Eventually this will be a collection of my stories and essays... but for now it's just some papers I wrote for school, and an introductory speech (also from school).

January 2001

Porcupines

With a huff I roll on my side, pulling the covers over my head. It's four in the morning and I'm exhausted, but the blanket is thin and can't block all of the light from overhead. Opening my eyes, I pull the covers back down, glaring at Jon. He's tall and skinny, with fuzzy brown hair and a smirk that won't die. We used to be really close, but we don't talk much anymore. He doesn't notice me of course, just keeps on arguing with Dustin. Looking at Dustin, I see he's getting more and more frustrated. Kind of short, even skinnier than Jon, he doesn't know when to shut up. Damn skinny white boys! They've been arguing for at least an hour. It amazes me sometimes to think that they're just a couple of years younger than I am, they act like such children.

Dustin walks over to Jon and puts his hand on Jon's shoulder. He explains to John that he cares about him, because they are friends. I don't catch Jon's response, but it can't have been good. Dustin's flailing his arms. I can tell he's frustrated, that he would like to hit something - probably Jon. Instead he hits the edge of the bed a few times. I notice Jon get up from his chair. I watch, amazed, as Jon kicks Dustin's legs. I can't believe he just did that! Well, I guess I can, he is Jon. He didn't kick him hard, but it was enough to really piss Dustin off. They're yelling at each other, even more so than before... Jon pushes Dustin, who falls on the bed. God dammit! "No! Not in the house!" I yell, hoping this will stop them from starting anything serious. I really like Dustin, but Jon's Dad owns the house, and if he and Jon get in a fight, he'll be banned for life.

Dustin really doesn't want to fight, but Jon keeps trying to goad him along. I'm not really sure what else to do to stop them. They listened to me for a second, but now Jon's trying to get Dustin to go outside with him. All of a sudden, the door opens and Garion walks in. "What's going on?" he asks. Thank god for Gar, he'll calm them down. The boys seem to lose a bit of their steam as they explain why they're arguing. Jon backs off a bit, going back to the chair, and Dustin sits on the edge of the bed. I listen to them talk for a few minutes, but I really can't stay awake any longer. I clap my hands and try to get their attention. It's not easy but eventually they all shut up long enough to listen to me. With Garion's help, I finally get the room cleared and the light off. Finally, I can go to sleep!

I close my eyes, wondering why people have to be so volatile. For a minute I can't even remember what got the boys arguing in the first place. Dustin was probably ragging on Jon again, and Jon got upset about it. I don't know why Jon gets so upset, that's just the way Dustin is. He makes fun of everyone, even himself. Although, I suppose I used to get pretty upset with him too. I remember a few months back when I couldn't stand to be around him. He'd always end up pissing me off. After awhile I got tired of being upset and just got over it. Instead of getting upset I laughed with him, or made fun of him in return. I smile to myself as I remember his response. We're much better friends now, and I really enjoy hanging out with him. It's great to be with someone who can laugh at themselves as well as the people around them. Maybe that's Jon's problem... he just can't laugh at himself.

Jon reminds me a lot of my Dad. Well, Dad has more of a sense of humor I guess. In fact, as a kid I couldn't ever tell if he was serious or not. One night he told me to pack up, we were spending the night at my friend's house. I thought "yeah right, it's a school night." Dad never let me spend school nights at friends' houses. I'd forgotten that he had hit it off with my friend's mom. About half an hour later, he came and told me to get in the car. I couldn't believe he was serious, but he was. He's funny like that, always joking around. He likes to tease people, and for the most part he enjoys being teased back. You'd think he'd be easy-going, but he really isn't. While he doesn't mind being teased, he can't take even the smallest amount of criticism. He gets totally defensive if he thinks you're so much as implying he did something wrong.

It's all I can do to keep from crying as I think about my Dad, about the time I told him that I felt forgotten by him. I was probably 14 years old, and had been seeing a counselor for a couple of months when she asked me to bring my Dad in for a session. In the session I told him that ever since he had remarried, I felt like he didn't have any time for me. Dad just got angry and told me I couldn't expect him to be my best friend forever. I had hoped the session would bring us closer, but it just seemed to make him even less interested in spending time with me.

My dad hasn't really got anyone left because of the way he reacts to people. I remember a few years ago when my Dad changed his phone number. It was an unlisted number, and he gave it to me on the condition that I promise not to give it out to anyone. A little while later, my sister came to me and asked me for his number. I thought about what he had made me promise, but figured it would be ok to give his number to her. "After all," I thought, "she is his daughter." The next time I talked to him, however, he was furious. He said that he didn't want her to have his number, that they hadn't gotten along for years and he didn't want to speak with her. Rather than deal with the problems between them, he chose to avoid her, to keep her out of his life. He's pushed away every person that ever meant anything to him, and avoids any meaningful contact with other people. All he seems to have left is the gun club and his hunting trips. I wonder sometimes if he's really happy with the life he's chosen…

I've tried a few times over the years to get re-connected with him, and it always seems to work for a little while. But eventually, something from the past comes up and he lashes out at me. He gets so defensive that I can't say anything without him taking it badly. Dad's really mean when he feels like he's being attacked. And if I even start to defend myself, he gets even worse. I finally stopped trying to talk to him... I couldn't handle the stress of it. Every time I'd talk to him on the phone, I'd end up crying. It was hurting me, and it was hurting the people around me.

I think of calling him, or writing. I think about how I would feel if I found out he had died, and we hadn't resolved our problems. I wonder how he would feel if I died. My heart clenches at the thought, my vision blurring as my eyes tear up. It's a horrible thought, but somehow not enough to drive me to contact him again. It just doesn't seem worth it, to put myself through so much pain for someone who won't listen. Someone who can't accept anything but compliments. It's so incredibly hard, to have a father who lives so close but who keeps himself so distant.

I wish I could be close to him, like we were when I was little. But he's just too sensitive, too easily offended. I guess a lot of people are. So many people are so insecure in themselves, they can't handle having their flaws pointed out... so much so that they'll take offense when none is meant. It really ruins it for those of us that want to have relationships with them. How can you really be close to someone you can't be honest with? How can you talk to someone who finds insults where compliments are given?

I'm startled by shouting from outside... the boys are out their, still arguing. I don't think they're going to fight, but it doesn't sound like they'll be going to bed any time soon. Sighing, I get up and put on some music. If I'm ever going to get any sleep tonight, I'm going to have to drown out the "children." Lying back down, I cuddle up in the blankets. I love the feel of the down comforter. It gets so cozy and warm after just a few minutes, kind of like a cocoon. Snuggling my head into the pillow, I close my eyes and let the music wrap around my brain... I wonder for a moment what my dad is doing, then focus on the music as it guides me towards sleep.

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March 2001

Uncommon Speech

"You make me so angry, I just can't be around you right now." He said it so simply, as if that were all there was to it. Sitting there, looking out at the cold, gray water of the bay, he seemed incredibly distant. Almost as if I wasn't even there. My breath caught in my throat as my brain tried to deny what I had just heard. I felt as if a hole had opened up beneath me, and I was falling into darkness... as if my heart had stopped beating, but my brain refused to believe that I was dead. To this day I will never forget what it felt like to hear my dad tell me that he didn't want me around

One might ask what could possibly drive a parent to such extremes. Was I a horrible, rotten, no-good child? If not, how could he have discarded me so easily? Well, I wasn't horrible, rotten, or no good. I was just depressed and confused, a fairly typical teen really. I didn't know how to tell anyone what was wrong. When my father tried to talk to me, I would clam up. I felt as if nothing good had ever come of my speaking up, so why bother even trying? Looking back, I wonder if things would have been different if I had talked with him. Would he have listened? Would he have forgiven me my problems?

I can't ever go back and change what has not been said, but I have learned one very important lesson; if you wish to engage in meaningful relationships, you must be willing to communicate. No matter how painful it may seem, the pain of sharing your feelings and frustrations will never compare to the pain of being dumped by someone who means the world to you.

Communication is not always easy. In fact, communicating is often the hardest part of a relationship. It means opening yourself up - to pain, to ridicule, or worse, indifference. But it can also mean understanding, forgiveness, and even greater closeness between two people. Communication is the lifeblood of a relationship. Without communication, relationships wither and die. Small issues build into much larger problems if never given voice. Issues voiced, but never listened to, build resentment and anger. As difficult as it is to talk about what is bothering you, not talking about it just makes things worse.

Perhaps the hardest part of communicating is knowing how. How to say what you feel without hurting the other person, how to listen to what is being said without being hurt. Many people think they are communicating when all they are really doing is talking. But how do you tell the difference between the two? Is there a difference?

To answer these questions, we must look first at what communication is. The dictionary defines communication as "a process by which information is exchanged between individuals through a common system of symbols, signs, or behavior." Perhaps the most important idea conveyed by this definition is of the mutual exchange of information. Rather than talking to someone, you are talking with them. Both people must take part in the conversation, and both must listen to what the other is saying. Talking without listening is just that, talking. It is important to remember that while communication does entail talking, talking does not always entail communication. To effectively communicate, you must be willing to listen to the other person.

What does it mean to listen? Once again, we look to the dictionary, which says, "to hear something with thoughtful attention." It is not enough to simply hear what someone is saying. You must consider their words, thoughtfully and with care. The act of listening is probably the most important, and often most difficult part of communication. Quite often, our tendency is to react to what someone else is saying, without really hearing what is being said. Too often, we react to what we think was said, without realizing that what was meant was something entirely different.

I remember an old friend, a beautiful girl with incredible talent and creativity who, unfortunately, was unaware of her own worth. She thought the worst of herself, and expected no better from anyone else. No matter how innocent a remark may have been, she took it as negatively as was possible. Her relationships, both with friends and family, detiorated at an amazing pace. She couldn't have a conversation with her mother without it becoming an argument. She became convinced that her friends looked down on her, and so convinced herself that she was better than they were. That she was better off without them. After awhile, she didn't need to imagine the insults, as no one could much stand her anymore. She had created her own worst fears, simply by refusing to listen to the words that were really being spoken.

Misunderstandings often occur because of the simple fact of human individuality. Each of us comes from a unique set of experiences, and each of us has developed a unique view of the world. Perhaps what makes communication so difficult is that our "common system of symbols, signs, or behavior" is not so common after all. Although I may speak the same language as you, it is almost as if I speak a different "dialect." I have developed new and different meanings for words that you have left unchanged. You no longer use certain terms and phrases that are common place in my "region" of life. In order to effectively communicate, we must make allowances for these differences. Rather than assuming that I know what you mean, ask me if I understand. If you are unsure as to what I mean, speak up. Let me know that you are confused, and give me the chance to clarify.

More often than not, we do not enter into a conversation with the intention of upsetting or hurting the other person. If you find yourself feeling attacked or injured, think about why you feel that way. Consider what the other person has said, and how they said it. You may find that there was really no reason to feel the way you did, that you reacted to an assumed attack that did not really exist. If, however, you feel you have reason to be upset, let the other person know. Try to avoid accusing them of anything, as they most likely did not intend to hurt you. Tell them that you feel hurt, not that they hurt you. Explain to them how you feel, and why you feel that way. If you are open and honest with them, they will have a better chance of adjusting their "dialect" to your understanding. With practice and honesty, misunderstandings will become less common.

Learning to communicate effectively can be a lot of work. With each new person I meet, I have to re-evaluate the way I communicate. Like so many things in this world, I could go my entire life without ever truly mastering the art of communication. Sometimes it almost seems a waste of time, too difficult to be bothered with. But then I get to talking with a friend, and experience a truly wonderful conversation. The kind where we stay up all night sharing ideas and thoughts. Afterwards, I'm filled with a kind of glow, full of the satisfaction of having found a kindred soul. Those few hours of camaraderie make all the misunderstandings and frustrating arguments of the past seem insignificant in comparison.

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February 2000

An Introduction to Me

I would like to speak a little of dreams, both sleeping and waking. Dreams have held a measure of power throughout my life. They have influenced who I am, and who I would like to be. The night before I was born, my mom had a dream. In her dream, she saw a young girl dancing through a field of flowers. When she awoke, she realized it was a scene from the movie "Heidi." I have told people that I was named after the movie, but perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that I was named for a dream.

I was born in December of 1979, in a small house in the city of Eureka. That year a lady named Barbara Berger painted a picture she titled "Sophie's Dream." It is a beautiful painting, depicting a young girl surrounded by flowers. She appears to be wearing a mask, of sorts, in the form of a butterfly. When I was eight, I read a book by the same lady. It was called "Animalia" and in it was a story about a philosopher who fell asleep and dreamed he was a butterfly. Upon waking he asks, "Am I a man, who has dreamed he is a butterfly, or am I the butterfly, who dreams he is a man?"

I too, have often wondered, "Be I dream, or dreamer?" There's a part of me, my lazy little demon, if you will, that thinks if this is a dream, it doesn't really matter what I do or don't do. Then the annoying little angel pipes in and asks, "do you really want to take that chance?" I suppose that's why I'm at CR. On the off chance that this isn't a dream, and I'm not going to wake up to find this was all just the creation of some late night snack of pastrami and rye, I have decided to pursue my waking dreams and make something of myself.

In the years to come, I will have many dreams. Some will be pursued, and others forgotten. Eventually, I suppose, I will find the answer to my question. If I am the dream, and I wake someday to another world, I hope I can say "I have dreamed a good life." And if I am the dreamer, and I succumb to a deeper sleep, I hope I can say "I have lived my dreams."

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