If They Are Anything Like Me

You can’t help but compare.

Oh he has your eyes.

He has your mouth.

It’s a real ego spurt when someone says my sons look like me. I don’t know why, It just is. I’ve thought about it every now and then, in quiet moments after a good day when everything falls into place. I’ve thought about it and still don’t know why it makes me beam.

It just does.

At least it does until I really think about it. It can be quite damning. I am not the most handsome daddy out there. I am not the most successful, the most daring, the smartest, the coolest, the richest, the nicest - I am not much of anything except mediocre – and I’m not even the most at that.

I know people mean it as a compliment and I certainly take it as such, but when I really think about it, No, my sons shouldn’t look like me. They should be better. They should be more handsome, more successful, more daring, smarter, cooler, richer, nicer, and so on.

When I think about my life, I think about all of the opportunities I let go by because I was too scared to ask or too frightened to act. I think about all of the mistakes I’ve made and the people I’ve hurt because my ego got in the way of doing what my conscience told me to. I think of all of the loss and sadness that could have been avoided, if I were the right person at the right time.

It scares me sometimes to think that either of boys would end up like me. It scares me to think that they would end up on the wrong side of a situation that might bring them harm, physically or emotionally. I can’t watch Law & Order: SVU anymore because I have nightmares about my boys ending up as one of their stories “ripped from the headlines.” Every once in a while, something on the news, something on TV, will set me off and I’ll be awake nights upon nights, panicked over the possibility that that could happen to one of my kids.

And while my imagination runs wild setting up all sorts of desperate scenarios, I know that it would be just as equally painful (if not more) if I were to be overprotective or dominated their lives in some way.

If they are anything like me, they would hate me.

Rediscovering Anime

I have been rediscovering my love of anime. I was a big fan in the 90’s after college. I went to see Urotsukidoji and Akira at midnight showings at the Angelica in New York City. I bought my first series – Bubblegum Crisis – from a then fledgling anime distributor, Animego in North Carolina. My sister got me hooked on the ongoing love-hate hijinx of the innocent Lum and her lecherous fiancée, Ataru in Urusei Yatsura. I watched Ranma ½ on snowy videotapes dubbed in Cantonese.

My crowning achievement during this period was the discovery of Arcadia of My Youth on video, starring Captain Harlock from my own youth. My sister and I used to strain to watch adventures of Captain Harlock: Space Pirate on our tiny TV from the days of rabbit-ears. The show played on UHF. Anyone old enough to remember UHF understands my sister’s and my deep dedication to the show.

Then everything just seemed so stale.

Just like that it seemed that the anime writers were borrowing unabashedly from each other’s storylines. And the drawing… Let’s just say that it became increasingly difficult to tell one supporting character from another. Sometimes the only way to tell the male characters from the female characters was by how bouncy and robust their bosoms were.

Then Pokemon came and I wanted no part of it.

Last year or the year before, I was flipping channels and caught an episode of Samurai Champloo on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim. It was different with its quirky sense of humor and engaging characters. I am not going to say that the underlying premise driving the story was original but will say the three main characters and the interaction between them was too rich to be ignored. They were very “human” characters to me, so they were very interesting to me. There was a level of sophistication to the characters that had been lacking from the shows that circulated in the late 90’s into 2000. Later on I learned that Samurai Champloo was created by the same person who created Cowboy Bebop (a favorite my sister introduced me to), Shinichiro Watanabe.

Because it was on right after, I also became a fan of Paranoia Agent. Though I can’t say that I like the way it ended, the getting there was really interesting. It reminded me of the old X Files with Mulder and Scully. There were was a subtly twisted sense of humor at play in some of the episodes that made the entire series appealing. My only wish is that its creator would have taken more care with its ending. The culmination of the series was the usual big all encompassing tidal wave of goo and destruction. It was sort of like the writer just got tired of writing and needed an “And then she died” ending.

I would have liked to have seen the series end via subtle circumstances. Where the characters concerned came to their dramatic conclusions ignored by the general populace. That seemed to be the theme of the series: daily personal dramas. Only in the story these dramas were enhanced by supernatural activity. In comparing Samurai Champloo and Paranoia Agent (I’m doing so because I watched them at the same time), the former had a better ending, while the latter had a more interesting story premise.

After both series concluded, there was nothing again, until Bleach and Trinity Blood. But, while I enjoy both, I can’t say that I feel the same anticipation I felt in the midst of a Samurai Champloo or Paranoia Agent episode.

And now there is Gunslinger Girl and Basilisk on IFC. The coolness and subtlety of Gunslinger Girl reminds me of Paranoia Agent. My sister has already warned me that it is a short series lasting only 13 episodes. I told her that it didn’t matter as long it ends well.

My "How I Met Your Mother" Story

If you would have told me six years ago that I would be married with children, I would have laughed and said, No Way! I wasn't even dating then. I joke with friends that I planned on my girlfriends getting incrementally younger and I got incrementally older.

I like to think how I met my wife is a great New York story. I met her because she wanted to take over the lease to my apartment. I had gotten into a housing lottery and had an opportunity to own my own place. She had just broken up with the brother of a mutual friend. We didn’t really have a long courtship. Our relationship moved pretty quickly.

We don’t speak to that mutual friend anymore. The rumor was that our mutual friend was pretty upset that we got together. We should have made an effort to speak to her, but there was too much “entanglement” and neither of us wanted to deal with it. We did see her by chance on the street shortly after QT (our first son) was born. We walked right by each other. It was sad. I wish I would have spoken up or said something. At least I would know that I tried to reach out to her.

Anyway…

She came to look at my apartment on a Sunday, called me on a Wednesday, we went out to dinner on Friday, she stayed until Sunday, and moved in shortly after. For several months it was me, her, her two dogs, and my cat in our tiny Brooklyn apartment. I had been there since getting my first “real” job with the not-for-profit that taught Constitutional Law. We were happy there. We had just met and didn’t really have any heavy decisions weighing on our relationship. I can remember we had one major fight. I don’t remember what it was about but we went to see a relationship counselor.

Sometimes, I think we should go back. I felt the counselor made some good points. I am carefully to consider them when my wife and I fight now.

The early days of our relationship were spent looking forward to moving into Manhattan. Our first year in our new home was peaceful despite the evolving politics of being on the Board of Managers. In fact, that’s what we argued about most after moving in. She wanted me to join to Board, but did not support any of the decisions I made as a Board member. I was angry because joining the Board was her idea. And I did not like the idea that I was supposed to be a puppet.

Then 9/11 hit. We had only been in our new home a year when 9/11 hit. A sad truth: I had never noticed the towers from the landing of our home until they fell. The pillar of smoke seemed to rise for a week before dissipating into a gray fog that wafted through our streets for another week. The smell of paving tar still sends a momentary jolt of sadness through me. And we were among the lucky ones, we were running late, so were saved from the heart of the devastation.

The following Saturday, my wife announced she was pregnant. We considered our options, but who were we kidding, we were excited about our baby. His brother followed two years later.

What I Do

My goal after college was to sell the film rights and go out in a blaze of glory.

Things didn't happen that way...

I mean I would like to think I found minor (if ever so minor) success as a poet and writer in the 90's back in New York after college. But in hindsight I spent more time drinking and smoking and trying to get laid than actually at my keyboard dishing out deep thoughts. I might still be stuck in that rut if a series of bad personal decisions hadn't brought my life to a crossroads.

I had left a good job as a Program Associate at a not-for-profit that taught Constitutional Law through role-play. The kids would do the workbook exercises with their teacher and conclude with a Supreme Court trial, where they played judges, defendants, and plaintiffs. I was only there maybe a year, possibly two, when I made my first mistake - I chased a paycheck from the then New York City Board of Ed.

All through grad school, the job fairs, and the new teacher orientations, I was told that male teachers - especially those of "color" - were needed in the city system. I was lied to. And I was stupid. I quit my job before I found another. The director at the time even offered me a raise to stay. I was an idiot. The city didn't need me and after two grueling years, I found myself "asked to resign" and working third shift in the publishing department of a brokerage firm. I screwed this up too.

I don't remember how long I was there? It wasn't long. I was answering phones in the publishing department of a brokerage firm. I was a glorified receptionist but the people were nice and the pay was good. I left because I wanted to pursue a "career." I ended up in ad sales for one of those free community papers. Not the career I was hoping for. Not the career I kept.

I didn’t last a year at the newspaper. Having worked in ad sales, I have a newfound respect for salespeople – especially door-to-door salespeople. The degradation and rejection are at times unbearable. I was smart this time around. I waited until I had a job before quitting the sales job. I didn’t really quit though. They would have fired me sooner or later. The day I went in to give my two weeks notice, they had fired my boss. I gave my two weeks and was told not to bother showing up tomorrow. So I didn’t.

And that is how I ended up at my current job. As of today, I’ve been at this job for eight years going on nine. I am relatively happy where I am. It pays well, I like my coworkers, and I like the job itself. While there are still other things I would prefer to do to make my living, in terms of employment, this is as good as it has gotten for me so far.