So This is the New Year

[A rare occasion - I felt like writing a poem to share. Inspired by the new year, I put it our as a gesture of solidarity with writers and readers alike. Good things be to all.]

-

3-2-1

With the dawning sun

a new year opens its newborn eyes

Stretching wide

Heaving its first breath (in - out),

beckoned with caution,

uninvited, but expected,

celebrated - and feared

Auld lang syne sung

showers with tunes of who we were,

what we did,

rhythms of whys,

but all give way to

what (or who) we will become

(and when).

A day like another, yet we

relent

reflect

repent

regret

and resolve,

seek to be washed clean

by the holy water of annual renewal.

One hand waves hesitant goodbyes,

the other props open possibility

One leg in

other out

Relieved by transition,

Exhilarated by potential

Feeling at once like naive children,

but weather-worn from sojourns

knowing all to well that we know nothing.

Whispered promises are made

to her (I will)

to him (I will)

to me (I might)

as the carousel spins, melodies drifting upward,

we dance to whatever song

we choose to hear

hearts beating in rhythmic synchronicity

until we are called home

to begin

again.

One, and done.

It always happens: some kind, well meaning person asks when we will be having a second kid. My responses are usually clever and sometimes curt, but with each inquiry, I am forced to examine my stance of the second-kid issue. I'm one-and-done.As hard as it is to close that door, still being young enough to physically conceive (if not mentally or emotionally), I have considered what it would mean to have a second child, and it would kill me.

Many people say things like, "You don't realize you have the capacity to love something that much until you have a child," to which I will agree. Then comes the but - "But when you have a second, it will happen again."This presumption is what I find most challenging, and most threatening.

No thanks. That's the poison I cannot swallow.

I love my child so much, it hurts. To have a second would end me.

From the second Ezra was born, love became tangible, no longer an abstract concept; the emotion I felt grew forth from me like an appendage, something that was always potentially in existence prior to his birth, but afterwards, physically apparent, present like an arm or a leg - and even more fragile. This fragility has caused me to hurt, daily, and incessantly.

It hurts knowing that I have something I care for so overwhelmingly that it envelops my being in a sort of suffocating cocoon of affection. 

Driving Ezra home from the hospital, I called my mother. Very sincerely, I told her that I understood, then, what I hadn't prior. I will always worry, from that day forward, and it would never, ever cease, a vicious and enduring cycle, my proverbial, emotional rocking chair - back and forth, but never getting anywhere - until the day I die. 

It's chronic pain for which there is no treatment.

There are times when I feel like an elephant is standing upon my chest as I become consumed by anxiety. This is a new feature since parenthood, and controls me, rendering me incapable of being the person I once was: carefree, enjoying reckless behavior, thinking of the near, but not distant, future. Not anymore. What little shred of identity that remains in me is preserved in amber, a harder, parental exterior has crystalized over the faint remains of a former person. Yes, I'm still me, but I've been changed in a way that is irreversible.

I am consumed, willfully, by love, and it pains me.

This love is the best pain I have ever felt, and, masochistic as it is, I will continue to ache as long as I can, but I can't do it twice.

A wah, a cry, a wail

I am the younger of two children by twelve years. I come from an extremely large extended family, but the majority of the family around whom I lived growing up were older than me. Everyone did things for me and cooed at my every whim, teaching me all the things they thought I should have known.  Essentially, I am the baby: a role I proudly embrace. So, when I found out that my wife would be having a baby, I realized, after coming to, that I had to learn. I had to learn everything. For the first time in my life, I knew nothing.

A “wah,” a cry, a wail - having a newborn is like living with a drug addict; one minute, he is on a high:  sweet, lovable, and the apple of my eye. The toothless, gummy smile and pterodactyl screeches melt my heart. The next minute, the world is coming to a crashing halt and all the rotational pull of the earth's gravity ceases, spiraling out of control. I start to sweat, ask him, as though he will respond, what he wants.  Instead of responding, he looks into my eyes, senses my growing fears,  and wails. What, exactly, does that cry mean? He's not wet-i just changed him. He can't be hungry, he just ate. Is he cluster feeding? This cry so different: alone in a vast expanse of sobs. The nuances between these cries are slight, and it takes inference to decode, inferences I so desperately needed to master

There are several categories of Ezra cries. Wahh one: this is the “I'm-sort-of-fussy-are-you-there cry,” the one he uses to make sure that either his mother or I are still paying him attention. At eleven weeks, he already knows that his small little finger can fit two parents, regardless of our small stature, tightly wrapped around. Wahh two: this is the” I'm-going-to-cry because-I'm-tired cry,” which is softer and usually accompanied by eye rubbing. I watch for he signals, a father hawk as keenly invested in his best interest as I am my own sanity, grab a muslin blanket for his swaddling. This is no burrito; wrapping my child is crucial, requiring the delicate balance of tightness and gentleness or, of course, there is another cry. Throw in the mix an assortment of other cries like the standard “I-need-my-diaper-changed,” “I'm-hungry,” and “Haha-I’m-funny” cries, but each has its own subtle difference. Each cry is laden with its own suggestive implications and emotional underpinnings, all of which I have had to learn to translate. If not, someone else usually ends up crying, and I can assure you, he doesn't wear diapers.

Ezra: Unamused.

An open letter to my 18-year-old self

I often imagine what it would be like if I could get a time machine somehow and fly back to talk to a younger version of myself. I consider what it would be like to meet myself, face-to-face, and have an open conversation. Would I even recognize the person that I am today if I saw me as the person I was back then? I am equally interested to know if the person I was would even like the person that I am. I suppose there is no clear way of knowing, but what I can do is have an open conversation with the person that I was from the perspective of the person that I have become today.

How exciting it must feel for you to be finally 18. I know that this is a time that you've been waiting for, partly because most people wait for this time, and mainly because, well, I am you. You see, I write this letter openly to let you know what it is like to be you 12 years hence. I don't know that you will necessarily like the way I look, but if you know something about the person you'll become, it should be that I don't necessarily care what you think. There have certainly been some experiences in my life the past 12 years that have shaped the person that I am as I approach this new decade of life.

There is nothing that can prepare you for certain things that will happen. At 19, you will experience something that you will never wish upon anyone else. At first it will seem like it's life-shattering, like everything you've ever known and will ever now suddenly stops. It's like you get a sense of the world around you moving, but you were somehow tethered to the earth incapable of motion yourself. What I can assure you is that you are stronger person than you know that you are. In fact, we will handle certain things with grace that you never thought you would, and other things you will handle in ways you wish you hadn't, but in the spirit of true knowledge, you chalk it up to a learning experience. That's one thing I've always liked about you, one thing I've always liked about me. There will be things in your life that seem impossible to overcome, but that is never stopped you before, and it never will again.

You will grow to love college. I know that it wasn't something that was easy for you to adjust to. You will be successful by most people standards. More importantly, you will be successful based on your own standards which are somehow more elevated than a standard held by others. You will be surprised that the direction you thought you could go is not the direction that you will take but definitely the direction that you were meant to be going towards. I know that you resist the belief in our predetermined destiny, but somewhere along the line, you except that things are placed in your path for a reason. Remember that life isn't always about a destination, but rather about a journey. As cliché as that may be, it will be one of the guiding principles of your professional life. Don't worry, becoming a teacher isn't that bad.

You've always had an over inflated sense of self-confidence and don't worry, that never goes away. The problem with your overconfidence is your inability to open up to people. It will take you a while to realize this, but somewhere along the way you do. You will always remain cautious of those you let into your life, but the ones that matter the most you always manage to hang onto, and they always manage to hang onto you. You will always have a tough exterior, a shell that will protect you from certain harm, but you can always remember to take it off occasionally and show the parts of you that are worth seeing.

There are many painful and beautiful lessons to be learned along the way. Some involve great losses, others involved great victories. You must always remember to take the good with the bad, the light with the dark, and the wins with the losses. You were not always the most gracious of winners or the most gracious of losers, but nevertheless, you will find that winning and losing have their own merits.

You will become many things to many people, and that could be awfully confusing to the person you would like to be to yourself. You will constantly discover, lose, and rediscover the person that you are and who you're meant to be. As I write this openly to you, I'm not quite sure I even know what that means as of today. You will read many great things and take many of the deeper meanings of life from the literature you encounter. You find that, at times, you yourself resemble more of a character than you do a person, but that's all part of the journey of self-discovery.

Maybe at 18 you want to know what all people want to know. Maybe at 18 you think you already know what you need to know. At this point, none of that matters. What matters is that you find happiness in places that you never thought you would. You find disappointment in people you never thought you would. We will sometimes confuse your hopefulness with expectations, but in the end you'll learn that life goes on, and you continue to grow and develop as a human being. There is no one in this world worth changing more than yourself.

I assure you that you will find love. It will be wonderful. It will be different from everything you've ever imagined it would be. You won't know it when you see it, but you will know. It's the kind of love that changes everything. It alters the world that you knew for the world that you expect as well as the life that you will lead because that's exactly what love does. I know you don't understand that now, and I know that you don't care, but once you open that door, you will never walk back through. 

There is nothing that could ever truly prepare you for life. Everybody will have suggestions, and everybody will give you opinions, but at the end of the day, you are fully responsible for all of your actions. Never forget that. You will always speak your mind, and not necessarily tactfully. We are still working on that. We are also not very good at admitting when we are wrong. That's because it rarely happens. Wink.

There will come a day when you will look in the mirror and stop seeing the person you were when you were 13 years old. I can't tell you when that day will be, but I'm hoping it sometime soon. That time has to come, because there will be a time for you to put away childish things because there is no time for you to be a child anymore. Being 18 doesn't make you an adult; it makes you numerically worthy of such a title, but it doesn't make you a man. What makes you a man is being able to reflect on the choices you've made and the things that you've done and sleep peacefully at night knowing that it wasn't all perfect, but it was what it was. The only childish things you will have time for at 30 are the childish things you do with your own son. It is your opportunity to make things right you couldn't make right with yourself. It is your chance to have a small piece of immortality. It is your responsibility to shape the future of someone else because you spent the past 30 years shaping your own.

Being 18 is a lot of fun. I can assure you, it was even more fun to be 21. Your 20s will shape the rest of your life. My 30s will be a time to enjoy what I worked so hard to achieve in my 20s. If there is anything that I learned about you in the past 12 years, it's that you're going to be alright. You will learn to heal your own wounds and open your own doors. You will learn that there are many beautiful things that life has to offer if you keep your eyes open to the opportunity. You will always fear failure, but will be much more likely to take chances on things that are worth your while.

So, in closing, you were the person at 18 you were meant to be at 30. Look down at the stones he will step on and the path that you have paved to get to where I am today. Know that you can look back fondly, but you can't retrace your steps for undo what's been done. What lies before me is a road that has been laid by you and your actions. If there is anything that I wish you had done differently at 18, it would have been to respect yourself and appreciate yourself more. Don't be so hard on yourself because you are worth more than you give yourself credit for. It will take you a long time to learn that, but once you get there, it's called 30, and it's not that bad.

Another year...

Today, my mother explained to me what it was like to experience my birth.

Strange; I have lived, up to this moment, approximately 26 years, 364 days and 23.5 hours and I have never before heard this story. I'd like to say that my birth was a momentous occasion on which stars aligned and planets converged upon one another, but, unfortunately, i have no such legendary occurrence to report.

My birth, rather, like my life, is recounted as a stubborn occasion. Due to my late arrival, it seems clear to me that instead of born, I was removed. Coming into this world as a benign and removable lump of humanity may seem discouraging, but it only furthers the relevance of my emotional status.

The day I was born, the first successful heart transplant took place, but my mother was probably grateful that I was no longer inhabiting her parasitically. I likely went home to a house that had expected me, but wasn't prepared to me, particularly considering a sibling who had lived twelve years sans little brother. Much to her chagrin, I'd imagine, there was someone with whom her family would be shared.

As I have grown into the man I am, I have realized a particularly important aspect of my life that I have previously ignored: birthdays are not celebratory, but rather a reflective occasion.

I have found that there are those people that are very capable at liking birthdays. Those people make me jealous. I find birthdays to be not a momentous day. but rather a day on which I reflect upon the year that has passed. I ask myself: am I happy with what I have done, where I am, WHO I am?

Perhaps my occupation has rendered me inherently reflective, but I refuse to think I am a lost cause. I wish I were the one who was uncannily optimistic, but I am too busy dwelling on what was that I cannot see what will be. It seems inherently unnecessary to predict the unpredictable future, but there's a huge part of me that feels discouraged by my own inadequacy to be more forward-looking.

I don't look at this as a flaw, but rather as something that makes me ME. I may not be looking towards 27, but I will think about 26. The past two years have been interesting, to say the least (and to obscure my true feelings), but I can't help but feel the impending THIRTY. I do not fear the milestone, but do ponder where I will be, but not nearly as much as look back at the version of myself that has thus far inhabited this planet.

For those of you who will say, "You're so young," to you I say, "I am young, but I've lived every year twice, wondering what I could have done to be a better me." At this rate, I'll be sixty before I'm thirty, and certainly prepared for retirement.

Battling anxiety and depression is like fighting a gun fight with a knife; you never get ahead. You are forced to better adapt your skills and resources for those battles I can fight. I can't be everything to everyone, but I can be me, 27, and ready for another year, until the next birthday...

Personal Rage and Dylan Thomas

In all of my personal struggle over the past year and more, I find myself tired of the waxing and waning of my inner emotions. I await a time when I don't feel anxious or worried and I can look forward to pleasantries without said joys being compromised and tainted by the "other" feelings that linger, wafting through the air malodorously, choking and suffocating me. 


I have never considered myself much of a fighter, but I also do not consider myself a quitter. The competitor in me has now acknowledge that my greatest source of adversity comes from within. Internally conflicted, developing strategies and approaches for coping is quite the difficult process. Like a migratory animal in a world of global warming, I find myself reactive instinctively, and yet confusedly. 


Certainly, I am one to say that I don't care about what other people say about me, but that would be a falsity. I am sure that when people think of me, the first adjective that comes to mind is not "strong". I am not one to argue with my lack of physical prowess, but I would not consider myself weak, in any sense. Part of me suffers through hours of painful tattooing to prove to myself that I can take the physical pains of life, partly associating the endurance with the possibility of the future pain I may have to tolerate. Additionally, I feel as though people may see me as a stronger and braver person because I have never had the opportunity to do so. 


I suppose I am considering all of this because, in teaching characterization and character traits to students, the concept of bravery and courage are often associate with heroic characters found within fictional stories. Ironically, the aforementioned traits are so easily identified, yet we often overlook the more difficult and realistic human associations with courage and bravery. Again, I do not feel confident enough to call myself brave or courageous, but I will identify with stubborn. 


Of all the things I am, a quitter is not me. I don't back down. I may get angry, but often that anger motivates and fuels me. That's where Dylan Thomas, and my English-obsessed ways, surface. I read and reread the following poem tonight in an effort to refocus my life in the face of adversity:

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

To me, it is clear that the speaker of the poem is attempting to express contempt for a mere resignation towards death. It appears that it is neither honorable or appropriate to accept death and a predetermined fate. We should all fight against impending death rather than passively acquiescing to death's silent request. 


Thomas divides the poem into four separate parts in order to build upon the idea that raging against the dying of the light is a valid approach to not only death, but also, more implicitly, against the darkness and tribulations that may frequently arise in life. In the opening stanza, the speaker introduces the message of battling against passivity only to succeed the introduction with four paragraphs of examples of fighting against the dying of the light. The continued repetition of this key phrase, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light," builds upon itself to provide emphasis. 


Later, the tone becomes far more emotionally charged and personal as the speaker talks about his father. In many ways, one could read this poem and provide the suggestion in an analysis of "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" saying it is as a statement about living a strong life and refusing to go down quietly.


To my point I come: I shall rage on. I may not always emerge victorious and my sphere of influence is, often times, rather limited and beyond my control, but never will I merely accept the unacceptable. Where I am is where I am meant to be, but it doesn't mean I can't fight for more in a brave and courageous manner, even if it goes unnoticed.

Fare thee well, twenty-ten.

I will not pretend by saying that this year has been the best of years. In fact, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

Leave it to a long-dead Victorian author, Dickens of course, to best articulate this past year. Without going into depth, I'd rather focus on some of the good things that have occurred this year.

Valerie, my mom number two, remarried on January 2, 2010. I was so glad to share that moment with her! I wish her nothing but love and happiness.

I had tons of fun with Tara and Marissa, just like old times. 

My parents actually took a picture with me.

For Easter, Louanne and I went to Carlsbad and visited the flower fields. I remember that this was the same day my mom called me to ask if I felt the earthquake.

For my birthday last year, Louanne decided to try to kill me. I waited three months or so to finally go. Jumping out of a plane was something I wanted to do later in the year, but without a parachute. Luckily, things turned out all right.

I think my face explains it all. 

I lived. Apparently...

Along with jumping out of planes, I flew on a couple as well. I was lucky enough to go to the east coast with the eighth graders last school year. It was a great nine days of so, regardless of how exhausting it was. I was able to see sites that I had never seen and go with a great group of amazing kids. Those students are going to be very difficult to beat in my years of teaching. I feel very blessed to have been their teacher and, in this case, chaperone, for the east coast trip.

 Feeding goats at Plimoth.

On top of the Empire State Building.

Lady Liberty 

Capitol Building in DC.

 Iwo Jima monument.

 Lincoln Monument

The summer was an interesting one. I left my last school site under my own volition. I thought that it was what I wanted. If you have read earlier blogs, then you know the story. The gist of it is as follows: I was very excited to change schools to go to a comprehensive middle school, but the work ahead of me was intense. All in all, it was a rough but necessary change. I am glad to have left things behind and to move forward at Lewis.

I also attended Del Mar Race Track's opening day.

In the boxes at Del Mar 

 SF in August

Taken by Justin Chung who is, by the way, going to be a hugely famous photographer. He is already on his way! I'm very proud of my little bro. (Below)

Vegas in July... Let me say, I remember why I don't go to Vegas, but Ashley and Joe are two of my new favorite people. I look forward to the many wonderful times to remember (and forget).

@ Crown in the Rio

The real low down: What I expect in 2011...

Biggest Trend: Weddings ... better than the baby trend!

It seems like 2010 and 2011 will be the years of weddings. Everybody is getting married or having children, and this makes me assess my state in life. It is a good thing I enjoy weddings, particularly those with open bars, but I am most excited to see Mary Beth and Brian as well as Sergio and Adriana get married next year. Two of best, closest, and oldest friends are tying the knot with their partners. I am very happy for them, but also a little worried. I am sure I will have an opportunity to speak at both of their weddings. 

I suppose this is what happens at this stage in my life; people around me are making long-term life decisions. Buying a home this year reminded me that there are important steps that we all take in our lives, but nothing should be done without consideration. In the long run, there are very few things in this world worth rushing, so I have learned to be patient and ready to make decisions as appropriate and necessary.

Biggest Change:

A big concern I have for 2011 is how I will handle my self in light of my parents moving across the country. I know that it has to happen at some point, but the logical order of events is that the child moves away (as I did) and the parents stay. I didn't expect that they would move away and leave me behind. I know I am old and mature enough to handle it, but it is strange to think that I will have to get on an airplane to visit my parents. In light of the wretched circumstances that tainted most of 2010, the best-case scenario was for them to move away and begin again, but because it negatively impacts me, I am not 100 percent keen on the idea, but rather about eighty-five percent. Hey, I can't be completely selfless in the manner, but I can handle it with a certain degree of grace.

Biggest Concern:

Lay-offs - I don't want to talk more about this. California - get yourself together.

Biggest Accomplishment:

That I can predict - graduating with my master's. There's a part of me that feels like I should have already done this, but I did not rush into a career field that I didn't enjoy, I didn't just continue my education for the sake of doing so, and it was just plain-ol' good timing. I value education so much that I hope to stay in the field as a teacher as long as allowed (see above).

The reflection:

I want 2010 to pass in the night, in its resting state, and fade away into the dark, uncompromising oblivion in which it belongs. It is strange to think that I struggle to reflect this year because of all of the difficulty I have had. In the long run, I have grown exponentially. 

By growth, I mean to say that I have learned some important things:

I have learned that my sphere of influence is really rather small, but my focused energy can be placed in more appropriate areas. 

My life is like a train ride and I am its conductor. There are people who have been passengers for a long time, getting on soon after departure if not immediately thereafter. Then, there are people who got on a little later for the ride. Sometimes, people can no longer take the journey with me and they must stop at a station appropriate for them, some never to return again and others may buy a ticket back. I am often hesitant to let passengers on my train to nowhere and am cautious of the baggage they bring, never really knowing whether it will benefit me or weigh me down. I welcome those who trust me and support me on my journey. I am always looking for new passengers to challenge me and accompany on this treacherous voyage of existence but a fair disclaimer shall be issued: if you buy the ticket you have to be willing to endure the ride. If you cannot, feel free to pull the chain and get off at the next stop. I have learned to let people go. People come and go and I control who rides on the train.

One thing Joe Ferro knows is a lot about himself through the trials and tribulations as well as joys and people that have come into (and out of) his life. I am what I am and that's as realistic as can be.

People who get to know me know that I am not always to be taken at face value. I value my family and friends more than anything. My best friends are most favored because they know me not for who I am, but why I am this way. I like to work diligently, and play even more. I do know how to let loose and, occassionally, it gets me into trouble. I love life and living it to its fullest.

.

To describe me... i am like a mountain climber, always looking for a challenge, but as soon as i get to the top, i can't help but think of the climb down. i never sit at the top and enjoy my accomplishments either. This is an area to work on, but at least I never back down from a new opportunity. After all, "Our greatest foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, are within."

My life has been kind of up and down for the past year, but I am happy... and it feels great. The people who are in my life at this moment make me glad to get up every morning and set forth in in this crazy world. I have amazing family, stellar friends, a fantastic girlfriend - who could ask for more?