DISCLAIMER

At times it may seem like I may be bashing my father, so before I continue allow me to say that is not the case whatsoever. I truly believe that my father did the best possible.

My father was born in Mexico during the 50’s and immigrated(illegaly: more on that in a later post) to the United States over 30 years ago. He had no formal education and was illiterate. He is a survivor and has made a great life in the U.S. despite that handicap.

MEN NEED MEN TO BE MEN

I often hear that men need to just be men. Usually it is a woman that is disgusted by the behaviour of a man in his life.

The issue that comes into play and one that has really hit home is:
Who is teaching us to be men? Our fathers I would think or at the very least other men in our lives.

However, in most cases (at least for myself) we do not have the obvious teaching occuring.

For example: shaving. It is the modern day man’s only evident Rite of Passage.

My father did not teach me. I stumbled through it and still don’t think I do a good job.

One would think a father would and should teach his son.

I believe he would have had he known that he needed to do so but he “didn’t know what he didn’t know”.

My father’s teachings have been immense. He has taught me and given me my work ethic. He has taught me courage and stubborness. He has taught me many things.

How the hell was I supposed to learn how to be a gentleman if my father was a roughneck mexican? My father never talked to me about how to approach a woman I was attracted to. Hell, my father never even talked to me about women.

Seriously! I have had so many people tell me just to be myself… seriously? Oh you, of great values and charm!

I am who I am! Despite the many changes that I have made in my life, my core values and beliefs are stronger.

These belief changes have made a more grounded person that is not going to sway just because it’s a little breezy. One that accepts pain and expects the pain… because it will come no matter what. Yet I am also one that know there is beauty in every corner. EVERY FUCKIN CORNER! (Oh look, my beauty…)

I have had to learn the hard way. My poor father did the best he could. He did.

One would have hoped that our fathers would give us all the tools we need to succeed, but that’s impossible. They don’t have the tools to give to us. They are all trying to do the best they can.

AND A-RANTING I GO….

It is my duty and responsibility to pick learn these skills and tools and max them the hell out to give to the next generation.

So to all those that think they have it all figured out… kiss my ass. (Damn I am an asshole.)

I know this entire blog may have taken a turn for the dark and bleek. In reality I believe it has become my escape. My escape to just unload a lot my frustrations. And for that I thank you if you are still reading this. I love you.

I suppose I am just fed up with people telling me what I “should” do. I should do X and Y because that is what they believe. I listen and at times I apply those teachings they share, but if I don’t apply them… I swear it is not personal. I simply don’t believe it is something I agree with.

Yes, your intentions are good. Yes, I appreciate you sharing.

But FUCK! Let me be! My lessons are not your lessons. I am not some deadbead father that is contemplating suicide and molesting little girls.

I seem to be doing OK in my life. I am doing the best I can. If I discover I am weak in certain areas, I address them. Your lessons are not my lessons. Your life is not my life. Your journey is not my journey. If I stumble and fuck up as I go along, guess what… so be it. Let me cry my pitiful little woes away.

If you disagree with my beliefs… GREAT! I don’t care. I am not living my life to persuade the world into believing  all I believe is correct. It isn’t.

So please save your breath and closet full of “shoulds” to your yourself. Feel free to share, but please don’t shove. Now run along, while I try to figure out how the hell to shave without getting razor bumps.

Thank you.

So I am working out and getting buff! Get out of my way little girlie man! HAHA!

I bought a supplement recommended to me by my mentor. I had no idea this “supplement” was actually a pak of about 8 pills.

I am committed to doing this and came to a very astute observation (if I say so myself)… I could never be gay. Yup. Thank goodness because I love me some women.

Yet, you may be asking yourself what the hell does the supplement have to do with being gay. And then I would say to you to be patient while I make my point. Wait for it…

The pak included several different size pills. The bigger ones almost made me gag. DAMN!

Those things are huge. I am not sure if this also a reflection of my youth. I don’t remember ever having this problem before.

Once again, this is one of those things I am going to have to think through. Not the gay part, that’s a definite HELL NO!

I am crying as I type these words.

Fuck anyone that says real men don’t cry. Fuck anyone that believes it is a sign of weakness.

Keep living up to your old standards and hopefully you wake up one day and realize that those ancient beliefs of behavior hold us back.

In the last year I have been fighting for custody of my daughters. Today I lost.

They are my world and they will always have me there. ALWAYS!

There. I’m done. Carry on…

He may be 23 now. A good young man with a huge heart. Perhaps he got greedy. Perhaps he saw how easy it was to make money by dealing on the streets. In life, and especially on the streets, you have to be prepared to pay the price for this lifestyle.

I wonder if he was prepared.

I have 2 brothers, a younger and older one. Let’s call the older one James for the sake of this tale. The young man in the belly of the beast is his son, Joe. His first son. His abandoned son.

James divorced his first wife over 10 years ago. In the process of the divorce he apparently decided to divorce his children as well. I do know that one of the reasons he divorced his children was to avoid paying child support.

His left behind 2 beautiful daughters and a handsome young man. They pursued James for attention throughout the years.

They were starving for attention from their father, wouldn’t you do the same?

At every turn we would give them the cold shoulder and send them on their way back to their mother.

Joe was left to be the man of the house. A responsibility he took very seriously. It has been obvious to me that he was determined to do for his family what his father wouldn’t do.

I have also concluded that he not only wanted them to survive, but he also wanted to show his father that he could do better without him. At any cost and at any risk.

A few years ago I was invited to one of his sister’s birthday parties. I was blown away by the lavishness of the party. BLOWN AWAY! Money was obviously not an issue in organizing this party.

A year or so later his youngest sister turned 15 and needed to have it celebrated in grand style. By far, it was the biggest “quincenera” I have ever attended. He even had 2 bands! Paul (my baby brother) later told me that Joe paid for it almost exclusively.

I wonder if he was prepared.

Why would anyone do this? Joe is not some sloppy thug with your standard issue stereotypes. He was extremely and humble. I suppose behind that he may have been a ruthless kingpin. That is a side I never saw.

So why would a grown man make these stupid decisions? Why would he risk his life? Why would he sell poison to his people? Why?

I am of the opinion that most of are destined to live out the same patterns of our parents. Most of the times it is out of our awareness of course.

Most people would agree that we are the product of our parents and their teachings, behaviors, and belief systems. ( A Roman Catholic family does not give birth to a Muslim child)

Let’s take a trip back to Mexico to the year 1969. James was 4 years old. A real rebellious young man I have been told. Our mother apparently must have been struggling at the time and had our grandmother taking care of James.

He grew to be really close to our grandmother. So much so that he would run from our mom whenever she came around to pick him up. My mother even says that at one point our grandmother locked her up in jail because she tried to take James back.

During this time our father decided to come to the US to get a job and make some money, like many Mexican men still do today. Shortly after that our mother decided to follow the man of her life and join him in the United States.

Meanwhile back in Mexico they leave not only James but also Jill, my older sister.

Imagine for a moment being 5 years old and looking up and not having your parents around. Keep in mind he was at an age where he clearly knew they were his parents. Would you feel abandoned?

I am sure there is much more to the story. Why would I make these conclusions?

Eventually James grew up and made the same trek his father did 13 years earlier. I didn’t even know I had a brother until one day he showed up at our house. I truly do not recall my parents ever telling us about him.

Throughout the years his relationship to my parents has been highly volatile. My mother has quoted James as saying that  “I did not breast feed, I sucked the tit of a dog”.

Every single time my mother quotes him she tears up. It really hurts her. She is disgusted by his attitude towards her even though she has helped him numerous times. There have been instances where we have truly come together as a complete family(or so it seemed) and laughed together.

My brother, James, is hurting. He has a deep pain. He was abandoned. I am sure his story is completely different from my mother and fathers. In his world and as he sees it, he was left behind to “suck from the tit of a dog” for survival.

He has done a damn good job of surviving. He built a self defense system that will not allow him to love his family. To not be hurt nor care. He has gone on to marry again and have 2 more children.

His patterns continue to be the same. At no point has he admitted to making mistakes for how he has handled his older children.

Meanwhile Joe is sitting in jail right now. Most people do not recognize the extent men will go through to win approval from their fathers. We as sons have our pride and deny that our fathers drive and motivate us until our death. Many of us are destined to live out our father’s patterns.

So the question begs to be asked again… why?

Why not?

They are our models. Whether they are good models is insignificant. One can argue that we are all given free will and “should” do better. And I would agree. However, history has proven that despite what we as people “should” do, many of us do not!

My nephew is a good man. Is he a complete man? Obviously not, I know I am not.

It killed me to tell him years ago to home to his mother because his father did not want to be his father. He must have been 13. I told him to enjoy being young and wait until he was old enough to work and I would help him anyway I could. He wiped the blood from the slap his father gave him and cried on my shoulder.

He left that evening.

Perhaps I failed him as his uncle. It was not his fault he was born to a man in pain and with a big hole in hisheart.

I will be visiting him next week in jail. He has been asking about me.

I wonder if he was prepared.

Jonas Brothers We Are Not!

My story is not unique, yet it is different. My story is specific to Mexican men and our culture, yet I would argue that despite the cultural differences, all men struggle with the same things.

With that being said, this blog will now have an added perspective that should make for an interesting read. It will now include a little more about my background and personal story as it relates to my family. Of brothers. Of men.

What better way to illustrate how men are are a confused gender? What a better way to illustrate how 3 brothers with similar upbringings can take such different paths in their lives?

I am often asked how it’s possible to be so different from each other. Some friend’s cannot believe that we are even brothers.

I am often asked why men can’t just be men. That is an intriguing question and one that I have analyzed deeply. My belief and answer to that question will come in a future post.

In the last several years I have asked myself the same questions that leave women perplexed and pissed at us as a whole. I have developed theories and in the process totally had to throw out old beliefs that were given to be all my life.

Some of those beliefs involved religion and marriage. Many will not agree with what I have concluded, but they are just that, my beliefs. It has given my life some structure and allowed me to “try” to make the best of my life. By no means does that mean I am right nor that I will not respect those that do not agree with me.

I have asked myself questions such as:

• Why the hell does the size of a woman’s breast really make a woman attractive? Seriously! Why? It’s just flesh. Yet I am just as guilty as most men of admiring women with nice breasts even if it’s obvious they are fake. But why?
• Why do we “not realize what we had until we don’t have it anymore?
• Why is the divorce rate so high? Aren’t we in love and do we not hold those vows holy?

I ask those questions and have tried to be as sincere as possible. Non-apologetic.

My answers to these questions and many more are coming soon, very soon.

First off, you cannot and will not ever understand the weather. There are meterologist that pretend to know how to do this very thing. There are channels on cable television dedicated to this very purpose.

Experts have written books and seminars are held on this very topic and yet no clear cut way to truly predict it.

Even when you think you have it all under control and the climate is tolerable…BOOM! You get hit with a cold front.

Directly followed by clear skies and the gentle whispering of the wind against your skin if you handle the initial surprise well (or gooder)

The interesting thing I have found is that I have such a more profound feeling of respect and love for the weather after the cold bitter moments when I am smothered with the warmth and sweetness.

I imagine it must have something to do with the ability for the mind and body to be able to compare the cold and hot. How much more can you appreciate that warm climate after you have been nipped by the freezing cold or simply a typhoon of powerful proportions?

Why Such Drastic Changes So Quickly?

One meterologist I respect and admire said something to me that finally helped me understand.

ACCEPT IT. ACKNOWLEDGE IT. LOVE IT.

The weather at your present location can be lovely and peachy one moment and the next can be a tornado or hurricane swooping through and causing damage by the second.

The reality is that the weather is directly impacted by conditions on the other side of the world.

We obviously have no way to see what is going on that side.

With modern technology we are able to see in real-time what the facts are and what the weather systems are like on the other side. However, we have absolutely no idea how one system will react with the systems all around it. (Some meteorologist claim to know, yet we walk outside and its pouring rain when they said it would be clear and sunny)

So What Do You Do?

You accept it for it is nature and quite natural. So many things impact the weather that trying to predict it can only lead to anger and frustration. Although I know this, I cannot help but react with frustration at time.

I have my shorts and a tank top on to go play basketball only to be hit with a surprisingly frigid blast of wind as soon as I open my door to go to my car.

However I think I am better prepared for it and accept the nature of its unpredictability.

Look in your closet. Do you have a beach towel and swim trunks? Got your parka? Flip-flops? Timberlands? If you have these or comparable items in your closet, you are ready. Simply accept it and love the weather.

Your thoughts. Share your opinion of the weather and your disgust with your local meterologist. I look forward to reading the feedback.

My father did not teach me how to shave and be a man.
Poor me.
My father did not show me how to approach a woman and me a man.
Poor me.
My family is a mess and dysfunctional.
Poor me.
I am skinny and dark and women would never find me attractive.
Poor me.
I lack confidence and unable to string 5 words together.
Poor me.

The biggest lesson I have learned in the last several years is to shut the hell up and stop making excuses. Poor me?

I can get plenty of people to feel sorry for me. They would then tell me I am such a great man with so much to give.
It would be a pity-full and I guess it would be true. But what does that ultimately do for me? Not a damn thing.

Take responsibility! I refuse to be a victim. (Unless of course I am a “victim” of a crime of some sort.)

But in life, I decided to take control. Even in the most painful moments of my life, I was not a victim. I was a participant. I was in control. In control of myself and my behavior. In those instances I chose to be involved.

In terms of my weaknesses, well I can choose to work on them and make them strengths.

“If you accept responsibility, you are in a position to do something about it” – Paul Arden

And damn that hurts so much sometimes. I want some pity. I suppose that is not a bad thing in small portions. It is when I need it regularly that it becomes my only way to feel validated.

Now that I find myself consistently accepting responsibility for my actions and situations I find it hard to watch most people blame the world for their all their circumstances.

I never realized just how much we looked for pity and wanted to blame the world.

The world, illegal immigrants, the government, women, men, gays, politicians, the pope, our parents, the weather,  the man, ex-wife, …

Yet the whole time the person with the most power in our lives stares at us in the mirror.

There seems to be a direct link between those two emotions. Almost as if it has to hurt for it to truly be love.

I can’t help but wonder why the hell that has to be the case. But it just is. How about separating the two? Damn, I’m a genius.

Or better yet, how about just not loving. Not caring. Being emotionally free. Yes! That’s it.

Or maybe not. That’s actually pretty stupid. It seems to me that feeling pain is just part of life, which brings us back to the beginning.

Not loving and not caring seems like a whole lot of pain in itself. But when love and passion are ON, that is bliss. Euphoria may even apply in this case. I have never done drugs, but can’t help want to compare those feelings of being high.

The drop is a killer. But the high is just that, high and elevated.

Yes I am rambling, as if that is not painfully obvious. But for those that have found themselves there, I salute you. For opening up your heart and enjoying those moments. It is easier to be closed and secure than it is to be open to love.

So why share this on a blog about becoming a man? Because a man (by my interpretation) can be open to all the range of emotions including love. He can admit to loving so intimately that the woman was inside of him. He can admit to being angry at her. He can admit to missing her with a passion that cannot be illustrated. He can admit to fucking it all up and regretting it, although not regret their relationship.

Yet he can admit that those moments they shared (both good and bad) will never be forgotten (despite his selective memory). And he can still look forward to loving, despite that pain.

That is my path on becoming a man. He can still love without resentment and anger. He can still get high.

People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.

I cherish those moments of pleasure and pain.They changed me and I will never be the same.

Sometimes we come in contact with individuals in our lives that change our perception of the world.

Sometimes their energy is so strong that it is hard to adapt and break old ways of thought and behavior fast enough.

Yet you know that when these people are not in our lives there is an emptiness that resides in our gut.

Right there. It’s an interesting perplexing feeling. It is not a pain you cannot bear, yet it is a pain you would rather not have because it does hurt.

Sometimes you find a woman that just fills you and makes you complete in a Jerry McGuire kind of way. Their energy is so strong and so intense that it can only be described as the type of “high” likely to be felt by doing drugs. Euphoric.

I cannot begin to put into words the pleasure you can feel. And the pain. Enjoy the moment. Relive the moment. Over and over again.

New standards are set for love and appreciation. Perhaps noone will ever meet these standards again. Perhaps they will.

One can only hope that we gave near as much as they gave. That they felt you as much as you felt them. That they knew you cared. And not just like a caring that passes, but the caring that lasts.

This is the kind of woman that your family and friends will ask about all the time. And you will not have the heart to tell them that you are not a couple anymore. The last thing I want to do is break their heart. That’s deep.

One can’t help but wonder if they know that they will forever influence their thoughts and actions. Although in years to come it may be harder to pinpoint the origin of them. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you will always remember even when your memory fails you.

Because the body never forgets.