A Book For Dad

Introduction:
So... Here goes. First, I must start with a bit of confession. This blog is kind of a cop out to the book my father requested. A few years back, around the holidays, I asked my dad what he would like for christmas. He said that he would like a book. Not surprised, and a little relieved, I asked which book he would like. He said, "no, I would like your book, I would like a book about your life." Ah, well, this is quite the request, I thought to myself. Anyhow, a little intrigued by the project, I got to work. Well, as it turns out, writing a book is a little harder than it seems. After failing at getting the book ready for christmas that year, I cleverly wrapped the title page I had come up with: The Energetic Differentials of the Species. Well, this project turned out to be way beyond me. So then I got to work on what my dad had actually requested, my book. Well, the discipline required for those pages also proved outside of my abilities, so I have decided that this blog is the best solution to giving my dad some insights in what my book might look like. One day, with a little luck, maybe I could figure out how to turn it in to a real book. Thus, here goes dad, this is for you. I am flattered at the request. I love you very much.

Chapter 1:

I was born into a family of which I have come to learn is unique. Unique, and abundantly filled with love. I was conceived with pure intention. Not only did my mother pray for a child, but specifically a girl child. She doused my father and herself with vitamin supplements until the day she learned she was pregnant. Then, my dad was free of the vitamins but she continued. After four sons my mom was ready for her baby girl. My brothers were from her previous marriage, a gifted Professor of Anatomy, and still a dear friend to my mom and myself, I said my family was unique. How many ex-husbands develop a friendship with their ex-wives new child? My dad, already father to a daughter and a son, didn't pray for a child with the same tenacity as my mom, but as eager to please my mom then as now did his part.. So there you have it. A miracle was made- me. Not that I was any more of a miracle than any child, but my parents weren't spring chickens and, at the time, bearing children at their slightly more mature age wasn't as common as it is today.

My early childhood was nothing short of blessed. I lived in a household with four adoring brothers and two parents thrilled to have me. My mom's eldest son had already moved out to go to college, yes, that makes me twenty years younger than my oldest sibling, and my sister was living with her mother. My mom says that my brothers would walk into the house at the end of the day asking where the baby was. I was never starved for attention, and being the budding Leo that I am today, I ate it up. I have never had an aversion to attention or being adored. Anyhow, it didn't take long for my brothers to trickle out of the house to begin their own prospective lives. This was sad for me, but life went on, I continued to grow.

In July of 1980, one month before I was to turn three years old, tragedy struck. My brother, my dad's only son, was en route to Northern California to deliver ice cream for our family ice cream company when his van rolled in a storm and he did not survive. This shifted the tone of our family household dramatically, it is a tragedy no one will ever fully recover from, in particular, my dad. Being a mere toddler at the time, I was probably least affected by our loss, however, I am curious as to the affects of such a grave loss on the child before articulation. I definitely felt the change of tone in the house hold. Dad didn't come out of his room for several days. My family doesn't talk much about this time. My dad certainly doesn't talk about it. It is through this tragedy, however, that I learned that my dad is a hero. It took me becoming an adult to learn this. During my adolescent years my dad was "stupid and retarded," yes, a pretty clear reflection of how I felt about myself at that time. It was only a few years ago when I learned about what my dad endured during those years. It turns out that my brother wasn't driving at the time of the accident, his girlfriend was. Incidentally, she was charged, by the State of California, with unintentional manslaughter, as it was determined that she was reckless driving at the time of the accident. She was speeding in the rain. Given, she had no money to defend herself in court, my beloved and bereaved father did. Yes, he drove from our home in Santa Barbara to Sacramento, approximately eight hours, to defend the one accused of being the murderer of his son. He did all this while still grieving his son's death. I can not fathom what this was like for my dad. He hired a lawyer who convinced the judge she didn't need jail time, and went home. He went home with a hole in his heart which will never be filled. Burying a child is every parents worst nightmare. But, life went on. He still had children that needed to be fed. So he fed us. He got up every morning, worked all day, and returned to us, minus one, in the evenings. He has always been a strong man. He became the man of his mother's household when he was 19, when he had to collect the body of his father who had stooped over dead while sitting at his desk in his accounting firm. Yes, he has been the one we have all come to depend on for one thing or another.

Alright, but really this is about me... Life for me was still good. Still plenty of people around to love me, and I would imagine seek solace in my innocence. Apart from my dad, it was his daughter by his previous marriage (my sister) who was drastically affected by my brothers' death. She was in Europe at the time, my parents decided not to tell her right away in an attempt to let her finish her travels. She eventually received the call and preceded to break down more and more. She returned to the States- lost, alone and devastated. To me, at this time, she was scary. For the most part we avoided each other. From her perspective I was the spoiled child of her dad and her dad's new wife. Apart from watching in awe as she dressed to go out I didn't have much connection to her at this time. I also remember the many boyfriends she brought home. My sister had a particularly difficult adolescence. She lived with her mom after her parents split. I remember her mom, at this time, as a sad German woman. Unlike "Uncle Dick," the name I always called my brothers' dad, my sister's mom didn't share his open heart toward me. I don't remember her being directly mean to me, but I remember a few things I had picked up on about how she felt about my mom. Given my mom was the central person in my life at this time, I took it personally. Even as a toddler, I thought she was mean. She was. Mean to my dad and to my sister, obviously lashing out at them from a place of her own sadness. She was also incredibly smart, interesting and beautiful; Traits of hers that I would learn later in life, after time had passed, and I was more interesting to talk to. She introduced me to Ana Karinina, and the art of recognizing the perfect opening sentence in literature.

Chapter 2:

My mom's first priority has always been her family. We all knew it growing up. I knew it, but didn't realize until recently what a gift to a child this is. She doted on me to an extreme. She and my grandmother had been waiting for a girl probably since her first pregnancy. Anyway, Doodie, my grandmother, used to get her hair done once a week. Coincidentally, her hair salon required her to walk through the girl's clothing department. Needless to say, I had a new dress every week.. Unfortunately, I wasn't thrilled to be their little doll, not at all. During elementary school I used to walk in the front door and head straight for the "lost and found" drawer in the back of the classroom. Being distraught that in my dress I couldn't hang upside down on the monkey bars with out flashing the entire play ground, or do somersaults with out the same issue, my dresses were stuffed at the back of my cubby for the duration of my school day. This is where they remained until just before pick up time. Worked like a charm, sorry mom.
A little about my mom. I hope my writing this encourages her to write her story because hers is far more interesting than mine. She was raised on her uncle Oscar's farm. Oscar, as in Oscar Hammerstein, lyricist to several groundbreaking musicals. She was born an only child to her Australian mother and Japanese father in pre World War II New York. At age ten she went to boarding school while her father went to a Japanese American internment camp. She spent holidays on Uncle Oscar's farm and remembers it as her childhood home. She has memories of she and her mother sneaking in farm eggs to her father so he could have some nourishment while living interned.
Apparently, being an only child, (apart from her cousins who also spent boarding school holidays on Uncle Oscar's farm) led to her dreaming of being a mother with a big family. She remembers being asked as a child what she wanted to be when she grew up. While her classmates had dreams of becoming a doctor or fireman, she answered that she wanted to be a mother. And she was. An amazing one at that. I could write several chapters devoted to my mother, her charms, in addition to her many paradoxes, but in effort to keep this about me I will continue to write about her merely as it relates to me. Given my mother was raised with out access to after-school dance, piano, singing, sign language, sports, drama, horse riding... she signed me up for ALL of them. After school I was content to play with my friends. Mom wanted me to have every opportunity she didn't have. She won. Head strong and LOUD, if you crossed her, which I did on a regular basis, she usually won.

Chapter 3:

The next big turning event in my life was the birth of my cousin. I am told that awaited her arrived with bated breath. Her mother tells me that I used to pat her belly instructing that that child show up. She was four days late, but once she finally arrived, she was EVERYTHING that I had prayed for and more. While she wasn't an actual baby brother or sister she was very close. As such, she came with the full package any sibling comes with- the good, the bad and the ugly. She also brought these things out in me. Now I had someone to compete with. As she grew into her perfectly golden locks, I now had to fight for the attention that was once naturally showered on me. Sometimes when she pranced around in her cute little tutus, with her ever abundant hair, seemingly growing longer and longer each breath, I just rolled my eyes, and left her alone with her adoring crowed. Mostly, however, we were thick as thieves. Once she was old enough we were writing plays together, putting on dance shows and causing all sorts of trouble. I had a playmate close to my size and I was thrilled. She used to follow alongside me as my shadow and hang on my every word and instruction, it was grand. We were raised in close proximity. Our relationship hit a stalemate for awhile around junior high, but once we finished college we lived together and once again were thick as thieves, up to all kinds of grown up mischief. Today we remain incredibly close.
I remember around my tenth year, life seemed to get complicated. In fact I remember crying at my tenth birthday party. Within a matter of hours life got serious. During my birthday party I noticed an expression on the face of one of my friends' parents. I was sure that this parent disapproved of my party and thought everything was unsafe and mismanaged. In retrospect who knows what was going on in this person's head at this time. Somehow, at that moment, I had turned into an observer, a self conscious one at that. It was as if someone had ripped off the rose colored glasses of my gifted early childhood. Instead of pink and roses being the back drop of my existence I now noticed the subtler shades as well. Suddenly I noticed what people thought, or perhaps, what I thought people were thinking. I felt awkward and uncomfortable in my body. Physically, I hadn't changed much, puberty was still a few years off, somehow I was just more aware of my environment. Particularly, I was aware of people around me. I knew certain kids were popular, certain kids were not, who was the best speller, reader, writer, most funny etc. Suddenly I became aware of every one's special talents, and wasn't quite sure I had one.

Chapter 4:

Life as a prepubescent went on regardless of my insecurity and constant external surveys. It would be years before I made peace with myself, and learned to focus on my internal beauty rather than what everyone around me thought. I was left to wallow in confusion and self judgement. However, no matter how dark my internal turmoil seemed to get I could always seek solace in nature. I could escape in the Santa Barbara foothills anytime I could get there, and usually my petty problems awaiting me at home felt less serious. I also loved to swim, especially in the ocean, and would attempt to get to the beach often. Sometimes I would write to relieve some of the stresses of being a modern day preteen.
Another turning point in my life occurred after the story broke in the LA Times about the Tuna industries mass murder of dolphins. This news tore me apart and led to me becoming an avid reader of the Times, and part time child activist. This issue was so close to my heart as I was in the middle of my love affair with dolphins. I first fell in love with dolphins as a child in Oahu, Hawaii. The parents of my best childhood friend had a home on the North Shore of Oahu. I was fortunate enough to be invited on several of their vacations in Hawaii. By several, I mean sometimes we would travel twice a year. First I fell in love with Hawaii. We would spend our days at the beach, or sightseeing, and our evenings watching the whales traverse the seas in front of us. It was truly a magical time in all of our lives. For me, it was the time I met the dolphins. I remember peering in to the eyes of the dolphins for the first time at Sea Life Park. It was like looking in to the soul of my very dearest friend. I fell in love. When I returned from one of our trips I covered all of my walls with dolphin posters. Every birthday and christmas after this I was sure to get another piece of dolphin paraphernalia. I had dolphin jewelery, dolphin pictures, dolphin clothing, anything dolphin I was surrounded by it for years. When news of the tuna scandal broke I was so horrified and distraught that I proceeded to color nets around all of my dolphin posters. I was a bit dramatic. I joined every campaign that would have me and my ten year old activist self. This gave me a distraction from my constant self observation, but eventually the real teenage years arrived, and what was left of my self acceptance completely vanished until all that was left was an angst ridden, self conscious, full blown teenage girl.

Chapter 5:

In the heat of one of my teenage tirades my dad turned to me and said, "you know ever since you turned 12 and 3/4 you have been a monumental pain in the ass." These words stand out to me as clearly today as they did when they were first spat out, for they were true, and we all knew it. Not that knowing it helped in the slightest, it just made everything more exacerbated, as though I needed any more exacerbation in my already over-sensitive existence. These teenage years lasted way too long. The fighting with my parents seemed to escalate every day. I couldn't relate to them at all, nor they with me. I was like an alien living in a human household. Somehow the only people that seemed to speak my language were my friends and my brothers. I was still very close with most of my brothers, particularly the two younger ones. The youngest brother taught me how to wear imaginary head phones when my mom was yelling. There was a lot of yelling. My saving grace was that I had joined the swim team, and between swimming and school, I wasn't home for much more than sleeping and eating.

As far as my education up until High School, it was nothing short of privileged. I attended private school from preschool through ninth grade. These schools highlighted traits such as respect, integrity and treating others as you would like to be treated. When I entered a public High School in my tenth grade year, my environment suddenly turned upside down. I saw pregnant class mates, fights in the hallway, people cheating, acts my naive, sheltered self never knew occurred in school. This contributed to my already confused state of mind. Personally, I had more hormones swimming through me than there are plankton in the sea and proliferating at the same rate, and scholastically, I was exposed to reality so different than the one I had come from I didn't know which way was up and which was down. Another saving grace at that time was that I had just begun my very first love affair with an amazing, stable, smart and funny young man. Not only did I adore him, but my parents did as well. In general it seems that boy's have a much simpler time relating as teenagers than do their ever more sensitive female counterparts. He seemed to talk to his parents as I would usually shout, he seemed generally interested in their opinions, whereas my eyes remained in the back of my head if any form of communication was happening between my parents and me. He was a good role model for me, not that it helped all that much, I was still hell to live with. My parents literally could not do or so anything that met with my approval.

I had almost made it through my first semester of my tenth grade year when life came to a halt. I was treated with a cortical steroid for a case of poison oak I had come down with while hiking with my boyfriend. It turns out that I have a sensitivity to this variety of pharmaceuticals. When injected with Cortisone I passed out, but this was the least of it. Once given the follow up regimen, my mind ceased to function. First, I stopped raising my hand in class, refusing to participate at all, then I got really paranoid and afraid to be at school at all. My dad's office was walking distance to the school and I started going there when school overwhelmed me. Eventually, I stopped getting out of bed in the morning, stopped talking all together, even to my closest friends, even to my boyfriend. Everyone, especially me, was terrified. That year I had gone from an overall happy child to a wild, spirited and angst filled teenager to a sedate, low functioning teenager. In retrospect, I was reacting to the high stress of my new school surroundings, in conjunction with my teenage hormones and with the adjunct of the medication mishap, my system completely shut down, and refused to reboot for an entire month. I was literally out of school for three weeks before the winter break and one week after the new semester had begun. I refused to see any of my friends. My parents first took me to my family doctor who recommended a psychiatrist who I began seeing regularly. In addition, I was seeing every holistic doctor under the sun, including a psychic who got me in touch with my intuitive abilities. This part was very exciting for my mom, but at this time, a little more than I could balance. This woman became a pivotal role model in my life in the years to come, but at this time, I was already spending an unbalanced amount of time in the spirit world versus the physical one.

The rock bottom of this experience was the incident of hitting my head on the bathroom wall. Everything had gone too far. The thing with trying to describe a mental break down in that one is out of their mind while experiencing this break down, making describing them quite difficult, since, while in them, we are quite literally out of our mind. Regardless, I will attempt to describe the following occurrences with all the truth that I remember. So, I was having a conversation with the spirit of an Indian Guru while I was in the shower. Feelings of utter elation, joy and gratitude moved all through me. I felt gifted, and like I understood why I was having to endure all of this misery. I don't remember much of that shower conversation, but I do remember being instructed to remember the existence of the spirit world and my connection to it. I was told that I was always protected, and not to be afraid. Well, just as soon as I felt this surge of joy and elation I was returned to my now familiar state of pain and misery. Well, this was certainly too much. I had to do something proactive. So, naturally, I start banging my head on the tile wall. I warned you, I was out of my mind. This thrashing noise awoke my mom who thrust herself between me and the wall in a state of pure terror. I was not an easy child to raise. She cradled me for awhile in this position, both of us afraid for what was to come. Yet, somehow this was the beginning of my healing process. I'm not really sure how, but eventually, I re-learned how to put one foot in front of the other, peeled myself out of bed and went to school. I didn't do it on my own, my parents played a crucial role, became patient with me, and then, once again, I was a loud, spirited teenager again, much to their elation. My friends at this time were also amazing. They waited. Suddenly, I was gone, and then I was back, and they were still there, waiting with open arms. I don't believe I was diagnosed with anything at this time, given all of the circumstances at play, but bipolar disorder, commonly referred to as manic depression, was on everyone's mind, particularly since my paternal aunt had suffered from it her whole life. For now, we were all grateful that I had recovered and life continued where it left off. I started my second semester of tenth grade one week in to the semester, but I didn't miss much and I caught up quickly. My boyfriend and I picked up where we left off, it was swim season, and once again, I was a good, partcipating student.