because it was featured in The Karate Kid Part II. That’s not a typical indulgence for a seven year old but I insisted on being my own person, as weird as it sometimes was. In fourth grade, when all the girls in my class were obsessed with George Michael, I couldn’t stand him. When Kris Kross became wildly popular during my seventh grade year, I was annoyed by them because they were the same age as me. I didn’t like Silverchair for the same reason I couldn’t stand Kris Kross.

Regardless of what artists and bands I enjoyed, I always related my life to the music I listened to – telling my own story through the melodies and rhymes of my favorite performers. From the moment my brother introduced me to glam metal in the 80s, through hearing Alice in Chains during a middle school math class, to falling in love with hip-hop in the late 90s, these songs have given me a voice I would not have found anywhere else. They helped me find my own drum beat so I could march.

dc Talk: “I Luv Rap Music”
Rap music wasn’t played in my home growing up. My dad had a strong distaste for it. I was raised with a bias against hip-hop until this song changed everything. You can read the story of how that happened HERE.

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis: “My Oh My”
Benjamin Haggerty (AKA Maklemore) is a few years younger than me. With both of us growing up in the Seattle area around the same time, one of the most influential non-musical voices in his life happens to have been monumental in mine too: “Around every spring, when the winter thawed we’d huddle around the radio, twist the broken knob. 710 AM, no KJR. Dave Niehaus' voice would echo throughout the yard.” Macklemore talks about his relationship with his dad and baseball in this tribute to Niehaus and it reminds me of my father’s love for the game and our devotion to Niehaus and the Mariners. “We’d listen to the M’s in the kitchen, and if mom wasn’t trippin. ‘Come on Dad just one more inning.’ Voice went ‘pump pump’ through the system, ‘break out the rye bread it’s grand salami time.’” That “grand salami” phrase was Niehaus’ way of describing a grand slam. Often, when the M’s were on TV, my dad would mute the television and tune the radio to KJR to listen to color commentary from Niehaus. His voice is unforgettable and etched in my brain, an echo of simpler times.

1 Giant Leap featuring Maxi Jazz, & Robbie Williams: “My Culture”
In this collaboration with experimental British DJs, Maxi Jazz and Robbie Williams sing about lessons they learned from their fathers and the challenges they faced. While accepting the negative aspects of how they were raised, they both recognize the positive. Maxi Jazz raps about his distant dad “I wished he would hold me a little more than he did, but he told me my culture and how to live positive.” Meanwhile, it was Williams’ verse that reminded me of myself and my dreams to be a writer. “I'm the one who landed the pop star's job. I'm the one who you told look, don't touch. I'm the kid who wouldn't amount too much. I believe in the senses that I sound, I have always been too loud, won't you help me drown it out? And when I feel what I'm feeling is so real, I'm a massive spinnin' wheel, always digging in my heels. Now I got the faith.”

Mike Doughty: “The Idiot Kings”
Life isn’t easy. Growing up sucks. Doughty gets this. He sings how he “could be condemned to Hell for every sin but littering.” That’s the musing to which anyone with a self-deprecating sense of humor could relate. Like me. He also admit an awkwardness around women that reminds me of the blunderings of my high school and young adult years. “I've seen half a zillion girls and haven't spoken to a single one of them.” Despite the recognition that he’s been playing cool for far too long, this song has a delightful and optimistic bend. Even on our worst days, it’s better to accept things are they way they are and declare it to be good.

Social Club featuring Chris Durso: “Viva La Misfit”
This song was released log after I grew up, got married, had kids, started a career, and divorced. So it doesn’t bring me back to my childhood. However, if the adult me could play a song to help the youthful version of me, this would be it. The kid who was once bullied relentlessly needed to hear these words: The truth is, the reason why they're threatening you, the reason why they're lying to you, the reason why they're spending their time on you is because they're scared of you. It's because they know who you are, they know why you were created, they know that you have a plan for your life.” I know my purpose in this world much better these days, I often wish someone would have shared this message with me when I was younger.

The Spring of Babies

You would think with stay at home orders in place, we’d have an abundance of time. This may be true of many people but life at our house abides by a different set of rules where conventional logic does not apply. Despite working from home, I’ve found myself busier than normal, some of it planned and the rest beyond my control. So, what’s keeping me tied up?

1. Health issues. This is the biggest deviation from the norm. I’ve had two major hospitalizations in the last couple months, one non-invasive surgery and one major operation. I was immobile for most of a week during the second trip to the hospital and I’ve been in recovery since. I’m moving more and getting better but still have another big surgery coming up in the near future. Consider this an unexpected detour.

2. Bunnies. We got some angora rabbits to make wool. Those two angoras made more angoras. They gave us kits and now we have a fluffle of fluffy fluffers that will melt your heart. Warning, they have claws. Seriously though, these little balls of fur have been the kids' favorite part of farming this spring.

3. Baby goats. We have four does and two bucks. We let them mingle for a few weeks last October. Come winter it was obvious we had four pregnant goats. After five months, the four moms birthed a total of eight kids. Eight tiny, bouncing, and adorable lil goats. Extra hay and extra grain during barn chores and milking the moms as their babies eat less from them.

4. Chicks. We’ve had three rounds of baby chicks, two purchased one the final one hatched in our incubator. It takes a surprising amount of attention and effort to keep those little feather nuggets alive.

5. Puppies. At 10:30 on the night I got home from the hospital, our very pregnant mastiff went into labor. Baby number two was born at 1:30 the next morning. Nine hours later, her last baby arrived. We have six mastiff puppies nursing with their mom. Six loud eaters. Six miniature giants whining as they begin teething. Six future Armageddon dogs. They’re lucky they’re cute because without the cute factor, the combination of sleep deprivation and noise could drive one to desperate measures.

6. Violet. It’s not just baby animals keeping life at the farm interesting. We also have a child of our own on the way. A baby girl, the fifth (and final) addition to the McCasey family. You know what that means? Shopping. Lots of shopping. Doctor appointments too. Also, shopping. It’s a challenge considering how many stores are closed due to the pandemic. But shop we must because come September, baby Violet is going to need some clothes and a place to sleep. And diapers. So many diapers.

I hope that covers it. It’s a chaotic season full of life and excitement. There’s also an abundance of babies at Heartsong Meadow. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep them all straight. So many new names to remember. And if you're interested in acquiring your own baby (of the four legged variety) let me know.

What It’s Like to Be Me: In the Beginning Pt 7, Jeff & The Tommymonsters

Often, the friendships we form in our late teens and early twenties are some of the most influential relationships we’ll ever forge in our lifetimes. When I look back at my small circle of friends during this phase of my life, there are two voices who played a huge part in making me me.

The first was Jeff, a dude I met in junior high who would become my best friend over the next few years and remain a constant in my life through my mid-twenties. The second group of voices came from the guys in the Tommymonsters – my roommate’s band while I was living in Boise. For better or worse, I am the man I am today because of the experiences I had with them. In both instances, these friendships revolved around music. With the former we talked about it, in the latter we made it. As life has moved on over the years since, I’ve never abandoned my love for music or the memories I shared with these guys.

Counting Crows: “Mr. Jones”
No other song could thoroughly encapsulate the relationship between Jeff and me like “Mr. Jones.” This is a story I’ve written about before in a two part post. The first half has a hopeful start; unfortunately, his story doesn’t have a happy ending. Grey is still my favorite color, “felt so symbolic.” Someday, I’ll buy myself a grey guitar and play it in remembrance of Jeff.

Guardian: “What Does It Take?”
Throughout our friendship, I was deeply mired in evangelical culture. And Jeff hated church. As much as he was angry at God, he never criticized my faith. He accepted it as a part of who I was. When most people talked about God around him, he’d tell them to shut up – often with colorful expletives. Yet when I talked about God, he’d allow it. Beyond permitting me to talk about religious stuff, he’d respond and participate in the conversation. I often wondered what it would take for him to abandon all of his anger and hatred. It truly would have been an act of God. I prayed for him a lot. This song described much if how I felt. “If you could hear me pray tonight, would you be angry or surprised to hear your name announced.” I know that beginning a genuine relationship with God isn’t a magical solution to make all of your problems go away. Still, I can’t help but wonder how Jeff’s life could have followed a different path if he had a religious conversion.

Daughtry: “Long Live Rock & Roll”
Chris Daughtry is the same age as me, so when he opened this song singing, “I was born the year that disco died, and U2 was in high school thank the Lord that they survived,” I could immediately relate. So many if the references Daughtry makes in this song are mirror images of conversations between Jeff and me. “We still wonder if Kurt really wrote the song she sang in Hole.” Yeah, we talked about that. “We still argue about who's better: Motley Crew or G&R.” That argument actually escalated into a fist fight that I had to break up. “We still can't believe Van Halen turned into Van Hagar.” We lamented that one too. Daughtry is a member of my generation, stuck between Gen X and Millennials, sharing traits with both but not belonging to either. So it makes sense that we share many if the same musical influences and he would talk to his friends about the same bands like Jeff and I did.

Puller: “#1 Fan”
It started as a jam session with Thomas, Steve, and Nate. The next day, Thomas was beyond excited and wouldn’t stop talking about it. “You wouldn’t believe how good Steve sounded. Man, you gotta come with us the next time we do this.” So I did. I was there the next time they jammed. And the time after that. By then they officially joined as a band and named themselves The Tommymosnters. They recruited me to be their audio technician and I controlled the mixer for them at all of their rehearsals. I ran sound for them at their concerts. Accompanied them on adventures to a garage band festival in McCall Idaho, an independent musicians conference in Seattle, and a road trip to Eugene Oregon. I took a lot of pictures, promoted them, helped book shows, and hung out in the studio when they recorded their three song demo. The called me their manager, but I was really an over-glorified roadie. After all was said and done, I was their number one fan.

Poor Old Lu: “Chance for the Chancers”
The Tommymonsters frequently covered this song in their concerts. Everyone in our house knew how to play it so it was a favored song in our group sing-a-longs. Thomas even taught me how to play it. One night, we had five people on acoustic guitars, a couple tambourines, and a dozen people singing “Chance for the Chancers.” It was a beautiful experience. However, there is one memorable moment where this song played a significant role – not just in my life, but also in the life of another person who needed to hear it. You can read that story here.

What Does Love Require

Tomorrow might be the weirdest Easter I’ve ever experienced. The holiday arrives in the midst of unprecedented times clouded by new vocabulary introduced to our daily vernacular. Correct me if I’m wrong, when throngs of people filled the streets of ancient Jerusalem shouting “Crucify him,” they were not practicing social distancing. For hundreds of years, Easter has been a tradition of crowds: churches filled to capacity, egg hunts, and extended family gatherings. It’s the busiest season for florists, confectioners, clergy, and restaurant staff.

Big dreams of grand celebrations, homes filled with cousins you haven’t seen since Christmas, and car dealerships awarding prizes to the kids who found the special eggs have come grinding to an awkward unfortunate halt. Eateries are closed. Churches are streaming services online. Flower shops and used car lots have been deemed non-essential. We’re experiencing a toilet paper shortage. In much of America, gatherings of more than ten people have been prohibited. There will be no holiday travel, no midnight mass in Catholic parishes, no packs of children running through fields collecting candy-filled plastic eggs, nowhere to show off those fancy spring dresses. If you’re like me, there’s a good chance the governor in your state has ordered you to stay home, allowing travel for only necessary goods like buying groceries or seeking medical treatment.

Easter isn’t normal this year. If we’re irresponsible, we could let it discourage us and I fear we would miss the point of Easter. Instead we should embrace the weirdness. After all, that’s what Jesus did.

If we take the Easter story seriously, every moment leading up to the crucifixion is a little weird. Normal people would not willingly share a meal with a known traitor. Normal people would allow their friends to defend them against false accusations. Normal people would protest being arrested on bogus charges. Normal people wouldn’t take a beating without fighting back. Normal people wouldn’t immediately forgive those who treat them with malice, contempt, and violence. Given extraordinary circumstances Jesus refused to act like a normal person. In crisis, Jesus intentionally acted abnormal. If Christians are to take the teachings of Christ seriously, we should face difficult times with the same quirky and unexpected resolve as our savior. It’s time for the followers of Jesus to get creative.

How do we do that? Jesus called it the greatest commandment: love God with all of our heart, soul, and mind and love our neighbors as we love ourselves. In these trying times of quarantines, school closures, and unemployment lines, the question every Christian should be asking of themselves is this: what does love require of me? This is the question Jesus answered when he shared his final meal with his disciples, knowing Judas would betray him. This is the question Jesus answered when he told Peter to put away his sword then submitted himself to the soldiers who came to arrest him. This is the question Jesus answered when his clothing was stripped, while he was spit on and mocked, as he was flogged and forced to carry his cross to the site of his execution. This is the question Jesus answered while hanging as he looked at the angry crowd of people and said “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

What did love require of Jesus? He told his disciples that the greatest love is the willingness to lay down your life for your friends. This is the heart of the Easter story, Jesus sacrificing his life for those he loves. His friends, his neighbors, even his enemies.

Often, the call of love contradicts the American values of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Sometimes, love requires us to act in opposition to normality. It would be normal to complain of our loss of freedom, whine about restricted liberties, and bemoan the closure of casual amenities like movie theaters and barber shops. Love isn’t normal though.

When confronted with stay-at-home orders, what does love ask us to do? There is more than one way of laying down our lives for our friends.

The challenge of this pandemic is the uncertainty of the disease. It’s possible for someone to have the virus, yet remain asymptomatic. Anyone could be carrying it, without any sign of illness, infecting those who come within close contact. Anyone could unknowingly contaminate shared surfaces and pass along a disease they never knew they had, causing sickness in those they love the most. Real love, the sacrificial kind, recognizes this invisible risk looming over our society.

So what does love ask of me? How do I lay down my life for my friends in an age of social distancing? How do I love my neighbor like myself under shelter-in-place orders? How do I love my enemy while maintaining self-isolation? I stay home. The independent and rebellious nature of the American dream wants to go out into public and exercise my first amendment rights of free religion and assembly, yet love is weird. Love asks me to act counter to my social tendencies. The most loving thing any of us can do is stay home. Broken economies can be rebuilt, lost jobs replaced, but we cannot rebuild or replace lives lost to the coronavirus. In a pandemic, greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's social life for one's friends.

For the first time in forty years, I will not be celebrating Easter inside a church building. Even if churches were open I would stay home. There is nothing loving about wanting to pack buildings for Easter services in times like these. We must realize that staying home doesn’t change the Easter story. My faith in Jesus doesn’t depend on my ability to meet with other Christians in a physical building. Easter is still Easter even with empty pews in vacant sanctuaries.

If I am potentially an asymptomatic carrier, then loving my neighbor means I do all I can to protect them. If love is giving up my creature comforts and sociable desires for the good of my community, then I will do so without objection. Jesus gave up his life to demonstrate how to love others, we should follow his example.

Still, staying home does not seem like it is enough, too simplistic a solution. Love asks us to do more than abiding in self isolation. In quarantine, normal would be streaming a sermon online or listening to a podcast to replace a live and in-person church service. Because love is weird, love asks us to look beyond our current circumstances. The best example of this unconventional sacrificial love I’ve seen came from author and pastor Brian Zahnd.

image courtesy of Brian Zahnd

Every Christian should seize this idea. We will demonstrate love by staying home tomorrow and honoring the holiday in solitude. Then we will celebrate love in communion and fellowship when the pandemic is over – a second Easter with holy parties in every church building. Easter is a single day, but the spirit of Easter should be observed all year round. We might not be able to spend Easter together tomorrow, but we will soon. We just have to flatten the curve first.

Antisocial Socialites and Lonely Loners

We have been taught there are two types of people in a variety of divergent options. One of the most common dualities is type A versus type B. Type A people are the outgoing folks, the talkers. Loud and sometimes obnoxious, friendly even if a little bossy, always the center of attention. Type B dudes are more bashful. They are shy and quiet, studious, laid back, and avoid the spotlight.

The A/B theory is an oversimplification of anthropology. As we have discovered more about human behavior, we have identified more than two types of personalities. We have learned how our character traits are fluid, giving us the ability to demonstrate different personas in different situations. We humans tend to change as we mature and as we gain education and life experiences. The scale between introversion and extroversion is a spectrum and many people do not fit at either end, instead the term ambivert would be a better label to describe them.

However, for the sake of simplicity, I am dividing humankind into the two basic and most widely understood forms: extroverts and introverts. One draws energy from crowds and being social while the other feels better and finds comfort in solitude. I narrow down the abundant variety of our existence into these two descriptions because I have observed two general reactions with the directives to stay home in response to the pandemic stressing people all around the world.

image courtesy of NPR

My most extroverted friends are the people who are most vocal about society’s need to self isolate and flatten the curve. They are knowledgeable on what the various international, federal, state, and local government officials are doing to minimize the impact of the coronavirus. They are checking updates from the CDC and watching daily briefings. They trust the science behind medical professionals’ recommendations and elected officials’ mandates. They are urging everyone to stay home, pleading with their friends and families to avoid going out in public. They thrive in social situations yet they are the biggest advocates for social distancing. It is as if they are saying, “I love you but keep away from me.”

The extroverts are the cheerleaders chanting, “Wash your hands, don’t touch your face, stay at home, isolate!”

My introverted friends are a more curious case. Common logic would assume they are perfectly suited for self isolation. All of the shelter in place orders should be easy for them because the government is only asking them to do what they are already inclined to do: be alone. Perhaps the first couple days of quarantine were utopic, but the allure faded. After a lifetime finding comfort in seclusion, they are struggling now when solitude is their only option. It is easier to be alone when you have the ability to go places and do things with other people. When that privilege is removed, the world crashes down, even for the most intentional loner.

The introverts are the crooners singing along with that Joni Mitchell song, “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone.”

It is a weird world we live in and the various quarantines, curfews, and shelter in place orders have only made it weirder. Up is down, down is out, and out is in. My socialite friends are growing antisocial, while the typical loners are feeling lonely. Everyone is trying to cope while the normal rules of society no longer apply and the results are contrary to logical expectations.

These distressed introverts are demonstrating a fact I have known for a long time yet have not seen proven in such a tangible method. The truth: we need each other. Humans are fundamentally social creatures. We are tribalistic and function best in the confines of a group. Whether we are talking about the immediate family unit, our neighborhoods and communities, large nations, or the global body of the human race, we are all in this together. Even while social distancing, no one is an island. I need you and you need me as long as we are both following CDC and WHO recommendations. If we are to make it through the COVID-19 pandemic with our sanity intact, we will do it together.

So stay home for me and I will stay home for you. Listen to the extroverts screaming at you to wash your hands and quit hoarding toilet paper. We have the blessing of technology allowing us to communicate with people from remote locations, use that gift to be sociable safely. We do not have to be in the same room to enjoy each other’s company. While you are at it, check on your introverted friends. There are a lot of lonely loners out there who would appreciate some human interaction.

What It’s Like to Be Me: In the Beginning Pt 6, Young Love

Do you remember the first time you fell in love? There’s something about your first time that sticks with you, a memory that remains longer than the relationship lasted as if it were a ghost that haunts you. For some, it was a lesson they wish to never repeat, for others it’s a greatness to which they compare all who follow. For me, it was somewhere in between those two extremes. Still, she turned me into a fan of reggae music and gave me my first taste of wanderlust. She wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the first girl who made me want to be a better person. I fell hard for her; I was hung up over her for years after we parted, and you can see the theme of unrequited love in much of my creative writings between my late teens and early twenties.

Her name is irrelevant now. My life has turned out wonderful without her, yet her story is still significant in creating the man I’ve become. We met during my freshman year of high school. She attended a rival school and we dated for a few months. She spent the following school year in Mexico (not making that up, I received letters postmarked from Acapulco) before returning to the states. We dated again for a few months before drifting apart. I saw her again the summer after I graduated and I gave her my number in hopes to revive our relationship. But in a cruel twist of fate, a parade float drove through our driveway and tore down the phone line to our house leaving us without phone service for a week. I guess we were never meant to be. Decades beyond the last time we spoke, there are a few songs that still remind me of her.

311: “Purpose”
She got me hooked on reggae, but my brother introduced me to punk rock. 311 seemed to masterfully blend the two genres. “Purpose” reflected my conflicted feelings of hope in what could be and grief over losing what could have been. “I believe in your purpose, baby,” Nick Hexum sang to open the song, later admitting to holding on to more than he should, “Still got all the things that I woulda give her.” He finally bares his intentions, “Whenever you come back, I’ll be waiting.” This perspective was my attitude for far too long. She was gone, but if she came back, I’d be waiting.

Matchbox 20: “Long Day”
The opening lyrics to this song freaked me out the first time I heard them, “It’s sitting by the overcoat, the second shelf the note she wrote that I can’t bring myself to throw away.” I thought to myself, ‘how does he know?’ There were some shelves outside my bedroom door that I used for storage: CDs, some clothes, books, and (on the second shelf) a little Tupperware container holding all of the love letters and notes she wrote for me. And I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, even after we broke up. This song also provided an important lesson that I didn’t learn until later in life. When it comes to my problems, wherever I go I’m still there. “It’s me, I can’t get myself to go away.” Side note, I did eventually dispose of those old love notes.

Super Deluxe: “Years Ago”
I didn’t date much after high school. But every time one relationship ended, I felt a tug in my brain, wandering back to her and wondering about all of the what ifs and where is she nows. No song encapsulated my feelings better than this ballad from Super Deluxe. “Somewhere else again then with someone else, my thoughts drift straight into you.” I had to grow out of that phase. It just took me a while.

Dinosaur Jr.: “Out There”
“Out There” carries the theme of love lost and the lingering hope for rekindling romance. J Mascis admits an awareness of reality while baring a bit of regret, “I know you're gone, I hope you've got some friends to come along.” He moves on to provide some updates about how he’s doing, “I feel OK, sure I know that's not what people say, maybe they're wrong.” His final pleading “Maybe I’ve changed,” is the idea that we could prove ourselves if given a second shot.

Fuel: “Shimmer”
This is a song about heartbreak, written after Car Bell got dumped by his first serious girlfriend. He’s a little jaded and emotionally exhausted. When it came to the presence of a love lost in his life, he shared confusion and a hesitancy that resonated with me, “Can she take me for a while? And can I be a friend? We'll forget the past or maybe I'm not able.” He notes the distance between them and the finality of their relationship, singing she’s “too far away for me too hold.” Bell ends the song with a realization I eventually had to make for myself, “Guess I’ll let it go.” At 22, that’s what I did, I let her go.

Geeks Will Save the World

With a headline like “Geeks Will Save the World,” I know what you’re thinking. It’s all about the social isolation. The geeks and nerds of the world are prepared to isolate because we’ve been doing it for decades. When we were younger, we were developing a very particular set of skills never knowing it would become desperately needed in a future era of crisis.

All of the years you spent alone in your room reading and rereading Harry Potter, Marvel comic books, the collected works of JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis, or the Song of Ice and Fire series? It was preparation for today. The thousands of hours you devoted to playing World of Warcraft, alone in a dark room surviving off Mt Dew and frozen pizzas? That gave you the determination and talent to make it through our current shelter in place orders. Those nights you spent watching horror movies alone because all of your friends were too chicken to join you proves you have the courage to survive a pandemic. The work you committed to research a field of study or perfect a creative craft on your own while everyone else was partying at the beach is the same commitment needed now.

We didn’t know it then but we do now; our nerd powers of self isolation is the one thing that could save our planet and protect vulnerable lives. A word of motivation for all of my geeky friends: we are superheroes.

While all of this is true, it is not the reason I believe geeks will save the world. Life, as volatile and fragile as it may be, is bigger and more enduring than the current pandemic or our personal and political responses to it. Once the orders to shelter in place are lifted, this world will still need nerds and we will continue to rise and meet our noble calling. We’ve been given superpowers, and this week, I met a man who was saved by our nerd powers.

It was a random encounter in a public restroom. I generally loathe conversation in the men’s room. It’s a sacred space and if you really want to talk to me, you can wait until I’ve exited the facilities. However, we were both washing our hands while attempting to maintain a safe social distance when he noticed my t-shirt. It has a spider webbing pattern superimposed over Captain America’s shield with the radioactive spider that bit Peter Parker crawling in the web.

“Spider-Man?” He asked.
“Yup. Spidey and Cap. Mixing the two.”
“Nice,” he said, “Spider-Man is my jam.”
“Cool.”
“If it wasn’t for Spider-Man, I probably would have never learned to read.”
“Oh really?” Despite my aversion to bathroom conversation, he had me interested in his story.
“See, I’m dyslexic. And my dumbass school didn’t teach me anything. I couldn’t read. Didn’t know how until I found Spider-Man comics. I still wasn’t learning at school so I taught myself to read through Spider-Man stories. They literally saved my life.
“That’s awesome,” I said.
“Yeah. And now I’m seeing some of the same signs in my daughter. She’s struggling in school. So I’m like: here...”
“Have a comic book.” I finished his sentence for him.
“Hell yeah. If Spider-Man helped me learn to read, he can help my daughter too.”

Comic books have long been viewed with scorn and disdain. They’ve been blamed as contributing to the delinquency of minors and shaded as a lesser type of literature. However, the vernacular comics use is more complex than most people’s spoken conversations. They employ advanced words comparable to college level communications. Studies into the art form from Boston University and California State University have praised comic books for being a great entry point for people reluctant to read and for helping students improve their reading level and vocabulary.

If you call yourself a nerd, consider this a note of encouragement. Because of writers and artists and perfectly decent geeks like us, my new friend learned to read after public education gave up on him. Our culture has more to contribute to society than our superhuman ability to isolate. We will save the world, even if it’s one dyslexic kid at a time.

What It’s Like to Be Me: In the Beginning Pt 5, Theology & Doctrine

Adolescence is the time in a kid’s life they begin to ask and answer some of the most important questions of human existence. Who am I? Where do I belong? Why am I here? What do I believe?

Church was a dominant setting in my life while I was going through this phase. I often asked those questions in the halls, classrooms, and sanctuary of Marysville Nazarene. The answers I found were formed inside that environment. My background was legalistic, and when I solidified what it was that I believed, a lot of it was a reaction to the church culture around me. The answers I have now, the hill that I’d die on is far different than what I was taught as a kid. And that’s OK.

Looking at theology, the study of God, I turned to music. The poetry and melody, rhythms and distortion, it helped me see the divine. These songs were released while I was at an age exploring and desperate for answers. They helped me understand the doctrine, the specific beliefs and principles I would follow. In this small set of songs, I found what I’ve used as my tenets of faith, my axioms that guide how I lived and continue to live my life.

Grammatrain: “Believe”
One of my most fundamental beliefs is that faith is impossible without doubt. I found this tenet echoed in the song, “Some say that doubt's disappointing, but I say to question is to understand, and I won't swallow poison of faith placed in faith in experience.” I question so that I can understand and that understanding leads me to deeper faith. I believe because I doubt.

Black Eyed Sceva: “Ecumenical”
I didn’t know the word ecumenical existed until I heard this song but the definition blew my mind: “Unity in what is essential. Liberty in non-essentials.” I’ve clung to this phrase through my various frustrations with organized church. After 24 years, there is still an important message for modern Christians in its lyrics, “Victims of religion, be forewarned. Try to exchange substance for form.” When I see differences in how people approach God, I find comfort in these words, is it a matter of substance or form? Is it essential or not? If it is non-essential, it’s not worth arguing.

Pedro the Lion: “Whole”
Pedro’s song was always about hope for me, even as pain reverberated within David Bazan’s voice, “A hole that big I'd never seen before.” As someone who is easily distracted, the song provided a valuable lesson, “And all the charms that never were enough, It seems the hole was always twice as big no matter what it was” Nothing could ever take the place of God in my life. And my feeble attempts to do so always proved fruitless.

Havalina Rail Co.: “Total Depravity”
“For weak and for strong, for every intention that ever went wrong.” This melancholic track opens with a confession of inadequacy. Matt Wignall continues to offer a list of his underwhelming contributions, “An old tattoo, shag rug and a recipe for stew” in a self-deprecating dirge that introduced me to the concept of total depravity – that on our own, humanity is corrupted and undeserving of God’s love. Yet, God still loves us in our brokenness. Understanding the disparity between God’s love for us and our complete inability to reciprocate it, Wignall provided the question I’ve asked time and time again, “Who am I to cry out when I suffer or to question you when I feel pain?”

The Swirling Eddies: “Multipurpose Man”
One of my favorite Bible verses is 1 Corinthians 9:22 – “I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.” Paul’s message to the church in Corinth is the intent behind this Swirling Eddies song. “I’m a room for your love, I’m a factory for war, a hungry artist knocking at the rich man’s door.” This is the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be, someone who could relate to anyone regardless of their political or religious beliefs, their hobbies or profession, their financial or cultural status. I wanted to be a multi-purpose man, all things to all people for the sake of the gospel.

All Star United: “Bright Red Carpet”
The denomination I grew up in was founded on a ‘come as you are’ principle, this idea that God accepts you just as you are. Generations later, wearing your Sunday best became more of an expectation than a tradition. Show up to Sunday morning services in jeans and you might get some dirty looks. Naturally, I rebelled. I’d be the punk wearing t-shirts and a baseball cap every week when everyone else was dressed in slacks and a neck tie. This All Star United song was a breath of fresh air for me, validation that I didn’t need to dress fancy to earn God’s love. Some of the older people used to tell me I should dress nicer to church because it was respectful to God. Any time I was given that argument, I’d hear these words in my head: “And that's OK, 'cause Armani likes the way you wear your clothes. But Heaven's gate is no place for fashion shows.” Church isn’t a fashion show and we shouldn’t make it one.

Plankeye: “Open House”
This track from Plankeye’s sophomore album was like a post-grunge psalm. In Psalm 51, David wrote “You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.” In this song, Plankeye sang “Face down in a pool of my own sorrow, will it last or will it leave tomorrow? Broken man, he's got you on his mind.” Different words with the same spirit. This song provided a raucous way of expressing what David penned in another Psalm – that God is close to the brokenhearted. It’s a reminder I needed often while growing up; in my personal defeats, in my heartbreak, God had me on his mind.

Tortured

The last solid food I ate was Wednesday and I will not be able to eat solid food again until at least tomorrow. Why? Doctor’s orders. I was admitted to the hospital for a perforated and infected colon. It’s a level of pain I’ve never before endured and not one I would recommend experiencing. Medical staff had me on an IV drip and a clear liquids diet until my discharge at which point I graduated to a clear and full liquid diet. I can’t eat real food, but I can ingest anything that would melt at room temperature.

It’s difficult to explain how hungry I feel. I am reminded of the emptiness in my stomach every time an advertisement for a restaurant specialty or grocery item plays on TV. You really don’t realize how heavily food is advertised until a doctor places you on a liquids only diet. Every edible product in every commercial looks like it might be the most delicious treat ever cooked by God or human. Even foods you wouldn’t normally consume.

For example, I don’t like seafood. Can’t stand it. One of the most commonly aired commercials during my hospital stay was for Arby’s new fish sandwiches. After being confined for 24 hours without any solid food, and delivered meals consisting of chicken broth and jello, those fish sandwiches started looking tempting and tasty.

image courtesy of Arby's

This is the depths of hunger I attempted to describe to my kids when their mom brought them to visit on Thursday night. They came around dinner time. Room service delivered my liquid meal seconds after they arrived. They were curious about my food and I had to stop my daughter from stealing my honey packet. I told them they couldn’t begin to understand how hungry I was at that moment. “Those Arby’s commercials for fish sandwiches? They look delicious and I hate seafood.”

The kids laughed but Bekah had a different response: “Speaking of which, did you know Wendy’s serves breakfast now?”

Of course I knew that. It’s also the kind of food I should avoid for the rest of my life. But as soon as she mentioned it, I was hungry enough I could have probably eaten every breakfast item on their menu. She proceeded to describe in mouth watering detail Wendy’s potato wedges. She was torturing me. Intentionally. We’ve been divorced for several years but I’m sure she still finds immense satisfaction in teasing me.

When it was time for them to go, Chloe wanted to stay. She and Christian both had school the next day so Bekah reminded them they’d need to exit if they wanted time to watch a movie before bed. The kids both stalled and lingered a little longer so Bekah tried a new tactic. “C’mon. We gotta go. If you want to get Chinese food, we have to leave now. Do you want Chinese? We're going to go get Chinese.”

The last thing I heard as they left was Christian pleading, “Mom please stop.”

The torture didn’t end the moment my ex-wife was out of earshot. I was discharged the next day and out of the hospital before lunch. I stopped by my office to talk to my boss and walked in while site leadership was serving barbecued burgers and potato chips for an employee appreciation day. Annie asked me to deliver a bacon cheeseburger and fries on my way to see her. Friday night, Chloe baked a chocolate cake. Saturday morning, Christian cooked pancakes from scratch. Saturday night, I picked up three medium pizzas from Dominos. Sunday morning, I got donuts from the donut shop and fried bacon for a special breakfast. I didn’t eat any of it.

Instead of the parade of delectable delights moving through my kitchen, I’ve survived on jello and protein drinks. And I am starving. Figuratively speaking.

Those fish sandwiches still look amazing. And I don’t even like fish.

What It’s Like to Be Me: In the Beginning Pt 4, Not Quite Cool Enough

I never was one of the cool kids. Looking back on my teen years, I was a nerd. Still am. But back then, I tried so hard to act cool and fit in. No matter how hard I attempted though, there was a hard lesson I learned over and over again: I could never try hard enough. Because no matter how cool I could be, it wasn’t quite cool enough.

I was always one of the shortest kids in my class. Most of my friends were better looking, more talented, had wealthier parents, lived in nicer houses, and didn’t have to try so hard to be the thing I wished I was: cool.

Joy Electric: “Never Be a Star”
Most kids dream of fame or prestige in one form or another when imagining a future career. Ask them what they want to be when they grow up and you’ll hear answers like movie stars, pro-athletes, firefighters, chefs, models. I wanted to be an architect. As I got older, I surrounded myself with artists and musicians. I longed to be a part of that world. However, I never had that thing it takes to be a star. This Joy Electric song demonstrated that bittersweet balance of pursuing a dream in the face of realistic expectations and the motivation behind both, “More than anything I want is the feeling of some worth.” For me, I never wanted to be famous, I only wanted famous friends.

The Police: “King of Pain”
“There’s a little black spot on the sun today.” When Mercury is in transit, it appears as a little black spot as it passes between earth and the sun. Sting was contemplating his lot in life when he observed this phenomenon and said “That’s my soul up there.” That inspired one of the most iconic opening lyrics in rock music history. With my melancholic disposition and social status at the bottom of the totem pole, it was easy for me to relate to Sting’s perspective, feeling like a speck cast against something bigger and brighter than I’ll ever be. Or like a rag hung from a flagpole fluttering in relentless winds. Or a dead fish frozen in an icy waterfall. Of course, his expression of despair is far more poetic and graceful than I could have ever composed myself.

Resurrection Band: “Dark Carnival”
It’s a short song in the middle of a concept album about being disillusioned with the cruelty of life. Surrounded by the cruelty of my peers, the sixteen year of version of me found it easy to relate to every song on the record. After a few bluesy rock songs, the tempo slows for the band adopts a waltz cadence and something that sounds like circus music. Glenn Kaiser begins to sing, “A handful of tickets already paid for, a heart full and jaded, taken for too many rides. I'm still looking for somewhere to spend these dreams on the midway between my heart and my mind.” Damn. His voice was so pained yet eager and hopeful. Young me was incredibly jaded and hearing this song for the first time helped me learn it was OK to not be OK.

The Dell Griffiths: “King of Almost”
The band named themselves after John Candy’s character from Planes, Trains, & Automobiles Their one and only album “I ... I Like Me” contained a tribute to Annakin Skywalker, Edward Scissorhands, abusive girlfriends, and celebrity crushes. They had a cover of The Cars “Best Friend’s Girl” and Split Enz “I Got You.” It’s a delightful and weird record that no one has ever heard. Too odd for Christian markets, and never released to mainstream markets. Their sales were not good enough to justify a sophomore effort. It’s so rare it’s not available on any streaming platform. And I can’t find a single song on Youtube. If I ever have the right to call myself a hipster it’s because of how much I love this album. Halfway through is a beautiful bittersweet ballad that so perfectly defined how I felt about my teenaged life. I even ordered a custom t-shirt for myself with artwork from the liner notes and lyrics from the first verse printed on it: “There’s no need to cry, no need to ask why. Life simply slips by on its way to someone else.”

The Verve Pipe: “Hero”
When you grow up an outcast, when you’re young and bullied or abused, sometimes you crave being the center of attention. That might be why you see so many comedians emerge from broken childhoods. The trauma makes us funny. Or we use the humor as a coping mechanism. This attitude is demonstrated in Hero, “I doubt that anybody got their money's worth but the attention sure felt great.” I was lucky to grow up with supportive parents who bent over backwards to make sure I knew they loved me. But when I walked out the door, the world away from home was hostile. I look back at my teen years and count far too many instances where I tried too hard to get that brief spurt of attention to compensate for the negative treatment I got from my peers. Sure, it felt great for a moment but I probably looked ridiculous doing it.

Pay Up

A little over a year ago, I posted a list of who I would want to see cast in the MCU version of The Fantastic Four. If you missed it, you can read part one HERE and part two HERE. As a quick refresher on one character from the F4 universe, this was my pick for the actor I would love to see join the Marvel roster. And it seems someone at Disney was reading.

Rami Malek was (and still is) who I think would be the best option to become the Silver Surfer. And he's been busy. After his Academy Award winning role in Bohemian Rhapsody, he joined Iron Man Robert Downey Jr in Disney's Doolittle. In a couple months, we'll see him as the villain in the newest Bond movie, No Time to Die. Between his talent, success, and experience with an MCU alumnus, Malek would be the perfect fit inside the world of Marvel films.

If the rumors are true, the casting team at Marvel Studios took my suggestion to heart. What rumors? Watch:



Well, Disney? What do you have to say for yourselves? I'm ready to discuss my consulting fees. Or you could just hire me. Please?