In other news, I am starting a new venture with a friend. It's called In the Know 865. In the Know 865 just launched last week. The site is a food and beverage review site that features a master drink special list highlighting weekly drink specials. In addition to the master drink list, the site will be partially user driven through the means of allowing users to send in suggestions for restaurants to be reviewed. Bookmark the site and visit often to keep up with the master drink list and other reviews.
Aaron
Monday, January 25, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
"To be, or not to be...it's a question"
During my undergrad, I worked as the Communication Assistant for the community development center at the college I was at. When I started the position, my supervisor asked me to come up with some job responsibilities, as it was a brand new. I quickly discovered that I would become a "jack-of-all-trades" for the office, fixing computers, setting up networks and printers, and doing just about everything else that anyone needed in addition to the things that fit inside my job description. As I fondly remember my undergrad, one thing became clear to me as I thought about my job--I would take on things that I was neither responsible for doing, nor did those roles coincide with what my job was.
A couple of nights ago, I had another encounter with my dad. Mike, a church member who is letting dad stay at his place while he recovers, was stuck in court and would not be able to pick dad up. Once again, dad and I had an awkward car ride back to the east side of Knoxville. After inquiring about my new job and how it was going, dad asked, "Hey, would you mind taking me by Krogers? I need to grab a few things to eat."
Not wanting to say, "No," and thinking that perhaps spending time with him would maybe start some sort of healing process, I said, "Sure, dad. No problem." We pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car, and proceeded to walk inside.
"Does this bring back memories," asked dad, referring to the years that we lived on the east side and frequented this same Krogers.
"Yeah...I guess it does."
I went through those automatic doors, my mind going back more than a decade when I weighed much less and was cuter, too. "Tortillas," said dad. "I need tortillas." So we ambled on back to the dairy section and on the way there, we ran into Steve Loy. Steve goes to our church and his wife is helping my mom through this process.
Dad and Steve exchanged greetings. Steve turned to me and through his thick, handlebar mustache said, "I don't think we've met before. I'm Steve," and stuck out his hand.
"Aaron." I stuck out my hand, grasping Steve's in a firm grasp.
After our introduction, I bid Steve a good night, turning with dad to hunt down tortillas. Dad had to grab a few more items before we headed to the self check out lane.
"Dang it! I forgot Diet Coke," huffed dad as he set the few meager items on the scanner.
"I'll get it."
Shuffling back through the line, I did another lap around the store, during which I felt oddly like one of the Nascar drivers that were displayed on more than a few shirts that I'd passed. Grabbing two bottles for dad, I made my way back to the checkout and bumped back into Steve.
"So how're you holding up" Steve asked.
"Eh...I'm hanging in there."
"I know it's rough. I had something similar happen when I was your age."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're the oldest, right?"
"Uh-huh," I nodded.
"Me too. I always felt like I had to fix things, be stoic, you know, hold the family together."
A lump started to well up in my throat, signaling that tears were due any second.
"I want you to know that you don't have to fix it. This is your parents' time to work things out. You've had so much put on you that you should have never had put on you in the first place. You've adopted so many roles that were never yours. You don't have to be anything for anybody. You just have to be Aaron."
I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders.
"Aaron, the Diet Cokes!" Dad came and grabbed them from me as I left Steve.
The rest of my night moved in slow motion, as I thought about what Steve had said. "You just have to be Aaron." I thought to the night before, when mom had talked to me about GiGi--my great-grandfather. "He treated you as if you were his ONLY grandchild...you two had a special relationship." Suddenly, I thought about all the times that I would sit in his lap as we watched TV or sipped on Pepsis. I thought about how GiGi used to take me to a little playground in the middle of the trailer park, where I would climb an old slide that always got too hot during the summer, then slide down into his arms.
Just like that job, I have taken on too many things that were not mine to worry about and attempted to fill roles that I was never meant to fill. I've become so many things, yet haven't taken the time to be me, to be Aaron. It's as if God had wanted me to run into Steve, because I'd heard similar things from other people over the last two weeks. But it didn't hit me until that night, that God doesn't need me to be stoic, or a fixer, or anything other than me. God just wants me to be me, to sit on his lap, to sip some Pepsi, and to slide down into his arms. He's not looking for me to perform, or to jump into some self-assigned role. What's important to him and to his heart is for me to be me, for me to be stripped bare of all the things that I've taken on and become. He wants his child. He wants the time to for me to sit with him and let him love on me without me rushing off to do something that is ultimately in his hands and is for him to rectify.
He just wants me to climb up into his lap, lay my head on his chest, and be...me.
A couple of nights ago, I had another encounter with my dad. Mike, a church member who is letting dad stay at his place while he recovers, was stuck in court and would not be able to pick dad up. Once again, dad and I had an awkward car ride back to the east side of Knoxville. After inquiring about my new job and how it was going, dad asked, "Hey, would you mind taking me by Krogers? I need to grab a few things to eat."
Not wanting to say, "No," and thinking that perhaps spending time with him would maybe start some sort of healing process, I said, "Sure, dad. No problem." We pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car, and proceeded to walk inside.
"Does this bring back memories," asked dad, referring to the years that we lived on the east side and frequented this same Krogers.
"Yeah...I guess it does."
I went through those automatic doors, my mind going back more than a decade when I weighed much less and was cuter, too. "Tortillas," said dad. "I need tortillas." So we ambled on back to the dairy section and on the way there, we ran into Steve Loy. Steve goes to our church and his wife is helping my mom through this process.
Dad and Steve exchanged greetings. Steve turned to me and through his thick, handlebar mustache said, "I don't think we've met before. I'm Steve," and stuck out his hand.
"Aaron." I stuck out my hand, grasping Steve's in a firm grasp.
After our introduction, I bid Steve a good night, turning with dad to hunt down tortillas. Dad had to grab a few more items before we headed to the self check out lane.
"Dang it! I forgot Diet Coke," huffed dad as he set the few meager items on the scanner.
"I'll get it."
Shuffling back through the line, I did another lap around the store, during which I felt oddly like one of the Nascar drivers that were displayed on more than a few shirts that I'd passed. Grabbing two bottles for dad, I made my way back to the checkout and bumped back into Steve.
"So how're you holding up" Steve asked.
"Eh...I'm hanging in there."
"I know it's rough. I had something similar happen when I was your age."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're the oldest, right?"
"Uh-huh," I nodded.
"Me too. I always felt like I had to fix things, be stoic, you know, hold the family together."
A lump started to well up in my throat, signaling that tears were due any second.
"I want you to know that you don't have to fix it. This is your parents' time to work things out. You've had so much put on you that you should have never had put on you in the first place. You've adopted so many roles that were never yours. You don't have to be anything for anybody. You just have to be Aaron."
I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders.
"Aaron, the Diet Cokes!" Dad came and grabbed them from me as I left Steve.
The rest of my night moved in slow motion, as I thought about what Steve had said. "You just have to be Aaron." I thought to the night before, when mom had talked to me about GiGi--my great-grandfather. "He treated you as if you were his ONLY grandchild...you two had a special relationship." Suddenly, I thought about all the times that I would sit in his lap as we watched TV or sipped on Pepsis. I thought about how GiGi used to take me to a little playground in the middle of the trailer park, where I would climb an old slide that always got too hot during the summer, then slide down into his arms.
Just like that job, I have taken on too many things that were not mine to worry about and attempted to fill roles that I was never meant to fill. I've become so many things, yet haven't taken the time to be me, to be Aaron. It's as if God had wanted me to run into Steve, because I'd heard similar things from other people over the last two weeks. But it didn't hit me until that night, that God doesn't need me to be stoic, or a fixer, or anything other than me. God just wants me to be me, to sit on his lap, to sip some Pepsi, and to slide down into his arms. He's not looking for me to perform, or to jump into some self-assigned role. What's important to him and to his heart is for me to be me, for me to be stripped bare of all the things that I've taken on and become. He wants his child. He wants the time to for me to sit with him and let him love on me without me rushing off to do something that is ultimately in his hands and is for him to rectify.
He just wants me to climb up into his lap, lay my head on his chest, and be...me.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Andes Mints, Pepsi, and Bob Barker
December 29th, 2009 - A part of me died when my dad attempted to commit suicide. I know, it's pretty hard to read, let alone live the experience. Today marked the two week mark since I had last talked face-to-face with him, and let me just say, it was difficult to talk to my dad.
My day started off well enough. I got up, scrambled to get take my morning shower, pack lunch, and make it to my new job at UT on time. Upon arriving at the University's computer support office, I clocked in and ate my breakfast of "digestive health" blueberry acai yogurt with some granola. All in all, my day was going well as I helped students troubleshoot various issues with their computers--namely viruses acquired over the Christmas break. The day took a turn for the strange and dark when I had lunch with my mom who also works at the University.
I had already had my lunchtime meal of pizza and salad when I walked down to her office. It was there that we discussed life as it pertained to the incident of my dad's suicide attempt. It was there that I confessed to her that I felt as if I never really knew my dad, seeing as how fidelity had been a major issue in their marriage since it began. I also confided in my mom that I felt that even though I had a biological father, I do not feel as if I know what a real father is, or how a real father behaves. It was then that she relayed this story to me.
"When I was little, about three or four," she said, "we lived in some apartments that grandma and grandpa owned. There was a storm one night--do you remember the storms in Phoenix?"
"The dust storms?"
"No, the thunder storms."
"Yeah, I remember them."
"Well, there was one night where there was a real bad thunderstorm. There was a huge crack of lightning that made the power go out. I screamed because I was so scared. As I screamed, I turned around and there was grandpa, on his knees with his arms open. I ran into them and he wrapped me up in his arms. That's who God is to me and what a father is to me."
I then told my mom, that at least she had that. I don't feel that I have any model for what a father looks like in the sense of how a father nurtures his children and cares for their wellbeing. As I told that to my mom, I broke down, sobbing in her office.
"Can I pray for you? Can I pray that God will bring a man in your life who will guide you through manhood and fatherhood?
"Yes," I sobbed, my face covered in tears.
Fast forward to later this afternoon--I get a call from my dad stating that he needed me to give him a ride, as he had no other way of making it back to the place where he was staying. Knowing that the car ride would be awkward after not having seen him in two weeks, I begrudgingly agreed to take him to the house where he was staying.
After closing shop at work, I went to my dad's workplace, where I waited for what seemed an eternity for what would end up being a frustrating ride back to the east side of Knoxville. Dad came out, hopped in the car, apologizing for causing such an inconvenience to me. We shot the breeze at first, avoiding the inevitable question of "why." After talking about my new job and enduring a rather uncomfortable couple of silent minutes, dad said, "I'm sorry I didn't call you on Tuesday. I was just trying to reach out to anybody and when I couldn't get a hold of Ryan, I called Megan."
As we road through downtown Knoxville, nearing our destination, I then saw the marks on his wrist where he tried to slit them with a dulled box cutter--"I just couldn't finish it," he said. "Plus I didn't know how to do it." He then told me about what it was like getting checked into the psych ward at Parkwest. "I had to pee in a cup. When they got it back to me, they said I had tested positive for marijuana and barbiturates, but they got it mixed up with somebody else's sample, so I had to pee again." Drawing closer to the house where dad was staying, he regaled me with tales of staying the six days at Peninsula--including the 80 year old man being treated for alcoholism and tossing his feces filled Depends at other patients.
"Mike got a dog, didn't he?"
"Yes he did...you wanna come in and see him?"
I paused, not sure of whether or not to go into the house. "Sure, I'll come in."
We walked around Mike's house, which I had not been to since I'd helped him move in over the summer. Waylon, Mike's dog named after Waylon Jennings, greeted me by bringing a stuffed hedgehog with half the head gnawed off. Dad put Waylon outside to relieve himself and walked back through the kitchen.
"I can understand if you're mad. What I did was the most selfish thing that I could have done."
"Do you believe that, or is that something you just believe because of what mom or somebody else has said?"
"I believe it...and I have a lot of regrets."
After growing accustomed to hearing my dad offer excuses for past actions, I didn't know how to react to him not having any. If anything, I think that I may have been more frustrated at him for not putting up some sort of defense. After ending the conversation with a long hug, I left.
"We'll catch up sometime later this week."
"Alright son. I love you."
"I love you, too."
I returned to my apartment in silence, no bluegrass blaring through my speakers, no NPR recounting the day's events. I slowly rode up the hill to my building, running over speedbumps, each one thumping like a hammer putting nails in a coffin. The part of my dad that I had internalized was dead--he was more of a peer now than a father.
After grabbing a brief bite to eat, joining a few friends for some coffee then beer, I received a call from my mom. It was during this call that I told her much of what I've written. However, she mentioned GiGi--my great-grandfather. She had no real reason to mention him or to even bring him up. As soon as she said his name, I began to cry, my mind being flooded with some of my earliest childhood memories.
"Think of GiGi, Aaron. Think of him."
My mind jumped back to walking up the stairs covered in astroturf, seeing the soda can airplane lazily swinging back and forth from the tin porch ceiling. I remembered the Andes mints and Pepsis that I got every time I went over to his house. I remembered the Star Wars and Transformers figures, the first ones ever made, that I would play with as GiGi would fondly watched me. I remembered watching him rock back and forth in his recliner as he would invite me into his lap to watch Bob Barker on "The Price is Right."
"See Aaron," mom said, "You do have that. You have an example for the heart of God in your own life."
I fell onto my bed, sobbing and weeping harder than I have in ages--I know the Father, through Andes mints, Pepsi, and sitting in GiGi's lap as Bob Barker would call, "Come on down!" I know my Father.
My day started off well enough. I got up, scrambled to get take my morning shower, pack lunch, and make it to my new job at UT on time. Upon arriving at the University's computer support office, I clocked in and ate my breakfast of "digestive health" blueberry acai yogurt with some granola. All in all, my day was going well as I helped students troubleshoot various issues with their computers--namely viruses acquired over the Christmas break. The day took a turn for the strange and dark when I had lunch with my mom who also works at the University.
I had already had my lunchtime meal of pizza and salad when I walked down to her office. It was there that we discussed life as it pertained to the incident of my dad's suicide attempt. It was there that I confessed to her that I felt as if I never really knew my dad, seeing as how fidelity had been a major issue in their marriage since it began. I also confided in my mom that I felt that even though I had a biological father, I do not feel as if I know what a real father is, or how a real father behaves. It was then that she relayed this story to me.
"When I was little, about three or four," she said, "we lived in some apartments that grandma and grandpa owned. There was a storm one night--do you remember the storms in Phoenix?"
"The dust storms?"
"No, the thunder storms."
"Yeah, I remember them."
"Well, there was one night where there was a real bad thunderstorm. There was a huge crack of lightning that made the power go out. I screamed because I was so scared. As I screamed, I turned around and there was grandpa, on his knees with his arms open. I ran into them and he wrapped me up in his arms. That's who God is to me and what a father is to me."
I then told my mom, that at least she had that. I don't feel that I have any model for what a father looks like in the sense of how a father nurtures his children and cares for their wellbeing. As I told that to my mom, I broke down, sobbing in her office.
"Can I pray for you? Can I pray that God will bring a man in your life who will guide you through manhood and fatherhood?
"Yes," I sobbed, my face covered in tears.
Fast forward to later this afternoon--I get a call from my dad stating that he needed me to give him a ride, as he had no other way of making it back to the place where he was staying. Knowing that the car ride would be awkward after not having seen him in two weeks, I begrudgingly agreed to take him to the house where he was staying.
After closing shop at work, I went to my dad's workplace, where I waited for what seemed an eternity for what would end up being a frustrating ride back to the east side of Knoxville. Dad came out, hopped in the car, apologizing for causing such an inconvenience to me. We shot the breeze at first, avoiding the inevitable question of "why." After talking about my new job and enduring a rather uncomfortable couple of silent minutes, dad said, "I'm sorry I didn't call you on Tuesday. I was just trying to reach out to anybody and when I couldn't get a hold of Ryan, I called Megan."
As we road through downtown Knoxville, nearing our destination, I then saw the marks on his wrist where he tried to slit them with a dulled box cutter--"I just couldn't finish it," he said. "Plus I didn't know how to do it." He then told me about what it was like getting checked into the psych ward at Parkwest. "I had to pee in a cup. When they got it back to me, they said I had tested positive for marijuana and barbiturates, but they got it mixed up with somebody else's sample, so I had to pee again." Drawing closer to the house where dad was staying, he regaled me with tales of staying the six days at Peninsula--including the 80 year old man being treated for alcoholism and tossing his feces filled Depends at other patients.
"Mike got a dog, didn't he?"
"Yes he did...you wanna come in and see him?"
I paused, not sure of whether or not to go into the house. "Sure, I'll come in."
We walked around Mike's house, which I had not been to since I'd helped him move in over the summer. Waylon, Mike's dog named after Waylon Jennings, greeted me by bringing a stuffed hedgehog with half the head gnawed off. Dad put Waylon outside to relieve himself and walked back through the kitchen.
"I can understand if you're mad. What I did was the most selfish thing that I could have done."
"Do you believe that, or is that something you just believe because of what mom or somebody else has said?"
"I believe it...and I have a lot of regrets."
After growing accustomed to hearing my dad offer excuses for past actions, I didn't know how to react to him not having any. If anything, I think that I may have been more frustrated at him for not putting up some sort of defense. After ending the conversation with a long hug, I left.
"We'll catch up sometime later this week."
"Alright son. I love you."
"I love you, too."
I returned to my apartment in silence, no bluegrass blaring through my speakers, no NPR recounting the day's events. I slowly rode up the hill to my building, running over speedbumps, each one thumping like a hammer putting nails in a coffin. The part of my dad that I had internalized was dead--he was more of a peer now than a father.
After grabbing a brief bite to eat, joining a few friends for some coffee then beer, I received a call from my mom. It was during this call that I told her much of what I've written. However, she mentioned GiGi--my great-grandfather. She had no real reason to mention him or to even bring him up. As soon as she said his name, I began to cry, my mind being flooded with some of my earliest childhood memories.
"Think of GiGi, Aaron. Think of him."
My mind jumped back to walking up the stairs covered in astroturf, seeing the soda can airplane lazily swinging back and forth from the tin porch ceiling. I remembered the Andes mints and Pepsis that I got every time I went over to his house. I remembered the Star Wars and Transformers figures, the first ones ever made, that I would play with as GiGi would fondly watched me. I remembered watching him rock back and forth in his recliner as he would invite me into his lap to watch Bob Barker on "The Price is Right."
"See Aaron," mom said, "You do have that. You have an example for the heart of God in your own life."
I fell onto my bed, sobbing and weeping harder than I have in ages--I know the Father, through Andes mints, Pepsi, and sitting in GiGi's lap as Bob Barker would call, "Come on down!" I know my Father.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Hold up my arms: Living in community
Life is never normal. I'm 22, almost 23, and should know this by now. It never fails that just when things seem to arrive at that oh-so-coveted status of "normal," things, whether it be family, friends, or something else, a curveball comes screaming out of the void and shakes my carefully ordered world.
A curveball once again threw me off of my game this past Tuesday night when I got the call from my mom that, "I need you to get into the car now and come out to dad's work...we think that he's going to commit suicide." At that point, I was in the car with my girlfriend, Ashley. We rushed out to my dad's work to find my mom, my brother, and my sister along with an officer searching the premises in sub 30 degree weather. Over the course of the next several hours, I would experience true community in a way that I never had seen previously in my life.
As the night progressed, not only did more police officers continue to show up, one by one, at my dad's work, but several people from my church community also came to provide support for our family. My dad was eventually found wandering around his work. Whether or not he was serious about committing suicide, I don't know. What caused the whole incident--irrelevant at this point.
However, what has come out of this entire ordeal has been on my mind for some time. That is the concept of community. As my family has continued to try and understand what happened and how to best get our minds around this situation, I have been continually amazed and astounded at the community that my family and I am in. In my family's past, we've seldom experienced a group of people committed to walking through things with us. The last time that I can remember other people taking time out of their busy schedules to get down in the muck and mire with us was well over a decade ago. It is only in this most recent familial crisis, as an adult, that I have experienced the love of God and true community in the way that it was meant to be.
Much like Moses of old, the community that I am now experiencing is holding up my arms as me and my family fight for emotional, physical, and psychological health. It means so much to me now, to understand as grown man, to understand what true community means, and the cost of being part of one.
It is in this circumstance that I am finally realizing how important it is to have a solid community of people around me, providing support and encouragement. Perhaps not even "finally realizing..." maybe the correct phrase would be that I am coming into a revelation of community--one that reflects a biblical perspective. Instead of being cast to the proverbial wolves and being forced to work things out on our own, our family has been surrounded by unconditional love. I see now that this kind of love by the community has a great cost. Individuals have freely and unbegrudgingly
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