Happy Father's Day

There are times when I can sit down to write my thoughts and they flow so freely that my fingers can hardly keep up with my brain. This is not one of those times. I’ve been sitting here for almost 15 minutes staring blankly between the keyboard and screen, desperately hoping that one will provide the words I am seeking while the other gives me nothing but a blinking cursor laughing at me with each flash and lack of progress down the line. My fingers stay at the ready, resting on the keys…and occasionally a finger will lift off its resting spot thinking it knows something the others don’t, but it quickly returns to its post and waits for a stream of thoughts to come and provide direction. Any direction…sigh.

It’s Father’s Day and while my father is still alive, he grows weary and has become a changed man in his old age. A change that only comes with looking at oneself in the mirror every day,  realizing that mortality is walking up your driveway…a change that only comes once all but one of your children still acknowledge your existence…a change that comes when all that is left is humility. The man I now call father is a far cry from who I once called dad all those many years ago, the man I now call father is a much better man in general.

As a child my dad, he wasn’t much of a father to me. There were many times he was my villain, the producer of my nightmares, the fist that left many bruises and the words that to this day still echo in my head devaluing my worth. But there were also times he was my hero, saving me from a rabid dog, rescuing me from a very angry nest of wasps with just one sting, teaching me to shoot a gun, ride a motorcycle, change the oil in a car, replace a flat tire, go fishing and camping…to basically provide for myself. Only later did I learn that he raised me as if I were a boy, because he had wanted a boy since mom refusing the abortion left him no choice than to have a child. But even with that information, it does not tarnish those memories for me.

Of course knowing he wanted to have mom abort me, was something that affected me more than anyone could possibly know. But I carried that hurt and that anger for so long inside me that it became a cancer…a toxin that only I carried, when it was not my burden to hold. So one average college day I drove home, not my home but his home and I confronted him on everything. He abuse, his lies, his emotional tormenting of my soul, his cheating on my mom…we had it OUT. And in the end he says, I don’t remember any of it like that. I was given no apologies; no recompense…nothing but denial. 

That’s when I started praying, praying harder than I had ever prayed before.

After everything, after all of it, the pain, the tears, the lies, the ruined childhood, and the family torn apart…I simply prayed to forgive him. And one morning I woke up, and I did. What you don’t know, is that I have 3 step brothers and a step sister, the one step brother that was closest to my father was killed in a car accident when I was in high school and since then I have been the only child left that will speak to him. That humility I mentioned earlier…tends to look one directly in the face when your children refuse you in your old age. Like I said, he is not the man he once was.

It’s been about 15 years since I forgave him…and while it may not have changed him, it saved me. It gave me a second chance to have a father instead of just a sperm donor and bad memories. I will always remember the things that were done both good and bad in my childhood but as an adult, the memories and happiness feel more important, they weight more. And I hope when God is taking score, He sees everything and understands that we all do the best we can with what we have at any given time. And sometimes we don’t have a lot and other times our best isn’t very good. I hope God understands that my father raised me like his father raised him. But I also hope that God sees that the abusive cycle stopped with my father and me.

My dad and I getting ready for a motorcycle ride.

My dad, my best friend Coco (sheep dog) and me still learning to walk.

My dad before I was born, total ladies man. Just like his father.

Dad and me.

My old man...wiser and humbled. 

My dearest father, Dwight…you have become a wonderful man and father. Grandma would be so proud of you. I love you more than you will ever know. 

-With love your daughter, Debra

Jet City made me LEGIT

I have to say that over the last 3 seasons with the Jet City Rollergirls my life has evolved in ways that I didn't really think possible. No, I don't skate...I'm just not cut out to do that kind of coolness. However, I've learned there are various levels of coolness in derby. And while I don't get the chance to run up the score as a jammer, make a beautiful hit to lay out an opposing jammer or make a solid wall to keep my team ahead in the game...I get to take part in many other aspects of the game that have come to mean so much more to me. Yes they are not as glorified or "valued" as that of a Rollergirl but embrace them as extensions of who I am. Each job I take very seriously, Non Skating Official (NSO) and Photographer. Yes, I tried my hand for one bout at bench coaching, it seems I just wasn't ready for that...but I promise you...that is the next job I want to learn and conquer.

Jet City has given me the chance to learn how to NSO and hopefully become a great representative of this amazing league, they have allowed me to learn and practice my derby photography to the point that Wild West Showdown 2013 used an image I had taken to pimp their 3 day event.

Then I get the honor of having one of my photographs grace the back of the April 27th bout flyer.

Front

 Back

And then again, the same photo makes it onto the May the Fourth Be With You flyer that was hosted by Jet City, the I-5 Rollergirls and Rat City.

 Front

Back

This is the photo in a larger format...

While I am not anywhere near the level of talent as those whose photos surround mine on the flyers, I am so happy and amazed just to have been on the flyer with them. I feel like I just may be legit now as a derby photographer. Or maybe close...maybe just the git part. :)

It is very much an honor to belong to such an amazing league that affords me such respect and chances to better myself. Watch out coaches...I'm coming for you.

Oh, something shiny!!

I do life, like I do vacations. I go along whatever path I’m on until I’m forced to make a change or I see something shiny in the distance that looks interesting and warrants a closer look. In the former case, whether it be a T stop or 4 way light, I sit for a moment…look down each path regardless of just how far along each one I can see…I shrug to myself and go. Never really having a destination in mind, don’t get me wrong sometimes I do…but how I get there or how long it takes is anyone’s guess. People that ask me “so where are you going on your vacation” look at me with such concern and bewilderment when I without hesitation inevitably say, “I don’t know.” I think sometimes they find me indignant as if I am purposely keeping information from them because the information they seek is privileged. Well, it’s not. It’s just simply not there to give. If I don’t make plans, everything is a surprise. If I don’t make plans, I can’t screw things up. This is how I have always been. You know that bumper sticker…not all who wander are lost? That’s me. Except sometimes I am lost, but when you wander, does it really matter? Can you really be lost when you have no destination or outcome in mind?

Good things can come from how I do life...vacations. And sometimes I miss amazing opportunities. I walk this life with a constant feeling that I am living someone else's life...like there was a mix up somewhere along the way. Like I should have taken a left when I took a right. That maybe I was destined for something else but the proverbial ship has sailed. It is times like this I realize I am alone in this venture...a weary traveler passing through. But on this day, it was a pleasant right turn that led me to a beautiful place, surrounded by tall grass, mud, large piles of drift wood and other malodorous items I could not identify where I took some great pictures. On this day, my random turn...turned out right.

Does this make me a bad gay?

Driving into work today, the sun shining...birds are flying happily to and fro and hardly a cloud in the sky to accompany me on my way. The radio station is blasting, my window is down and my arm is hanging out doing the superman wave thing, bobbing along with the beat...and then the music changes and I the softest piano starts to play. I get ready to change it but then I recognize the voice as Mackelmore and then the lyrics start in about religion, being gay, freedom and rights...and then the chorus starts in "And I can't change, even if I tried, even if I wanted to." The lyrics hit me like a punch to the chest, especially the part about undergoing treatment to change so that you could be accepted and the part about how gays and lesbians would rather kill themselves then accept who they are. "Some would rather die than be who they are."

The pain in my chest, that punch to my heart...the hitch in my breathing...I had to pull over. Tears started to flow and I couldn't get them to stop. How many times have I felt those very words? How many times have I felt that pain...that very sadness and self-loathing? There are so many thoughts and feelings racing through me right now I can't focus...

Since this morning I have probably listened to that song about 50 times. I know every word, every beat. And I wonder how many people really hear all the different aspects of the song...how many different layers there are that he is trying to address? It's not just a song about gay marriage, freedom, political opinions, or religion. It's goes much deeper than that...

So much deeper.

I can't change. I wish I could. But I can't. I used to pray to be different. To be like the rest of the church, the rest of the accepted ones. The chosen. The straight. Maybe then my life would have meaning, the promises that were granted to me based on my following the ways of right and not wrong. Maybe then, well...it doesn't matter. I am not what I was supposed to be. I did not follow my path as stated by my church and it doesn't matter that I was drawn towards girls since before first grade. It doesn't matter that I feel that I was born this way...

It doesn't matter.

It's like being stuck between two worlds. I can't be straight. Because, I'm not. But I make a horrible gay person because I hate myself for being gay. Why couldn't I have just been born normal? And yet the minute I write that, I offend even myself by dictating that there is such a thing as "normal."

Now I remember why I stopped blogging.

If I were to die today...

The other day my girlfriend asked me why I haven’t been writing in my blog lately…I told her that I had actually been thinking about it that very subject myself and I didn’t really have an answer for her. We drove in silence and a moment or so later I stated, “I still have a lot to say but I feel like I just don’t know how to get it all out or maybe I don’t have the time.” She reminded me that she gave me permission to write about her, because at one point I had told her that not all my writings about her would be “rainbows and sunshine” or something like that. But I told her that wasn’t the issue, because frankly, it isn’t. I guess I don’t write because I don’t feel like anyone really cares to read anything I write. So why bother?

 But then I remember I didn’t start this blog for me, I started this blog to write about things, life, observations and hopefully share stories of my mom and dad because really, my life doesn’t matter. I don’t care if I’m remembered, my goal is for the world to remember how amazing my mom is. To remember the father that my dad eventually became, after he reached the age of 70. So I guess in essence the blog was created and should be maintained as a reminder of all the good that went into making me who I am and the unfortunateness that with me, that goodness all dies. I have no one to pass my mother or my father’s genetic greatness to…my dad’s great hair, my mom’s smile and eyes. My dad’s sense of humor and my mom’s laughter, as I sit here and think about it…I feel like I have disappointed them. I can’t believe I’m the result of the sperm that won the race to mom’s egg.

I feel like I have led several lives over these last 39 years…ugh, and none of them are really worth writing home about. I give money to worthy causes, when I see someone begging for change I give them some. If I see someone sleeping on the street, I cover them with a blanket from my car. If I see a dead animal on the roadway, I stop and move it to the grass so that its family doesn’t see it get further mutilated. I try not to kill bugs, I go out of my way to move the frogs, snails and salamanders from the path of the mower. But that’s pretty much it. I don’t volunteer at soup kitchens. I’m not a Harvard graduate. There will never be a cancer curing drug named after me. My name will never be on the side of a building in lights. I will never be in someone’s award speech. No one will ever tug at their ear on tv as a secret hello to me. No one will ever call me mom…or wife.

Almost 40 years old and I haven’t really done anything with my life. Sure I have a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, am a member of the National Honor Society of Psychology…have a Master’s in Social Work with a specialty in School Social Work K-12 and have spent the last 14 years working with those suffering from severe, chronic mental illness…specifically Schizophrenia and Bipolar Disorders…but so what? Big deal. Shrug. If I were to die today,

Debra Dawn Carlsen

Loving daughter.

She had good intentions.

1974-2013