Hello.
I'd like to open up the floor here. If you'd like to submit an essay for this blog, I'd love to have you as a guest writer.
What could you write? You should write about that thing you have been meaning to write about. Maybe it's a lesson you've learned in your old age/wisdom, or just a funny experience you had, or a short story which is totally fictional, or perhaps a brief autobiography. Maybe you were reading a magazine article, or a Chipotle cup, or this blog, or a billboard sign, and have thought, "I could do that." But you haven't had a platform to put it on. Well, I'd like to feature a few stories.
I believe that every single person walking this earth has a story to be told. We have all walked different paths - even if two people have lived the exact same life (unlikely,) their perspectives and the lessons they learned will be different.
I've written an essay on my sister. It was a test to myself to see if I could write about one singular topic, and also, I've been meaning to write about her. So, here goes!
Essay On My Sister
I would like to talk to you about my sister.
This entry is about a year overdue. I have been waiting and waiting to write it, and now it is time to do it justice. It's been like the song bouncing around in my heart that needed to be written.
I want to talk to you about my sister, because probably you don't know much about her. In fact, you probably don't know much about anyone in my family. My family tree is more of a family forest - lots of patchiness of different, independently functioning trees standing in all different areas, and I just swing around the forest willy nilly.
Since I can remember, I have not been able to explain my family map to anyone without, well, literally drawing a map. It's hard to give the "short version" of it, so you and I will have to talk about it one day over a pineapple-ginger flip martini or three.
But, today, I want to talk about my sister.
In summery, my sister knows how to sing with all the voices of the mountains, and paint with all the colors of the wind.
(This is basically the highest compliment I know how to give.)
My sister is one of the best people in the world. She is raw, smart, street smart, badass, beautiful, kind, jolly, and has been through some serious trials. She's got the dirt under her nails (metaphorically speaking... she would NEVER actually have dirt under her nails) and the callouses to show that she busted her hiney to make it to where she is today. No handouts, just grit and hard work and sweat, and lots and lots of tears. And lots and lots of love, laughter, and great memories.
From my dad's previous marriage, I have three siblings: a brother and two sisters, and Michelle is the middle child. They are all much older than me, and growing up, I often spent my summers out visiting the three of them in L.A..
Sadly, this is one of the only photos I have of all of us together!
This was taken Christmas 2012.
They each had their own families/houses, and it was a really fun childhood for me to be able to visit each of them. We always had fun adventures. We'd go to the lake (everyone is a water enthusiast - from fishing to wakeboarding,) and we'd go to the theme parks out there, or they would take me to Santa Monica or Venice. My other sister was a producer, and she even once got me in to a filming of my favorite show at the time, Home Improvement. (JTT, gals can I get a witness?)
It probably was a huge pain in the tukas to have to babysit me for weeks, but I will never forget it, and I cherish the memories they gave to me and the time and money (lots of it) they invested into their little sister.
That side of my family is very close with each other, and they always keep up with cousins and aunts/uncles. It's nice. They would even include me in with them when I visited and we'd all go on family vacations, so that even people whom were not the least bit blood related to me I would refer to as "Uncle Bob" and "Aunt Betty," etc.. But this entry is about my sister.
She has always been so awesome with me. When my dad, mom, brother (mom's child) and I moved to the other side of the country, she would sometimes come and visit. She even would plan (with my mother) surprise visits, just to bring our dad joy.
One time when I was about 6 years old, there was a knock on the front door, so I ran and opened the door (it was a different time in the world, when people could open the front door without expecting to be killed) and there she stood, on my doorstep in Florida. I don't remember exactly how I reacted, but she told me to go get dad, to surprise him, to tell him someone was at the front door.
So, giddy, I ran and knocked on dad's bedroom door, and said, "Dad, Michelle is here." He said, "Michelle, the neighbor?" And I said, "No, Michelle my sister!" And he thought I was just actin' a fool. He slogged over to the door, and when he opened it and saw my sister there, he absolutely lost it. I still remember the happy tears. She did this act a couple of times in our years living together.
Michelle was always very patient with me, just like she is with everyone. When we would take a vacation to the lakes in California (we used to go to a quaint location called Bass Lake a lot), she would drive the boat round and round in circles, swinging the rope out to me each time I fell off the water skis, until finally I stood up.
It might have taken me twenty tries to stand up, and I would be worn out and my arms would feel like they were going to fall off, and I would just want to give up on myself all together, but she would hoot and holler and encourage me until I actually was successful. It wasn't just for me, either - she was (and still is) like that with everyone who came with us.
This patience is a trait that we share, and I remember it about our father, too, but don't misunderstand me - with that patience comes a white hot internal temper if there is an injustice or disrespect. You would not want to be in the path of the calm-but-true rage that comes when it's time to lay down a smack down.
She would explain things to me, like when she had braces, she would let me touch them, and when she and her wife had a baby, I talked to her on the phone while she was still in the hospital, and she explained to me what it felt like to give birth (as much as you can tell an 8 year old.)
On to that point. Michelle knew early in life that she was gay. Michelle grew up in a very Catholic environment, went to Catholic school, and lived in the ideal L.A. Tinseltown home of the 60s-70s. She did not fit in. She rode motorcycles, and also earned a Black Belt. She also played a little too hard, and decided that the best idea would be to enter a 12-step program, where she met the love of her life, Sheila. It was a hard time and place, but they forged on together. Sure, it was easier to live the life they were building in Los Angeles rather than some other places in America at the time, but that doesn't mean that anything was ever actually easy.
Michelle and Sheila decided to have a child together back in the early 90s. This came with its own host of stigmas and challenges.
I am here today telling you that Michelle and Sheila and their daughter are the healthiest family in my entire crazy widespread family forest. I'll leave it to you to determine if that is ironic. I am immensely proud of their daughter, who is in her mid-20s and still living in L.A., and whom I am depending on as part of my retirement plans (I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS.)
When the Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage nationwide last summer, my sister & her wife were due to visit me the next day. Living so close to Washington D.C., the celebration was vibrant and alive all around me, many of my friends were celebrating, and everything became very colorful - literally. I was so thrilled, and I was so thrilled that I could share the moment with them. When I asked how it felt, what it means to them, after a moment she said, "I honestly never thought I would see it in my lifetime." It was heavy. It was a happy occassion that I will be telling my grandkids about.
Throughout the years, Michelle has taught me so much about life, family, fishing, and home improvement. She has also kept the spirit of our dad alive in a number of ways, including the sense of "family is family." When I am around her, I feel less abnormal, because she and I are very similar. We'll both burst into song about random things, and dance up and down the aisles of the stores, while her wife tries to get out of our way while continuously mumbling, "You are a bunch of crazy people." We are also very funny. It's a family trait.
Actually us at any given moment
Pulled over on the side of the road to go chase sheep around.
There were hundreds of sheep!
We also both can speak easily to strangers, and this is definitely an inherited trait. Our dad could speak to anyone about anything, and he did. He would just learn things about people; what they did for work, and then about that industry, and then about the tools they use in that job, and then before you know it, you could point to about anything, and ask what it is, and my dad would know the answer, because "Oh, I knew a guy who used to work with that." Lots of my friends will tell you that people tend to just open up around us.
We were at a Bass Pro Shop, (aka my sister's own Disneyland) and this cashier was in The Worst Mood. She was rude and grumpy. Within just a few smooth sentences, my sister easily pulled that girl into a smiling, happy mood. It is so easy for her. I think all my sister said was something like, "How is your day going, do you get a break soon?" And then this girl went into detail about how it was only her 2nd or 3rd week back from maternity leave and how she was missing her child, and then Michelle gave a little, "Oh, well only a few more hours until you can enjoy spending time with your sweet little child," and the girl whipped out her phone to show pictures, and by the time we left, that cashier was like a different person. I took this picture because I watched it happen, and it felt like home to me.
My sister is also an avid fisherperson, and they find joy in traveling the country to find places to fish. When they came to visit me last summer, we went out in the bay and did some fishing.
Fishing is their passion. When I visit them, they watch the fishing channel. Like, they actually have recorded fishing shows and they sit there and watch it, like people who are obsessed with golf do (oh yes, they are also obsessed with golf.)
We lost our dad years ago, and having someone to talk to just to remind you of the kind of person you came from, the kind of person you were raised to be, is a wealth that not everyone is granted.
They say that home is where the heart is, and while I don't have an address latitude/longitude for that location, I can tell you that part of my home rests with Michelle.
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