Chadmo

This past weekend I traveled back to Dolly Sods North for my second visit. In anticipation of the second trip I wrote a review of my first experience. Below is that review as posted on http://www.hikingupward.com/

The actual URL for Dolly Sods North on Hiking Upward can be found here: http://www.hikingupward.com/MNF/DollySodsNorth/

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An Annapolis cafe,
Blue coffee and 1994 cigarettes.
Big Sur is waiting.
A white van, black hands, and Shannon cries,
Sasha knows why.
My beard on the police,
Angie cheats, lesbians smile,
Motorcycles through Monterey.
Josh eclipses the moon,
And I walk on the ocean.

Posted via email from Chadmo

Often in my dreams I have seen the events of my life which have yet to unfold.  Moments captured in time, that when realized, fit neatly into what was once fanciful exploits of slumber.  Looking back on those moments I cannot recall one that shown me as a writer.  I do believe it is time to cease this silliness of trying to write, and instead start sleeping with my pen.

–Chadmo

Posted via email from Chadmo

Note: Below is a post I wrote as a guest blogger for the Baltimore Sun.  I was asked to write an anecdote of interest to dads, that either explored some universal issue or asked a question.  The only stipulation was I had two hours to write it, and it could only be five paragraphs long.  Here is the original post: http://is.gd/8pIk

Make-up - A Father’s Tale

Fatherhood. It’s a beautiful thing. Unless you have teenage girls. Teenage daughters have the uncanny ability to instantly change a father’s level of self-assuredness. I have two girls, one is 13 and the other is 12. In the span of six months I went from being the coolest man on the planet to the guy who is no longer allowed to answer his home phone.

Please don’t misunderstand, I love my children dearly. In fact, as any good father, I would do anything for them. Which is why I sit idly by as they put on enough mascara to camouflage a parade of pigmy elephants before heading off to school each morning. My friends ask me why I let them put on make-up. I tell them if they don’t get it, they’re in for a rough ride.

You see, I became a father when I was 20 years old. I’m now 33. Most of my friends are just becoming parents. It’s the upside to having children when you’re entirely too young to know better. At a time when couples my age are only acquainting themselves with the idea of diapers, I’m a seasoned veteran. I can walk into a room full of crying babies and have them changed, fed and quoting Voltaire by snack time.

So when my friends lecture me on the fact I let my girls wear make-up to school, I politely listen to their point of view. Their hearts are in the right place, but they’re missing the bigger picture. In 13 years of parenting I’ve learned a few things. One of the most important lessons is that a father should let his girls express themselves as they grow into young ladies. And regardless of whether or not my friends agree with me, they cannot argue with the results.

Both of my daughters are on the honor roll, they do their homework without being asked, and they are respectful to adults and kind to their peers. So when my girls ask me to stay up a half an hour late on a week night, or to play on the computer for a few hours, or even to wear make-up to school, I let them do it. While it can be somewhat disconcerting to see my young ladies walk out of the house with a little too much eyeshadow on, I realize that their world is much different than my own. In the end, we teach our children to be kind and wise. Then we must give them the freedom to choose. Our fears should not dictate their path in life.

-Chadmo

You are the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had.  I will never forget you.  I wish I knew what else to say.  All I know is that today cannot be just another day.

God, I miss you girl.  Today crept up on me.  I saw it, sitting there on the calendar weeks ago.  For the most part I tried not to think about it.  In fact this morning it didn’t even occur to me.  Then Patricia mentioned it.  I was not yet fully awake, so I heard the words but their meaning was lost to me.  Then I forgot again until just a few minutes ago.  I was overcome with a feeling of anger.  The older I get the easier it is to give into cynicism.  Today I’m definitely cynical.  I’ll keep that part between you and me.

I wish I could have hugged you one more time.  I can’t remember if I hugged you the last time I saw you.  But I like to think I did.

It’s the best gift I could come up with. It reminds me of your art. Cheesy attempt, I know, but it’s for you nonetheless.

Every now and again the stars align in such a manner as to focus the energy of the heavens against a single spirit.  Such persons are the subjects of great tragedies: Oedipus, Gilgamesh, Faustus, and Santiago. Rarely recognized are those magnificent people who share the burden of commonality.

I am fortunate enough to have known a person of great goodness.  There is no achievement so profound that can shadow the beauty of her gentle soul.   No literary quest of classic origins that can diminish her radiance.  For hers was the life of suffering not by cantos, chapters, or acts — but as an existence.  Yet for all the pain and disappointment she held in her heart the essence of what makes us good.

Long have we thrown away words on lesser men.  We praise robotically.  We cherish average heroes.  Our need is so great we worship those who merely imitate morality.  So it is with deliberate care and modest patience that I write these words.

Kellie lived in spite of life.  With an absent drunk for father and a selfishly indifferent mother she become acquainted in life’s crueler lessons at an age when most of us were carefree and blissfully ignorant.  She was just a teenager when she met a man old enough to know better and she became a mother.  He was the man all fathers pray never find their little girls.  Yet when life pushed hard on her frail body, she stood firm and pushed away those who would take from her what was not theirs.  It was then I first met Kellie.  I immediately liked her.

She was poor.  She had nothing.  But she loved her daughter with all her heart.  She met a close friend of mine and they fell in love. Soon after that they married and settled down into, what should have been, happily ever after.  But life was not content to let her be.

Shortly after the birth of her second child the pressure life placed on her started to show.  I noticed more and more she seemed to be in pain when I visited her. She and my wife had become the best of friends.  I started to hear stories of too many medical problems for someone so young.  I remained hopeful that with treatment she would be fine.  Yet as the years went by the banality of life most of us dread continued to elude her.  The list of doctors and medications grew to the point where it was humorous.  We used to joke about the dozens of bottles she was prescribed.  In spite of all life’s efforts to wear her down she remained a beautiful woman.

One of my secret joys was purposely saying things I knew she frowned upon.  She was the only person I have ever known who, even in anger, could not be mean.  Whenever I’d over step my bounds she’d smack me on the arm to remind me how a gentleman should act.  She was a true lady.  I will miss the playful nature of our relationship dearly. She kept the kid in me carefree and blissfully ignorant of the hardships she faced day after day.

Never have I known a person with more reason to hate and carry cynicism in her heart. Yet she was a devoted and loving wife, mother and friend until the end. I cannot recall a single complaint against a life that was better suited to the pen of an author.

I will miss you everyday of my life, Kellie.

Love,

Chad - 11/30/07

As Americans we are disassociated from our own country.  We watch the actions of our government unfold on television with an almost indifferent sense of helplessness.  Maybe it’s time for the experiment of democracy to end.  We had a good run, but once we started to give up our liberty for security, we lost both.

“They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” — Benjamin Franklin