Birthday

I turn 29 Saturday.  Twenty flippin nine...and I'm still in school.  I've been in school since the age of 3 so my mother tells me.  Non-stop I have had a book in my face and a pencil/pen/keyboard in my hands.  As I near the end of this long (and I do mean long) relationship with education I find myself a bit confused and whole lot of tired.

Writing, that is all I do.  I wake up, get a cup of herbal tea, open my laptop, check the email/Facebook/newspapers for an hour and then start writing.  Sometimes I don't know what the hell I am writing, but I do know just seeing the page numbers increase makes me feel like I am doing something.  I treat it as another job - do something for at least 6-7 hours in the day, preferably between the hours of 9 and 5 and then stop.  Problem is I am also working in a "real" job that to requires me three days a week to do something in front of the computer, preferably between the hours of 9 and 5.  Balancing the work with school dissertation writing is already proving to be a bit to much, but what can you do when both need to get done and without one the other is just not as meaningful.

But this post is about my birthday.  I'm turning 29 in case you forgot - don't worry I do as well sometimes.  And...I'm still in school.  I don't know why but this is bothering me a bit more than usual.  I will graduate next May come hell or high water.  I can't stomach the thought of going into my 30s still in school, not taking a break since the age of 3.  It's like a bad haircut that you thought was the shit but over time realize that its a pain in the ass to up keep, expensive to boot, and the appeal start to slowly wear off making you just want to shave your head and start again.

I don't know what I want to do with my life if I am being honest.  I saw an education as way out.  A way out of the Southside, out of the State, out of my life.  I saw education as the ticket to a better life where I would be able to understand what was going on around me and contribute in a fruitful way rather than turn up another statistic.  Hell, so far education has lived up those expectations - I did get out and in the process traveld to places I would never had imagined, took up sports I deemed to be for other people not like me, met a man I would have never come across and moved to another country where I do have a part time job that has me knee-deep in politics, race equality and community activism.  Shit...I really couldn't have asked for much more.

But I am tired and it is wearing on me mentally and physically.  Education got me to where I am now, but I don't know if education will be able to get me to where I want to be.  That may sound weird cause really having the education is opening up my eyes to all the possibilities in front of me so I guess it will always get me to where I want to be, but I am not sure if that will leave me into the academy after I graduate next May.  The dream of being a professor is not there anymore and as I approach 30 the feeling gets stronger and stronger that the dreams of my 20s are quickly changing and morphing into new dreams for my 30s,  That is a little scary, but overall exciting as who in the hell know what will happen.

I feel as if I am saying the same thing over and over, but it is like I have to in order to get it into my head that it's ok to change - physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.  I am still trying to come to terms with my physical changes and have just now realised I was self sabotaging myself every time I was getting closer to my "dream" goal size/ability.  I don't want to do the same with my career goals - I spent to damn long in school and racked up to much debt to allow that to happen. (Again Sam if you can help me with the to, too situation I would be very appreciative)

 So...I turn 29 on Saturday and all I want are good vibes and good times.  I want to reassure myself that I can finish this dissertation and that I can start a new career path, whatever that may be.  I can "not be in school" and I look forward to that day.  I don't expect some rosy life is easy picture to magically emerge once I leave school and enter into a job, but I do expect something different that still challenges me mentally.  As I leave my 20s I want to leave behind a lot of the insecurities and self doubt that plagued me and welcome my thirties with an open mind and heart.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 75 years old. Three and half years ago I was in Seattle, WA with my friend Agatha. We were traveling up to Vancouver, BC in Canada the next day. I was to give my first professional talk as a Ph.D student, on a panel with my adviser. At 10:00pm Pacific time I received a call on my cell phone from my 16 year old brother Sean. Agatha and I were about to go out for dinner and drinks. I answer and say "What the hell are you doing up?" Sean replies "Dad's dead." I don't remember much after that. The rest of the weekend was a blur as I gave the talk and mostly drank. The rock of the family, and the sanity of my mother, died that night.

So who is my dad?  Well to me he was a funny, smart-ass, ginger, caring guy.  Oh, and he was old (I mean when you baby pic is in black and white and they used those bulbs to take it you know your old).  His age made him different from the other dads when I was growing up.  By the time I was born he was already 45, was born in the Second World War, lived on rations, contracted polio before antibiotics were discovered (I mean that is pretty damn old), been in the Air Force, ran bootleg liquor in Oklahoma, and had married and divorced.  I was to be the first of 7 kids my mom and him had together (with two passing away), but dad was already a father so when I was born on August 21, 1981 I had an 18 year old brother to look after me.

Growing up on the far Southside of Chicago with a stay at home dad who looked like Santa Claus and a mother who no one ever saw made my family the odd ones in the neighborhood.

But, you know what I liked it.  Times were hard but it made who I am today.  I learned quick that "normal" was relative.  I also learned that my mom had alot of issues that my dad kept secret.  So I guess my dad was also a good mediator.  He knew when to talk and when to keep quiet, what to tell and what to "forget."  After he died, I saw the work he had put into the family to keep us together.  It killed him in the end really.  His mind and body just gave up as old age and the affects of polio rippled through his body.  I was told he died of pneumonia, but I will never be sure.  Mom can never give you a straight answer. 

But today I remember who he was, and is, in my heart.  Dad was my best friend.  I told him when I first kissed a guy (his response was to tell me, after I asked why the guy wouldn't talk to me again, to "not give it up so easy next time" with a big laugh attached), he bought my first pads and bras, watched me play sports in high school and college when he could, and ordered me my first Archaeology magazine (even though I was doing Anthropology he at least got the overall field right).  We would talk every other day when I moved to Louisiana and then to Michigan (one day he told me I needed friends).  I would ask for his advice and he would always say "I can't live your life, you have to decide what is best for you."  I liked that because even though he missed me and worried about my random travels around the country, he let me be free and allowed me to explore places, things, and ideas that he never could imagine.  He loved me for me and that is all you can ask for in a parent. 

This picture was taken on his 68th birthday.  I was living in Louisiana and my older brother Rob and his wife were still stationed in Sicily.  Schyler was in college somewhere in Iowa and the other three kids were in Chicago, living at home.  All 7 of us had not been in the same country, in the same state, or in the same house for 10 years.  So we decided to surprise dad and all come home.  Rob bought my ticket up and picked me up from the airport.  Dad was already shocked to see his oldest son and daughter-in-law in the country, but he was double shocked when he walked up the stairs and saw Schyler and I sitting in the kitchen.  By this time I had lost 70 lbs, grown my hair long, and wore make-up.  My dad looked at me and said "You're beautiful".  It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told me.  I looked at him and said thanks and gave him the cowboy hat you see in the picture.  Being dad, he said "Ok no more surprises, I don't think my heart can take it."

So now he is gone, but his spirit is somewhere.   Us kids have become a little closer since his passing, but the family is a bit broken.  My mother can't stop her grieving and so takes is out on us, but I am learning to deal with her.   As I come to terms with my dad's death I realize that all I can do is pass on his memory to my kids and let them know that their granddad was a one wild, crazy-ass man who I love with all my heart.  In my quest to live my life I honor my dad.  

Happy birthday dad.