Author Archives: John

Writing 101-3: Off Da Top!

Posted on by John

Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

Hmmm, I’m not entirely sure about three important songs. I would say though that it isn’;t a stretch to think that all of my favorite stuff came during the best musical decade ever, the 1990s. And one of my favorite things about the Internet is that it allows me to live in that decade continuously, the same way that adults listened to their oldies stations as I grew up.

I can think of at least one song that defined my life for a stretch: In The Still of the Night, by Boyz II Men. This is because its random singing led my two cousins and I to create a singing group. Remember that concept? I don’t think many of those exist these days, as most are solo artists. But, I suspect that history will bring it back in eventually.

I’d told this story in my other blog, the one that has since met its end, on the day Soul Train’s Don Cornelius passed. Perhaps it’s appropriate to try capturing it again on the day we lose another major music icon: Casey Kasem. If you didn’t grow up listening to his distinct voice deal out the top 40 songs of each week, well you missed a treat. I always looked forward to either his countdowns or Walt Babylove on the R&B side, which he did until deciding to emphasize gospel more.

Anyway, back to the formation of our little group. My cousins and I had just completed a rousing game of basketball with an adult, one of my cousin’s fathers in fact. How appropriate for Father’s Day? We then piled into his car to go and find some delicious, refreshing ice cream, probably at Dairy Queen.

Said song came onto the radio, and for some reason we don’t entirely recall we just began singing it. My youngest cousin took the lead vocal, I sang bass and my other cousin did the “shoo-wops”.

“Hey, that was fun!” we said once the song concluded.

It really surprised me that I was even able to do this. All of my life, I’d been told by many that I couldn’t really sing, or play instruments, (have tried to learn the piano from time to time and had gotten decent at the trumpet when in elementary band) so I’d largely become discouraged from even trying. My cousins told me more than once to stick with it though, and working with some fantastic choral instructors and singing in a couple church choirs, I began to expand my range.

RELATED: Sang With The Choir!

Due to our group’s origins, my dad suggested that we should’ve called ourselves the Backseat Boys. Lawsuit, anyone? We instead went with the name Off Da Top, because of course we wrote songs off da top of our heads! My Aunt chided us for the less-than-professional spelling, but hey why can’t we have a little fun. Like Musiq. Or Xscape.

Over the years, we continued to develop. Naturally, many of our initial favorites were Boyz II Men tunes. I especially remember singing It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye to Yesterday onboard the Catawba Queen as we cruised Lake Norman while at a summer camp sponsored by the Metrolina Association for the Blind (MAB). The restaurant area was staffed by college-age women, and one each came to rub on our backs as we sang. I nearly lost the ability to stay on the correct notes. Haha. They also shut down the PA music, so that everyone onboard could hear.

There was another time at a Raleigh ice skating rink. My cousins and I weren’t particularly big fans of this recreational activity, so we sat at the table with drinks in front of us and worked on Chi’s Baby I’m Yours. We’d made an error, and as we stopped to retry that spot we suddenly heard a loud burst of clapping. There had appeared a rather large contingent of young women, traveling with some kind of youth center. They opted to join us in singing Kirk Franklin’s Stomp. The preacher and leader of God’s Property? I think many members of that group came from Charlotte’s Friendship Missionary Baptist Church, our family’s original home church.

Our dream, like anyone who would have been doing such a thing, was to achieve stardom. I think in retrospect that it is quite fortunate we did not, as we had no idea what that would have actually entailed. The great memories we do have though, like winning a talent show at UNC Charlotte, performing to an incredibly excited congregation at First Missionary Baptist in Southern Pines with our own rendition of We Shall Overcome in celebration of Black History Month, and the like may in fact never be surpassed.

Even as my disorder continues to take away my hearing and make singing more of a chore than a joy, I will always continue to enjoy music. So, if I’m a bit flat or sharp or slightly off rhythm, try not to be too harsh! Off Da Top hasn’t performed in many years, but we have floated the idea of giving it a shot again someday. Who knows.

What about you? Can you sing, at least as we define it? Heck, to me anyone who sings just to feel that passion flow is good enough in my book.

Writing 101-2: Expanding Presence

Posted on by John

If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

Ok, I’ll take this post sort of literally, because I am not as good at waxing poetic as perhaps I’d like to be. It is an interesting concept.

First, I never cease to be amazed at how large the universe really is. Heck, how large even the solar system even is. Millions of miles separate us from our nearest planet, and thousands of years lie between us and the nearest star at any speed we could currently travel. I’ve just read somewhere that the fastest moving object in human history was one of the Pioneer space crafts, clocking an incredible 52000 miles per hour. This may have been eclipsed by the Voyager craft, but I’m not sure.

I do often wish we could at least move at the speed of light, and survive touching down on another planet’s surface. Ah, to walk around on Mars. Or feel the steamy impossibility of Venus. And I thought it was cold? How about Neptune, or the recently demoted Pluto. I’d not feel much of any sun from that distance.

Ultimately, I’d like to achieve this concept of hyperspace that most science fiction writers employ to get their characters across vast interstellar distances. It’d be humanity’s next great chance to explore an area thought to be far beyond itself, and one in which we are not sure where or if other life exists. It is hard for me to believe though that in a sky filled with more stars than there are grains of sand down here, that something or someone else isn’t out there.

And if not? Well, I’ll start a colony on one of those far away worlds in which we’ll try to get it right. A utopia where war is not permitted, a place where we agree to settle disputes through peaceful, diplomatic discussion. And of course, a place where the sun always shines! Join me?

Writing 101-1 Unlock The Mind

Posted on by John

To get started, let’s loosen up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write.

I’m taking on this challenge, having been inspired by the great Amy Juicebox. I think it technically has some sort of actual time limit, but I’m starting way later than most and don’t really care.

Why am I doing this? Well, because I feel myself entering a slightly dangerous period of my life where I could really get so bogged down by the day-to-day minutiae of surviving my current employment that it becomes my permanent employment. And we all know I can’t have that! So, bear with me as I perhaps make false starts and maybe have some posts that are a little lower-quality than I’d like. I just want to get myself back to writing, and to that motivation that looked like it was going to carry me somewhere at this time last year.

So the object of today’s post is to just keep pressing buttons for 20 minutes. Hmmm, what to talk about.

I’ve set the timer on my iPhone, actually set it for 22 minutes to give myself enough time to load Pandora and the jazz music I now have streaming.

I loaded a station by a jazz artist named Jimmy Scott who, according to an NPR reporter, died today. She states that he’s a man, but the songs I’ve heard thus far that are attributed to him have been sang by a woman. I suppose he plays an instrument or something, though. In any event, it’s nice sounding stuff.

This follows on the heels of my reading Heidi Durrow’s book The Girl Who Fell from the sky, a poignant examination of the challenges that sadly still exist when conducting relationships that involve individuals of different races. Told from the perspective of the mother, her daughter, one of her previous lovers, a bystander who happened to witness the tragedy, and a couple others; it chronicles an unfolding event that the reader isn’t able to fully conceptualize until the book ends.

The mother is from Denmark, and she is employed in Chicago as the story begins. We learn of what happened to her through her journal. Once the event happens, the daughter Rachel is sent off to Portland to live with her grandma. Here, she grows from a 8 or 9-year-old child to a high school teen.

I love that the grandma, as well as one of Rachel’s Aunt’s lover’s daughters, speak in dialect. It helps to add character to the story.

The reason I mentioned it in connection to the music though is that Durrow has Rachel get introduced to another blues great, Etta James. This caused me to create a Pandora station of her too, which I’ve been rocking out to for the last week or so. I’d heard of her via an NPR profile when she passed, but hadn’t really checked out any of her stuff.

And yeah I know that was probably not the best book review I’ve ever written, but I’m not allowing myself to stop and pretty it up. I’d recommend grabbing a copy of the book anyhow. And, Durrow’s putting on something called the Mixed Remixed Festival in Los Angeles tomorrow. I wish I could go, as it sounds interesting.

Four minutes left! What else to say? If you stroll in from somewhere else as a result of this post, please feel free to read some of my other stuff as well. I think it’ll be more interesting. I like doing the occasional book review, as well as talking about disability-related issues, music, and of course travel. Though I don’t really get to do as much of the latter as I’d like these days.

Taking a trip to Las Vegas and the convention of the American Council of the Blind in 29 days though! I’m already bummed that I chose to stay only through that Wednesday, having to leave on an early 9:30 flight, because I will miss the presentation of the NLS narrator, usually my favorite part. But such is the way that west to east air travel works: I’ll lose so much time coming back that I couldn’t afford to depart later in the day than that.

So, nice to meet you? Say hi, drop your email in the subscribe box, and help me keep this thing going! Thanks, and have a great weekend.

Taxi Tales: Finding, Going, Paying

Posted on by John

I’d come up with this idea after the previous weekend’s visit with my cousin, but couldn’t exactly decide how to encapsulate it. Then, I came across a great post by Tiffiny Carlson, about access or lack thereof to cabs for persons in wheelchairs. So thanks for the inspiration. I prosper from the world around me.

For blind folk, as least as far as I know, it’s never been all that practical to try and flag down a taxi. I suppose some can do it, depending on what level of sight they have, and maybe catching the closest available ride is a bit easier now as smartphone apps begin to come online that make this possible. I think though that there is some kickback to the general implementation of this idea, but hope it happens.

For now, I still use the old-fashioned method: place a call and wait. This is often nerve-racking, though.

I now live in an apartment with a difficult to discern address. Everyone from dispatch to the drivers, to heck, the pizza delivery folks and other passersby argue about exactly what it is. Even if I check with my phone’s GPS programs, I’m likely to get different results at different times. This means finding me can be a challenge.

For instance, I once thought a guy had said he was on the way to the right place and would pick me up shortly, because he said the correct street and number. However, it turned out that he then sat waiting in front of some location a bit farther up for ten minutes, finally placing an irritated call asking “Aye man, are you still trying to get this cab!” For this reason, I often opt to just go somewhere else for pick-up.

Ok, so I’ve successfully gotten into the taxi and am on my way. Where are we trying to go? How best to get there. Now, it’s certainly easier as I can just use my phone to tell me. But not all cabbies take the most cost-effective way, and I guess I can’t really blame them.

Because I’m interested, I just looked at this, apparently not wholly reliable, Wikipedia article that suggests that the first metered taxi service began in Germany in 1897. It says the meter even ticked, now that sort of feature would actually be convenient for the blind passenger.

Failing that though, I’ve heard there are supposed to be solutions on the horizon that will allow us to know exactly how much the driver should in fact be charging, as it accumulates. Maybe the meters will speak? Or perhaps the info could also be sent through our phones someday. If I feel somewhat shaky about how much it might cost for me to get there, I’ll just ask dispatch to give me a projected fare quote before leaving. Of course, if traveling a great distance many companies require that you pay in advance anyway.

So I’ve arrived at my destination and been told how much it will cost. “Uh,” I say “do you accept cards?”

Awkward silence.

If I’m lucky, they’ll grudgingly get out the card machine and swipe it. Or, maybe they’ll call it in and read my card number out loudly enough for anyone standing by to overhear. Worst of all? “No, I only take cash!”

Having finally begun to tire of this, I’m trying to make myself start carrying more cash around again. This of course has its own risks, but asking the cabbie to take me to an ATM so that I can withdraw the needed funds is definitely flipping a coin. In their defense, I must say that most try hard to be honest and make sure that I know they’re so being. Some have me call my bank and check the statement immediately. One individual, who could barely speak English, just summoned a nearby police officer to assist me in getting the dough.

The only person whom I think has taken me for a ride was a woman I met via Craigslist, no not you Shannon if you happen to be reading this, who probably shorted me $20 and then vehemently denied doing so. “I’ll just come and give you 20!” she said when I attempted to call her out for that. She never did so though, and I never used her again. Was a shame too, because she’d actually seemed pretty nice. But, it’s always difficult to tell.

As they say, it’s usually best to find and stick to a particular driver when possible, so that a fuller trust can develop. I do have my favorite driver, but lately I’ve not been as able to get her when trying to call. I can’t say why this is. Amusingly, on my short trip from Durham’s bus station to the Amtrak, I did meet the woman my favorite driver had asked to pick me up in this entry. She said that in addition to my little $5, she’d only made 10 all day long. I can kind of see why, as she didn’t strike me as the friendliest person in the world. That’s the thing, the best, or probably most aggressively tipped, cabbies are also good talkers/psychologists. Hey, whole shows have been made about this phenomenon.

So, to my other blind readers out there, what have your cab experiences been like? I know that unfortunately, they’ve still not always been friendly to those with guide dogs. This definitely needs to change. Have heard horror stories of people being dragged down the street while clinging to the doorhandle, all while trying to secure a ride for which they’ve desperately been waiting. Let us know your thoughts on this and other aspects.

Getting To Know You

Posted on by John

I have always found it interesting the ways in which we become aware of those around us. I think especially among those who are blind, we are often not fully aware of the degree to which others watch, perhaps learn from, and become familiar with us from afar.

I especially noticed this this past week. I had to miss a day of work, because my left ear, the good one, decided to ring really loudly and make it difficult for me to function. This usually happens when we experience drastic swings in temperature, but for some odd reason it occurred on the day before said temperature changes took effect. It ended up being a plus, as it created an opportunity for me to go grocery shopping during the day. Less crowds, easier to get in and out, etc.

When I returned to work the next day, I was somewhat amused by the number of people who came up to say they’d noticed my absence and missed me. They knew my name, but I couldn’t really tell you who they were. In addition to my blindness, I am also atypically quiet in there. I’ll speak when spoken to, but generally I remain lost somewhere in my thoughts. I suppose this also explains how so many end up just getting to know me in a hands-off sort of way.

The phenomenon of knowing starts long before we even begin to speak. I’ve had the pleasure of participating in many of my twelve nieces and nephews’ upbringing, and was always amazed by how attached to me they became. They each seemed to have their own ways of preferred connection: one I could lure into a calm state by using a strap, another liked to listen to me whistle a tuneless melody as I walked him up and down the hall, and a third just needed to know I was in the same room as he was. This last one left me feeling like perhaps I could actually hypnotize him, as I could say “you’re getting sleeeepppy,” in that funny, dragged out voice and he would indeed quiet.

They would also, I believe, demonstrate that they knew I was unable to see them. Whether they thought this by choice or fully understood that my eyes didn’t work, who knows.

My niece, for example, would make a humming sound as her little legs propelled her along the floor and to me, until she was able to tap my leg.

And once, the strap-loving nephew decided I needed assistance into the laundry room to put my clothes into the hamper, and then back into my mom’s room where he knew I liked to watch sports with my dad. He may not have even been a year old then, and hadn’t really developed speech yet except for the ability to make a sound that approached “here”. Then he grabbed one of my fingers and led me around the house. I guess he’d seen enough of me nearly tripping over his and others’ toys. It was cute.

Even nonhuman animals are capable of getting to know from afar, of course. I think primarily of the little toy fox terrier that my sighted cousin had when he moved into our Charlotte apartment in 2008. I have never become as close to any living creature as I did her. Sad? Perhaps.

She especially enjoyed interacting with me when I sat in the big, comfortable swivel chair I had at my heavy oak computer desk. She’d tap her little head on the side, stand back a few inches, and watch me turn to face her so she could then leap into my lap. Then she’d lay there, picking her head up if I began to talk to her or demanding attention occasionally with her paws.

She most showed her understanding of my likely limitations once when I’d taken her out for relief. I guess I’d gotten lost in my thoughts, and she decided we’d go for a longer walk. She probably had tried to get my attention somehow, but I didn’t notice. Next thing I knew, we were on the other side of the street and behind that set of apartments.

“Look what you’ve done!” I yelled as I tugged on the leash. “Now how on earth am I gonna get back home?”

She then slipped through a narrow fence, causing her collar to pull hard and come off of her neck. Now if she’d done this with my sighted cousin in tow, she’d think “freedom!” and “game time!” and take off. However, she probably knew that I couldn’t catch her, so she sat down a couple of feet in front of me and waited for me to reattach the collar. Then, she got ready to cross the lot and, probably, correctly head for home. I didn’t fully trust that we could do this safely though, so I pulled back on the chain. I believed she then deferred to plan B, which was to find an apartment with a human inside that I could ask for help. I did this, and an old man who walked with a rather pronounced limp assisted us back to the right place.

I’d guess that getting to know one another, and discern likely motives, has significant survival advantages. And, of course it helps us get whatever it is that we want from another, as well as to give to others what they might enjoy. I’m not sure blind folk will ever be really good at fully understanding tendencies, since there’s so much we miss by lacking observational abilities at least from a visual standpoint. But, I certainly do pick up on and have an uncanny memory for voice, smell, and other odd quirks. Just something I’ve been pondering all week. How much do you pick up from others as you go about your day? Are you always watching as a new individual comes into a room? What about other kinds of sensory information.

On Healing

Posted on by John

A series of recent events have me thinking about how I feel about life with dual disabilities. Specifically, to what degree would I want to mitigate or perhaps eliminate at least the medical component of said disabilities, should that become more possible in the future.

I suppose because I wasn’t born with significant hearing loss, but have had to adjust to it over the lifespan, I would definitely opt into something that promised to correct my hearing. I’m pretty sure now though that I’ve had some loss in that area even before I had become aware of it.

Certainly the technology to enable one to hear, at least in an electronic way, has progressed in leaps and bounds in recent years. Many see this in the existence of the Cochlear Implant. One thing that gives me pause in goingfor a CI though is that I’ve heard it can throw off sound localization, making it difficult for someone who is also blind to navigate safely around his or her environment. I think one could adjust to this, but I know not how long that might take.

I recently met an individual who is a mental health advocate, writer, and one who has assisted many people with disabilities in learning the social landscape. This person shared with me a video in which a woman hears sound for the first time via a cochlear implant.

I’d heard of this video before, and its attendant controversy. I guess people’s biggest concern had to do with the notion, right or wrong, that it would serve to enhance the public’s idea that perceived disability must always be a bad thing and should thus be dealt with. Some were also not sure how to take having such a private, emotionally jarring moment aired online. My position on that is it was her personal decision to do this, and should be seen as such.

I could be wrong, but it seems to me that deafness doesn’t get quite the social taboo that blindness does. I mean I suppose most wouldn’t actively choose to be without hearing, but many individuals who are deaf only can get good jobs and do things where their competence is questioned a little less. Are they discriminated against in some ways? I’m sure of it, and especially when attempting to communicate with others who are not deaf and don’t know sign language, or take in programming that isn’t properly captioned.

But when many see an individual who is blind, they automatically assume that some sort of sin has stained their soul. Some of the braver folks figure that God has actually appointed them to lift that sin, as a person tried to do this morning.

I’m strolling along, enjoying the birdsong and wind that finish waking me up as I head toward the bus stop. I get to the street corner, and over the sound of a roaring machine of some sort, maybe a lawn mower? I don’t know, I hear someone calling, maybe my name?

Are you talking to me?” I ask, turning to face the voice.

“Yes,” she replies. “God says he wants me to touch your eyes.”

And before I can stop her, she has practically smacked me in the face! She pounds my eyes a couple of good times before I softly remove her hands and push them down.

“Um,” I say: “I’m just trying to cross the street, an now I’m distracted. Can you tell me when to go?”

“Yes, but you gotta feel what happened! You have to believe! God’s gonna open your eyes in a week!”

I just say ok, and thank you, and shuffle on down towards the stop.

Because I’ve never seen before, I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to suddenly have working eyes in a week. I guess it would be like that woman’s reaction times 100, as I’d be bombarded with stimuli that I couldn’t make sense of without the proper context and training. I wonder if people who hope for such things to happen to a totally blind stranger have even stopped to consider the ramifications of the situation?

Second, I think I’m made just the way I’m supposed to be. As with hearing, I don’t begrudge anyone who wishes to be able to see after having been totally blind whenever it becomes feasible to do so, but I definitely don’t. I guess in many respects, I would feel like I’m giving up my “self” as I currently know it.

These are certainly interesting and complicated issues, and I know many who are working to find their own answers as they deal with one, both, or some varying combination of them. I guess what it comes down to in the end, as I said when someone at a small church I went to thought of trying this same sort of intervention, is to respect the person’s humanity. Ask them questions about what they might want you to pray over, or if they’d just prefer to be left alone. Because what you think you see in someone else is not always what is.

#BADD2014: Housing For All

Posted on by John

For I think I saw, the 9th straight year, this May 1st was Blog Against Disablism Day. Hash tagged #BADD2014 on Twitter, it asked individuals to talk about an area where people with disabilities still experience significant challenges in image, access, or perception. I wrote a post for this last year entitled The Rarity of Multi, in which I discussed some of the unique things with which a deafblind individual, or really anyone with multiple disabilities, must deal. I’m late to the punch with this, but figured that the message was more important than timing.

As I write, I’m viewing a Twitter stream about individuals who are in Washington DC, participating in a rally by an organization called Adapt that is designed to highlight continued access needs for persons with disabilities in housing. I suppose these are most applicable to persons in wheelchairs, in that ramps, low thresholds, and the like should be available to anyone who needs them. But as they point out, creating housing that meets these standards would have the effect of making it easier for others to get in and out as well.

I can tell you from my experience that fully accessible housing is still very much a thing to be worked towards. In my area of the complex, for example, I can’t think of a way for someone using a wheelchair to easily get into my apartment. Well I guess there are two potential ways: either squeezing onto the porch from the right side, which would involve some scary ruts in which one might get stuck, or coming down a fairly slanted hill onto the area between C and D. I suppose the latter way would be best, but would I’m sure involve its own dangers.

And if they get to my door, they would have to somehow hoist themselves up over the high step in order to get inside. Again, I don’t know a whole lot about how wheelchairs work, but I assume this is possible to do? Someone can inform me.

As this grassroots movement points out, another big part of access is affordability. There is definitely a lack of affordable housing that is also in decent enough shape for a person to really feel comfortable therein. I guess that I am fortunate, in that all I really need to get by is four walls that generally hold up and a door I can lock. However, even these haven’t always been promised me in my current residence, as one day the front door’s lock inexplicably broke and my neighbor and I had to double team the maintenance people in order for them to comprehend the seriousness of the problem and come over.

Given that so many of us with disabilities are un or underemployed, having the ability to keep that price down is tantamount to maintaining independence. I’ve talked with some who tell me that they have been unable to find anything less than $800 that also met their access needs, when really they need a place in the $5-600 price range. Some of these individuals have health issues that mean they can’t really be in situations that might disturb them, such as locations with loud music or rowdy neighbors. Others are blind or otherwise unable to power vehicles, and thus need to live along a bus line and as close to groceries, recreational areas and the like as possible. And yes, one might argue that these folks can use paratransit, a specialized door-to-door service for persons with disabilities, but even this requires that you be within 3/4 of a mile of a bus line in order to gain regular access. Slow change is happening, but currently housing in these areas, and especially affordable housing, is too often sketchy.

I am mainly hoping to contribute something to the thought process around this complicated issue, and the varied solutions that will have to be implemented in order to address it. I’m sure that there are many voices who can point these things out more eloquently than I can, but figure that by granting it some exposure here, perhaps I’ll get others to check those other voices out as well. For we all certainly have the right to live in communities that help us grow and use our potential to its fullest.

Book Review: I Know This Much Is True

Posted on by John

In honor of today’s Readathon, which asks people to continuously read books over a 24-hour period, I thought I’d post a review of my best read of 2014 thus far. While I think the idea behind Readathon is cool, I know I couldn’t do it since I like to take my book in small bites and really digest the plot. But to those who are doing it, enjoy, and probably drink lots of coffee!

So I’ve just completed my second really long book of the year. The first was The Valley of Amazement by Amy Tan, which I may review at a later date. This one though is titled I Know This Much Is True, by Wally Lamb.

On posting that I was reading this on Facebook, it quickly became clear that I’m the last person on earth to pick it up, not surprising I guess, given that it came out in 1998. Many immediately said they loved it also, having some deep sense of connection to and empathy for the characters.

The main characters are twins Thomas and Dominic Birdsey, (last name may or may not be spelled correctly but for that you can blame the fact that I read it in audio). We meet Thomas just as his Schizophrenia leads him to profoundly injure himself in an attempt to stop the oncoming Gulf war of the early 90s. He takes this action in a library, and other patrons and the librarian demand that he be put away quickly. He had already been in a lower-level facility, but they decide to escalate him to one with greater security, and a lot less flexibility for him and his family.

Much of the rest of the story is essentially told in flashback: through Dominic’s therapy sessions, thoughts from their stepfather, and a diary that their grandfather wrote about his coming to the US from Sicely at the turn of the 20th Century. It is a fascinating tale of hardship, bombast, and the strength of a special kind of love that only people with a fairly rare relationship can understand.

I think my favorite parts of the story were those concerning their life in the 1960s. How Dominic met someone at a place called the Dial Tone Lounge, a bar with tables that allowed people to dial in the number of another table if they saw someone attractive there. Did such establishments exist? That sounds like fun.

Of course, not all was great for them then. We get a glimpse of how their stepfather Ray treated, and often mistreated, Dominic, their mother, and especially Thomas. As with other books I’ve read, I can really feel Thomas’s discomfort, enduring taunts that he was a “sissy” and too girl-like, as my biological parent very regularly said such things to me as well. Later in the story, Ray claims that he had a hard time not doing this as he had been raised in an era where men were taught to always display a tough exterior. That’s sad.

I also liked the complexity of Dominic’s feelings. While he often yearned to have his own life and space, he nevertheless continued to fight vehemently for his brother and whatever his brother wanted. He did this even to the extent that it hurt his relationships with women. It was certainly a tough fight with a less-than-desirable outcome.

I would definitely recommend this book, though probably not as one to consume during the readathon. I’m not sure how many print pages it is exactly, but at 30 hours of audio it has to be of a pretty good size. It will however make for a great summer read, as there is lots of talk of waterfalls, beaches, and entertainment. There is also a deep exploration of those characteristics that make us beautifully made, if flawed, human beings.

On Becoming A Regular

Posted on by John

Enter. Walk slowly toward the register.

“Oh hi John! I’ll get that medium coffee for you. I know just how you like it.”

Sometimes, I throw in a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich on Texas toast for good measure. MMM! I did today, in fact.

As time has continued on, I’ve found myself drawn more and more to our friendly neighborhood Dunkin Donuts, and in particular the people who work there.

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Easters of Yore

One nice young woman always enjoys coming over to my table and making small talk as I chat, I think as a bit of a respite from the long hours of work she puts in. I guess I can’t complain too much about my eight-hour, five-days-a-week job when she might put in 12 hours and sometimes work six days. Man alive, I need to find that kind of drive.

No matter where I relocate, I usually find some place in which I become a sort of regular. In my last independent residence, Carrboro’s Estes Park Apartments, we didn’t have any nearby restaurants or convenience stores I could easily access. So, I often hung out in the leasing office. But hey, they made some of the best tasting coffee I’ve ever had in there. And it was free. Getting to know the staff like that also led to other very necessary perks during those broke days, like letting more than a few late rents slide by and helping with other things like going to the grocery. Even so, I certainly hope I never end up in that kind of crazy situation again.

Of course while there, I did establish regular status in Chapel Hill establishments like Sutton’s, an old-style soda shop that serves hot dogs, burgers, and big, filling breakfasts. I had been going there somewhat frequently even from Durham, until I came to like my current area and its more convenient access more. I have a server in Suttons to whom I enjoy talking, also an incredibly hard worker who routinely puts in six days. I’m not entirely sure we respect enough the people who put food on our tables, well heck we often plain look down on them. This shouldn’t be.

And then, there’s the place with which I think people most associate the idea of “regular”ness, Starbucks. They have one of those on Franklin in Chapel Hill also, but the reason I love it there is it has a local, homely atmosphere. Some of my best writing has happened in there.

Have you become a regular anywhere? If so, what is your typical order. Do the servers know you? I wonder to what degree this happens in other countries. I definitely find it fascinating the slow, predictable way that this credential comes into being.

We Are Family

Posted on by John

I learned on Thursday that it was National Siblings Day. I had meant to write then, but haven’t really found the time or energy until now. I know most people posted pictures of their families, but for me my photo is usually my writing.

I mentioned briefly in my intro post that I have been blessed with a fairly large family of five sisters and a cousin who may as well be a brother. They are, from eldest to youngest, the twins who were born in December of 76, my next eldest sister born in 78, my cousin born in 80, another sister born in 81, and the final sister born in 84. Yes, we were bunched tightly together, with each of us six not including my cousin oddly sharing birth months of December, September, and May with the sibling right behind us in age. Interesting how that worked out.

According to a LiveJournal poll I did once, because we all know my polls are strictly scientific and conducted using rigorous research standards, ha ha, it would seem that my family size is atypical. I think it’s becoming even more so as people decide to defer or put off having children altogether. I sometimes wonder how my mom managed to work hard enough to keep us all housed, clothed and fed; but that’s a good mother for ya.

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Family is everything to a person: where he’s been, where he’s going, and who he is. Whether these consist of biologically related units or not doesn’t much matter, but it’s more about the value system in which one is raised.

I can’t say that I always enjoyed that chaotic structure, wishing often to be in a household where I was the only child. Looking back though, I am glad I experienced having to negotiate for everything from use of the bathroom to what we would listen to on the radio. I believe that these skills have made me a more sensitive, understanding person, right? Right? Ah well, who am I kidding!

My sisters, especially the older ones, raised me with tough love. They used to play tricks on me that I’m surprised haven’t landed me in therapy somewhere. Buzzing around my head like bees, giving me pickled pepper juice and saying it was koolade, and how about the 9-volt battery thing? It was all good though, because I eventually learned to give as good as I got!

I think at heart though, they were always well-meaning. And let anyone else try to hurt me, or anyone else in our family for that matter. Uh uh! They’d become a roving pack of wolves, and the individual who’d made that choice would suddenly develop superior track skills as he or she made an escape.

If asked what the greatest gift my sisters gave to me was, it would be the joy of books and reading. At different times in their development, each of them would practice their skill of reading aloud with me as test subject. Well the twins were talented enough to write their own stories really, some of which were quite good.

I remember sometimes entering the bathroom with my youngest sister so we could find a little quiet, locking the door, and reading the climax of some book or series for hours. I’m kind of amused that my mom didn’t kick us out of there for doing that.

My youngest sister also equipped me with a great imagination. But, I think ultimately my cousin and I were the best creators of fictional worlds from practically nothing. He got me interested in acquiring knowledge by spinning elaborate tales of World War 2 Era figures, their families and all, only using the two of us to voice the many characters. It seems we never even needed to stop and ask about the direction the story would take, we somehow just knew and followed each other. It was improv to the max. We called this unique skit-making “Playing something,” and as with everything else in my childhood, we could go at it for hours. I think my family probably taught me to fully dedicate myself to a task or hobby, but I can’t say how well that lesson stuck. I think my cousin and I discontinued this game when, sadly, there was to be someone firing through the window of a world leader’s car, and right at that moment a rock flew through our room window! I feel I’ve told that story before, but whatever. I have old-man syndrome.

So that’s a bit about the fascinating and varied people who worked together to make me me. I am happy to have been assigned to this special group of individuals, and believe that we, like most of course, are bringing our own brand of crazy to the masses. Here’s to my family!