Music For My Soul: How Did You Love, by Shinedown

On any scale, legacy is important to everyone. Some have children—those who desire parenthood but can’t conceive adopt. Founding a business or inventing products we need and/or want will also cement a legacy.

While all noble, I believe the most important legacy is how you treat others.

Those near death consistently identify their only regrets as not spending enough time with loved ones. More material things, making more money, or more sexual partners doesn't equate to a fulfilling life when one is close to dying.

Excepting common sense, considering societal norms isn't a factor for what I ought to do or be. That’s largely why identifying as a writer and its boundless avenues suits me perfectly; the words I create and share will be a big part of my legacy. The rest of it will be who I choose to share my life with, and the memories we make through this madness we call life.

Ideal is not realistic but must be persisted. Finding and vetting those whose actions prove they love and accept the entirety of you are worth the time it takes. Unworthy ones reveal themselves with their absence when you aren't an asset to them. Trust me, and be diligent.

Participation in humanity equals supporting and connecting with each other towards love; that’s what this song means to me. Fear and greed will always be unfortunate and easily accessed human drivers, especially during pandemics, i.e. this current coronavirus and COVID-19 situation. Hacking into those traits succumbs the unaware, diverting them from the big picture and hidden truths.

We all have a voice and a heart. Our altruistic use of each will be a huge part in how we positively we reflect on a life lived, except sociopaths and other hopelessly selfish individuals. How faithful and generous your love is in every facet will be your legacy.

To quote a line from the song: “No one gets out alive, everyday is do or die; the one thing you leave behind is how did you love.”

Left Hanging

Why ignorance?
Why wasted time?
How did I earn forgotten?

Anger is my closest ally, with
Zero tolerance of what you’ve perpetrated.

This coddling along of you is done.
You're clearly not on the level; I was wrong.
Projections of hope exposed my emptiness through craving
Mutual love and trust.

I...held myself accountable.
I.....apologized.
You said no big deal.

I, give; you take without consideration.
I, fully offer; you choose speed instead of careful thought.
You, tell me; then abandon.

My worth is not lost on me, nor is my vast potential.
Your abuse of both pushed my anger to halt you in motion.

My throat will be sore from processing this pain.
My mouth will be dry after
Expressing my disgust of you daring to
Squeeze the triggers I trusted you with.

The last you'll see of me is dusted footprints as I
Run away from your kind.

Closed mind with petty judgement equals
Your pathetic existence.
Enjoy eventual solitude; compromised and shallow company at best.

Your former elicited butterflies have corrected themselves to scarecrows.

My standards, realized once again.
These tears will dry, this sorrow will fade.
My feelings will renew and regain strength.

I’m not too much, as you accused...….you’re just not enough.

Walled

So tall, perfect and straight.
Equal inches, cement to brick.

Dare I touch it?
It’s too precious, don’t!
Too far away, can I approach?

The wind, says yes.
Go.

Ah, yes.
Been waiting for the chance.

On approach……just what I thought!
Just what I hoped, imagined.

Now, I’m here.
Wow.
The sunlight’s illumination, too good; yet it’s true.

My first deep breath, met with a pebble upon exhaling.
My eyes meet my foot, then back to the wall.

A gap, in the binding cement.
Could it be?

Dare I act upon the earlier thought?
Curiosity needs indulgence, so I touch.

More pebbles, my touch creates.
The wall, revealed to be hollow of substandard inner material,
Covered invisible by the outer beauty’s facade.

My feet hurt, for they were bare to witness the beauty that was the wall.
I’m here as myself, no hollow image.

No halfway was met, now I’m alone with bloody feet.
Scars heal, and I will.
Once again.

These feet have walked into many walls,
Bled many times.
Their scars have scars, but haven’t breathed on my heart and resolve.

There is a wall to compliment mine; I still refuse socks and shoes to make
An easy arrival.

The pain teaches me direction, the scars teach clarity.

The right one will have a rope I didn’t ask for, just as I carry one
It won’t ask for, but will be ready
In its timely climb.

Our Dad

Expectations for fathers have evolved over the decades. In some cultures, it’s still common for children to only know their dad as the guy who is married to mom and goes to work so they can afford everything they have and will have. One of my good fortunes in life is having a father that worked very hard but was also present. Till our late teen years he worked multiple jobs, even running his own lawn care service for ten years. And yes, that meant he was my very first boss.

Although we didn’t see him much due to those jobs, his love for my sister and me wasn’t ever in question. Perhaps it was instilled in each of us when he gave each of us our first bath after we were born and home from the hospital. During our youth, my sister and I would usually bargain with him if mom said no, because we knew he was a softy and hated to dash our little dreams. When discipline was needed instead of the fun we wanted to have, and knew deep down that mom was right, we still went to dad anyway to at least have a yes in some fashion, even when mom stuck to her convictions.

When he wasn't working or sleeping, he was the one of the goofiest people I've ever known, hamming it up with anyone who would participate. When in public, he'd never shy to talk to anyone. It was often an annoyance to me when I'd want to get home as quick as possible to play video games, but it left a mark on me that connecting with people matters more than anything in life.

Our dad was born and raised in a household that was sustained by his parents’ farm and gardens. Working hard from dawn till dusk was the only option for the family to survive and thrive, instilling a strong work ethic in him and his siblings that continues to this day for them all. His dad was his first boss too and set the example I was privileged to be a recipient of.

Soon after I was born, he settled into what became his primary job that had him working third shift till I was fifteen years old. He was, and still is, someone who sleeps until he absolutely has to get up and ready to go anywhere. When my sister and I were growing up, we’d hear his alarm go off and he’d hit the snooze button. Back then we didn’t know much about the consequences of being late to work, except it would upset our mother. So, we took it upon ourselves when we heard the alarm to push dad out of bed so he wouldn’t be late! There were days where he wanted to sleep in and wasn’t thrilled about being pushed out of bed, but those were few and far between. Shoving dad out of bed became a fun ritual where he’d pretend to be sleeping and make it harder for us to get him out. He couldn’t stifle his laughter very well and his distinct chuckle always gave away his possum-playing intentions.

When I started working for him, I couldn’t wait to have my own money to buy my own things. I was 12 years old and craved independence and autonomy above my youth, and money was one way of achieving that goal. I didn’t really have much discipline at the time, but I learned the difference between doing something when it needed to be done versus doing it when I felt like it. During the school year I couldn’t wait to get out so I could cut grass. I was already spending the money I didn’t have yet, and I wanted to work more to get more things. What I didn’t know at the time, but realized later in my future jobs, was I was being given a real lesson in life. It was tough at first, but I learned how to endure adversity and enjoy suffering for the greater good.

For the first time in my life, I was able to spend quality time with my dad. It wasn’t something I realized I missed, even while observing other kids having much more time with their fathers. Still, it was nice to hang out with him more often, chatting about whatever he wanted while we drove to the next lawn to cut. All these years later, I’ll still drive to the areas where he had some customers to help me relive those memories. They are very fondly looked back upon by both of us, and never fail to entertain us while we reminisce about the three years I worked for him.

For my sister, she wasn’t shorted quality time either. She and dad would reorganize the garage when the time came. Our mom would show up on the job sites at times with my sister with some food and drinks if we'd run out of what we had or wanted something special. He would make sure to give my sister some attention while mom took over the lawn mower for a few minutes.

With the slivers of time he had, he'd make time for father and daughter outings. To her embarrassment, he'd call her his baby daughter to those he'd see when they were out and about. Nowadays, she embraces the title and signs everything she writes to him as his baby daughter.

When I worked for my dad from 1994-1996, the Packers were doing really well for the first time in decades. Not in the fluky Infante and Majkowski ways, they were a solid team worth cheering in a way that only compared to the Lombardi days. I will always cherish the times we’d do a lot of work on Saturday to be done early enough on Sunday to catch the end of the Packer games. The team of Jim Irwin and Max McGee was the soundtrack to those Sundays, hustling to be done early enough, yelling at the windshield to the picture they painted with their commentary.

Then there were the days we’d hit up the local go-kart track to reward ourselves for a hard day’s work. Sometimes our close friend Greg would join us, along with some of his friends and family when the timing worked out. When that group got together, some of us were sure to get yelled at by the track employees. We could also count on at least one of us getting booted from the track for the day while trying to one-up each other. It's a fond memory we talk about to this day.

Just because I worked for my dad doesn't mean I had it easy. He made me work a lot harder than I wanted to, yelled at me when I was slacking off, docked my pay when I didn’t do what he expected, and I barely had days off. He and I are both stubborn, and that made for some interesting days, but he always won. The only times he let me stay home was when my allergies were more than I could bear after trying different masks and/or over the counter medicines. When he was hard on me, he never made it about himself and never disrespected me. He simply expected more from me because I was his kid; he didn’t want nepotism to be why he hired me. He was consistent with it all and we learned more about each other as time went on.

Unfortunately, every boss I have had since then has had to work against the high bar my dad set as my first boss. Those bosses may have seen me as problematic or insubordinate. In reality, I have consistently been disappointed I've had to settle for less than what I was shown by my dad and his stern and respectful ways.

The business eventually grew so much he couldn’t keep up with it. He was trying to hold onto it until I was 18 and could take over, but it got to be too much and he had to sell the business when I was 14. It was successful but not enough to replace his full time income and benefits. It was a bummer for him, but also a relief of the burden it became. He was working a full-time third shift job as well as cutting grass, resulting in very little sleep. Thank God our mom was a competent secretary!

A harder worker than my dad is someone I’ve yet to meet. In some ways, it hasn’t been so good for me; I’ve burned myself out more times than I care to remember trying to live up to the example I was shown. Only in very recent years have I learned how to take better care of myself instead of working myself to the bone. But I’ll never forget the sacrifices my dad made just to make our lives comfortable while his was anything but.

After selling the lawn care business in 1996, we saw dad much more. He remained a hard and dedicated worker with just one job, and for the short time he worked a second part time job. In the twenty plus years since, our dad has become more and more comfortable with himself and his life.

There was a time a few years ago when I had nowhere to go. He took me in, but a couple months later kicked me out because I wasn't living up to what he expected of me under his roof. Even then, in my late 20s, he was still my boss looking out for me and making a hard decision for my benefit when it hurt him more than it hurt me at the time.

He’s made other hard decisions over time to get where he is now, and has done the best he could to make up for what he regrets. My sister and I are proud of how he has been able to overcome the adversity of being teased and treated much less than he deserved by his family and peers, especially in his younger days, to being a confident public speaker despite his still present stutter. Whether prepared or off the top of his head, his genuine good hearted nature always comes through.

That confidence has manifested itself with the courage to be more confident in other areas of his life. Despite what life has handed him, the fact he's remained a simple and humble man while learning and becoming better from his mistakes speaks highly of his character. When the times have called for him to stick up for us and go above and beyond, he was always there.

Last year, his parents passed away 63 days apart from each other. With class and strength, our dad mourned the loss of his parents, even with their deaths so close to each other. My original intention was to have this ready for Father’s Day, but coincidence made this more special; today marks his father’s 93rd birthday. So, on this day, my sister and I celebrate the man that our father is, the man who helped shape him, and we thank them and love them both. We don't even have to ask, because he's shown and told us that being our father will always be his favorite job.

Our Mom

Who doesn’t love their mom? In some regard, I’d bet everyone has love for their mother. At minimum, there should be an appreciation for at least having carried and given birth. Now, that doesn’t mean a lifetime of love and respect is earned, but making sure a healthy baby is born is a very difficult responsibility. My heart will always go out to those whose mothers couldn’t lay off anything unhealthy while pregnant. I’m forever grateful my mom realized that responsibility and made sure I was brought into the world healthy.

I’m not going to pretend my mom and I didn’t have issues. Our ancestors gifted us the lovely trait of stubbornness, which made my teen and early adult years very difficult for both of us. At times I couldn’t decipher between her love and anger, but I’m lucky enough for her to still be around in order to gain a full circle perspective. The years of tumult we put each other through have resulted in a great relationship with each other. She still embarrasses me and drives me crazy at times, but it’s still just part of her charm. Despite the rocky road it was, she’s come a long way from thinking I needed a “mommy” and has made efforts to understand me as a man with boundaries, instead of the boy she was raising and protecting. I am grateful God gave me a mother who made sure I was well fed and clothed and showed me examples of what to do and what not to do.

Some of my favorite foods are sour or fermented, and it's no wonder why. During my mother's pregnancy, she often would crave these same things, specifically fresh squeezed lemonade and pickled beets. How do I know this? My curiosity compelled me to text her while she was at work. Her eagerness to share with me showed through in the verbosity of her message and quick response. She described how her pregnancy with me involved patronizing a place that sold fresh squeezed lemonade every day on her lunch hour while working at a mall. She also remembered many restless nights that were soothed by a visit to the fridge that always had a jar of pickled beets. She even told me what she craved three years later while carrying my sister.

When we were old enough to read, she regularly brought my sister and me to the library for us to borrow books for education and entertainment. We’d fill a huge tote bag with books as long as we promised to read them by the time we had to return them. She made us laugh with her commentary while watching television and what she thought our cats were thinking when they’d do, well, anything. She brought us to a variety of restaurants on Friday nights before we’d go grocery shopping, and it was quality time we looked forward to.

Our mom has followed her mother’s example of selflessness and generosity, despite her not always having much herself. Her ears and heart have not been shut for my sister and me, even when it wasn’t easy for her. There were many times her maternal instinct overrode logic, like remembering things I totally forgot and not being mad at me for not having this post done for Mother’s Day.

Whatever life presented to her, she always did the best she could with what she knew at the time. A surprise gift here and there for no occasion other than she loves her kids is still something she does, and also gives us things she no longer needs or uses. My sister loves it when she gets a call or text from mom for a random shopping trip. They never tire of those adventures, especially their yearly trip to one of their favorite destinations.

What made this year’s Mother’s Day different for our mom is that it’s the first one she had to spend without her mom; our grandma. She was a sweet and special woman who showed us all what love and family are about, giving us a high bar to match.

No matter the company name on the top of any of her paychecks, or a signature at the bottom, the job she loved the most was also the most selfless; being our mother. Through everything all our lives, and there has been a lot, we’ve never had to doubt who we came from or if we were loved. And that’s why we love our mom.