As I sit here at my desk and
procrastinate by avoiding my daily educational responsibilities, I wonder what
it is that I should do for the rest of the day. I know I should study (I have
been for the past hour or so, at least haphazardly). Should I hit the gym and
burn off the pint of Everything but
the... (which is my favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s)? I am kind of
lost as to what I should write about. Do I even have anything interesting
enough to write, that someone will be interested enough to read? I think that I
am an interesting person, and my life have definitely had its times of extreme
intensity, but can I convey these events in such a manner that people will
actually read (and enjoy) them? Where do I even begin? What is a good topic to
start writing about? Should I just stick to one topic? I guess that I will see
how this thing takes shape, but for now, I think the best topic to start with
is myself.
Well the bridge sounded a bit
narcissistic which is not my intention. I think that for this first post, the
best thing to do is to give my audience (even if it is just myself) a good bit
of background information about who I am, and how I got here, like the
biography of a writer on the cover of his book.
I guess the first thing that I
should say is that my name is Chris, I am 29 years old, and I currently live in
Venice, California. I really enjoy living here, and really my apartment and
location are probably the least interesting reasons why I enjoy Venice as much
as I do. My friends, hobbies, dog and all of the locals here are far more
interesting to talk about than the beach, in my opinion. That will have to wait
though, because I need to start from the beginning.
The dynamic of my genetic family
situation is very confusing, and in no way, shape or form, linear. I will start
with my mother. She had a boyfriend around the time that I was conceived (for
many people this is normal), but she got pregnant by another person (my father,
and she didn’t tell anyone about this until I was 12. To this day, my birth
certificate still reflects the wrong person as being my father). I was born 45
minutes from Venice, in La Canada, which is a suburb of Los Angeles on the
north east side between Glendale and Pasadena. I spent the first half of my
life in La Crescenta and Tujunga (which are neighboring suburbs of Los Angeles
as well) with my mother, her new husband (my step-dad. A funny fact about my
step-dad; he recently told me that he used to go beat up my birth certificate
father for neglecting his child. I feel bad that the guy had no idea why he was
being beat up, and that my mother allowed that to happen as long as it did.),
and their three children, my brother’s Daniel and Bradley, and my sister Erin.
My mother, birth certificate father, unofficial father, and stepfather are all
from La Crescenta, and by just a couple degrees, know each other. To sum it up,
my family is an interesting one to hear about in the least.
Growing up poor is not a comforting
feeling at all, and if that were it, life would have been grand. My parents
though, could only seem to think of themselves. Only when they were finally
satiated in whatever indulgence it was at the time they would tend to their
children. That wouldn’t have been so bad for me, if my step-dad didn’t have the
anger issues that he did, and hit and kick me as hard as he would, or abuse me
mentally in the ways that he did. I seemed to be the last concern when it came
to my family, for anything (in some ways I am grateful for that, it has spawned
the kind of independence that very few people get to understand) which was very
hard at first, but I started learning to take care of myself, and eventually my
siblings. I first started taking on these parental responsibilities around the
age of 6 or so with the changing of my sister’s diapers, basic cleaning and
cooking. I would give my brothers bowls of cereal, and make them sandwiches
frequently when my mother was too drunk to function properly, and my father was
too high to really care about anything else (I think that it was events like
this one that shaped my personality in such ways that I would do anything that
I can to help my loved ones, and frequently help other’s in need). My childhood
start out completely bad though, and my step-dad wasn’t a complete monster, nor
was my mother a total sociopath, it gradually became more frequent as my father
tore both of his rotator cuffs and was eventually unable to provide for his
family, only his social security and disability insurances (with which alcohol
and drugs came first). The good days though, were really good! My step-dad
taught me how to ride a bike, gave me the gift of classic rock, taught me how
to play baseball (coached my little brothers), and even more so, gave me the
gift of family. His entire side of my family has accepted me and treated me in
the exact same ways that they do any of their other grandchildren, nieces,
nephews, and cousins. There is no question whatsoever that I am not part of the
family, and in fact, I spend more time with my step-dads parents and sister than
my step-dad, brothers and sister. I am eternally grateful that they are in my
life, for if it weren’t for my aunt or my grandparents, I might not be here
writing today. I am lucky to have them in my life, and the kind of family they
are to me is something that transcends blood. All that I will say about my
mother’s side of the family, it is so messed up and estranged that the most
responsible child my grandparents had, is a homeless schizoid. I love my
family, but aside from my cousins, it is irreparable.
I
used to hate my step-dad to the point of wishing him dead, though I never said
it. I was too afraid I would be beaten. My forgiveness of my stepfather has
only come in the past few years, but it began when my parents eventually got
divorced, and my mother moved us to Nevada, the retirement location of my
maternal grandparents. It was at least a superficial sense of remorse from my
step-dad, but I could tell he was being authentic when he apologized for his what
he did to me. He never did get into specifics, though. I am sure it is hard for
someone to think about how harmful they were, and the aggregation of all the
pains caused to me, were probably overwhelming for him. My mother on the other
hand would never grow, or learn from her mistakes. Her issues are so deep,
everything she does is an affirmation that she is a victim, and she faults
everyone else for the pain that she causes. I am slowly forgiving her, but I do
not think that I will ever be able to have a relationship with her, because she
does not see herself as being the problem. And for that, I feel sorry for her,
because the only person that she truly has left in this world is dying one
amputated toe at a time, my grandfather. My
mother’s issues would follow us to Nevada, and I would eventually live with her
parents during my grandmother’s final battle with cancer.
It was a tough year for my
grandparents and I. Living with someone dying of cancer is hard, and becomes
exponentially more difficult as the disease progresses leaving it’s victim more
and more incapacitated. My grandmother never showed it though; she would wake
up early and cook my breakfast before school, then clean my room while I was
eating. She would do my laundry, and bake me snacks. Sally Bucknell was the
mother that I never had, and it breaks my heart to think that the only love
from her that I can feel is the memories that I have of her. She was cute. My
grandma would walk around the block in her robe if I weren’t home from school
when I normally would have been, and she would brag to everyone about me at the
grocery store when I would take her (because it was too dangerous to let her
drive being as sick as she was). She loved me so much, and expressed it every
possible time she could in her actions. The year before she died, and the
subsequent year after were probably the two most important years of my life.
After my grandmother passed away, my family began to rapidly dissolve and I
decided that joining the Army was the best option that I had, considering my
slightly delinquent youth. Plus, I did absolutely zero preparation for college.
I didn’t take the SAT’s, the ACT’s, nor did I enroll in any community colleges.
My decision to join the Army was probably the single best decision I have ever
made, it was the first decision that I made that has shaped me into the kind,
intelligent, thoughtful, outspoken, boisterous, athletic, competitive,
political, philosophical, caring, daring person I am today.
The Army was, to put it in terms
that I can understand, the father that I never had. It was strong, it was
disciplined, it was demanding, and it was something that I desperately needed.
I can still go home on a long weekend, and see my life before I left, my old
school mates drinking at the same bars, checking into and out rehab centers
like they’re weekend getaways, living on welfare, working part-time jobs,
raising illegitimate children, living with parents who wish that their kids
turned out to be more like me, in essence, people who have not done anything
with their lives with half-assed pipedream plans to do a little bit of
something with it. I enlisted for six years because the job that I picked
required such a lengthy term. When I left my recruiters office for the last
time, on my way to Sacremento in order to ship to Fort “Relaxin’” Jackson, I
thought that I would be right with my friends when I got back six years later.
Thank (insert deity name here) I didn’t, because that time would have been a
waste. I met a handful of friends that would leave such an impression on my life,
that I will be eternally grateful of them. These guys became an extension of
myself, they know me better than anyone else on this planet, and I am the same
way for them. We may not talk very often, but we know our places in each
other’s lives, and no one will ever change that. To make the long story short,
I would not be the person that I am today if it were not for the United States
Army.
After the Army, I spent a year and
a half or so working for a communications company, as a support engineer in Afghanistan.
It was far more dangerous than almost anything that I had done while I was in
the Army, and halfway through my obligation, I decided for multiple reasons,
that as soon as my obligation was over, I would be moving back to California to
use my GI Bill, and go to school. It was the second decision that I made that
has had a profound influence on my life. Being in school is incredible! I learn
something new everyday, and I never thought that I would be so excited to
learn. It has become the philosophical and intellectual driving points of my
life, with fitness being the main physical driving point of my life, and both
are completely intertwined.
Let’s put this into more cognitive
terms. I love snowboarding, and being in the mountains. There isn’t a day that
goes by without my thinking about getting back to the Tahoe area, eventually.
So my decision to come back to LA for school was one to be close to something
else that I enjoy, the ocean. It only takes me about 7 hours to get home on
long weekends, I have friends and family still in LA as well, so the decision
to move here so I may focus on my education more than snowboarding was an easy
one. Because fitness and exercise are so important to me, I have decided that
my undergraduate studies will be focused on Kinesiology, the study of human
kinetics, with an emphasis in fitness. I am planning on moving on to graduate
school, hopefully USC, to get my doctorates in Physical Therapy. Anyone in the
PT field knows that USC has the best PT school in the country. So it seems that
my decisions have been leading me in a good direction, no matter what happens,
it will at least be interesting.
I hope that this has been an
informative back-story to help see things in my perspective. I will be going
into more detail about all of the fore-mentioned aspects of my life, along with
many other topics that I want to talk about, from food to music, or even
neighborhood personalities. For now though, it’s time to hit the gym. That
weight ain’t lifting itself!
