A Couple Christmas Schemes from One Wise Woman

Published in the Idaho State Journal on Dec 26, 2018.

During a scant block of solitude this week, I put on a Pandora Christmas station, added a dash of eggnog to my coffee and settled in to wrap presents for the kids. I wrap like a kindergartner –with more jagged crumples than smooth creases and so much excitement I don’t imagine the recipient will notice the botched Scotch tape. Wrapping presents becomes a meditative exercise and as I find my Zen, I find myself recalling bits of Christmases past.

My mom did a magnificent job making Christmas magical when I was a kid. A couple of her specific schemes come to mind. 

Our tree topper was a plastic Tinkerbell-inspired angel in a crushed red velvet dress with gold cardboard wings. Her jeweled shoes were highlighted with a spritz of tinsel. Her name was Angel. When I was really little, Mom convinced me that Angel was barely hanging on atop the tree, and I needed to keep an eye on her so she didn’t fall. The most stoic moments of my life were at age three, sitting at the base of the tree amidst the colorful glow looking up and pleading, “Don’t fall, Angel. Don’t fall.” 

Who gets a three year old to be calm on Christmas Eve? And how? My mom was a wise woman.

My parents divorced when I was four, and although Christmas celebrations changed, Angel was a constant. When it was just Mom and me, it was clear who presents under the tree were for and from, but Mom added a touch of enchantment. She labeled the gift tags as though presents were from famous people or fictional characters. At first I received gifts from Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh and Wonder Woman. As I got older and my interests and knowledge broadened, I’d see gifts from Eleanor Roosevelt, Robin Williams and Axl Rose.

Our Christmases never held extravagant or expensive gifts, so this element of wonder stayed with me. The creative labels brought more merriment and fantasy to the holiday, and it showed that Mom was tuned in to my expanding pursuits, that she knew me. Sometimes as much thought went into the labels as it did the gifts. Often, she’d give me hints. I got a Crayola Caddy from Vincent Van Gogh and a Walkman cassette player was a joint gift from Cindi Lauper and George Michael.  And I always got something from Angel.

I do this with the kids today. It’s fun to see them look for the gift tags rather than simply counting the presents or gauging their sizes and contents. The labels introduce a Christmas connection.  This year, they’re getting chocolates from Willy Wonka, a science experiment from Albert Einstein, and the oldest, who’s interested in law school, has gifts from Michelle Obama and Ruth Bader Ginsberg.  Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Nikola Tesla and Abe Lincoln are also among this year’s gift-givers at our house.

The kids are too old to be tricked into tranquility over a tree topper four times their age, but after their mom and I got married and I explained the history of Angel, they welcomed this bit of my personal history into our family’s blend of holiday traditions. But sadly, there will be no presents from Angel this year.

During a decoration cleanup, our golden doodle Wiley Wayne chewed her beyond repair. I was devastated. As I was examining the depth of my disappointment, I was able to put it in context. My mom died a month after my 28^th Christmas, and Angel made it to my 44^th.  My tree topper spent more Christmases with me than my mother.

Hard to be mad at that face, but...

Just sadness

My wife’s heroic googling prowess found a tree topper on EBay almost identical to Angel. It was still in the vintage 1970’s box. She was afraid to give it to me and worried how I’d react. She knew that Angel couldn’t be replaced. Yet when I recall those still flashes of my childhood, the new tree topper’s wings were as shiny and her cheeks, as rosy as Angel’s when I first met her.  

We named the new tree topper Rosie because of those cheeks and in honor of Mom’s love of Rosie the Riveter and her “We Can Do It” motto.  Rosie’s dress is a deep gold where Angel’s was red, so this helps make Rosie uniquely ours.

As our family’s holiday traditions continue to mesh and evolve, Rosie is something, or rather, someone we have together.  I wonder what she will get everyone for Christmas this year.  

Rosie

Caution, Hope and Poky Pride

Published in the Idaho State Journal on November 25, 2018

 

Last Friday the Pocatello High School Human Rights and Art Clubs painted the rock in front of the school. Using six different cans of paint, they transformed the rock into a rainbow.  This was a representation of the LGBT pride flag and a peace flag. I am a co-advisor for the Human Rights Club, but I missed the last few meetings due to my day job. I didn’t know about the rock painting until I received a picture that afternoon. There were 11 beaming smiles behind the same rock I painted more than 25 years ago when I was a student at Poky High.

After work, I drove to the school to photograph the rock on its own. I went to bed Friday night proud of those kids for being such an active and visible part of their student body and thrilled that the administration and student council supported their efforts. Sixteen year old me never would have imagined.

On Saturday morning, my friend and former classmate Courtney Fisher messaged me. Courtney is also the spokesperson for Pocatello Chubbuck School District 25.  “Did you see on Facebook that the rock was vandalized last night?”  I hoped it was good ole Highland or Century rivalry related, but my gut knew it wasn’t. 

Someone spray painted “fag flag” on the front.  

I immediately worried about the students.  I wanted to fix it before they found out. I didn’t want them to be upset by the words or know their work was ruined.  I also didn’t want them to retaliate out of hurt and anger. Feelings of hurt and anger are such a natural part of our human existence, and as advisors it was now on us to discuss healthy coping strategies and assist students as they processed these feelings. 

When I was a junior at Poky and ran for student body president, art teacher and legend Bob Beason drew a caricature of me for campaign posters.  Someone scribbled male genitalia on a few along with that same slur. My reaction then was similar. I was sad that someone marred Mr. Beason’s work, and I didn’t want him to find out. 

I was not out in high school, but apparently my mullet was. 

An image of the rock with the graffiti hit Facebook before the school district’s maintenance crew could cover it. At the time of this writing, people are still sharing the picture with the slur along with commentary about their disgust, anger, and hurt.  There’s no way to determine if the vandal was bored, intending to cause fear, expressing true hatred or an LGBT individual seeking to garner attention. My thought is that this was likely done out of adolescent mischief and that the offender is not fully aware of the hate and hurt that F-word carries. Regardless, the tagging of the Poky rock last weekend stung the LGBT community, myself included.

Every time the image containing the slur was shared on social media, so was the ignorance and ill will.  Friends and strangers expressed that people should be aware this language is still used and that hate still exists. There’s a fine line between spreading awareness and spreading hate. 

It is incumbent upon us as LGBT individuals that while we are spreading awareness of our struggles or coping with them through public displays and commentary on social media, that we are also spreading hope. When we use one breath to tell law makers, law enforcement and fellow citizens that hate and discrimination exist, we must use the next breath to encourage others like us to keep living and loving. 

I’ve dealt with being called a “fag” for 30+ years.  I don’t like it, and it breaks my heart when I see people wounded by the word. It can make me afraid of what other acts might follow, but I’ve learned to live with caution, not fear.

As the image made its way across social media, people saw and felt the slur, but they didn’t see and feel the joy of the kids who painted the rock together.  For the first time (that I’m aware of), an element of that longtime tradition celebrated and recognized a population of students who’ve always been there but often felt like they needed to live in the shadows. The can’t-miss rainbow at the entrance of Poky High wasn’t a political statement; it was a testament to the school motto “PHS: Where everybody is somebody.” 

Two advisors repainted the rainbow on Saturday. It was tagged again Sunday night and another art teacher restored it Monday morning. She added the words “Be Kind.”  Soon the rock will go back to red and blue, but for a few days it’s been a colorful display of everything the Pocatello High School rock represents – bold, enduring and resilient Poky Pride.  

The Second One - 1,000 Words

She sent me this pic while I was at work on Friday. This is the dress she wore when she married me two years ago today.  A thousand words for sure.

We picked our wedding date (9/3) because we both love Idaho’s Septembers,  but also because the numbers of the day have been significant in our lives. At the top of the list, nine was my volleyball number and she’s got three kids. Ahem. We’ve got three kids. 

She was trying the dress on Friday because we planned to wear them last night at our celebratory dinner. We’ve road tripped this weekend to visit her oldest daughter who’s begun her freshman year at college. When we rolled into Boise last night however, we were beat from the long, twisting drive from Moscow.  We’re hoping to feel like going out tonight back home in Poky.

Back to the picture… 

The dress. She found it in the Dallas airport months before the date when she went back home to visit her ailing grandmother. Our wedding and favorite colors are purple and green, so this was simply perfect. Now every time the boys visit their grandparents, the oldest one sends her pictures from that dress shop in the airport showing us his favorite patterns with commentary.

Her legs. My wife has some damn beautiful calves. A piece of advice I got for our wedding day was to notice a few “snapshots” and save them in my mind. We got married on our favorite trail system in Pocatello and when we were walking toward the preacher (her brother), I noticed the dress flowing over her shiny, strong calves as we walked on the trail. Gulp. Now when we hike, that image often resurfaces. 

Her feet.  She has a tattoo on her right foot that says “I'm strong & powerful.” Indeed.

 

The bottom of the mirror.  Our sweet doodle Wiley Wayne did that while we were on a vacation at some point over the last two years. We saw Wiley Wayne go by on our Facebook feeds while we were on our honeymoon in Sun Valley. He’d been returned to the breeder who we got our other dog from because “he was defective.”  That family had eight kids with five under five. WILEY WAYNE WASN’T DEFECTIVE!  Neither one of us mentioned seeing the puppy. We both silently kept thinking about him and revisiting his pictures. When one of us casually mentioned, “So, did you see Krystle’s puppy?”  It was over.  Wiley Wayne is our honeymoon baby. It’s a $14 mirror and we’ve not replaced it because (a) he’ll likely do it again, (b) we’d rather spend the money on other things, and (c) clearly, the mirror still works just fine.

The lime green shoe in the back. That’s my latest pair of gym/running shoes. I’ve been a little more regular with the gym since school started and I’ve renewed my gym membership for the semester at ISU, but our hectic lives haven’t helped me make it a habit yet again. That lone shoe is me not giving up on that 6-pack – and her not caring one way or the other.

The wooden chair arm. She refinished the wood on that chair at some point, and it keeps floating around the house while we try to find a place for it.  It’s currently her clothes-catcher by Wiley’s mirror. 

The flat dog bed. We got a cheap CostCo memory foam bed for Alli, the 13 year old black lab that came with her. She doesn’t use the bed very often, but we keep it for her in front of the vent for cool air in the summer and warm air in the winter.  Alli’s been coughing lately and her legs are starting to give out.  That bed probably won’t be in our room too much longer. 

The corner of the bed spread. It took us a while to find a bed spread we both loved. We should have bought three of them. I surprised her for Christmas by painting two of our walls that teal color in the print.

The white walls.  The color is Sherwin Williams Creative White. SW1911.  It used to be a Columbia Paint color (8620) before Sherwin Williams bought Columbia.  I’ve painted four different houses that color—including my mom’s when she was away one weekend for a work conference. A bunch of my friends at the time helped me surprise her because I had to do it while she was gone so her emphysema wouldn’t be enflamed with the fumes.   The fresh paint brightened my childhood home and made selling the house easier when she died not long after. Creative White is crisp and clean and goes wonderfully with accent walls of any color. 

The wood dresser.  After mom died, I used some of her life insurance money to buy bedroom furniture. That piece of furniture is one of the most grown-up and serious things in the house. (Third drawer up holds my emergency clown nose and all sorts of other whimsical junk though.)

The wood floors. I don’t love having a wood floor in the bed room. I prefer to have my feet sink in to plush carpet when I roll out of bed, but with three dogs and four cats, we need something easy to clean.  The wood needs to be refinished   It’ll probably happen after the kids are out of college.  And after we get a new mirror. 

Her hands. One of the gifts of being gay is the deep gratitude and intense thrill every time I hold one of those hands. In public, it entails scanning our environment and assessing verbal and physical threats. If you’ve ever seen us hold hands, you’ve gotten to experience me experiencing that gratitude and that thrill. One of my favorite song lyrics by Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness is, “For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you.”  Yep.