8/17-8/22/10: New York to Idaho-Doug

With the sun falling, and having no luck in my shitty spot, I was contemplating nesting possibilities when a 4-door Toyota with Vermont plates recklessly pulled over on the narrow shoulder, and waved me on. When I said I was going toward Erie, he shockingly replied, “no problem”, told me to hurry up, and suddenly I knew I would make it on time to catch my brother and, barring any complications, his ride toward Idaho and Oregon.

Aim for Maine. Land in Oregon. I am the traveling sharpshooter.

Doug was tall, about my age, had long curly hair, familiar cheap monotone clothes, and judging by the large boxes of open food cans, laid out buffet-style, was traveling somewhere distant and gave an initial hippie impression. That generalization was woefully mistaken. Yet, he would prove to be a powerful reminder of our ingrained, unavoidable duality.

Doug had the rare combination of being supremely arrogant and at the same time pathetically awkward. Assessments aside, it quickly became obvious that Doug was brilliant and suffered from the stereotypical social deficiency that often comes along with it. He reminded me of someone genetically spliced from the DNA of a Slabber and Sheldon.

Doug was driving from Vermont across New York and on his way thru Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, and ultimately Montana investigating various places along the way that he described as “unspoiled” parks and nature preserves. I loved the coincidence, of course, especially uopn learning that one of the places he targeted was, literally, five-miles from my sister’s house in Ohio: my destination!

Nature, botany, and geology are Doug’s primary passions. He had methodically targeted unspoiled spots in nearly every part of the country, and meticulously planned, to the point of obsession, every detail to immerse himself in them. He raved about, and offered an impressive home-schooled seminar on, the geologic history of New York’s Adirondack Mountains, while mocking that I had been at their doorstep and not bothered to investigate "God’s Country." I made a mental note. While I am sometimes inclined to engage in obnoxious hyperbole Doug did not seem prone to exaggeration!

A Happy Reflection 

In an earlier life, Doug had been quite successful in New England real estate and made a great deal of money in another business venture. And had been miserable. We often finished each other’s sentences while exchanging personal anecdotes about learning how an external pursuit of “stuff” left us hollow inside. He ultimately sold everything, took an extended through Europe, and now lives much as The Friar and I do: he works when he needs to, but not to buy clothes, cars, or LED TV’s. He works to travel, often doing menial labor, and, as he told it, with much greater satisfaction. For him, work is not a practice in perpetual servitude or careerism: the jobs end once they’ve served their purpose and he recommences living life again.

We spent a great deal of time sharing stories and exchanging social philosophies while bemoaning the willingness of most folks to subjugate their lives to the implanted idea of “career”; to become an unquestioning cog in a decaying machine. I haven’t written much about that in a long time. But it’s still there and it was quite clear that Doug and I had a great deal in common, at least in this area. We’d made similar decisions after drawing similar conclusions. As we weaved thru western New York, I also heard the familiar, “I never pick up hitchers, but something told me to stop” which triggered a twinge of warm, faint nostalgia.

An Uncomfortable Reflection 

Doug’s other, and more significant trait, at least in this narrative, was his blunt and overwhelming disgust for people that seemed to stem from arrogance and contempt as well as a poorly concealed, deep seated sense of rejection. When we stopped for gas he seemed to actually go out of his way to be rude to nearly everyone he interacted with. It was embarrassing. I found myself shrugging as if to say, "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with him either!" His comments made it clear that he was either showing off or that he considered these people his inferior minions and wouldn’t suffer the effort of disseminating an unnecessary common courtesy! This extended beyond words; he was a prick driver as well!

He provided some insight into this as we approached Erie. Doug told of how he was ostracized and made a spectacle of as a child because, as he told it, he was “so much smarter” than everyone. He smugly told how, even as a youth, he could think several steps ahead of everyone else, even teachers, and use his intellect as a stealth weapon. In his eye, the battlefield is the mind. And he's Napoleon. From the passenger’s seat, there was a veiled, enraged, hurt child striving to show off and impress me with mental muscle. The closer to Erie we came, the more pathetic he seemed. I was also disturbed a bit. These insights were entirely too clear, and frighteningly familiar. Using intellect, ideas, and venomous words as weapons to reap vengeance? Hmmm....

Shortly before leaving New York, I offered Doug gas money to ease his airtight budget if he’d let me ride along to Sandusky or Toledo. My new plan (ha!) was to meet Michelle, who had offered to pick me up as far away as Erie or Cleveland, then coordinate with my brother from her place near Toledo. The closer I was to Toledo the better, Doug agreed, but said he was stopping for the night just past Erie, on I-90 at the Ohio Welcome Center, and I'd need to find a place to sleep.

Ohio 

No problem! I found a secluded spot for my bivy snuggled beneath some evergreens and we were back on I-90 toward Cleveland by 6:30 Wednesday morning. I was looking forward to both ending this little Massena-Ohio sprint, and a leisurely day touring northern Ohio’s natural wonders with Doug. Natural wonders in Ohio? Really? Little more than the Cuyahoga River's chemical blaze came to mind!

Yes, it really happened! 

The first stop was impressive, and something I would never expected to find in any city, let alone Cleveland. Rocky River Metropark is a beautiful, nearly undisturbed preserve IN Cleveland. Yes, CLEVELAND! Doug seemed impressed with Cuyahoga County, and gave Cleveland his thumbs up. I had to grudgingly agree, besides...it’s not like I was complimenting Columbus! Ick...

Rocky River Metropark, Cleveland

Cleveland

Through the morning and afternoon, I found myself hiking a wetland preserve near Sandusky, reading while Doug explored another preserve in the middle of nowhere, then exploring Marblehead Lighthouse and its adjacent state park. At each stop, he’d euphorically bound down the trails for extended, giddy hikes and return with tales of his intrepid Adventures in Botany! He had a love for and a bond with nature that I admired a great deal. This was his element, and he was quite likeable while he was in it...and as long as there were no people interfering!

Cedar Point

Lake Erie Near Sandusky, OH

Near Port Clinton, OH

A Troubling Reflection 

Throughout the day, we had inevitably talked politics and sociology. Doug’s worldview was an interesting ideological hybrid. Being from Vermont, he had traditional libertarian tendencies, but he also was quite progressive when it came to issues like energy and the environment. Economically he was Milton Friedman’s persistent wet dream. “To the right of Attila the Hun”, to steal a line. Socially, like many of us willfully loitering out on the fringes, he believed society to be on a downslide and saw sustainability, both individually and on-scale, as essential to survival.

However, what will stick with me forever was Doug's chilling, unwavering, and disturbingly reptilian lack of compassion. When it came to unemployment, social security, food stamps, health care, or anything to do with assisting the poor, he was convinced that caring for these “freeloaders” equated to growing an inoperable economic tumor that would consume us all. Doug’s platform: “Austerity Now! Austerity Tomorrow! Austerity Forever! Fuck Them!”

I tried to appeal to Doug’s sense of humanity and found none. He was ready to go to war to protect the endangered Flatulent Pink Flamingo, but when it came to his own species? Social Darwinism. No mercy. Natural Law. Economically, everyone was to be left to and at the mercy of “The Market.” Ultimately, I asked him if he thought we should just throw the poor, sick, and starving into the streets as they did in medieval London. “Absolutely!” Can’t keep up? Out of the gene pool!

Doug’s lack of basic compassion was reminiscent of my earlier conversations with various economic and social “anarchists” I’ve met over the last few of years, particularly in the Dakotas and Slab City. Admittedly, they also mirrored some views I entertained and tinkered with since ’08. Through conversations with some of my Teabagging friends, as well as reading some of their in-depth ideas, and watching the BP Gulf of Mexico oil spill this summer, I’ve concluded that this brand of socioeconomics is, at best, inhumane and beneath civilized culture. At worst: an deluded rationalization for greed & cruelty; financial cannibalization and exploitation of the most vulnerable.

To make matters worse, I saw it coming. The backlash I predicted in December of '08 now has a name: Teabaggery. While he admirable despised the Alaskan Road Whore, Doug’s clever arguments and verbal gymnastics seemed to echo all the other austerity-driven propaganda and did little more than provide Teabaggery with clever nuance.

“Not My Problem” should be the emblazoned upon every Teabagger’s calling card; avoiding taxation in the name of “The Market” is all that matters. The Market is literally God. Is there nothing held higher? I asked, is there’s no higher ideal in this world than the ability to accumulate and hoard wealth, even at the expense of others? At that, he gave me his patented arrogant, amused look saying he hoped I understand that at this point in my life. Proudly, I firmly reject it.

Drawing on recent experiences, and particularly conversations with Brian over the summer about things like projection and cognitive dissonance, my bullshit detector was blaring, especially considering his story the night before. It seemed clear that Doug’s prime concern was less about social philosophy and politics and more about avenging himself as “the victim ostracized from the pack” only because he was “gifted.” There was entirely too much anger tainted with superiority and disdain to be just simple ideology.

Rant Alert 

Beyond him specifically, Doug provided yet another glimpse into the mindset of an alarming number of people. As I’ve said, I’ve seen them all over and have mentioned them periodically over the last two years. I’m no Rasmussen, but the anger is manifesting itself into something ugly. You need only to be aware of their pervasive dogma while listening to The Asshat King Glenn Beck, Rush, The Alaskan Road Whore, or any of the whackjob Teabaggery candidates like Sharon Angle or Christine O’Donnell. The fact the latter are legitimate candidates speaks volumes.



Doug’s clearly no anomaly; there are millions of Americans who are more than happy to throw whomever they define as a “freeloader” into the streets to starve in exchange for lower taxes. Never mind that the lower tax rates their avatars constantly bleat about won't apply to THEM!

Despite often clinging to their Bibles, they are perfectly comfortable in their “freeloader” judgment, along with any number of other designations with which they choose to label the “undesirables.” Meanwhile, rest assured they're not to be bothered being their brother's keeper, let alone anyone else!

They typically perpetrate all of this while clutching their crosses and wrapping themselves in the flag while arrogantly assuming the title of "patriot" and ridiculously belching out recycled, PBR-stenched phrases which include words like “tyranny” and “liberty”; all terms they couldn’t use in a sentence before they received their Teabag marching orders shortly following the election of The Socialist Antichrist.

Somehow, they equate freedom with gluttony and greed. Somehow they’re convinced that they know ANYTHING, about “tyranny!” Bloated, gun-crazed, redneck Americans moaning about “tyranny” is like Christians crying “oppression!” Fuck off. Listening to these arguments has convinced me that Teabaggery is the repositioned philosophy and legacy of Timothy McVeigh. He too championed Second Amendment remedies.

End Rant 


From this point forward, Doug was a resource. I kept the rest of our conversation away from political and social issues figuring that was the best way to keep the peace. I lied right there. It was a way to keep me in the car!

Late in the afternoon, I guided Michelle to a McDonald's in Port Clinton ending this little cannonball trip west. It had taken me 72-hours to get from Massena to Michelle.

As we sat waiting in the parking lot, I realized I had never given Doug the gas money I promised him. I concluded that the Karma Market and Natural Law conspired against him and chose not to provide. More to the point and to quote Deacon from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure: “He was a dick.” 

Doug

As we parted ways, we made the obligatory promises to stay in touch, but that was clearly not happening.

Ohio to Idaho 

There’s not much to tell about the next few days. I made an REI run and began processing the past couple of weeks before meeting up with Mike and helping him drive their version of the Oregon Trail.

The cross-country was uneventful, except for another rendezvous with the Iowa 80, and taking  joy watching Mike and Ally’s amazement thru the Rockies. Mike had never been beyond Iowa. I could literally see their faces light up with seeing places for the first time; places I now take for granted. It reminded me of my first trip west and how I was hypnotized. Its a different world out here; one where pictures and words just don’t suffice. They took a special liking to Wyoming and Utah, and I must confess: despite everything I have said about Utah, if I were leading my cult west I’d likely settle near the Wasatch, too! It’s disgustingly beautiful!

Wyoming

Near Laramie, WY

Utah

It was good getting to know Mike a bit more as we rode west along I-80 and, although Lynette and Dave were in the Antilles scuba diving, I was looking forward to stopping in Boise on the way back from Oregon for a reunion of sorts. My intention was to surprise them, and just have Mike and I show up. Unfortunately, I was unsure of their itinerary so shortly after we crossed from into Idaho I called to let her know we were around and that I hoped to see her at some point while we were in the Northwest.

To my shock, she almost immediately returned my call saying that she and Dave were in Salt Lake waiting for their connector to Boise! It seemed that we’d all be simultaneously converging on Boise in a couple of hours...

8/6-8/8/10: Santa Fe-Ithaca, NY

After spending June and most of July sequestered away in Michigan, and then another two weeks back in New Mexico, August's arrival sent me spiraling into "do something...anything" mode.

Purely motivated by a lack of divine inspiration, I took aim for the last three of the lower-48 I'd yet to visit: Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont and after a few days of mental wrangling I chose to forgo the 60-hour Greyhound Marathon to the Maine-Canada border in favor of Craigslist's Rideshare.

Departure day was Friday the 6th with Elissa, a pleasant 60-something latina from Santa Fe on her way to see family in Denver. She was almost the perfect Rideshare: no haggling over money, flexible on the departure, and drove fast with very few stops! It was quite uneventful, and entertaining in that I was treated to watching her drive AND smoke a bowl through Colorado Springs; skills I can only imagine!

In Denver, I began coordinating with the bullet-train of this cross-country adventure: Alex. She too was flexible on when we could leave, which made everything possible in that she was willing to wait until late afternoon. Once I was in town, Alex needed time to connect with and pick up Scott, another Ridesharer, so we decided to meet at REI where I could entertain myself until Rapture if needed.

I had chatted with Alex a few times during the week, so we were vaguely familiar with each other when we met for the first time. Driving an older Subaru Outback and with a small dog in tow, my initial instincts were to categorize her as a 20-something hippie, but it didn't take long to learn that would have been a massive miscalculation.

Alex was returning from Denver to Ithaca, New York to stay with her grandmother for reasons she never offered, and I never asked. In fact, we never asked each other a whole lot. I still have no idea how old she is.

Scott was in his early 20's, from near Albany, smoked insane amounts of pot, and was pleasant and genuinely nondescript. He was traveling to random spots and meeting a friend in Davenport. Nothing about him stood out.

Everyone seemed to click quite nicely as we settled in for the Friday night ride across Nebraska and Saturday's Iowa crossing to Davenport, which naturally included a reunion with the Iowa 80. Alex's corgi, Milkshake, and I shared the backseat and, aside from having to pull off for a thunderstorm in eastern Colorado, the ride was smooth and quite enjoyable.

Nebraska Sunrise

Familiar Ground

Alex & Scott

Milkshake

Things got interesting in Illinois. Alex was in no hurry to get to Ithaca, so I offhandedly suggested I contact Leslie in Chicago to see if she wanted to join us for a couple of drinks. That never materialized, but set the stage for an entertaining and spontaneous couple of hours.

Alex detests toll roads, and once past Chicago, that's what you get if you want to cross Indiana and Ohio quickly. We decided to say, "fuck quickly", and more importantly, "fuck their nearly $30 in tolls."

Fun Fact: Indiana SOLD their told road to another country, so the tolls don't even go to the state.

An alternative is to take I-94 into Michigan. Alex wanted to stop somewhere in the state to have a beer, and my initial suggestion was Battle Creek where I hoped my old radio friend, Bobby, was hosting karaoke. He wasn't and, unable to reach anyone else at the last minute, we left I-94 for US-12 to find the first decent hole-in-the-wall to have an "authentic Michigan experience." That ultimately led us into Edwardsburg; a place that's positively "Pure Michigan"...whatever that is.

With visions of rednecks dancing in my head, I was mildly concerned about stopping at a random bar on a Saturday night in backwoods Michigan, but it quickly became obvious that they were the ones who needed to beware.

There were maybe a dozen people in the bar, along with a karaoke host-- who was sitting by himself, ignored--until Alex arrived. A few songs later, the bar had an influx of her energy, people were laughing, and although I didn't hear it, Alex later told me that the townsfolk had equated me to Bill from True Blood. She assured me it was an enormous compliment and it offered quite a perspective into how people might see me on the road!

US-12 is always maddeningly slow, even at night. So, Alex relented and rejoined the foreign-owned Indiana Toll Road in Elkhart. We slept for a few hours at the nearby service plaza before entering Ohio, and leaving the toll road in favor of US-20 early Sunday morning. That route took us past my sister Michelle's house, making for a nice out-of-the-blue Sunday surprise.

We had lunch in Cleveland before joining one of my favorite roads anywhere: US-6. Chris and I had ridden this way with Stacey from Massachusetts to Ohio last year, and since it was daylight, I enjoyed it even more this time.

I've never spent much time in rural Pennsylvania, and I have a special disdain for Philadelphia, but the intoxicating landscape dotted with Leave It To Beaveresque towns made me think I had found the Land that Time Forgot... or at least been sucked into Pleasantville! I don't typically make recommendations, but if you get the opportunity, take US-6.

Coudersport, PA

Once off US-6, into New York State and thru Elmira, it was nearly midnight, and we were quickly in Ithaca. Alex dropped me off at Buttermilk Falls State Park, we made arrangements to chat the next day,  I collected my things, and after 2-days and 2,000- miles, I set up the Origami and began the arduous task of re-learning how to live out of a backpack again...

6/21/09: Father's Day Surprise

It didn't take long to figure out what was going on behind the scenes while I lingered in this apparent state of limbo. Shelly and I had a candid talk on the way back to Michigan about my willingness to hang around and make myself available if there was some sort of solid, specific meeting set up. I was pretty clear however that, after 3-weeks, it was time to move forward and that I was mentally moving on. I was quite content with the effort she and I had put forth, and if nothing came out of it I could tell my kids I did everything I could when they asked about their grandfather.

Then, on Father's Day I received an excited call from Shelly saying that she had had a chat with our father, and that he had agreed to get together with the two of us. They had already set up the day, time, location. No more asking, speculating, or wondering. It was done. She had apparently called him to wish him a happy Father's Day and decided to try one last time. If I recall correctly, she explained that I was here backpacking, leaving relatively soon, had met Lynn's kids, and was going to make my way toward their house in Boise next to meet her. This fact appeared to pique his interest, and may have made him realize that I have been swimming awfully close to his feet, so to speak. It may have also made him understand just how much had gone on, presumably without his knowledge. I can't say for sure. All I can say is that Shelly's hard work had finally paid off...if he didn't cancel!

When I told my mother about this, and again tried to explain my attitude toward it (with limited success this time), she also pointed out that in all likelihood he has no idea of the effort I've put in due to the prevailing silence that runs thru the non-Shelly/Lynn part of the family. Another factor may have been Skip. Kelle had told me the week before that he and my dad had sat down and had lunch just a day or two prior. This was the first conversation they had had in something like five years, despite living in close proximity. Perhaps he's beginning to realize some things himself? Again, I don't know.

The overall feel of this meeting is much different than in 2000. If you tuned in late, that 20-minute conversation is the only contact we've ever had. At that time I was understandably nervous, and hoping to make a good impression. I thought the meeting went well, and at times could even be described as "warm" yet, ever since, there's been nothing. This time nerves are not a factor. It's almost as it was meeting Shelly a month ago: "It's about time." Rather than being preoccupied by impressions, the tables are turned. I hold no expectations beyond dinner, and consider it to be up to him to show that there's hope for a relationship that means anything. For once, I hope my cynicism is misplaced! Yet, I can't help but wonder if he's simply pacifying us to make Shelly's questions go away.

That being said, this is a big step for him and shows something. He could have easily continued to ignore the overtures and gotten off the hook one final time. The idea that he chose not to do that says a lot in and of itself, and I'm sure was not an easy thing to do. He has a great opportunity to lead and serve as an example to his kids and grand kids... almost all of which know the truth anyhow. We'll see how it goes.

6/12-6/15/09: "A Moment of Realization is Worth a Thousand Prayers"

Ben & Brad had insisted on coming to Shelly's house in Ohio on their way to the Detroit airport Friday to see her cats. Shelly had lived in Boise for a short of time and they had gotten to know Baz the Cat pretty well. There wasn't a lot of time, but having lunch was nice sendoff , and it was good to hang around them a bit more before they returned to Idaho. I let them know that Boise was on my list of places, and that I'd see them again before they went back to school in the fall.

My primary goal for this entire Michigan visit was to be sure that I left with no questions to be asked, even if the answers came via omission. I like to use the analogy "Water thru the Pipe". Put enough pressure behind it, you'll find the cracks. I intended to make myself as available as I could, and make every effort to allow people show their character; good or bad. A clear choice would be given, and we'd see what they'd decide.

Shelly was the catalyst for this, and unfortunately for her, she was also on its emotional roller coaster. She had been hoping to set up a couple of reunions over the weekend, still holding out hope for at least the two of us having dinner with our father. There was also new, rather unexpected hope surrounding our oldest brother, Skip. She had contacted Skip's wife, Kelle, and learned that she herself was considering trying to contact her own "long lost" brother, who had been given up for adoption. Kelle was very interested in finding him, and since this was something that was happening in his own world at the same time, it seemed possible that Skip would be in the right mindset to meet me. Kelle agreed to chat with him, and as Saturday approached, we were waiting to hear the verdict.

This felt quite familiar, and it had a familiar ending. When Kelle relayed to Shelly that Skip "wasn't too keen on the idea" it set off a domino effect of realization. This was the final piece of the puzzle. I seemingly had everything I needed to finally begin drawing long overdue conclusions, and they were based on reality as opposed to speculation. It would appear that despite the fact we share DNA, I had missed out on very little growing up other than an emotionally barren desert! Despite all the talk of "getting together" before I had left New Mexico I had heard nothing from Pam or Kim, and now had since been given a stiff arm by both my father and brother. It was becoming clear who I was (or wasn't!) dealing with and, while painful on a base level, it was also clear that I was indeed "the lucky one" to have been spared the baggage. Despite proclamations of "victimization" by my father's "inability to communicate and deal with them" they were themselves in fact that "mirror" of what they claimed to hate. That hypocrisy was blinding, and my questions about who these people are were finally being answered. At this point, I was totally unimpressed beyond Shelly, Lynn, and her boys.

Surprisingly, with this realization came a stunning freedom. With the bar set this low, it's much easier to take what I've gotten, move on, and attribute the disappointment to the simple fact that the rest suffer from an emotional, even human, deficiency that has nothing to do with me. It also further solidified another growing realization about the "American Dream" and the fairytale concept of "family" and, more importantly, "normal." We've been fed an idea that we're supposed to live up to the impossible standard of "Father Knows Best", "Little House on the Prairie", or any number of these other images of the happy, tranquil, "normal" little family. Some families function better than others, to be sure, but dig deep enough and I believe you'll ultimately see thru the illusions, walls, and fronts. Ward cheats on June, Wally likes Meth, and I'll bet the Beaver is a cutter. The wholesome, perfect family is wholesome, marketed bullshit. Worse yet, it's as unattainable as Barbie Doll physique.

These notions of "normal" result in outrageous expectations, and a sense of failure when you don't quite measure up. "Normal" is a Hollywood production that is marketed, then sold, to keep us chasing the unachievable: a faux idea of "happiness", and where it comes from while at the same time exploiting simple human imperfection and insecurity. I'll let you infer as to who benefits when the masses are chasing ghosts, and some will say that's cynical. I'd counter that quashing these "Notions of Normal" is liberating and the first steps toward freedom. It allows you to be happy with the best YOU can be and accept who YOU are. What better path to happiness and contentment than doing the best YOU can, accepting your faults, and telling "normal" to fuck off?

Another surprising realization was that with this acceptance came an unexpected level of forgiveness. I was disappointed, yet no one' s perfect. I believe that when we can accept the fact that every family unit, every human being is flawed, imperfect, and that "normal" doesn't exist, then we can on some level even APPRECIATE the flaws each of us have INCLUDING our own. In my case, I began to sympathize rather than feeling victimized and, after a day of self pity, I felt some long-held anger finally begin to subside and that old, familiar hole actually begin to fill. I never understood the Buddhist philosophies on forgiveness and ego better than at the moment I realized this was happening.

I was also, for one of the very few times in my life quite proud of who I have become. I had shown courage and conviction in this case and had shown character that has been missing from the rest of that family, save Shelly and Lynn. I had offered myself up, risking the likelihood of another painful rejection, in a relentless pursuit for "Truth." Vitam Impendere Vero. "Facing fear is the beginning of wisdom." That Bertrand Russell!

I felt very bad for Shelly, however. It dawned on me (after my little pity party, of course!) that she was taking this very hard. She knows her family is far from perfect, but I believe she had hoped that this month would provide an opportunity for some healing, and steps toward being a bit more of a functioning unit. With my father's unwillingness to have me at the BBQ, Pam & Kim's blatant indifference, and now Skip's failure to respond, she was resigned to the fact that it probably wasn't going to happen. Once I could see the forest thru the trees, I saw that she had shown an incredible amount of courage herself and risked many of the same feelings of rejection and failure that I had. She showed an extreme, rare character, and I hoped that she would take a sense of pride out of that. I myself was very proud to have her for a sister, even though in my self-absorbed, burnt out mental state, I was incapable of showing it very well!

The rest of the weekend was quite uneventful, as I typically isolated myself as I processed everything, and resisted the urge to write (vent) on it until the dust had settled in my mind. As the weekend concluded, I had a sense of closure and it began to feel as though I was ready to move on. To put a neat bow on everything, I sent a Facebook friend request to the last remaining sibling, my younger brother Mike. He was the last one I had yet to contact, and I didn't want to say to myself later "what if."

The "Michigan Adventure" seemed to have played itself out, but we had made arrangements with Shelly to be around her place again the following weekend. That genuinely felt like overkill at this point, but there was still no clear path as to how else proceed. Chris and I decided to go back to Hillsdale for the week to goof around and see if there were more things that needed to play out--as is usually the case when we seem to be in limbo. Sometimes, we need to sit down, shut up, and let other people live their lives for a bit! We did get a huge laugh when I started receiving pictures from Ben highlighting his flight home! He was, indeed, getting his $100 worth!

6/11/09: Three New Nephews

Shelly had not seen my mother since she was a little girl, and I was maybe a year old. Our mother's had remained friends and had brought her, Lynn, and Skip to our house periodically after my mother and our father had parted company. There was never any indication given that I was anymore than "their mother's friend's kid" throughout their childhood. Shelly finally was let in on the fact when she graduated and my mother sent her a card with a "Santa Picture" of me. My mother had tried to get me to go to the ceremony, but at 10 there was no way I could. I'm not sure why to this day.

The plan for Thursday was to surprise Mom by having Shelly come up to say hi. It wasn't completely out of surprise nostalgia. I've cut ties with one of the sisters I was raised with and, since she lives in the area and my mother likes to subversively plan "coincidental visits", I wanted to be sure that there were no unexpected knocks while we were there. Despite the fact that I had made it quite clear I didn't want to see this other sister, I was not all that sure it would not happen anyhow, especially if she was planning on Shelly to be there. It was quite a nice little reunion. As I've mentioned, my mother has fond memories of Shelly and it appeared that they had quite a bit to talk about, although I am sure it was a bit odd for both! Chris and I ducked out for coffee to give them a few minutes to chat, and before long we were snapping pictures and heading toward Mosherville to do The Family Tour.

My grandmother was essentially the matriarch of this tiny hamlet north of Jonesville. Mary had been the post master, apparently owned a lot of property, and ran the general store. It was neat hearing Shelly reminisce, adding to the fragmented information on her family's past that I had been given through the years. Our grandmother had known exactly who I was growing up, and we would cross paths occasionally, albeit rarely. The only significant memory I have of her is an event at the fairgrounds when I was 14 or so. She simply sat there, staring what seemed like daggers the entire time. Not my mother. At me. What stuck with me was that it wasn't as much disdain in her eyes as it was shock and perhaps realization. Judging by my resemblance to her son, there was probably no further doubt in her "old school" mind that, yes, I was her grandson. At least in the DNA sphere of things! I'm quite certain of this but, despite the obvious, we never had a single, solitary conversation before she died in 2001 or 2002.

Ben, 16, and Brad, 14, are Lynn's kids who were coincidentally visiting from Idaho and staying at their Grandmother Charlotte's house south of Quincy. They had only found out that they had another uncle the week before and, from what I heard, asked Lynn, "How can you have a brother that you've never met?" I thought that was a great, brilliantly simple question and apparently so did Lynn's husband. Dave suggested that they "ask their grandfather" when they got here! Although Lynn did not encourage such shenanigans, and I know next to nothing about Dave, I immediately began to like him! Shelly had made arrangements to meet the boys at Charlotte's house, then grab some food and make a trip to Angola, Indiana to meet her 24-year old son, Travis, at his place. Three new nephews in about 3-hours.

Ben and Brad have had some upbringing. As we walked into the living room, Ben stood up to greet me and shake hands. I was surprised and impressed by this considering the fact that he's just 16. Brad seemed a bit taken aback, and I felt a bit sorry for him. It had been quite a week for them considering they had also been reunited with "new" cousins and their Uncle Skip who had not been a part of their lives. I could genuinely empathize with him. These two had a different aire about them. They put off a completely different vibe. It's a vibe that I can't quite explain other than to say it lacked the "implied, silent negativity" that I'd grown accustomed to over 15 years of on and-off dealings with Pam & Kim.

As we slowly became acquainted, the conversation turned to their airline experience. Ben is old enough to fly by himself, but Brad isn't. This meant that Lynn had to pay an extra $100 to have them chaperoned airline-style. This equates to be shoved in a little room between flights with a cooler full of Apple Juice, and the Disney Channel on a TV. Chris and I encouraged them to milk it for everything they could to get their $100 worth, including demanding a full tour of the airports, depriving the airline of ALL their Apple Juice, and getting some pictures of the cockpit. I suggested that Ben ask the pilot if he "liked movies about Gladiators" or if he had "been in a Turkish prison." The references went over their heads, but Chris and I got a nice laugh out of it! Charlotte seemed unamused. Hopefully, she's seen the movie because that could have sounded a bit odd, but something tells me I would enjoy toying with Charlotte a bit anyhow!!

Angola is a quick 20-30 minute drive from Coldwater, and we were to Travis' house by early evening with subs in hand. I had hoped we'd be able to connect while I was here. Travis is doing quite well for himself working as a FedEx driver, and has bought a house with his girlfriend in a little subdivision out in the Indiana countryside. They have a huge yard, and got it dirt cheap because of foreclosure. Travis is a big, quiet guy, but has a good sense of humor and a calm almost gentle demeanor about him. Also joining the party was Kirsten, Shelly's step daughter from a previous marriage. Kirsten is a short (fun- sized according to her!), pretty, bundle of energy! Very outgoing and easy to chat with. I was glad that she took the time to come out there; I'm not sure the next time we'd all be in the same place!

All told, this was quite an experience. For the most part, I just quietly sat there watching taking in the scene, trying to appreciate the moment. It was interesting to think back just six months and realize just how much has changed! I have added two sisters, three nephews, and in addition Shelly had been busy trying to contact my older brother, Skip, to see if he wanted to meet up Saturday. Shelly doesn't mess around!

The ride back to Delta was intermittently quiet, then chatty. I had begun to get a bit overwhelmed, especially during the "down times" when my brain goes guano. It was beginning to show. The mental fallout of the past 11-days had been staved by activity, but as this weekend in Delta would show, that was about to abruptly end.

6/2/09: Kalamazoo, MI

Tuesday began as Monday had: Dropping Shelly at work, then hitting the road to Ann Arbor. We returned to her house so I could prepare Elmo for his demise; unpacking everything and repeatedly searching him to be sure I was returning only the pack! Not unlike leaving an apartment for the last time. During this process, I discovered that even if I had not found the new pack, I would have returned it because stitching had failed where a stabilizer strap meets the rubber fabric on the bottom. My good fortune was continuing.

We found "Sunshine" again working at REI, and a new day had done nothing for her demeanor. I just glared at her the entire time she struggled through the process of refunding my money. We normally will look around for a spell anytime we get to REI, but through all of this, we were ready to get to Bivouac. I figured the various other things I needed would be better purchased there. Plus, we wanted to catch Pam before her shift ended at noon. We had a good time chatting with her and the other employees before heading to Whole Foods for mate' and Cliff Bars and returning to Ohio to prepare to meet my friends Brian & Joey in Coldwater that evening.

Once on the road back to Michigan, it was yet another trip down memory lane. Shelly took the Hillsdale County back roads thru Camden, Reading, and Allen before stopping at her mother's place on a lake in Quincy. I had heard a lot about Charlotte over the years from my own mother. They had been friends despite the fact that she was my father's ex-wife and my mother had always recommended that I contact her to meet her kids and learn about my father. Being at her house was a bit strange, and the idea that I was going to meet her the following week with my new- nephews was even more bizarre. That all changed immediately when she unexpectedly passed us on the road just after we had left her house. Shelly turned around, and we were instantly making introductions. Charlotte gave me a hug, an intense look up and down presumably evaluating any resemblance to my father, and all was well in the world. Another one of these mythical, main characters from an previously abstract past brought to life.

The four of us piled in Shelly's car, and finished our trip into Coldwater, stopping at the Big Boy for food and coffee while Brian & Joey made their way from Kalamazoo. Once they arrived, they joined us for coffee while I found myself astounded by this gathering of people. My sister & her mother from one era of my life. Brian & Joey from my radio days. Chris representing my days in Denver and beyond. I have never allowed these epochs to clash, and it was a sign of things to come. The conversation was light, loud, and full of laughter as we sat at this dumpy little restaurant on US-12.

I had lived in Kalamazoo for nearly 5-years before moving to Florida in 2004. Brian & Joey have been my best, longest lasting, perhaps my only remaining "real" friends from my Kalamazoo radio days. I met Brian when he was my Program Director at 107.7 WRKR. We had shared a common passion for radio, beyond "bottom line" and "product." We considered radio an art form, public service, and more than just a simple advertising venue. He is to-date the only PD who demanded creativity first, and avoided the "radio formula" like a plague. The ratings reflected this. Unfortunately, corporate powers disagreed and we eventually, after job changes for both of us, found ourselves continuously miserable and frustrated as we began to seek out other ways to live. After I left WRKR, I rented a room in their home for nearly a year. Brian and I would spend hours philosophizing about radio, life, politics...everything. I remember distinctly sitting at his dining room table when he made the decision to tell radio to go fuck itself and go back to school to get his psychology degree, in 2003. He's now preparing for his doctorate and presumably moving to Denver for that in 2010.

I had seen Brian & Joey once or twice a year, whenever Laina and I would return to Kalamazoo, and the familiarity was nice. As we rode back to Kalamazoo, the "plan" was to stay through Saturday, then meet up with Shelly after the BBQ at our father's house in Charlotte, MI that Sunday. The one I had once hoped to attend. That would give us 4-days in Kalamazoo, and I was eager to see how the conversations would go and what insights we'd leave with. I was also anxious to see if I was right in assuming that Chris would get along with these two brilliantly!

6/1/09: Michigan

With the buildup and Internet conversation, Shelly and I had little to cover once I arrived. It was more of feeling out process to see how we communicated and connected face-to-face. She also had to work very early in the morning making it for early evenings, so we had spent Sunday night getting acquainted, making plans for Monday, and playing with her kitten, Timber. Shelly had discovered Timber in the debris of a fallen tree. She was still too young to survive without nursing, and Shelly had adopted and taken care of her well enough to become the rambunctious ball of energy she is today. They both became local celebrities in the process with a writeup in the local paper.

Monday, we dropped Shelly off at work in Wauseon, about 10-miles west of Delta, just before 7am. For those of you new to the party, I don't do 7am. This fact necessitated a crucial coffee stop. We noticed a little diner in Delta aptly named The Barn; aptly because it used to be one. We had the bottomless coffee and $3.75 breakfast special before driving north to Ann Arbor and the closest REI about 70-miles away.

It was a dreary, and wet as we a finally approached the Michigan state line and I quipped that we were quite accurate with our March prediction: that we'd be getting to Michigan around the 1st of June. Considering the events of the previous six weeks, it was dumb luck that we were entering Michigan on June 1st, and it seemed comically ironic that through everything, one of our "plans" had actually worked! Chris pulled over next to the big blue "Welcome to Michigan" sign on state road 109, and we took some pictures of me acting like I was pissing on it. Maturity to the end.

Rural southern Michigan's roads brought back a flood of memories. I began to see things that looked familiar as we drove close to Tecumseh, thru Adrian then eventually down US-12 to Clinton. When we crossed I-94 in Ann Arbor, it finally struck me that I was home. I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I was surprised to find myself rather giddy and even a bit excited; not the typical emotional response.

REI is easy to find, and my intention was to swap out the now useless Minimalist bivy for the Aurora I had returned in Santa Fe. The problem was that they don't CARRY that model ANYWHERE in Michigan! I was slightly pissed. The only bivy they carried in this impotent REI was the one I had. To top it off, the girl who was "helping" us was a complete Sea Hag; obviously annoyed that I knew what I wanted and presumed to inconvenience her to do her job and help me get it. I quickly accepted the idea that I was either stuck with this near-useless bivy, or I was getting one elsewhere. REI was quickly losing its appeal, so I inconvenienced her again-to give me a full refund.

It's ironic that "Sunshine", while not helpful to us as it pertained to REI, was helpful enough to send our business to some people who appreciated it. She suggested we try Bivouac Ann Arbor, an outfitter located downtown on State Street near the University of Michigan campus. I was astounded to find my backpack from last year IN THE STORE and ON CLEARANCE!! 40% off! Are you kidding me??? The hitch was the hip belt was too large. I need a medium, and wasn't sure they had a replacement that would work for my skinny ass. As I carried it upstairs to ask questions, we met Pam. She told me that she'd put the pack on hold for a week, and put a call into Gregory to see if they had the belt in stock. I figured it was unlikely this would work, but if it did would save me A LOT of money. Plus I was now looking forward to reuniting with REI's Sunshine so I could inconvenience her for another refund. We began to chat with Pam about the trip so far and discovered that we both liked her a great deal. She was about to make my Christmas Card list...and I don't do Christmas Cards.

I was already liking this store when I found Chris's Alpine bivy in stock and, to my utter glee, it was $20 less than it had been at REI and Pam let on that she would knock another 20 or 25% off the tag. Again, are you KIDDING me?? I immediately told her that if she'd make it 25%, I'd buy it. She agreed, and I had my bivy. A better one than I intended to get from REI, and I got it for $70 LESS! This was turning out to be a pretty good day! Then to top everything off, she said that if a hip belt was found, she'd knock an additional 10% off the backpack, making it half- priced for a brand new pack! Hell, YEAH! THEN, she'd have it shipped to my sister's at no extra cost. Double Hell Yeah!!

I was obviously quite happy as we left the store with my bivy in tow and the pack on hold. I decided that, since it was still early, I would try to contact a couple friends in Jackson about 40-miles west of Ann Arbor. I thought that it would be a good opportunity to see them, and/or take a quick drive past my old house, and stomping grounds. This worked out quite well as I was able to connect with an old baseball/drinking buddy, Todd. He and I were quite good friends and it was nice to chat with him at a coffee shop in Jackson.

It was still only 2:00 as we left Jackson for the sticks, and the old house I was raised in. In its heyday, this house was imposing. It was built in 1863 for loggers and had been added on to giving it a total of 14-rooms. Along with me, my sisters, mother, and grandfather had all either grown up or spent most of their lives there making it something nearly organic for us. I always make this pilgrimage when I'm in the area and have time, despite the fact that it's been abandoned for 15-years and is quickly being reclaimed by nature. It's a powerful practice in perspective. A physical manifestation of the passage of time on display before me. While difficult to see it disintegrating, it still has a centering effect on me. Chris and I explored the place the best we could, taking pictures and making sure we weren't stepping anywhere where the floors may collapse, as has the entire top floor on the west end. My mother still owns the place, and is unable to bring herself to see, or sell it.

We timed this perfectly as we had enough time to get back into Ohio to pick up Shelly with 20-minutes to spare. I had also received the hoped for call from Pam at Bivouac. The belt was found and already on its way. That meant the next morning, we'd be on our way back to Ann Arbor to return Elmo.

5/31/09: Meet Shelly

Shelly and I had been talking via Yahoo chat, Facebook, and the telephone since February, so the meeting wasn't as emotional as it would have once been. I can't even say it was "weird", believe it or not.

Part of this stemmed from Shelly notifying me toward the end of our stay in Mass. that Lynn's kids, Ben & Brad, were flying in that week and there was going to be a BBQ at my fathers the following Sunday. They're 14 and 16 now, and hadn't seen their aunts, uncles, and cousins in years. Shelly thought that, since I was already in touch with most of the players in this drama, it would be a good opportunity to get it, for lack of a better term, over with! I agreed, even though I was sure I'd feel out of place beyond comprehension! Shortly after we left Hillsdale, NY however, she called to let me know my father didn't think it was a good idea because it would "make people uncomfortable", even though everyone there would know who I was...including Ben & Brad...by then. In other words, he'd have to look me and the rest of his family in the face at the same time, and didn't want to deal with it.

While I wasn't surprised, I was both hurt and pissed off at the same time. Who was he kidding? Does he think everyone's a fool? Coward. I stewed for a good portion of the night, before getting to Oneonta. I had held out hope that there may be a chance that I'd be able to get somewhere with him, but this wasn't a good omen. Shelly suggested that perhaps we could set up a smaller gathering with her, Pam, and he and his wife while I was here. At the very least I'd be able to see my nephews while they were here from Idaho and staying with Shelly's mother. That would indeed be pretty cool.

As I got out of the car and walked to her door, of course I was a bit nervous, but once we hugged there was more of a sense of "finally" than anything. We seemed to simply continue this newly developed relationship seamlessly, with none of the dreaded "tension" that I had been afraid may be present. It was nice to finally put my own mental picture with the photographs I had been shown over three decades and begin the process of bringing these other "phantom" siblings from the abstract to the real.

Shelly has always been intriguing to me. My mother has been very upfront about what she knew about my father's side of my family, and had spoken very well of her. She was the one who it seemed would be the most open to hearing from this "new" brother all of the sudden, and upon our meeting online, it became obvious that I was correct. She took the reins, letting Lynn know that she was talking to me and that I'd love to get to know her. Shelly is still the only person with enough courage to confront my father face-to-face, letting him know that she was going to have a relationship with me, whether he was part of it or not. That was the first display of courage based on a sense of right and wrong I had seen from anyone in this family in 15-years, and it was something I will always respect and appreciate, whatever happens from here on.

In addition to this, genealogy is a passion of Shelly's. My heritage has also been a blank slate to me. I knew that the name had originated in France, but also that it had probably had its spelling changed at some point. Without the most basic of information, it was impossible to know anything about where they had come from. Fortunately, Shelly had already done all of this. Within an afternoon, I had gone from next to nothing all the way back to 1633, with the name of the town in France that the Dube' family had emigrated from. Coupled with the dozens of pictures she's provided, now not only do I have names, dates, and places... I also had some faces to go with them. Including those of my father as a young man. Scarily similar to mine!

I'm not sure Shelly realizes what she did for me. Regardless of how parental relationships end, the knowledge of who you are and where you have come from is important, and in my opinion an entitlement not to be withheld out of petty cowardice. It's not as though doing the right thing, in this case, would cost anything other than a dose of pride. I had written a letter to my father in 2005 in an effort to make sure he knew I held no grudges, and to both try to establish contact with him AND get some sort of history; both genealogical and medical. Maybe he was out of stamps. Maybe the phone was broken. Maybe the Innerwebs went down. Maybe he's just a jackass. This visit should answer that once and for all. More on that in another post. First, a little history.

I have a total of six- sisters and two- brothers:

- Two sisters are from my mother's first marriage, where I got this horrendous name.
- Three others are also older, from my father's first marriage. They are Shelly, Lynn and Skip. Their mother, Charlotte, was friends with my mother, so these three were around me after I was born having no idea I was their brother. Shelly didn't find out until my mother sent a picture of me to her in her graduation card.
- Then came me: a bounding bundle of annoyance & inconvenience!
- Shortly after I was born, my father got his current wife pregnant and married her. They've remained married, and have three younger children. Pam, Kim, and Mike.

At some point shortly after I was born, my mother and one of her more obnoxious friends ran into my father and his current wife at a store. This friend apparently took it upon herself to confront he and his wife, asking him "Don't you want to see your son?", while pushing the stroller in front of him. I've always resented her for that because, while I'm sure it made her feel all-powerful to blindside him, it ended any likelihood that there would be any casual contact between he and I. From my understanding, this caused some discussion between he and his wife, and somewhere along the way she ended up telling Pam (born shortly after me) that I was out here.

When I finally tried to contact people in 1994, it was Pam whom I reached and, despite my attempts to be clever and coy, she knew exactly who I was. Shortly after this, I met Pam and her younger sister Kim. These relationships were a bit strained, and after a couple years of feeling like the puppy dog hidden in the shed, we lost contact shortly after I began my radio career.

At a particularly intense point in 2000, I decided to drunk call again, and this time Kim just put my father on the phone, probably not wanting to deal with me! From that came the only meeting I've had with him, which was at a mall food court in Battle Creek. It lasted all of 20-minutes, but went pretty well all the same. I left thinking that we had actually begun to connect in some weird way and thought that we'd be able to continue keeping in touch. That was the last contact I've had with him, and the last contact with Pam or Kim until January of this year after a chance encounter with Kim on Facebook. That led to re-establishing contact with Pam, which led me to Shelly.

It was always figured that there was clear, universal knowledge of the situation based on the fact that when I contacted Pam 15-years ago, she had known who I was. Figuring this family was at least quasi normal, I assumed that the topic of "another sibling" would make its rounds and the results would play themselves out over time. Shelly, Lynn, and Pam have finally dispelled this dreadfully misguided assumption.

Through these conversations I've learned that not only was there no communication on the topic, but that it had become taboo for whatever reason. Michelle apparently had to push her way onto the computer the night we talked for the first time. I wasn't even told she was there. Then, Lynn shocked me when she told me that it was only VERY recently that she discovered who I was. Apparently my father and his wife have NEVER discussed this, at all-NEVER-after "the store." I keep saying it, but this is just inconceivable to me, even now after I've come to discover how whacked their family dynamics really are.

As I arrived at Shelly's house in Delta on May 31, I held no real expectations beyond meeting my nephews and a faint, fading glimmer hope that I'd be able to begin to develop a relationship with the rest of that part of my family, particularly Daddy Dearest. I also, however, knew that this was the last chance. It's time to draw conclusions, good or bad, and move on. I know that I have growing relationships with Shelly, Lynn, & perhaps Pam. That aint bad! From this point, the best that I could do was make myself available and do everything I could to offer every opportunity to get things right. I want to at least leave Michigan knowing I have done EVERYTHING that I could do, having no regrets or "what ifs" from here forward. I wanted to be able to say for certain when he's dead and gone, "Yes. I tried. But he was just simply a jackass" with no second thoughts about being right. I hoped for the best as I prepared for what was assured to be the most intense period of investigating both myself , and where I had come from to date: Vitam Impendere Vero: Truth before everything.