A can of green beans

When my mom and I moved back to New Orleans from Texas around 1975ish (funny I really don't know why we moved back...), I can remember my mom doing grocery shopping for my dad.

Not until years later, did I give thought to how odd this entire relationship was.

Fact is my dad never did drive. So this was part of this oddity. I've asked my sisters why he didn't drive, and they never really could explain.

Well, one vivid memory I have was my dad fussing at my mom, as she unloaded groceries from those heavy brown paper bags in his tiny apartment kitchen.  It was the memory of him, fussing at her at prices of little stuff... like....

A can of green beans.

I can hear him saying, "why did you pay 39 cents for these, when they were on sale for 35 cents?"

Instead of being grateful, he chose to nit-pick about pennies.  I am sure these were only few of the seeds sown that reaped a spirit of poverty that I have battled my entire life, even now almost 58 years into this joyous life.

I've prayed about it. I've fought it. But very often (really up until the last 5-6 years), the poverty darkness clouded my spirit of generosity, the latter I yearned to know, to feel.

Truth is this poverty spirit was a major thorn in my marriage, and bothered Denise to no end. We never talked about this (lack of communication about difficult subjects another major marital problem...)

I truly don't want part of my legacy to be that of meagerness, but of fruitfulness, of generosity in all things: time, money, service.

Lord, give me a spirit of giving, of generosity to others. Help me to see opportunities to share my blessings with others around me.

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16

"“A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.” Proverbs 11:25

the hole

As joyous as I walk daily, knowing in my heart that God has such great plans still for my life, I still have a hole.

In moments when I am alone in my house, even as worship fills my ears thru ear buds, I am often lonely. 

I stare down into that hole of being alone, of not having someone to love, to hold, to kiss, to snuggle with, and to share my deepest emotions.

Sadness touches my mind, as I see others find a mate to be with, even if it's just casual dating.  How did they find someone?  I've wandered in this dessert of singleness, and fight the doubt of ever finding someone.

A scene is Yellowstone, resonates in my soul...  Beth and Rip, who love each other wildly, both realize that the hurt they've experienced in past relationships, might taint them from ever really feeling love again. I cried when I heard this, wondering if that was me.. that the depths of her affair might never really truly heal, that I won't ever feel that unconditional love I felt.

But I have to grasp tightly to God, pushing away the searing hurt, the dark doubt, and believe that He will still make a way for that next love of my life.

But man, the seeming endless wait - now more than 7 years! - sure is tough.

God is Jehovah Jireh, my great provider. 

My Life story Part 2

 Joy is both a choice and a gift.

I can remember from a very early age, that my mom was an incredibly upbeat and positive person, always laughing whistling, dancing adn singing.

She would always say, "There but for the grace of God go I."  I captured early that no matter my circumstances, there was someone out there much worse off, someone who had much less than me.

My mom was a church-goer, not overly religious but more of your standard Roman Catholic, go to Sunday mass types. But I could tell she had that spirit of joy and caring for others that was very different than most.  

She would stop at bus stops, and give people rides all the time.  She would talk to strangers out and about, and just be nice to them.  She chose to be joyful in midst of having little income, and battling the guilt of leaving my dad.

Do I know for sure she was guilt ridden? No, I don't.  But all signs pointed to this being the case.  She would grocery shop for him for many years after she left him.  She didn't fight him much about the lack of financial support he gave us (he didn't give her full child-support, I know this)

You may be wondering, how did she leave my dad? And why?

I only remember that one day, in middle of 2nd grade, I was called into the office of J C Ellis elementary, and told to pack up my locker.  When I arrived home, there was large U Haul moving van in the driveway.  At that moment, we drove to Corpus Christi, TX, and lived with my sister Kathy, her husband Rick and their 4 small children, Dennis, Brian, Missy and Beth.

Eventually, we moved to a tiny apartment in Clearlake City, right outside of Houston.

I have fond memories of playing make-believe superhero games with Dennis and Brian, poor Brian, the youngest of us 3 boys, always the tortured and beat up on bad guy.  

Not so fond memory, was my sister Kathy always seemingly singling me out for fussing at and other disciplinary actions.

My mom was a very unskilled worker, pretty sure she only graduated high school. Her mom and dad,  Agnus and Peter Paul Catalani, directly from Germany and Italy respectively, owned a very successful restaurant in San Antonio, where my mom was born and eventually met my father,  Harry Stanley Marcon.  Story is that my mom's parents also ran a bootleg beer distribution in evenings from the restaurant, supplying the military which had a base in San Antonio.

I didn't get a chance to really know my grandparents on mom's side. By this time, I was 9-10, and they were already in their 80s.  All I remember was Peter Paul sitting in living room, all the furniture wrapped in heavy plastic and house reeked of mothballs,  him watching TV and Agnus always fussing at him.  He would reply in Italian!   And the few times, we went to visit them, she would always make homemade peach ice cream in their backyard in a old-time wooden ice-cream maker.

Note: my mom and I moved to TX with her boyfriend, guy named Wayne, who she was having an affair with (of which I had no idea about prior). Not much to share about him: he was nice, an alcoholic, who worked on the Mississippi River as a tug boat deckhand.

My Life Story Part 1

 "I've forgotten more than you've learned."

Well, this might be true as I begin this journal journey to share my life story with you: Kade, Kyle and Kaylyn.

On ride home from a Christmas eve gathering on the Northshore, I was chatting with Kade and realized how little my children know about my life story.

I've said for a long time, I would love to know more about my mom and dad's history. I've only gotten fuzzy snapshots of their life from my sisters, primarily Norma, though Kathy is the true historian of our family.

Wow. Where do I start.

After my divorce, I started to see a Christian therapist to deal with the grief, the anger, and more.  But after only a few sessions, I stopped. But during that time, he said I should begin a re-discovery of my life, jotting down all that I could remember from various time periods.  I began to do this, and was surprised how little I could recall from my pre-teen years.

So, gentlemen, rev those engines, and here we go again!

Red-brick with terrazzo floors.  

Those are the outstanding features about my 2nd childhood house on Homestead Avenue.

When I was born,  my parents, Gloria Quinn and Harry Stanley Marcon, lived on Hessmer, in the heart of what is now Old Metairie, not far from St. Catherine school.  I really have no memories of this house, aside from black & white photos now stored deep in my attic.

The Homestead house though.. I have fond memories of neighborhood life there.  

The house sat only 2 streets over from my elementary school, JC Ellis, and I had 2 of my best friends, Mark Schexnaildre and Mike Hoover, within 1 block too. 

I don't remember much of the interior of the Homestead house, likely because I literally lived outside.  

There was a large fig tree in our backyard, one right next to the one-car/patio style garage. The tree was  large, green domed-shaped, and I would crawl inside the outer layer and pretend it was a Batman cave, even drawing with permanent markers on the leaves, all the different devices of my batcave!

And sneaking out the rear of my bat cave, I would sneak and make small fires in the creepy dark alley behind the garage.  For some odd reason, I was fascinated with small fires.

Right in front of the fig tree, was a palmetto tree, with one long branch that reached out across the yard. We'd climb up into it, and see how high we could get and then jump from it.  Climbing any and all very tall trees always was an adventures I didn't shy from.

Mark, Mike and I also would always climb over and through neighbors yards. Why walk all around houses and in the street, when you can climb over fences? Somehow we dodged getting attacked by dogs.

Mark and I would remain best friends until I suddenly was yanked from 2nd grade and moved to Texas and remained so upon my return to Louisiana (more to come on this...)  I would sleep over his house all the time.  And in class, he and I had a running competition to see who could finish work first.   We were always 1st and 2nd to raise our hands. 

Elementary school was uneventful, though I was very good at marbles. I'd bring my sack of glass marbles, and we'd play at recess.

My food experimentations began at 1st and 2nd grade lunch: I would always put different chips, mostly potato chips, on my luncheon meat or bologna sandwiches.  and oh, the chocolate milk at school lunch.. wow so good. 

My own white privilege

White privilege.
Many as you read those two words together will have emotions well up, likely ones that are not joyful, not full of love or understanding.
You will likely want to lash out, to dismiss such a notion in this land of opportunity we call America.
Go ahead. Feel it.
But I ask you also to then try and reflect differently,  once your choppy and angry waters calm.
Put aside all the years of pre-conceived assumptions, of ingrained beliefs, of yeah... prejudices.
Read the rest of this with a blank slate, with a clear mind, free of preconceptions. And when you read the stories, don’t let all those emotions overwhelm you, instead keep your mind in neutral.
Ready?

Derrick Mason, former NFL player,  grew up in a good environment, good income but was told by his father, whenever he drove anywhere to wear a lanyard around his neck. And in that lanyard, keep his license, his Proof of insurance and vehicle registration.   All in fear of not reaching for this information and being shot.

A friend - a middle-agree white - recently was in Detroit,  around 12:30 a.m. and was driving with several young black athletes, who he does financial advising for.     A cop pulled them over, and the first thing this young black man did upon pulling over, rolled down his window and showed his hands.
My friend - sitting in the back seat, said, “What the hell are you doing?”  The young black male said he always does this as a precaution.
My friend was stunned at the ugly and aggressive tone the police had with the young black male.
Soon, an officer tapped hard on the back window, when it rolled down and saw my white friend, again my white friend was stunned at how the tone changed.
The office said, ‘Oh you’re with them?  Ok, y’all slow down and go on.”

A co-worker was in Guatemala,  pre-marriage, and was out dancing, and asked a cute girl to dance.
Quickly, a friend jumped in and said, “What are you doing? We don’t dance with girls from that part of town!”

Recently I was discussing racism with a long-time best friend, and I made the comment how whites often can be racist.
Well, my friend, who’s Filipino, said I should say Caucasian, not white.  because many Filipinos - who are technically white - don’t want to be lumped into white category.

Stop.  Be still.  Think.  Feel.

This dear friend also had an amazing fact, one that lines up with the entire story that we are all children of God, from the same image, the same blood.
A history professor explained that we all came from an original man, very likely a dark-skinned ala Hebrew/Middle Eastern.   But as time passed, many of these peoples spread to other northern regions,  ones with less sun and less need for melanin, therefore becoming more.... yes, white.

And the greatest man in history, Jesus, very likely was dark skinned, and faced the ultimate discrimination and hatred, yet walked in love, in humility and forgiveness.

Even upon a cross, his skin and muscles literally falling off his bones from scourging, He looked past all the hatred, the divisiveness, the discrimination, the persecution,  and said, “Forgive them Father, for they know what they do.”

Well, as a white man with privilege, I need to feel my brother’s pain and fear.  In some ways, I am the Roman soldier, holding the flagrum.  I am the Pharisees, standing on my pedestal preaching my truths.
 I need to walk with more forgiveness and understanding.   I have not one iota of understanding of the systemic fear my fellow brothers of a different skin color have experienced. NONE.

My wise old-soul son, Kyle, profoundly said last night,
“If my brother hurts, I need to hurt with him.  If my brother rejoices, I will rejoice with him.”

Lord, I pray these words touched someone, gave them new eyes, new heart and more love.

And as I end this blog, this song comes on, lol, because God always shows up with His wisdom:

I’m learning to trust you, even when I can’t see it.
And even in suffering, I have to believe it.
If you say it’s wrong, then I’ll say no.
If you say release, I’m letting  go.
If you say be still, I will wait.
I’m done chasing feelings, Spirit lead me.
- Spirit Lead Me, Influence Music

The R word ... and my Reality

My heart hurts.

Not because of innocent people being maimed and killed by criminal thugs.

Not for the man kneeled into death by a criminal thug cop.

Not for the business owner who spent his life’s savings on opening a business, only to see it burned to the ground by evil anarchists.

No, my heart hurts because I’ve been blind.

My political leanings, my upper income status, my impatience with so much, and so many other personal roadblocks  have all blinded my heart to truly see each and every person as a human.

Though that human may do dastardly and evil acts, though that human may pander to a base they care nothing about, though that human may take advantage of social systems, I let my blinded heart not see that they too need God, they too need love and understanding.

My reality was sucker punched this past Sunday, listening to a message from TD Jakes.

I realized, yes, I do often look at a black man different through my white-person lenses,  instinctively judging, categorizing and yes... profiling.  

From my mouth, “I’m not racist.”  

From my heart, “yes you are” says God.

Today, thinking on all this, God whispered to me this thought:

I didn’t give my only Son as a living sacrifice for y’all to hate, to maim, to murder, to burn down.

I gave him to forgive us all and to love one another.

Friends, I for one, have not loved enough, I have not tried to understand enough, I have not sown peace and healing.  And all this was God’s truth in that sucker punch.

Racism. An incendiary subject. But one, truthfully we avoid, deny, hush. 

We live in vacuums of our own safety, teaching God’s grace but not the truth, Jakes said.

TD Jakes, an internationally renowned black pastor, in a recent interview said, “This isn’t about race. It’s about humanity. 

We need to love better, get out of our comfort zone and see that this is a human issue, he pleaded.  We need to speak up, and see the character of the heart , not the color of the skin.

And the painful truth - one that many whites - including me - want to silence and not believe is that there is systematic racism.  We must acknowledge this truth, and find out how we can fix it.

Carl Lenz, pastor of Hillsong East coast, said,  Yes, all lives matter, but you know what it’s also ok to say Black Lives matter!

And right now friends, whether justified here or not justified there, blacks as Jakes, said “we are bleeding.”     

We cannot discount their pain and their fear.

We must put aside our prejudices, show up, speak out, and prove we care about them, just like we care about any other human.   No matter your skin color, we must care about every human: white, black, brown.

In the end, we all want the same: to be heard, to be loved and to be treated fairly.

And friends, in the midst of this awful calamity, the lawless anarchist spreading fear,  and seemingly endless personal destruction, we -  especially the church, especially believers - at this moment in time have a chance to wipe away years of misconceptions, of hidden prejudices, and press reset.

To reset our minds, hearts and souls to really love one another.  

To see each and every human like God does:  as  a child to be loved.

I pray for forgiveness for my blinded past heart.  I pray that God continues to lift the scales from my eyes, and I see each human just like God does, and can love relentlessly just like my Father does.  And I pray all go to Jesus, to find the way to love more.

Peace, love and cheers to all humans!

Chinese Virus Lessons Learned

So as we enter Day 2,356,999 of this isolation (sorry, I lost count after 7 days...), here are my Kung Fu Virus lessons learned rambling for today:

1. Whiskey Tolerance is a real thing.  How much is too much each night?
2. Staring out my bedroom window daily, I see every dead and yellowing leave on every plant in my landscaping and must cut it off right away.
3. Never realized I could feel so much joy having to drive across town for a doctor appointment.
4. You really have to protect your mind from a dangerous and fast-spreading pandemic: FEAR pandemic.
5. Statistics - mostly incorrect and false - can truly shape the way people perceive things.
6. Fact finding takes back seat to stats and fear.
7. Vultures will always be vultures and pick at dry bones, even in crisis (See Democrats holding up stimulus bills, see representatives using inside info for market trading)
8.  LSU 2019 WAS the greatest team ever in college football - re-watched CFP.
9. Blocking negative people on social media brings an unrealized joy.
10.  Crisis has exposed how real TDS is,  and the loony tunes of NeverTrumpers.
11. Man, I miss watching sports.
12.  Landscaping daily is a thing.
13. Gathering with friends sure is important in my life.
14. Can you imagine life without internet, WiFi, or  social media???? Horrors!!!
15. Didn’t realize how many people don’t understand basic hygiene
16.  Sweeping, dusting, cleaning counters daily doesn’t kill enough time.
17. Epstein didn’t kill himself.
18. During this virus,  telling the world “28-3” jokes is still funny.
19. “Meme-ing 101: How to Meme while in isolation”  will soon be a university-approved course.
20.  “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere” took on whole new meaning when you don’t know time it is daily.
21.  Now that wearing bandito masks in public is ok, what will bank robbers wear?
22.  Getting a clandestine hair-cut was badass.
23. Faith vs. Fear is a REAL thing.
24. Fear is powerful weapon, one so strong it shut down the entire country.
25. God is good, so good, even during this difficult time.