So, there is this movie called Pump Up the Volume that came out many years ago (About 24!). Maybe you've seen it. Maybe not. It happens to be one of my favorite movies. It's very real. Very heart on sleeve. If you're not familiar with the movie, the main character has a pirate radio station on which he goes by the handle of "Hard Harry" (Watch the movie if you want to know why). So, "Hard Harry" is a shy, reclusive guy who uses this radio station to express his deepest feelings, complaints and basically, railings against life. Ingnito of course. It's all very fascinating to me. It's like a private, public, oral journal. I love a good paradox and the private/public thing just hits something for me. This movie still gives me chills every time I watch it.
Throughout most of the movie, "Hard Harry" uses a harmonizer to disguise his voice and conceal his true identity. He's being so open, honest and genuine while broadcasting on the station, but can't quite bring himself to take the final step of dropping the disguise and allowing everything he is saying and feeling to be connected to who he is in reality. He just can't quite own all of this. I don't blame him (or anyone else for that matter). We all have a representation of ourselves that we allow others to see and then we have the real us that we keep buried a bit further and share with only a few (or maybe even nobody). Without revealing too much about the course of events in the movie, at one point, the harmonizer is broken and "Hard Harry" has to make a decision. He can continue on air using his real voice, thus revealing himself and consequently connecting all of his deep dark feelings with his true identity. Or, he can call it quits and continue to keep all that he has shared out in the ether somewhere, attached only to "Hard Harry". So, what does he choose to do? Well, you can watch the movie or read a synopsis elsewhere to find out.
For this post, I just want to say that I feel kind of like I'm at a place where my harmonizer is broken. It's time to choose between keeping some of my deepest, darkest thoughts and fears buried or throwing them out there to be sifted, probed and perused by the likes of all of you. Any of you who know me very well will know that I will bury some of them without realizing. Of course, I'll continue digging and these will be unearthed at some point in time with the help of God and others. Meanwhile, there are relics previously buried that are being unearthed right now. With these dirty, rusted, decaying and grime covered items, I am choosing to bring them out into the open air and begin the tedious and often painful process of evaluation, reclamation or, if necessary, annihilation. My hope is not only will this process be advantageous to me, but that it might help someone else. Someone who feels the same or similar things. Someone who has struggles, questions, doubts, etc. I desperately want to make this world a better place. It's ultimately what God wants and frankly is the overarching mission that gives life meaning to me right now.
So, moving forward through the next days (weeks? months, years?), if you so choose to follow and read this blog, you will be exposed to some intensely personal stuff. Some real stuff. There may be profanity at times. I'll just be honest about that up front. I'll always give a warning when I post links if there is something like that or something else that I feel may cause discomfort or offense, so that some of you can avoid those posts if you feel so led.
I'm risking a lot here. I'm putting myself out there like never before. Some will think it's foolhardy (A fair assessment). Some will find it cathartic (At least I hope). Some will find it pathetic (Also fair). To every reaction, I have one response which I will close this post with. In the words of "Hard Harry", "So Be It".
Dig Deep
Deep Will I Dig
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Does "I Love You" Matter?
I was raised in a very odd family setting which many of you would probably find quite foreign. At least I hope you do. You see, in my family, there was always this sort of weird love you, hate you tension. I never quite knew where I stood in terms of acceptance. Though much of this had to do with my mother's volatile temper, the atmosphere that existed was not completely of her making. A fair portion of it probably had to do with the nature of our religion. Some of it may have had to do with our social status (or lack thereof). I'm sure I could spend some time dissecting it and come up with a bunch of other contributing factors but that's not what I'm shooting for with this post. Now, don't get me wrong, there were good times (at least for some), there was laughter (a lot), and there were instances of joy. However, there was also a lot of conflict (I suppose I can be thankful at least that we were permitted to have conflict, but that's a topic for another post, another night...).
So, what I really wanted to write about is this thing that, to this day, I still find very strange. Our family never said the words, "I love you." Now, some of my siblings will likely dispute this so we'll just have to agree that we have different and unique remembrances of the way things were. When I discussed this with one of my brothers some years ago, he insisted that the words were said all the time. I have no memory of this. What I do remember is wanting to hear it. Needing to hear it. I suppose that there are families in which these words aren't said very often, but there are a myriad of actions that display and support the existence of love. Unfortunately, the family dynamic that I experienced was too volatile for me to ever be confident that true love really existed.
There is one recollection that I feel is quite relevant that I want to share with you. I have not shared it with many people and certainly not in any setting as public as this blog, so it's me exposing myself a bit. When I was going through my tumultuous teen years (and boy, were they), I so desperately wanted my family to use the words, "I love you". I didn't understand why none of us would say the words. Couldn't say the words. I needed to hear these words. I needed to say these words. It was a time when my father's existence was much the same as my own. We both had the relative (and all too brief) relief of a life outside the house, but of course, would end up back at home in the evenings to attempt to endure another night in that suffocating atmosphere. One day, I had such a feeling of despondency over not hearing or saying these words, that I made a decision. I would tell my father, "I love you". Now, It really should give you an indication of the magnitude of the situation when I tell you that it took me several days to work up the courage to say these words to my father. He was always very loving and supportive with his actions. I was always pretty sure deep down, that he cared about me. Nevertheless, I struggled to say the words. When I was finally able to, it took every ounce of strength I had just to utter them. We were telling each other goodnight and I stammered out, "I love you, dad". He was incredulous and responded with, "Really? You do?" It was like he could hardly believe it. I said, "Yes". He said, "I love you too". I'll never forget that moment as a flood of relief and acceptance washed over me. I'll also never forget the next several days. Each day for a week or so, my dad would coyly ask, "Do you still love me?" I would say, "Yes, I still love you" and he would respond with, "I love you too".
So, the question is this: Do the words "I Love You" matter? I mean, actions are supposed to speak louder than words, right? I'm sure there are many of you that were told you were loved as you were growing up and then were treated like crap. The words certainly didn't mean much in those cases. I don't really have an answer to this question because there really isn't one that applies to every situation. What I can say, is that the words matter to me. I still need to hear them. I still need to say them. I don't take them lightly or throw them around casually. When I say them, I mean them. Having said that, I say them a lot. I say them when I feel them. I feel them a lot. I say them to my kids. I say them to my mom. I say them to my siblings. I say them to my friends. I sometimes even say them to acquaintances. I suppose this post isn't so much meant to inspire anyone, although it may resonate with some of you and I hope it does. It's mostly, me digging deep, putting myself out there and letting you know how important these words are to me and the magnitude of them when I direct them your way. I hope and pray that I never become sheepish about offering them and I pray the same for all of you. Now go forth and love my fellow babies!
So, what I really wanted to write about is this thing that, to this day, I still find very strange. Our family never said the words, "I love you." Now, some of my siblings will likely dispute this so we'll just have to agree that we have different and unique remembrances of the way things were. When I discussed this with one of my brothers some years ago, he insisted that the words were said all the time. I have no memory of this. What I do remember is wanting to hear it. Needing to hear it. I suppose that there are families in which these words aren't said very often, but there are a myriad of actions that display and support the existence of love. Unfortunately, the family dynamic that I experienced was too volatile for me to ever be confident that true love really existed.
There is one recollection that I feel is quite relevant that I want to share with you. I have not shared it with many people and certainly not in any setting as public as this blog, so it's me exposing myself a bit. When I was going through my tumultuous teen years (and boy, were they), I so desperately wanted my family to use the words, "I love you". I didn't understand why none of us would say the words. Couldn't say the words. I needed to hear these words. I needed to say these words. It was a time when my father's existence was much the same as my own. We both had the relative (and all too brief) relief of a life outside the house, but of course, would end up back at home in the evenings to attempt to endure another night in that suffocating atmosphere. One day, I had such a feeling of despondency over not hearing or saying these words, that I made a decision. I would tell my father, "I love you". Now, It really should give you an indication of the magnitude of the situation when I tell you that it took me several days to work up the courage to say these words to my father. He was always very loving and supportive with his actions. I was always pretty sure deep down, that he cared about me. Nevertheless, I struggled to say the words. When I was finally able to, it took every ounce of strength I had just to utter them. We were telling each other goodnight and I stammered out, "I love you, dad". He was incredulous and responded with, "Really? You do?" It was like he could hardly believe it. I said, "Yes". He said, "I love you too". I'll never forget that moment as a flood of relief and acceptance washed over me. I'll also never forget the next several days. Each day for a week or so, my dad would coyly ask, "Do you still love me?" I would say, "Yes, I still love you" and he would respond with, "I love you too".
So, the question is this: Do the words "I Love You" matter? I mean, actions are supposed to speak louder than words, right? I'm sure there are many of you that were told you were loved as you were growing up and then were treated like crap. The words certainly didn't mean much in those cases. I don't really have an answer to this question because there really isn't one that applies to every situation. What I can say, is that the words matter to me. I still need to hear them. I still need to say them. I don't take them lightly or throw them around casually. When I say them, I mean them. Having said that, I say them a lot. I say them when I feel them. I feel them a lot. I say them to my kids. I say them to my mom. I say them to my siblings. I say them to my friends. I sometimes even say them to acquaintances. I suppose this post isn't so much meant to inspire anyone, although it may resonate with some of you and I hope it does. It's mostly, me digging deep, putting myself out there and letting you know how important these words are to me and the magnitude of them when I direct them your way. I hope and pray that I never become sheepish about offering them and I pray the same for all of you. Now go forth and love my fellow babies!
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