Memorial Day, 2011

When I think of Memorial Day, a few things usually come to mind. I remember going with my paternal grandma to the graveyards when I was a kid. She has always been keen on visiting the hundreds of graves of those she’s known. On at least two separate Memorial Day weekends she took me along with her. Now, some may think this would be boring or perhaps even morbid for a kid, but I did actually enjoy going along with her. I enjoyed it because my grandma would tell me all sorts of stories about the people whose graves we visited. I learned a lot about my family’s history that way. And I also really enjoyed all the unique places we’d go. You wouldn’t believe how many graveyards really are hid around the countryside. I remember us going to a few that only just had what could be called a road leading up to them. Some were in the woods, some were overgrown by thick bushes, some were on the hillsides, some within others’ property, and some were really kept up and so forth. Seeing so many of them, I’ve always kept in mind how easy it must be to become buried in a patch of weeds (it really is dependent on the caretaker, and whether or not anyone lives who does still care about the condition of the graves of those buried there). My grandma and I really did visit a great many of sites that were getting quite overtaken by nature. And that’s sad, really, to think about, because it means that a good portion of those who have been buried in such cemeteries have probably been forgotten; either their family and friends moved on, died off themselves, or just simply forgot about them. I find an unkept grave a very sad thing. Perhaps that is why I’ve often thought more favorably toward cremation (at least for myself).

Memorial Day also makes me think of my maternal grandpa, who died when I was around four. I don’t have many memories of him, but I do recall a couple with great fondness (I really do wish I could have known him better). I remember him on Memorial Day because my maternal grandma, mom, and aunt have always made sure to lay flowers on his grave on this day, and they always make a big to do about it. I also remember him because he was buried, and the first thought about having gone to the cemeteries with my paternal grandma as a kid always leads me to think of the cemetery where he is buried. And then, perhaps the biggest reason why I remember him on this day is because he was a soldier in World War II.

This leads me to my next thought about Memorial Day: the soldiers who have died in defense of our country. I’m not sure why, but I mostly want to reflect on WWII soldiers and the sacrifices they made during that war. It is probably only because I relate to that war having knowledge of my grandfather’s activities in it, but also because, I admit, I have played a great deal of WWII shooter video games. Because of those two things I just sort of automatically picture WWII troops whenever I think of soldiers (not to offend or belittle any other veterans—you’re all awesome).

After that, Memorial Day makes me recall all the holiday weekends when I worked on the lake. Good grief those could be busy weekends. We’d all work ourselves to death nearly. But they were good because it meant a lot of extra change in my pocket and I always managed to get a good tan that weekend to kick off the summer with. And, of course, I recall family trips and get-togethers as well.

I am glad we celebrate Memorial Day in this country. I know a lot of times people don’t often actually reflect on those who have died, but instead use this day only as a great time off. I don’t hold that against anyone, per se, because it is great to get some time off every now and then however you can get it. But I do wish more people would actually take at least some time to think back on those who have gone on. It only takes a little bit of time to actually reflect on past friends and family members, and I think it is especially befitting to at least take some amount of time on this holiday to say a quick prayer for and to thank all those who serve our country. After all, that is what this holiday was created for.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on this day. I hope everyone has had a good holiday, whatever you did.

Reflections on My Life: Part II

This last week I’ve gone walking a couple of times at the track behind my old middle school. I hadn’t been there in years. There were a few changes, but overall, it was still the same ole place I remembered.

As I was walking, a lot of memories came to mind. My middle school years were some of my favorite years of being in school. I had teachers I liked, classes and classmates I liked, plenty of friends, and the whole world ahead of me. I remember getting to read a lot. Every Friday in English class we got to read a book of our choosing for the entire class period. Our teacher would usually allow us to have snacks as well. I think it was during this time that I really developed a love for reading. It was the first time any teacher had just allowed me/us to read anything we wanted like that and to make something fun out of it. Come to think of it, I probably gained my love for reading in the sixth grade instead. We read a lot of good books in reading class that year. I remember having friends. I had more friends during those two years than at any other time in my life. I remember feeling confused about a lot of things, as I’m sure most kids do when they’re at that age. I remember I wasn’t gay. Okay, yeah, I was, but I didn’t really know it or understand it at the time—I just assumed I had some misplaced feelings that would eventually go away.

I remember the transition from middle school to high school was not a very good one for me. I had signed up for marching band my freshman year. The summer before school started I had to practice quite a lot with the others. I never enjoyed that. Band for me had always been about the music and having fun, not about marching and competition. To make matters worse, most of the friends I’d made in middle school band didn’t join that year, and the older students I was around made it abundantly clear that they didn’t like me. They never tried to reach out to me or befriend me. And anytime I tried I was put down or just outright ignored. They made fun of me. One of them in particular, I can’t number how many times he called me a faggot or queer and said he hated fags like me. I was miserable that year.

Looking back, I really wish things could have been different. I wish I’d done what some of my other friends from middle school did. I wish I’d taken a carpentry class or some other vocational class like they did. I wish I’d been able to make friends that year. I think, in hindsight, one or two people may have honestly tried to reach out to me. But when they did I couldn’t trust them. I was afraid of getting hurt. The rest of the time I was in high school, I was pretty much a shadow. I kept to myself and did everything I could to avoid others. Those few I was friends with never really knew me at all. They may have liked me, they allowed me to be around them, they invited me along on a few outings, but I know I never really let them know anything about me. They knew I was shy, quiet, calm, maybe even kindhearted, but that was all they knew. I wouldn’t let them know anything else.

I can see so clearly how much I changed when I started high school. But it’s when I was in middle school that I remember most fondly. I was more outgoing, happier, and definitely more positive about myself and life back then. I had friends, and I didn’t hide myself.

One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is why I have so much trouble making friends these days. I honestly think the answer lies in how I changed when I began high school. Before my ninth grade year, I was just myself. I allowed people to know me. But when things didn’t go so well my freshman year, I think I just quit letting people know me, and I gave up trying to know them.

I’ve been reminded lately, or perhaps taught, that trying to be anything other than myself is foolish. And wrong. I believe God values each and every one of us, including the unique qualities or characteristics we each possess. When I entered high school I stopped being myself. When I was myself, I was made fun of, bullied, and made afraid. Out of fear and hurt, I withdrew. I began hiding myself from others, and became more cautious of how I acted around them.

Almost three years ago now, I contacted an Exodus Affiliate Ministry in Indianapolis, IN. A counselor, Paul, offered to help me there. We wrote emails back and forth to each other, and once I became comfortable with him we began talking over the phone. I’ll always owe Paul a huge debt of gratitude because he pushed me to be myself again, and to open up to others and try to make friends. He also was very compassionate and understanding. Paul is one of the few straight people I’ve ever known who was willing to at least try to understand the things I’ve went through and offer real meaningful help and encouragement. And I never felt like he was judging me.

The last three years I’ve tried to follow Paul’s advice. In a lot of ways, it’s helped me. Some of it’s only caused more problems—though I don’t really fault Paul for that—in a more perfect world life would be easier done than said. But, it’s sort of because of Paul’s influence on me that I’ve done some of the things I’ve done to make friends, that I got as involved at my church as I did, and that I began this blog. He helped me feel more comfortable being myself. All of it’s been in the attempt to become me again, and to allow others to know me—to fully know me, and for me to know them.

All of these thoughts came to mind while I was walking.

I think fear can lead people to do some really terrible things. The ones who bullied me did so out of their own fears and prejudices. The fear of their bullying and anyone else thinking the things about me that they did caused me to give up on myself and others.

I look back and I wish I’d done things differently. I wish I’d looked those people in the face and told them to shove off. I wish I’d not paid any attention to them or cared about what they thought. I wish I’d kept on being myself. I wish I’d kept on trying to make friends. I wish I’d felt comfortable enough about myself to just be myself and let everyone know how I felt—about everything. I think I might have been happier if I’d done that.

The last year or so, I have tried more to just loosen up around people. I realize not everyone is going to like me. I am who I am though. People will either like me or they won’t. If they don’t, I can get over it. But, if they do, that’s great, and something worth fighting for. This last year, I have felt more comfortable being myself. I’m not afraid of people knowing me like I used to be. I’m not afraid to come across feminine or gay around others—it’s just how I am. And I’m not afraid to face criticism, even when that criticism hurts, because I know there are others who do love me, who do care about me, and who do value me as a person.

I guess the main point of all of this is that it’s stupid to allow others to tear you down and cause you to give up on yourself. Be happy being you, because there’s no one else in the world quite like you. And there’s something so truly special about that.

Give Me Your Voice and I'll Lend You My Ear

I thought seriously about continuing the poll, but I think I’ve decided against it. I’d rather get actual conversations as opposed to yes or no type answers.

One of the things I’ve had on my mind lately is my childhood. I don’t know why, but I keep reflecting back on all sorts of things. The other day I literally made a list of some of my favorite childhood movies. Afterwards, I watched a few of them and realized some might actually still be considered favorites. I’ve also thought about times when I was in elementary school. These memories have been good ones. They’ve not been bad. I’m not saying that all of my time in school was pleasant, but just that I’ve had the good memories on my mind.

I don’t know why, but I feel sort of an odd calm about life. I think that by reflecting back on the good times of my younger days, I’ve sort of been reminded of simpler times. And that’s made me yearn for that again.

I think people can take on too much work in their lives sometimes. I know I’m guilty of this. I try to do way too many projects all at once and then when I’m absolutely stretched for time, I feel like falling to pieces.

Life can sometimes be so complicated. And I keep asking myself why that is? I think, for the most part, we all complicate things for ourselves. Maybe that’s due to our misunderstandings or over-analytical personalities—who knows—but I think whenever our lives become overly complicated, we need to sit back for a moment, take a deep breath, and slow down. If we don’t, it will just cause us all sorts of problems (fatigue, frustrations, anger, strained relationships, etc.).

So, here’s what I’d like to know: Is your life too complicated? If so, what things do you allow complicate it? And what can you do to uncomplicated your life? How do you ease up some of the stress of life? Let me know what you think.

Anyone wanting to comment is welcome to do so.

Later! :)

Sentimental

I may be giving myself away a little, but at this point I really don't care so much. I had to work late the other night and before leaving I decided to go for a little stroll around the dock where I work. The sun was just setting over the hillside and our customers had all turned in for the evening. The air was cool and soothing after the heat of the day. The water was perfectly still. The moon was shining bright across the water, and the stars were already coming out. I looked out onto the main body of the lake and suddenly felt lucky for having been assigned to work during this time. The beauty God had created all around me simply amazed me. Everything seemed so peaceful and calm, and I couldn't help but feel relaxed.

My mind soon began wandering, and I began thinking upon all the time I'd spent working there. I remembered all those tasks performed, all the coworkers who had come and gone, and all those good times and bad. It wasn't long until I began yearning for the past. I kept thinking about all those people who I'd worked with over the last few years. So many of them have gone on to other things, and I rarely see most of them anymore. In thinking about that, I remembered the guy I fell in love with a few years ago. I know there was no way I could have ever been with him—he wasn't/isn't gay. But I know I fell for him harder than anyone else I've ever known. He was a Christian, smart, funny, cute, kind, everything I ever looked for in another guy, and the more I was around him the more I loved him. I almost wanted to cry just thinking of him. I still see him from time to time, but it's far and few times between. When I do see him, it's not like it used to be. We're more along the line of acquaintances now than friends. I miss him. And I'll admit, I can't help but wonder sometimes what could have been had he felt the same about me. It's very likely that had he had feelings for me, I'd have gladly been his boyfriend. Who knows what different course that would have led me?

I don't just miss him though. I miss a lot of people. I've reached a point where I hate so very much having to say goodbye to people. I know from experience that once I do that, I'm very likely never or rarely to see that person again. Because of that, I hate having to say goodbye. I have that fear that when I do, I'll never see that person again. This is one of the main reasons why I've questioned my decision to become a teacher. You spend an entire year getting to know your students and then they move on in life while you stay put. It's a kind of sad profession in that sense. Not to say that it isn't extremely rewarding in other regards, but it's just that you lose people on a yearly basis who you've spent so much time with getting to know and love, and it hurts whenever you lose those you love—in whatever context that may be.

I think sometimes I must be the most sentimental person in the world. I have a great tendency to hold onto the past and long after it. I think back to good times and wish I could revisit them. I see a familiar spot alongside the road and just have to pull over. I think of people who have moved on in life and wish I could be around them again. I keep everything, because everything has a meaning and a story to it. I'm a real pack rat that way.

I know it's been hard for me to move forward in life because of that. I know my life could be a whole lot different in so many ways if I could just let go of the past. I know I let my past hold me back so much of the time. I may have found a better job, church, place to live, etc. by now if only I could have put aside the past and charged forward into the future.

Maybe there's fear there. Maybe I'm afraid of change. Maybe I'm afraid of the future. Maybe I'm afraid that what lies ahead won't be as good as what lies in the past or in the present. I think it's just that a lot of my past hasn't been what I'd call great. As a means of escaping real life, I've tended to lose myself in the thoughts of what were good times, and I long for those times and for what reminds me of them. I guess I just like the familiar and like to hold onto what's been dear to me. The places where I've lived, worked, went to school, church have all contributed to such a large part of who I am. My identity lies, in part, with these things and the people I've been around. To lose these things, I feel as if I lose a part of myself, or who I am.

I know I'm awfully sentimental this way. More than I should be. Sometimes it's just hard for me to shake my memories. And maybe in some ways that's actually a good thing more than a bad thing. I've learned it does help to think of the good times during the bad ones. There's hope in doing that. I just hope there'll be more good ones ahead.

I then began thinking about what job I may have five, ten, fifteen years from now. I wondered where I might be living. I wondered if I'd have a family of my own by then, or if I'd have completed writing what would hopefully be a bestseller novel, or accomplish any of the other hopes and dreams I've had. And as I looked out at the lake and thought again of God's beauty, I just felt His reassuring me not to worry, that there would indeed be plenty of good times ahead, new friends to make, and plenty of new memories to have and to hold onto.

I felt so at peace about that.