Love is Greek to Me
Feb12

Love is Greek to Me

Love has been a challenge. Searching for it, finding it, maintaining it, and enjoying it; all of it. Being a single dad, love with my daughters is easy. I have all the love in the world, unconditionally and in abundance. It’s raw and original. Giving and receiving love between my girls is effortless; I don’t have to think about it. It just happens. The Greeks call it storge, a natural affection. It’s a familial love primarily between...

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Six Things I Didn’t Do Yesterday
Jan02

Six Things I Didn’t Do Yesterday

Olive and I were eating at Johnny Rockets in Bakersfield on New Year’s Day. She likes to sit at the bar, spin in her seat, and people watch. I do too. An absolutely gorgeous woman walks in with two small children, a boy and a girl. They sit a few seats down from us, meaning they like the bar scene also. My first order of business is to look for a ring. It’s the polite thing to do, right? No ring. Woohoo! The local news shows up with a...

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My Journey to a Genesis
Aug09

My Journey to a Genesis

I don’t know where to begin. I guess it began with losing custody of my oldest daughter, Genesis. It’s hard to write about how shameful the experience was. It was wintertime, 2009. I lived off the Costco box of Top Ramen to avoid grocery store visits. If I absolutely needed groceries, I’d go at night – right before closing. I did this to avoid any encounters with people that didn’t know I didn’t have her any more, avoiding their...

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Work-Related Issues
May30

Work-Related Issues

There are a million things I’d rather do than having to use the restroom at work.  Let me be specific.  Pooping at work.  I hate it.  There is not enough privacy during this intimate moment so I try to hold it, fighting off the urge by singing the ABC’s in my head.  It never works, it just gets worse.  Shifting in my non-ergonomic work chair, taking deep breaths, trying anything to get my attention elsewhere, nothing is working.  In...

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Stepping Up to the Plate
May24

Stepping Up to the Plate

I was about nine years old when my parents would come home from work, shut their bedroom door behind them, and start arguing.  There wasn’t a pillow large enough that could hide me from the sound.  Parents try preparing their children for everything, but not this.  I’d leave the house to the nearby junior high where boys my same age practiced baseball.  You’d hear things like, “Two down,” from the chubby one with gear on behind home...

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