Stuck in Whether or Not

I love the tree…

Huge and leafy, its canopy spreads out to cover three houses, and it hovers over several power lines. It is big, beautiful and majestic…it was a selling point of the house, and now it has the potential to sink my fragile ship of finance.

Although safely ensconced in my home office, I am still in its shade. I love the old tree, and have often when it first sprouted. Was my yard part of a fam field, a meadow, or just part of a clump of trees growing on the edge of town? Maybe there was already a street, and it simply grew up in the back yard, always in the shadow of my house…until it grew bigger than the house.

For decades, it has withstood storms of wind, rain, ice and snow, including several hurricanes that made its way inland. It has stood strong as the world has changed around it, continuing to give shade to my house and those around it. It has been home to numerous bird and squirrel nests and has become a landmark (at least for me) and a source of peace and leaves for the entire block.

Since I owned the house, the tree has been trimmed several times, but in recent years, I have not been able to afford a professional, so I have done the minimum by myself, and the tree has appeared to manage just fine despite my armature arboreal skills. Unfortunately, I recently returned from my first real vacation in years, to find that the tree has began to split down the middle!

It has been a very wet and stormy Spring and Summer, and this has taken a toll on the entire area. There have been down-pours, floods, high winds and a tornado even touched down nearby.

Now, it seems as if time has begun to run out for the tree.

The split is growing bigger every day, and if nothing is done, a quarter of this big tree will wind up in the side of my house, as well as that of my neighbor. Another quarter will wind up taking down powerlines and blocking the alley…but at least my insurance will cover it…I hope.

Now, it is a case of whether or not we can save the whole tree…and how it will be paid for, but these are issues for tomorrow (literally).

If it stays, the tree will be smaller, as will my bank account…but both will grow stronger again.

Where there is life, there is always hope.

If it goes, I will plant a new tree in its place, using one of the nascent saplings that the it has spawned. For nothing that powerful, that magnificent can ever truly be gone, as it will leave a legacy of new life and new growth that will can never be lost or forgotten.

It’s that whole circle of life thing coming to fruition.

It is just tough to be in the in-between place, uncertain of how things will turn out, what the results will be.

So, I consult with the experts, getting their opinions and seeking to make the best choice for the tree, and for myself.

But right now, I am stuck in the “whether or not”, waiting to see how this will all work out, and having faith that no matter what the result, and how that will impact my bank account (and house), that all will be okay…not necessarily easy, and not without pain…but okay.

Where there is life…there is hope…even if that hope can be hard to hold on to at times.

And it is this hope that feeds our faith.

Independence Day

The squirrels were playing, just outside of the window. They scampered across the yard, up the tree and then back again…they were a great distraction.

It was a ground-floor room, and while he had it all to himself, he wasn’t alone…most of us were there with him, and had been throughout the vigil. The only one missing that day was one of my brothers, the plan was that he would visit the next day, the Fourth of July.

My father was fading fast, he was having trouble breathing, was on oxygen and could no longer respond. I knew that he would not like being this way, and hoped that he did not know. He was a good man, well educated, hard-working, fun, and taught Math and Computer Science at the college level.

He was also a man of faith, and dedicated to his family.

Lying in that bed, he was not the man he once was, and part of me was looking forward to his struggled being over, to his independence for Parkinson’s.

After a few hours, I said my good byes and we drove back to Staten Island to wait for the phone call we knew would be coming soon…in many ways, the waiting would be harder than the loss.

The next morning was foggy and humid, but not terribly hot.

I made myself go to one of my 12-step meetings, and the speaker was talking about the day his father died, ten years earlier, to the day: July 4^th. Coincidentally, I also heard this guy speak at my very first meeting, when his stories of being in prison for a crime committed while in a black-out, freaked me out, and I did not go to another meeting for a few weeks.

By contrast, the message he shared that morning helped me to face what was to come.

I remember getting home just before noon, thinking there would be news (there were no cell phones then), but there was nothing…I resigned myself to waiting, and tried to get on with my day. Although it was a holiday, I did not feel like celebrating and had no plans to do so. My wife (at the time) tried to be supportive, but I was on edge.

The call came early in the afternoon.

My father died just after my brother arrived, the last of our family to visit, he was able to say his good byes, and surrounded by his family (including those who could not be there) my father breathed his last and was at peace. His long battle was now finished.

Of course, I wanted to get right in the car and drive back down to South Jersey, but my mother asked me to wait, she had enough on her hands, and explained that it would be easier if I stayed home for a day or two while arrangements.

It really wasn’t that long, but as always, waiting is difficult.

After the news, we walked down the hill, near Wagner College, where I could look out over the Verrazano Bridge, and tried to see the tall ships come in for the celebration, but it was too cloudy and I could not see much. Back home, I was too wound to sit still, so we went to another meeting that afternoon, where I shared my loss and got lots of support.

After the meeting, my wife and I decided to go see one of the Lethal Weapon movies, and wound up surrounded by more of our friends from the meetings…there was no way to escape them, which was just fine with me! Then, we ended the day at a third meeting (right after the movie) and finally made it home to eat, pack up and wait some more.

That evening I also began writing a tribute to my dad, which I would read at his funeral, but this seemed far off on that long Saturday evening.

The time past, and soon we were on our way south. My mom wanted to make arrangements for us we decided to rent a motel room (choosing the same place one of my brothers was staying in), so we could have a place to take a break from the intensity. It was not the nicest place, but it worked for us, and I was glad we had our own space.

The next day, my father’s remaining brothers arrived, along with other extended family and friends, turning out mourning into kind of a reunion, as often happens. There was food and stories, and a few tears, along with preparations for the services and burial.

The funeral was nice, and very moving, with many tributes to a good man whose life was unfairly cut short by this devastating disease.

He was 76, but most of his family lived well, into their 90’s.

My father (and later my mother) was buried in Linden New Jersey. When they bought the plots, the cemetery had been close to home and surrounded by a meadows and trees, but was near highways and within sight of some refineries. Still, he had a nice spot, near some trees…and I was okay with it, as I believe that who my father was had already passed on the next world, as a spirit as strong as his could never be stilled.

We were back home that evening, but had little rest, as the next few days were spent showing the uncles around New York and other family obligations…and that was kind of fun, as we got a chance to sightsee places I would not have gone to otherwise, like Ellis Island.

It was not until the end of the week, when everyone had gone home, and my wife went back to work. I was home alone, when it all began to sink in. I remember that it was early afternoon, when I found myself contemplating a patch of sunlight on the living room floor, and felt like I could just capture that moment and hold it forever. 

That was when I realized that life would not ever be “the same”. In a few days I would go back to work, and take up the fabric of my life, but following a new thread…one which would lead to some dramatic changes.

In the years to come, more threads would be pulled, and I would come back to that moment, when all was still and quiet…and I gave myself time to grieve.

And with all the places I have been, and things I have seen since then, I still find myself returning to that little patch of sunlight from time to time, when seeking peace.

I take it as a gift, one of many, from my father.

Milo’s Dad

 

I remember how the old train car rattled and creaked.

It still had the old wicker seats, the ones where the backs moved so you could change the direction you sat, either facing the front or the back on the train. It also had the globe lights and faded brass fittings. Fortunately, the windows also opened, which was our only source of ‘air conditioning’ as the fans mounted along the ceiling were ineffective.

Milo’s dad took this train every day during his commute to his Publishing job in New York City (almost the same commute as I would be taking about 15 years later), and he explained that this was one of the old Eerie Lackawanna train cars, untouched since the 1920’s (fifty years in the past); I was impressed, but I think he was being sarcastic. We were on our way to Hoboken, where we would visit the famous (though I did not know it then) Clam Broth House, where we would feast on steamed clams!

I was disappointed that there were not fried, until I got a good taste of the fare.

I am not sure if we made it into Manhattan that day…though I do not think so, as the point was to make it to Hoboken, where Milo’s dad had some errands to run, and to visit the restaurant.

“Milo” was one of my best friends.

I had known him so long that I do not even remember when we met, although we knew each other from church, where our parents had become friends. Milo and I would hang out a lot together, both at church and when we could get rides to each other’s houses. He lived in West Orange; I was in East Orange. Although he lived in a nicer neighborhood, he had smaller house. I remember the he shared a room with his sister, there was small partition between the rooms, closed off by a curtain, but she had to walk through his room to get to the hall, bathroom and stairs. This was annoying for them both, but irrelevant in terms of this story, except that it did lead to some Barbie and GI Joe interaction from time to time (always platonic) when I was over there playing.

I also remember that Milo had a great comic book collection, and could skateboard better than me (not really difficult to do).

During the winter, we would sometimes go to the sledding hill at South Mountain, until it was closed for safety (at the bottom of the hill was a busy street, and there were no fences, which led to some unfortunate results), during the summers we’d sometimes go to the YMCA, Vacation Bible School, or just explore the neighborhood with the other kids.

But mostly, we saw each other at church. In fact it was after the service one day, during the Social Hour, that Milo and I were wrestling, when he pushed me, causing me to crack head on a step…leading to yet another trip to the ER and another cool scar!

This did not hurt our friendship at all, as I never thought to blame him, it was only an accident, just like when I broke my toe while playing Batman and The Joker with another friend.

However, our friendship did end a short time later, very suddenly during a summer vacation trip.

Because my father was a College Professor, we would often take long summer vacation trips to see friends and family of to go camping. As this was before the internet or smartphones, when on these trips, we were out of the loop in regard to news from home.

Therefore, every few days my mother would call home and talk to one of my older brothers to check on the house, dogs, etc. It was during one of these calls that she found out that Milo’s dad ‘came-out’ to his mom, which was not well received after 20 years of marriage, and she abruptly took the kids and moved home to Iowa.

I never knew my parents to engage in gossip, but this was pretty big news…especially for the mid-seventies, and being friends, my parents were worried about the impact on the whole family.

I was shocked when I heard the news, and found it hard to understand what had actually happened. Remember, I was a kid and I really did not k now a lot about what it meant to be Gay back then…only what I saw on TV and heard from my friends.

With this as a reference, I thought that this was terrible news, and felt so sad for Milo, his sister and their mother…and I was sad that I had lost a friend.

By the time we got home from vacation, the rumor-mill was in overdrive, and it was not kind to Milo’s dad as no one was feeling a whole lot of sympathy for him. The focus was on the rest of the family, and he was seen as being selfish and cruel to have been ‘living a lie’ for so long.

As if he had a choice.

Despite all the talk, and the occasional dirty look, Milo’s dad continued to come to church, but was kept at arm’s length by most of the kids who had known him through Milo and his sister. Although it was never said out loud, and there was never any reason for it, there was the vague perception he might be a threat to us…especially the boys.

While this was very ignorant of us, we were kids, the sad thing is that it was not just kids who felt this way.

It was not that we meant to be mean, we just missed our friend, and we didn’t get it…we did not understand.

A few years after the break-up and divorce, Milo and his sister came back for a visit. Unfortunately, I did not get to spend much time with my friends. I only saw them once after church, and due to the circumstances and gossip, it was awkward – no one knew what to say and it was as if they were strangers. Within the week they were back on their way to Iowa, and I never saw them again.

As far as I remember, my parents did not buy into all this talk. They continued to show friendship and support to Milo’s dad and offered their support. Any time they caught me repeating gossip or expressing any other Homophobia, I would be chastised and told to learn more about the subject, instead of listening to rumors.

I would like to say I listened…but learning would take some time.

It wasn’t until I was well into my high school years, that my thinking began to change. That was when I found out that (gasp) I knew more than one LGBTQ person, and once I really got to really know these people, I realized that they are just that: people!

It was one of those real ‘duh’ moments.

As I continued to grow up and learn, I began to see the challenges that LGBTQ people have had to face in their lives, simply for being themselves, and looking for their own happiness in life. They have been denied housing, education, jobs, marriage, parenthood, and they have been marginalized, imprisoned, beaten and killed.

While in Seminary, I got the opportunity to spend time with people who were struggling with, and dying from, AIDS. I also got to see how many other people were suffering due to this new prejudice (on top of all the old ones), which was caused by the fear of this disease. I had the opportunity to listen to their stories and I was moved by them.

This is how I learned, and learning opens minds.

Today, I will sometimes remember Milo’s dad, and wonder about what it must have been like for him, how difficult it must have been for him. So many of us were focused on Milo, his sister and mom, and tended to think of his dad as a ‘bad guy’ for up-ending their lives.

Yet, he paid a heavy price for coming out. His confession broke his family, his kids were taken away from him, he lost friendships, which took away a lot of the support that could have seen him through these difficult times. I remember him as a good person, kind and thoughtful, and he did not deserve the treatment he received.

It is easy to excuse my behavior, by saying I not know any better, that I was just a kid, but to do so ignores what I was taught, both by my parents and by my church.

Every Sunday we heard preaching about the Grace of God, which was given for ALL people through the sacrifice of Christ. We heard how Jesus reached out to those who were homeless, imprisoned, marginalized, and embraced all people as God’s children.

We learned that Jesus was concerned about how we treated each other, calling upon all his followers to treat others with compassion, with love.

From all that I learned, I do not believe that Jesus would have been joining in on the gossip and recrimination, but he would have embraced Milo’s dad with understanding, and offered him comfort in the midst of his struggles and pain.

What I should have learned (if I was paying attention) was that none of us have any business throwing stones, but that we should be following the example of Jesus, who spoke out for those who knew injustice and prejudice.

The truth is that we should have known better, I knew Milo’s dad for most of my life, should have been able to see him as the person he was, and not as a label.

Looking back, I realize it took real courage for him to stay involved in our church and community after he came out. It might have been easier for him if he had moved away, and started over somewhere new, like Manhattan, which was a little more welcoming, and closer to his work.

Yet, he stayed long enough to find some small measure of acceptance once again.

Recently, there has been some controversy about the Pride events being held in June, with a few saying “Why do THEY have to make a big deal out of it, why can’t they just live their lives?” There was even a call for a “Straight Pride” march in Boston!

These calls miss the whole point of the Pride events…

It would be great if “they” could just live their lives as choose, in peace, without having to face prejudice and scorn. However, even today it is not that easy. LGBTQ people are still facing grave injustice and stereotypes, and they are still being beaten and killed for being who they are.

It certainly wasn’t that easy for Milo’s dad.

I liked him and looked up to him when I was still friends with Milo, before he told his truth. Today, I can admire him for his courage, and am sorry for how I treated him and others before I grew-up and learned better.

Knowing better is helpful, but I am no saint, and still have so much to learn (or unlearn), I still struggle with many prejudices, but at least I am aware of them and am trying to be a better person.

I am also looking forward to the time when we won’t give a second thought to who anyone chooses to love and care for, because what really matters is LOVE, expressed and shared!

For in this broken and divisive world herein lies our hope: that we follow the call of Christ to Love one another above and beyond all the other bullshit that can get in the way.