What can pride do for you? (12-23-15)

Today we had our 2^nd Christmas party, sponsored by the store up front from us. It wasn’t going to be as big as the one we had last Friday that our department threw but hey, free lunch twice in one week! No one was going to complain about that. Thus the morning was nothing more than a countdown to chow time.

In the afternoon the food arrived and everyone was summoned. The manager of the store came back to us and started calling out everyone’s names. There were five of us in the room and he started rattling them off from the closest person to him to the furthest, except for one omission, my name. I was the furthest away. I remembered thinking hey, what am I not invited? I chuckled and hobbled my way towards the front store. Why am I hobbling? Good question. I have a pinched nerve in my back that’s been improving but improving slowly. 4-5 days ago I had trouble standing upright, let alone walking, but now I just have a hitch in my giddyup.  It’s still a bit painful but it’s getting there.

I made my way up front thinking about how much food I should eat and thinking about calories, sodium and things like that but also thankful that I didn’t have to spend money or bring anything in today. Once I made it up front I saw the store manager and he told me that everything was upstairs in the break room. My heart sank. You see, the store has a little upstairs break room for their employees that I never venture into. The stairway is the narrowest stairway you’ve ever seen. You’d think it’s the way up to a kid’s clubhouse where adults are not allowed. Trust me, it makes the entrance to your attic seem spacious. I’d say the entrance and entire stairway is literally 2/3 as wide as a normal door. The stairway also has a short ceiling and very steep steps. I’ve never been up there. I’ve never even thought to try. The little Keebler elves door looked so silly that I never gave it a thought. Plus I have my own desk, so if I need a break, I just stay there.

When I walked to the door and looked at the stairway I gasped. Damn was it tiny. I tried to enter the stairway but I couldn’t. My shoulders were too wide. I couldn’t get through the door frame. Maybe if I turned sideways… but with my back the way it is, also having to duck to avoid cracking my head on the low bridge I realized that going up these stairs sideways or anyways was going to be incredibly difficult for me… too difficult. I stopped after trying to get through the doorway. The manager who had gone to the top of the stairs already turned around and asked me what I wanted, that he’d grab it for me. I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what was there; besides, I didn’t want someone preparing me a plate like I’m some child. I told him I didn’t need or want anything and I went back to my desk in the rear of the building, embarrassed and upset. I felt like a ginormous freak.

I griped about the choice for where the food was laid out. They always put it in a side office on the main floor that only employees had access to. It was easy access. This time they put it in that little room upstairs that only smaller sized people could access. Now that I think about it, everybody who works up front has smallish, hipster-like physiques. I’m not sure if anyone up there was 6 feet tall and everyone seemed like they were no more than 150 pounds. Someone asked me why I didn’t come back with any food and I told them why. Someone offered to go up and get me a plate. I quickly refused. They said; “it’s no big deal” but again I refused. I wish people would stop asking. I could not accept anyone bringing me a plate. I was embarrassed to even talk about it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How ridiculous. They Ed-proofed the food! Grrrr!

As I sat there and obsessed about what had just happened the security guy from up front came into our room carrying a plate and walking towards my desk. I felt mortified. “Oh my god” I said wishing I could hide. He told me they pulled me a plate and handed it to me. There wasn’t much food on it, conservatively pulled I thought. I took the plate and thanked him despite my discomfort. Don’t kill the messenger. He told me to let him know if I wanted anything else from up there and again I quickly refused. We then got into the familiar song and dance of “really, it’s no trouble”, no I’m fine, thanks. “Ed, if you want something, don’t worry about it, I’ll get it for you.” No, it’s okay, this is plenty, thank you. After about 5 or 6 of those back and forths he left with my gratitude and left me with this small plate of food. I looked at it. I didn’t want it because it had to be brought out to me due to ridiculous circumstances… they put the food where big guys can’t go. On the other hand I’m looking at this food, food that would normally be eaten bare handed, finger foods if you will, and wondering how they got onto this plate. Somebody must have grabbed them and put them on there. I started thinking about the germs. I can’t eat anything that someone brings me- that someone else put their hands on. But I’m also really hungry. I had a light breakfast and I had been looking forward to this for a few hours. Being able to smell the food so easily and effortlessly wasn’t helping. I stare at the plate. The sound of other people eating fills the room. I’m torn. I should just say screw it and eat this food and stop worrying, stop whining. Something won’t let me. Something wants me to toss this food in the trash. If I can’t go and get it myself, then I don’t want it. But it’s not fair. They put it in a place I cannot go. The whole event is embarrassing and frustrating. Why can’t I ever accept help? The tall thin guy who works in the back with me just mentioned how he fell down the stairs a bit coming down from getting food. It felt strangely reassuring. I keep staring at the food. I’m not getting any work done.

After a 15-minute internal conversation I still haven’t touched the food. I keep going back and forth wondering which will give in first; my pride or my hunger. I’m now thinking of alternate lunch plans, like leaving the building and picking something up. I tell myself, it’s such a nice one out there today in order to stack the deck in favor of my pride. I have no one here who knows me well enough to tell me I’m being ridiculous. Finally my boss ventures over. I haven’t seen her in like half an hour because she was upstairs snacking and being social with the people small enough to make it up into this room. She comes over to ask me why I haven’t eaten the plate in front of me. I tell her and she says that she saw them prepare the plate for me, and that they used a napkin to grab everything. I tell her that she’s just saying that to make me feel better. She insists it’s the truth and walks away.  

After absorbing this new piece of information I convince myself its okay to eat what they brought me although not without a ton of overthinking and anxiety over the ordeal. What a cost! I finally give in and eat the food and then realize that I probably would have grabbed more if it were me doing the grabbing but I’ll be damned if I’m asking anyone to go get me more. In fact I would rather stop talking about it altogether. A few hours later when I actually had to take my lunch I left the building and spent a little bit of money getting something somewhere else to eat. I realized how ironic it was to have to spend money for food on a day where everyone was getting a free lunch but that’s me, complicated and stubborn. I have my pride and a few less dollars in my pocket.

By late afternoon I’m mentally exhausted from all the anxiety and worry I put myself through. Did I handle this well? A curveball was thrown at me and I had trouble adjusting. I guess I always kind of do when something that I think is going to go one way goes another. When something that always goes a certain way doesn’t and I was too embarrassed to ask for help if I need it. I panicked a bit and I was prideful and but then I thought in a way that this whole thing was a metaphor for what the poor and working class of America have to go through. The ruling class thinks everyone wants a free ride but we really don’t. We want to earn our lunch, take pride in it and most of all we want to be able to get it ourselves. We don’t want it brought to us. We don’t want it to exist beyond our reach. This is America man; land of the free, home of the shamed. Today the goal was put somewhere where I couldn’t go. It was put above me and I couldn’t reach it. I’ve never felt more American… and hungry.

My Superhero Brothers (10-21-15)

When I was little I looked up to 4 older brothers. I guess that goes without saying, I was a kid- what could I do? They were a lot older and bigger than I was. The youngest of the four had 9 years on me! But I looked up to them in more ways than one. I looked to them for advice, for bonding, for all of the things I could not get from our dad and more. My brothers were vital to me. While each of them was different, they were all larger than life to me. Our dad was a larger than life character too, but it wasn’t the same. He was “dad” and ask any teenager, parents are lame. There’s a lack of mystery with parents. You see them all the time. Don’t get me wrong, you look up to them, but you don’t want to be just like them, at least not at that age. My brothers on the other hand, were something else entirely. They were like superheroes to me. I wanted to be a superhero too. One day I wanted to be like Bryan, the next like Lawrence. They were this collective of awesome guys each with their own, unique superpower.

My brother Raymond was the crazy one. It seemed to me like he would do anything, at anytime. When he saw me he would pick me up with as much joy and love as any person could muster. He would also scare me to death. I think I would scream out every time he hoisted me up and showed me that love. I was always happy to see him despite the inevitable super hugs and liftoff. The truth was, I always felt safe and loved around him, especially after he put me down. Sometimes he apologized when he saw me because he had nothing to give me, but I never cared. His love was enough. Unfortunately we lost him in 1988 but he’ll always remind me that we all have to get a little crazy sometimes. It’s good for our sanity. 

My brother Bryan was the cool one. I’ve written extensively about him in the past. He was the one who opened up the world to me, taking me to places like Bills training camp, my first movies, concerts, games and malls. Dad never liked to go anywhere but Bryan introduced me to the world outside my neighborhood and taught me to enjoy many things that I probably never would have discovered on my own. When we lost him in 2012 it was like a knife in my gut. I’d like to think that the coolness he possessed rubbed off on me and all the nephews, nieces, cousins and children he loved. He reminds me to be cool, keep my cool and never to let anyone who thinks I’m not cool convince me otherwise. 

My brother Jose is the smart one. There was a time where I didn’t think there was much more to life than sports, music and movies. He taught me a lot about life outside of those things. He taught me a lot about humanity, about forgiveness, about compassion. I remember as a teenager he gave me plenty to think about during a time where I might have been prone to doing too many things without thinking. He taught me to ask questions but I never questioned the love he’s had for this family. He reminds me to think, to wonder, to hope and to not be afraid to expand my horizons.

My brother Lawrence was the fun one. If you needed to be cheered up, if you needed to forget about your problems for a while, he was your guy. Every time I went to his house it seemed like it was a party. I remember leaving several times thinking; does he do this every night?!? Like Raymond he had a penchant for picking me up off the ground when I was little, except Lawrence would pick me up and perform pro wrestling maneuvers on me, like an airplane spin. I would beg to be put back down and he would just laugh and laugh. And oh my god that laugh. If you were in a bad mood, he could melt it with that laugh. I don’t know anyone who ever got more of their money’s worth with a laugh as he did. But it was more than the enjoyment of torturing his baby brother. I admired how unlike our dad, he didn’t take life so serious all the time. For that reason, if you were spending moments with him you were all but guaranteed a good time. Speaking of which, I’ll never forget when I was younger and I got to spend many nights over at his place. I always had a blast. I’ll never forget his generosity. I’ll also never forget the “loving” threats. I don’t know if he ever really meant those threats but at the time, I never thought it was a good idea to test him and find out. I believe the last one he gave me was for being a smartass with him to which he replied; “I may be getting old but I’ll still kick your ass.” For all his tough talk, I knew he had a sensitive side and a deeper love of family and friends than most people I’ve ever met. Again, like Raymond I think he’d do anything for anyone he cared about and that’s probably why so many people cared about him. I remember long ago when I helped him paint his house “lilac”. At the time, I thought it was an odd choice to paint a house purple. I questioned him about the choice of color, but only one time. I don’t remember exactly what he said but he, in his charming no-nonsense way assured me that I should shut up and get back to painting, probably at the risk of my ass getting kicked. We painted almost the whole day. That night, he treated me and everyone else who helped paint to a feast of pretty much everything we wanted. That was him, tough but tender. He’ll always remind me to have fun, to not take life too seriously and by all means he’ll remind me to laugh.  

Together the crazy one, the cool one, the smart one and the fun one made up one hell of a team. As the years have gone by, I grew and was literally no longer looking up to them. By then I realized my brothers were not superheroes, they were just men. They had flaws, made mistakes and they were not invincible. But one thing they all had & have in abundance is love... and that is their real superpower. A legacy of love can’t be defeated. It can’t be forgotten. It can’t be lost. It is indestructible and it is eternal. These are good men and now as I say goodbye to Lawrence, I’m left with a sadness that I won’t be able to hear that laugh anytime soon, but at the same time I’m sure Bryan, Raymond and Wanda are absolutely thrilled that they will… and that comforts me. Thank you Lawrence for all the love, all the good times, the memories, the jokes (good and bad)… and for being someone worth looking up to.