She let me love him

It’s been almost 30 years since I signed a Father’s Day card. I’ve written about how my dad didn’t pay taxes or child support and how his love of beer and cigarettes led to an early death, but he was my dad. And I loved him.

Since he died when I was 13, I never really got him anything for Father’s Day. Of course, I gave him little gifts, but my mom always bought them and ushered the signing of a card. Mom made no bones about his shortcomings or her frustrations with him, but without hesitance she encouraged and fostered my relationship with my father. 

I have storybook memories of Dad. He took me fishing at Twin Lakes. We’d stop at a gas station on the way and he’d get a quart of buttermilk, orange circus peanuts and Budweiser. I got chocolate milk. We never got sunscreen. I hated the actual fishing from the worms to the wiggling fish, but I’m sure my love of chocolate milk stems from those moments. One time when I caught a fish and screeched as it squirmed, Dad laughed. He told me I was just like that in my mom’s belly and that’s why he called me “Bluegill” before I was born.

On weekends when I’d visit him, I hung out in his bar in Lava Hot Springs. I had my own pool cue, and when it wasn’t busy he’d set me up with a Shirley Temple and a bag of Cheetoes, and I’d shoot at the cue ball while singing with the juke box. I knew my escape route and hiding places if the authorities came in, and I knew all of Crystal Gayle’s “Don’t it make my Brown Eyes Blue” before I knew the Pledge of Allegiance.

Dad would come to Pocatello now and then and he’d take me to North’s Chuck Wagon Buffet at the Pine Ridge Mall. Kids’ meals cost a quarter for every year. I watched my meals go up in 25 cent increments each birthday. When he’d drop me off at home, he pretended to empty his wallet and give me “spending money.” I’d run into the house waving 11 one-dollar bills as he backed out of the driveway. “Look what Dad gave me! Isn’t he great?” Mom would smile and swear under her breath and wonder where he was when I needed winter boots. 

Dad’s lung cancer diagnosis came in the middle of my sixth grade year. I gave him two polo shirts for that Father’s Day. One had thick red and grey stripes and the other was bold teal strips separated by thin black lines.

At the end of seventh grade when he had his left lung removed, he came to stay with us until he could go back to Lava on his own.  I don’t remember if he ever went back to Lava. The infection where his cancerous lung had been was so severe that the doctors left a drain tube in his chest. He had to wear a bandage wrapped around his torso, and when he coughed, it would be soaked. Mom had to change it for him a few times a day, and to make that easier, Dad only wore button-up shirts after that. He gave me his Father’s Day polos, and when Mom sewed turtle buttons on the teal one, I wore that  baggy men’s shirt for my school picture.

Dad stayed on our couch for months, and I resented having to share the TV with him. I hadn’t thought anything could be more boring than fishing until he started to watch it on TV. I barely got a peep out of my mouth to complain when Mom yanked me into the kitchen. She made it crystal clear that he would never fish again, so I needed to just sit with him and be still while he dreamed.  So I did.

The things kids are supposed to get out of their parents marriage—a modeling of compassion and forgiveness, witnessing love and compromise—I got out of my parents’ divorce. Mom probably spent more time mad at my dad than not, and I imagine she spent Father’s Days gritting her teeth and biting her tongue, but it was worth it.

I remember my dad’s finer qualities and truly appreciate him in part because of my mom.  She let me fish without sun screen and play pool in a seedy bar. She let me squeal over spending money and sport too-big shirts. In spite of their relationship and his downfalls, on Father’s Day and every day, she let me love him.

  

Happy Father’s Day to all the different dads out there. And unless you’re watching fishing from the couch, please apply some sunscreen today.

Dad's 44th birthday holding his little "Bluegill"

Dragon Slayers and Lovers of this World

“Anyone can slay a dragon ...but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That's what takes a real hero.” –Brian Andreas

My Facebook feed has been alive like a noxious weed this week. After Caitlyn Jenner’s Vanity Fair cover was announced, the tendrils of commentary have been hard to avoid. As a few friends voiced opinions I didn’t agree with, I did something I don’t normally do on social media. I challenged them just a touch. The central theme that irked me is the opinion that Caitlyn Jenner is not a hero and that she is undeserving of ESPN’s Arthur Ash Award for Courage. 

So, how does one define a hero and courage? The words are like beauty—subjective and in the eye of the beholder.  

Brian Andreas is an artist and writer from Iowa and he has a knack for capturing a thousand words in only a few. As I thought about courage and heroes this week and how I would define them, I recalled Brian’s quote above. I love the simplicity in his words. I love that he recognizes a wide-spread notion of a typical hero being a mighty dragon slayer of sorts but that heroism lies in accomplishing something difficult and for many it can be most difficult to love and keep loving.

Caitlyn Jenner’s announcement this week happened days before I traveled to Boise for a scholarship reception. This winter I helped review applications and conduct scholarship interviews for the Pride Foundation. The Pride Foundation is a regional community foundation that inspires giving to expand opportunities and advance full equality for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) people across the Northwest. 

I have been waiting for years for an opportunity like this. My entire college education including books, fees, room and board was paid for through scholarships from Idaho State University, engineering technical societies, and organizations dedicated to the advancement of women in the workplace. While I have donated to numerous scholarship funds over the years, I have never been involved in the application review and award process until now.  

This year the Pride Foundation awarded $403,850 to 124 student leaders in Alaska, Idaho, Montana, Oregon and Washington. Nine scholars are from Idaho, collectively being awarded over $34,000, and I got to meet four of them this week. Two of them, similar to Caitlyn Jenner, identify as transgender. As I met people and mingled with other foundation supporters, I was acutely aware of the courage in the room.

Melissa Vera was one of the LGBTQ winners who I helped interview over a video conference call. In person and after the stress of the review process, I was struck by her humor, candor and resilience. During her speech she said, “My mother was a meth-addict for ten years and I grew up not knowing where my next meal would come from or if we would have to move into the car yet again because rent wasn’t paid. My circumstances during that time didn’t instill much confidence in the world and myself. I had to deal with physical violence in the home, hunger, neglect and a constant feeling of stress and fear. As I grew up, I had to realize that I never lost that raw innocence and hope. “

Another winner was Dianne Piggott, a transgender woman from Boise. While she received her scholarship medal the night’s host said “As a transgender woman, she has gained valuable insight into change and valuing an authentic life. Though she didn’t grow up in Idaho, she assures us she got here as soon as she could.” 

I talked with a third scholarship winner from Boise named Kale Gardner. Kale was kicked out of the house while in high school and has found a family to live with while attending the summer session at the College of Western Idaho, majoring in sociology. When I asked if the rest of the evening would be full of late night celebrations and revelry, Kale simply said, “Well, I have homework to do.” 

All of these folks had smiles and sparkles that showcased, if not their love of this world today, their attempts at such. For me, I have heroes who try to make this a safer and more loving world, and I have heroes who help me love it when it’s not. I see heroes who do just as Brian Andres says and they wake up every day loving the world.  

As I’ve followed Bruce Jenner’s transition to Caitlyn and as I think about those I met this week, that’s what I see: people who are trying to live in a way that lets them be their authentic self and love this world. Is Caitlyn Jenner a hero to me? Well not exactly. She’s a heroine.

Pride Foundation Scholarship winners with pink ribbons: Kolby Deagle, Melissa Vera, Dianne Piggott and Kale Gardner. Pride Foundation Idaho Regional Development Organizer Steve Martin in the middle.

The Other Mothers on this Day

For me, Mother’s Day is a day of remembrance. During a visit to New England last summer, I caught up with my mom’s old college roommate. I love to hear people’s stories about my mom.  Her friend Kaye told me how excited my mom was to become a mother—how there “never was a more wanted child.”  Mom’s former co-workers have told me how she displayed my report cards at work, kept everyone apprised of any athletic accomplishments, and how she always called me “my Billie.” 

My mom herself told me that when she encountered my dad at a bar in Hailey, Idaho, the booming of her biological clock was deafening .  After meeting his children from his second marriage, she decided he “had good enough genes,” and they were married six weeks later at the Elko, Nevada court house.  I came along three and a half years into their marriage and they divorced before I turned four.

 Although I saw my dad maybe one weekend a month, my mom had full custody and was the parent. I really just played when I hung out with my dad. Mom did all the school shopping. She took me to school. She picked me up from daycare. She cooked dinner until I was old enough to scramble eggs and master Hamburger Helper. She held the stress when I outgrew shoes and had to wait until payday to get a new pair, and she handled all the questions about God and sex and politics with candor and a comfort that led me to think everyone talked like we talked.

  

One of my favorite things my Mom ever made me do was in the days before Mother’s Day when I was six years old. She had me pick out a Mother’s Day Card for my first grade teacher.  I thought it was weird at first, but then she explained. Who did I spend my days with? Who was helping her raise me the most? She sat me down and had me write in my best D'Nealian handwriting, “Happy Mother’s Day to my other mother.”  I can remember giving them to a couple other teachers and the lady who ran my daycare over the years.

 

I thought this was normal. I thought everyone, too, viewed teachers and other childcare works as secondary parents, but the older I get, the more unique I realize my mom’s perspective was. Mom viewed her relationship with my teachers as a joint venture. They were in it together. Raising me to be a happy, healthy, confident, contributing member of society, although it truly fell on her shoulders, was a mission assumed by every adult who worked with me. She knew she couldn’t do it alone, and she sure as heck knew they couldn’t do their jobs without her doing hers.

It was a brilliant motherly move. We want kids to feel loved and nurtured and constantly supported, and in framing my teachers as part of a mothering network, I never felt alone. Another element of this brilliance was what a diverse group of “other mothers” I had. Some were more nurturing than others. Some more disciplining. Some imparted humor through their teaching while others focused on harsh realities of the world I was growing up to live in. I consider myself to have had some of the best “parents”, and since most of them were women, “mothers” in the world.

I’m sure an internet search could let me know the origins of Mother’s Day in May in seconds, but I think it’s uncanny that it occurs toward the end of the school year. Moms and teachers always love to hear a grateful or encouraging word, and at this time of year, it’s especially appreciated.

I naturally miss my mom each Mother’s Day, but I know I’m surrounded by so many other mothers who continue to nurture and scold and coddle and correct when we need it, just like she did. Happy Mother’s Day to all the other Mothers out there.

Welcome home, Lynda Carter

Back in January, I wrote a column called “The ImportantThings.” I ended by saying, “We’ve got clean underwear and a bit o’ quiet, and that is important and enough for now while I wonder what will bubble to the forefront of 2015’s other important things."

When I wrote that, I was excited about the new year and what it might hold. I didn’t realize how important a youthful dog in the house was for me until my three year old labradoodle died weeks later.  A number of Idaho State Journal readers have approached me with condolences since I talked of Bob’s passing, so I feel compared to share. We got a puppy!

On the first of February, instead of settling into the Super Bowl and 10,000 calories of pizza, Doritos, and a courtesy carrot stick, my girlfriend and I grabbed some apples and Cliff bars and drove to Boise. We found a breeder online who had one female puppy left from a Christmas litter. We wanted a male, so we didn’t jump right away, but I just kept thinking that with all of her litter mates having gone home weeks before, she must have been waiting for us.  And she was.

I wore my favorite ninja turtle hoodie and we arrived at the breeder’s home after they got out of church. Right as we met the puppy, a pre-teen girl walked into the living room and shouted, “I love your sweatshirt!” The whole family is fans of the ninja turtles and the mom told us her nickname while growing up was “Turtle.” Needless to say, we are now Facebook friends and enjoy sharing our love of turtles and pups across the state.

As the Patriots squeaked by with the Super Bowl win over Seattle, we brought that 10-week old goldendoodle puppy home. Her name is Lynda Carter.  I’ve always wanted to name a pet after the actress who played Wonder Woman—2015 was the year!

A goldendoodle is a crossbreed of a poodle and a golden retriever.  Lynda Carter’s dad is a standard poodle and her mom is a first generation golden doodle, meaning her grandmother on her maternal side was a golden retriever and her grandfather was a poodle. Are you following her family tree here? In other words, Lynda Carter is 25 percent golden retriever and 75 percent standard poodle.  She’s on her way to being 60 pounds of mischief and delight.

Since Lynda Carter is a puppy and in trouble most of the time, I use her full name most of the time. It’s a bit of a mouthful, and sometimes I feel silly walking her around Holt Arena with firm and curt shouts of “Lynda Carter, heel!” I imagine that’s how parents of Alexander’s and Elizabeth’s feel.

It brings me joy when the secretary at the vet’s office says, “Hi. We are calling to confirm Lynda Carter’s appointment.” They use her full name, too. It’s so sweet how they cater to the crazy animal lover in me.  They were the ones who watched me sob when Bob died, so I imagine my rekindled smile brings them a little joy, too.

Lynda Carter has required a lot of work. Training her and molding her into a solid companion and good canine citizen is important to me. It’s probably as important as clean underwear, and it’s proving to be more important than establishing the stillness and quiet I need to write.

Businesses and executives often use the phrase “shifting focus” when they assume new strategies or undertake new jobs, and my own focus has shifted greatly with Lynda Carter’s arrival.  I continually think in prose and I have hundreds of columns unwritten in my head that I hope to share one day, but the wonder pup is stealing every second of spare time right along with my shoes, socks and underwear. She chews and poos with no attention to my plans, and when I don’t meet her demands, she targets her puppy power toward the poor cat Phil. 

 

I’m sad to say that I’ll be writing a lot less in the near term, but so thrilled to say welcome home, Lynda Carter.  

Lynda Carter posing while out on a walk.

Building Can Start Now

One of the first items on my bucket list is to build a real bucket list. I know I will die before doing all I want, so I let bucket list items float in my head rather than write them down. Besides, most of my jumbled inventory is built as I experience something spectacular and think, “That should have been on my bucket list. Check.” 

This may not be how bucket lists work—by adding items after the fact—but since it’s my list, I get to build it however I want.

Last week, I simultaneously checked off and added being the keynote speaker at Idaho State’s 15^th annual “Women in Work” conference.  Each spring, ISU’s Center for New Directions hosts over 225 girls in grades 9 through 12 from regional high schools, ISU students, and community members to learn about occupations in Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math (STEM). Degrees and certifications in STEM can provide a livable income, employment benefits, and professional opportunities extending beyond a minimum wage job and into a successful career.

This was an exclusive opportunity and an honor. I’d been nervous since I was asked last September. They wanted a head shot for their program and website, and although they said my “newspaper one” would work, I hesitated. I am wearing a ninja turtle t-shirt in this picture and it was taken at the Dallas World Aquarium on a summer vacation. Comic book t-shirts may be standard attire for an engineer, but I wanted my keynote persona, both in promotional materials and on the day of the event, to be polished and professional.

I've wanted to share this full pic since it's been used as my head shot.
She's been right there next to me since I started writing.   

 A friend of mine took a distinguished headshot featuring makeup and plucked eyebrows, but I struggled on the morning of the conference. I had one last dollop of hair gel that I burned calories to squeeze out of the tube. Then on autopilot, I rubbed it right on my cheeks like face lotion. I was hours away from the stage to portray a brilliant and inspirational engineer hoping to inspire young women, and now I was out of hair gel. At least I had “Hot ‘n’ Sexy” cheeks. It was a miracle that the mascara and deodorant ended up where they were supposed to.

See? Distinguished. 

This conference showcases women in various STEM careers so attendees can learn about opportunities they might not know exist and envision themselves in a STEM career down the road. My hair gel fiasco provided a comedic opening for my talk and allowed an authentic opportunity to connect with universal feelings of nervousness and inadequacy. What female teen (or male adult) doesn’t face these feelings?

I showed pictures of me in a pink tutu at age three, in my Girl Scout uniform at age seven, and with my trombone in high school. I showed myself in a bike helmet and an ISU t-shirt during my college volleyball years. I hoped the ballerinas, Girl Scouts, band members and athletes might see bits of themselves in any of the pictures and were able to further visualize attending college or embarking upon a STEM career.

My talk was rich in the “Engineer” part of STEM because I’m an “E.” I talked about a fragment of what engineers build: bridges, roller coasters, electronics, methodologies, semiconductors, process flows, prosthetics, networks… The list is infinite. (And yes, for the “Math” folks in STEM, “infinite” is debatable, but let’s do that another day.)

I was clear. I wanted the girls to open their eyes to the possibilities and promise of STEM. I conceded, however, that despite the presentations, hands-on activities, the amazing women they’d meet, and the encouragement they’d receive, they may choose a different path entirely. I begrudgingly let them know that’s okay, but I still hope they become women who build.  

Women can build families. We can build medical practices. We can build generations of students in becoming teachers. Women can have a hand in building darn near anything.

Like we need our foundations, bridges and educations to be strong, our society needs strong women, too. We are half of the population—think of all that is built upon or from us. If we as women are going to build anything, we need to be willing and able to stand strong, to be firm, and to help build each other.

Tearing down happens all around us, but we don’t have to be a part of it. We can build. I encouraged every single girl in the audience, whether they consider a career in STEM or not, to become a woman who builds. It’s not always easy, but the beauty in building is that it can start any time. Whether it’s a bucket list, the next generation of STEM professionals, yourself or others, building can start now.