9/11: The Toxic Nature of Hate

September 11, 2013 by Sparks 2 Comments

Another 9/11 anniversary is here.  Predictably, my Facebook newsfeed is filled with the obligatory cheap and disposable patriotism that emerges on this day now.  It’s always amazing to me how people can treat patriotism like a t-shirt; put on and pulled off at need.  Like a young adult getting dressed for a night of partying, we don our patriotism so we can impress those around us.  It’s the image of patriotism that is important, not the substance of it.  I’m convinced that most Americans don’t know what patriotism is, that is has become a misguided synonym for hatred, racism, intolerance, and that the primary lesson America took away from 9/11 was fear and hatred.

I am disappointed in America.  We are better than what we have become.  We have a rise in Christian fundamentalism, a loss of rationality, a push for revoking the separation of church and state, a police state that spies on it’s very citizens, blatant and gross violations of our Fourth Amendment constitutional rights, a highly polarized electorate, and war-mongering politicians fueling the war machine with the blood of our children.  We have not-so-subtle racism becoming more and more a part of our daily lives, we have a fear of science, and we ostracize and ridicule intelligence and people of diplomacy and reasoned discourse.  Intolerance is rising and compromise is disappearing.  Grandstanding is the norm while conversation is discouraged.

We have to face the facts; America is not healthy.  We’ve eaten a solid dose of fear and hatred and it is poisoning us as surely as arsenic poisons a man.  The vitriolic debates and conversations at the political level have come down into the masses and even we, the people, are unable to have honest discussions without resorting to intentionally inflammatory speech and hatred.

This was, literally, said on Facebook today by one of my acquaintances:

“For the Far Left loonies who gloated and said that we got what we deserved on 9-11 and castigated all the progressives who didn’t share their venomous perspective, I just want to say that I am so very saddened….that is, saddened that you weren’t inside the World Trade Center on 9-11.”

Or what about this one I saw today as well:

“I don’t care what you think; all those fucking towelheads need to be kickd out of the country soon or they’ll be the first to go when shit gets ugly.”

Yeah – one statement is more intelligently delivered than the other, but both are examples of the level of vitriolic intolerance and hatred that fills this country now.

We need a return to reason.  We need to understand that a multitude of social media opinions is not the will of the people.  We need to embrace moderation and compromise.  Everything is not life or death.  Not everything is black and white.  And it’s ok to let your opinion get challenged by a well-reasoned argument.

  • No – I do not have to stand in front of the troops if I don’t support the war in which they fight.  Stop presenting me with false choice analogies as cheap digs into my patriotism.
  • No – I do not agree that we can never forgive the atrocities of 9/11.  I’ll never forget, but I refuse to hold onto my hatred and anger for that is the very poison of which I speak.
  • No – you cannot impeach the president because you disagree with him.
  • Yes – much of your hatred towards Obama is thinly veiled racism and nothing you have ever said or shown has challenged that statement on my part.
  • No – you may not put institutionalized prayer back in schools.
  • No – you are not persecuted and under attack if you are Christian.
  • No – Islam is not out to get you.  Neither are the gays or the atheists.
  • No – this is not a Christian nation and it never was.  Get over it.
  • No – it is not ok to shut down an entire city and conduct a door-to-door police raid on millions of people to find two men.
  • No – it is not OK for the NSA to spy on you, me, or any other American citizen without probable cause or warrant.
  • No – it’s not OK to be gate raped and to have our rights compromised just to fly in this country.

The list goes on and on and on, but the bottom line is that we’ve adopted intolerance and hatred as the societal norm.  We accept war and more and more we reject the multiculturalism that built this nation.  We allowed, in our fear, the government to strip us of our rights in the name of safety.  We want our patriotism to be like our religion: don’t question it and do it like everyone else does.  Or else.

In short – we are creating in our society a mirror image of the political, religious, and social structures of the extremists who attacked this country on 9/11/2001.  We are becoming the very thing we rant and rail against.  The terrorists have won.

Look at what we have become and weep.  The hatred we swallowed on 9/11 is poisoning us.  It is toxic and we need to heal and move past this ugly and dark chapter in our history.

Politics, terrorism
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Ron Sparks, 2013

Unbowed, Unbeaten, and Alive

August 24, 2013 by Sparks 1 Comment

My Scar

my scar –
etiolate;
but my vigor remains
I stand unbowed, unbeaten, and
alive

© Ron Sparks, 08/24/13

Over 41,000 people in the United States will be diagnosed with oral cancer in 2013.  That’s a lot of people and we’re now finding out that one of the leading causes of oral cancer, in addition to the obvious smoking and chewing tobacco, is the HPV virus.  That’s right, the sexually transmitted virus that has been linked to cervical cancer in women has in recent years been linked to many, many instances of head, neck, throat, and tongue cancer in men.  If you have children, and aren’t one of those lunatics who think they are evil, please, please, please make sure you children are vaccinated against HPV.  It could, quite literally, save their lives.

The scars oral cancer leaves on a person are some of the most visible scars cancer patients can have.  Take a look at my picture above.  My neck is deformed.  A much more sever case of disfiguration by oral cancer can be seen in the late Roger Ebert who, sadly, lost his battle with his cancer in April of this year.

On August 27th of 2008, I was diagnosed with stage III squamous cell carcinoma in my head and neck.  A month later, in September, 2008 I underwent radical neck dissection to remove the cancer that had spread from my tonsils to my lymph nodes.  The scar from that surgery, almost exactly fives years later, is a daily reminder of the life and death struggle I endured.  My five-year survival rate was statistically less than 60%.

And yet I survived.  Here I am, five years older.   I am one of the lucky ones.  Many have not been as lucky as I.  I know  people who are just beginning their epic struggle against cancer.  I know people who have lost their battle and are no longer among us.

This next series of blog posts is my celebration.  My celebration of survivorship.  My celebration of the battle, of my friends and family who have fought and won, and my memorial to those who have lost their battle.  You’ll find that these posts will be a mixture of poetry (I am a biker poet, after all), introspection, observation, and just plain silliness.  I hope you enjoy.

I formulated my plan in this hospital bed

I formulated my plan in this hospital bed

It was December 21st, 2008 when I first formulated my five-year celebration, should I survive that long.  I had, just days before, been fitted with my PEG tube.  The process was excruciatingly painful.  I had barely begun to learn how to use my new feeding tube when peristalsis stopped working in my body – my guts stopped processing food through my intestines and I was throwing up everything that went into my stomach.

I was there for three days before my doctors were able to kick-start my digestion again.  Lying in that bed, all day and all night, waiting for some magic moment to happen over which I had no control left me with a lot of time to think.  I decided then and there that if I managed to reach the ever-coveted five-year mark without a recurrence of my cancer, I would celebrate in an epic fashion.

And so , the Binary Biker decided that an epic road trip was in order.  Two weeks. 5,000 miles.  To Sturgis, South Dakota and back on a motorcycle.  A cross-country spirit quest.  Discover America and hopefully along the way, rediscover myself.

My trip was epic.  It was beautiful, eye-opening, scary, fun, instructive – and any other number of descriptive words you can think to add.  I have a lot to share, so buckle up – this blog post is just the beginning of what’s coming.

Back to Sturgis Index Home

Cancer, Cancer & Recovery, Poetry
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Just Add Beans

May 4, 2013 by Sparks 0 Comments

Made me laugh this morning. Though you’d enjoy.

Just Add Beans

Hybrid Motorcycle

Uncategorized
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Leesburg Bikefest 2013

April 27, 2013 by Sparks 0 Comments

I say it every year; the Leesburg Bikefest motorcycle rally is the best Florida rally there is.  It is better than Daytona, if less well-known.

I rode to the rally this morning solo.  The Binary Princess is in Phoenix, AZ visiting a close friend.  The kids stayed at home.  I was, for the first time ever, flying solo at a bike rally.  This was a first for me; I could do whatever I wanted and didn’t have to negotiate with anyone on what event, band, bike, etc to see first.  I kinda liked it, but it was lonely.  I really wish Big Bad John could have been there with me, but he has a newborn and was unable to join.

Added flames to the phoenix on my left arm.

Added flames to the phoenix on my left arm. (click for larger image)

So what did I do with my newfound freedom?  I got a new tattoo!  As most of you know, I am a cancer survivor.  A couple of years ago I got the phoenix tattoo as a symbol of rising from the ashes of my cancer reborn as a new man.  It was just a simple tribal tattoo, and I always wanted some flames added to it to complete the symbolism.

It seemed like a no-brainer.  I walked into the tattoo expo at the rally pretty early.  The booths were all empty and the artists were setting up.  I sized up every tattoo artist and settled on Chip Harris, from Fort Lauderdale.  I chose him because he was my age, he looked intelligent, and when I talked to him he didn’t try to give me exactly what I wanted.  He told me what he thought I should do, and it was different than what I approached him with,and then he said he could do it for about $75.00 more than I wanted to pay.

My kinda artist.  Confident, had a nice portfolio, and wasn’t going to compromise for the dollar; he would do quality work for a decent rate.  I chose well.  He added the flames to my phoenix brilliantly.  With smoky greys, reds, yellows, and whites; he made it pop and look great.  I am very happy.

After the tattoo was complete,  I had a few beers and wandered the rally for a while.  I listened to the bands, shopped the stalls, and looked at all the custom bikes.  Truth be told, I was alone and, while I was making conversation with strangers, everyone was already with a group and I was just the guy passing by.  So, after a while, I left.  A great time, but definitely would have been more fun and I would have stayed longer – into the evening – had I a friend with me.

Anyway, here are some of the shots I took today at the rally.  Click on any photo to open up the gallery (larger) view:

Leesburg Bikefest 2013
Added flames to the phoenix on my left arm. (click for larger image)
Motorcycle
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Boston Just Proved That The Terrorists Have Won

April 19, 2013 by Sparks 3 Comments

(EDIT: lively Facebook discussion on this blog here.  Feel free to join in)

On the 10-year anniversary of 9/11 I blogged about how the terrorists had succeeded in changing the very fabric of our culture and had thus won.  Now, in the wake of the horrific events surrounding the bombing of the Boston Marathon, I say again that the terrorists have won.

As I type this blog, a massive manhunt is taking place in Boston for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the 19-year-old suspect still alive and on the run.  The entire city of Boston is shut down as a result of this manhunt:

  • All schools are shut down
  • Taxi cab service is shut down
  • Buses, subways, and other public transportation are shut down
  • Businesses are being told to stay closed and not open today
  • Residents are being told to stay indoors and stay home
  • The FAA has suspended all flights in and out of Boston and has declared Boston a “no fly” zone.
  • Thousands of police are roaming the streets, fully armed, going door-to-door looking for Dzhokhar.

All of this; for a single man.  A man who perpetuated a horrific and terrible crime, along with his brother who is now dead, but a single man nonetheless.

Much of the city of Boston is on lockdown.  That, in addition to the, literally, hundreds (if not thousands) of officers on the street means that this is costing tens of millions of dollars.  For a single man.

We have, yet again, allowed the terrorists to consume our lives, allowed fear to dictate our behavior, and allowed city, state and national governments to grind an entire locale to an economic and social halt – all to hunt a single man.

No man is worth the destruction of our way of life.  No amount of perceived “safety” is worth the complete relinquishing of our rights.  I was so proud of the measured and appropriate response of authorities to this point. I was overwhelmed by the fearlessness and compassion of the people who jumped in at a time of crisis to help their fellow man.

And now this.  The terrorists win when we allow them to dictate our behavior.  This is not the behavior of people who “refuse to be terrorized” as President Obama recently said.

The terrorists win when an entire city is shut down to find a single man.

Blogging, Politics, Rant, terrorism
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Taking my son to the gun range

Parents Should Teach Their Children Gun Safety

April 13, 2013 by Sparks 0 Comments

There’s a lot of media coverage this past week about children and guns.  It’s to be expected, it’s the media theme of the month.  There is not an increase in gun-related deaths, only an increase in the reporting of them.    There is a lot of talk and rhetoric about gun control and changes necessary to ensure the safety of our children.

Let me tell you a fact: guns are everywhere.  No amount of legislation is going to change that any time soon.  The best way to protect your children from accidental gun injury or death is education, and it starts with you.

Let me start with my own story….

Learning to Shoot

When I was about five years old, my grandfather taught me how to shoot a rifle.  We were living with my grandparents on a farm outside a small town called Vevay, Indiana.  With over 100 acres of land, there was plenty of room for a kid to explore and get into trouble.  We has two barns on that farm.  One was just the barn, but the other was a rotted and dilapidated barn we called the “tobacco barn.”  I assume now that the barn was used in the past to store and cure tobacco grown on the land.

There was a large field behind the tobacco barn, and we grew crops there, when the groundhogs didn’t eat them all up.  The groundhogs could dig holes so deep they would tip a tractor if they rolled over them.  My father and grandfather would regularly  shoot the nuisance pests from afar, and I would watch them do it.  One day, my grandfather handed me the rifle and told me to give it a try.

My oldest son and grandfather at the gun range

My oldest son and grandfather at the gun range

I remember my grandfather handing me the rifle.  He spent time showing me how to operate the gun, the safety rules of handling the gun, how to aim, and how to slowly pull, not jerk, the trigger.  I grabbed the rifle from grandpa, sighted down the barrel, and I fired that rifle downfield at the groundhogs.  I missed, of course, and the recoil from the rifle knocked me backwards and hurt my shoulder.   The sound of the shot being fired startled and scared me.  Grandpa chuckled, and handed the rifle back to me, even though I was suddenly afraid of it.  Because that’s what he did; he taught without teaching.  He led by example.  He knew I was afraid, but he just handed the rifle back to me and let me make the choice to try again.

I was barely five years old – but I had learned one of the most valuable life lessons a father (or grandfather) should teach his son: respect for firearms.

My 86-year-old grandfather owning it at the range

My 86-year-old grandfather owning it at the range

I remembered this lesson and I passed it on to my kids.  My oldest son, Matthew, is fascinated with guns and has had a lifelong love affair with them.  I took him to a gun range and taught him gun safety when he was about seven years old.  When he was fifteen (he’s almost 20-years-old now), he spent an hour every weekend breaking down my Ruger 9mm and my Colt 1911 .45.  He studied guns, practiced with them, and spent hours talking to my grandfather about them.

My youngest son, Christopher, is pictured at the top of this post.  He, too, had regular gun safety lessons and sessions at the gun range – starting at about the age of seven.  He is now fifteen-years-old and, unlike his brother, has no fascination or desire to shoot guns anymore.  But he knows his guns.  He understands them, respects them, and knows how to handle any firearm handed to him.  I have absolutely zero concern about him and firearms, either in my  house or outside of it.

Because I taught him.

Guns are Everywhere

Regardless of your convictions or political beliefs, you are not going to change the fact that guns are a permanent and ubiquitous presence in our country.  In all likelihood  your child will, at some point, be exposed to a firearm when you are not around.  How your child responds and if your child has the skills and education to deal with the situation properly is entirely up to you, the parent.

It is your responsibility as a parent to understand this and teach your child how to respond in a situation where they see a gun lying around or in the hand of a friend.

You can never fully protect against a tragic accident, but you can stack the deck in favor of your children with basic gun safety and education.

When to Start Teaching Your Kids About Guns

My oldest son and friend cleaning my handguns

My oldest son and friend cleaning my handguns

I showed my guns to my children when they were four years old.  I did not let them touch the guns at that age.  I fired the gun near them, startling them and making them jump (and cry a little).  I showed them handguns and rifles, so they knew that both form factors were guns and were to be avoided.

At that age, I taught them to avoid guns at all costs.  If they saw one in a room, leave and tell an adult.  If a friend picked one up, leave and tell an adult. Of course, I also had to teach them to recognize a real gun from a toy gun, and to go to an adult if there was any doubt.

It may seem cruel to fire a gun near a four-year-old and startle them, but it drove home a point that a four-year-old needed to know; guns are scary.

By the time the kids were seven, I was handing them the gun, teaching them its basic operation, and allowing them to fire it in a controlled environment.  They learned how to remove the magazine, how to check and clear the chamber, how to engage the safety, how to handle it when around other people, and much more.

And the lessons were not negative.  They were taught at a range, as they learned to fire the gun, by a father who respects, not fears, a gun.

Respect, don’t fear, a firearm

This is important.  A parent who teaches their children to only fear a gun is not giving that child the skills necessary to deal with a situation in which they find themselves around a gun.  The “be afraid and run away” tactic I taught my four-year-old sons is not going to work with a pre-teen or teenaged child.  It’s naive to think that a 10-year-old child will walk away when a friend shows them a cool gun.  Especially a 10-year-old boy for whom peer acceptance is starting to become a major influence in his life.

This is the situation where your child needs to have learned respect for the firearm and not fear of it.  He or she needs to be able to recognize if it is loaded, if the safety is on, and most importantly, if their friend has the skills to handle and respect for the firearm as well.

Let’s sum it up.  Guns are dangerous.  Guns are everywhere.  Your children are at risk even if you don’t condone gun ownership or carry a gun yourself. You can’t protect your child from being exposed to a gun.

Those are all indisputable facts.

Any reasonable person, therefore, would agree that teaching your child gun safety and operation is good parenting.  I would argue that it is naive and nearly criminal to deny your child this education and leave him/her unprepared.  It’s akin to giving the car keys to your child and telling him to drive on the freeway without ever once teaching the child to drive.

Be responsible.  Be safe.  Teach your kids about firearms and firearm safety.

Family
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Pittsburgh

My Google Gal is Moving to Pittsburgh

April 3, 2013 by Sparks 2 Comments

Yep;  the Binary Biker is moving to Pittsburgh.  Actually, it’s the Binary Princess that is moving.  My lovely wife is now employed by Google and is relocating to work in their Pittsburgh office on the Google Shopping product.

It all started about six months ago when my wife’s company, for which she has been working about eight years, entered into negotiations with Google.  Early on, my wife and the position she fills was identified as a key person in a role that needed continuity and continuation after the acquisition.  We were flown to Pittsburgh with a few other key people in key roles prior to the signing of the deal to be wooed by Google.  The acquisition was dependent upon enough of the key roles agreeing to relocate to Pittsburgh.

Pittsburgh was not at all like I expected.  I was expecting a grungy, grimy, city.  A city scarred and marred by the steel industry that used to be the economic mainstay of the region.  What I found was a growing and vibrant historical city with an urban feel unlike any town in Florida.  I found a city the revolved around the Steelers and the Penguins; a city so in love with their teams that their iconography and presence is ubiquitous and inescapable.

Sure; it’s got dark corners, neighborhoods, and alleys best steered away from; just like any other city.  It’s a city broken up into many little neighborhoods, boroughs, each with their own feel, flavor, culture, and history.  Because of the steel mill history, many of the middle class and blue-collar homes are on the waterfront while most of the upper class homes are further away in the hills.  It’s completely opposite of how Florida works – and I found that neat and interesting.

Google Offices in Pittsburgh

Google Offices in Pittsburgh (click for larger)

The Google offices are located near borough called Shady Side in a plaza called Bakery Square.  It’s the old Nabisco building.  I’ve been there, but have yet to see the Keebler Elves.  Not for lack of looking, though.

Still, there is magic in the building.  I’m not going to go into detail on the internals of the Google office; I’m sure there are plenty of articles and posts about how cool the place is.  They would be correct; it is pretty freaking cool.

I’ve been coding, architecting, managing, directing, and CTO-ing in the field for 24 years.  Based on my experience, I can say that working in an office like the Google office in Pittsburg would appeal to almost every developer I know.  Even their bathrooms are developer friendly, with notes and educational missives printed regularly above the toilets and urinals.  The one I saw while I was there was titled “Testing on the Toilet: Testing State versus Testing Interactions.”  I loved it.

Carey in Pittsburgh

Carey in Pittsburgh (click for larger)

As you know, I am a founding member of the myList team, the awesome social commerce app in Facebook you’re using if you like me.  myList is in Florida and in Arizona.  It is not in Pittsburgh.  I really believe in what we are doing here at myList.  So much so that I am electing to stay in Florida while my wife and daughter move to Pittsburgh.

This is the sucky part.  My son and I are staying in Florida while my wife and daughter go to Pittsburgh.  We’re going to manage just fine, though.  We found a great apartment in Shady Side, less than half a mile from the office and within walking distance of all the great shopping in the neighborhood.

I am going to fly up at least twice a month and spend the weekend with the ladies.  My son will come up with me monthly as well.  Carey and Ashlee will fly down to visit us as often as possible, although that will be more difficult when school is in session.

When I ride to Sturgis this year, I will swing through Pittsburgh on my way back down to Florida.  We’re going to have our houses “live-wired” together – with Facetime or a Google hangout running 24/7 between our living rooms.  All we need to do is walk in the living room to see each other and talk.  We will have dinner together every night this same way.

I’m keeping the dogs in Florida – simply because renting a place in Pittsburgh that will take the dogs is way more difficult than we expected.

It’s going to be an adventure – but we are looking forward to it.  This is the spice of life and I am so happy for my wife – she’s a Googler and proud of it.  And I am proud of her.

Family, Life, Work
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Red Blood Cell

Walk a Mile In My Shoes …

March 26, 2013 by Sparks 2 Comments

… before you give me unasked for advice on how to avoid getting sick so often.

Let me start by saying I have a great support network of friend, colleagues, and relatives who all care deeply for me and my health.  I am gently pushed, reminded  and encouraged daily to lead a healthy(ier) lifestyle, to get to the gym, to eat the proper foods.  I have friends who run marathons, compete in IRONMAN events, work out daily, and dedicate a significant portion of their lives to health.

They inspire me.

They all have stories, anecdotal evidence, and advice from gurus they trust on how to lead a healthy life.  And, for the most part, their knowledge and advice is good and true.  They all have faced personal tragedy, health issues, and have come back strong.  They all have reasons to be proud of themselves and their accomplishments.

Strapped to a table for cancer radiation therapy

Strapped to a table for cancer radiation therapy

Yet none of them have had to endure the ravaging effects of cancer the way I have.  None of them have laid, strapped to a table for almost an hour a day for seven weeks straight, getting radiation therapy.  They have not had to endure three seven-hour regiments of chemotherapy administered intravenously.  A chemotherapy drug called cisplatin that is a derivative of mustard gas and is so toxic that it quite literally oft-times destroys the kidneys in the patient receiving it.

They say sometimes you have to nearly kill to patient to cure the patient.  That’s certainly true in cancer patients.  The morbidity of cancer treatments is very high; at least mine were.  The effects of chemo and radiation have had a drastic impact on my health.  I am now close to the five-year mark; that magical waypoint in life post-cancer where you are considered “cured.”  Any cancer after the five-year mark is considered a “new” instance of the disease and not related to the first.

And yet, for all the time that has passed, I still struggle with the effects of the treatments that saved me.

One of my blood panels

One of my blood panels

My blood counts are no longer normal.  I get regular blood work done by my oncologist and it always s hows the exact same thing now.  I have low red blood count, low HCT count (the % of red blood cells in the blood), and low NRBC (nucleated red blood cell count).  And while my white blood cell count is considered normal, it is just barely so now.

What does this mean?  It means that I am more susceptible to sickness and illness.  It means that, no matter what I do I will always be more at risk every time someone near me has a cold, infection, or contagious condition.  I am not, nor will I ever be again, “normal” when it comes to my immune system.  It means that even if you have the sniffles and kick it in a day, I will fight it for a week or more and my symptoms will be more severe.

It means you cannot expect me to just eat differently, work out more often, or take more supplements and expect that I will be able to fend off sickness the way you do.

But you do expect me to be like you.  You assume I don’t take vitamins and supplements.  You assume I am not working out.  You assume I am not eating healthy (usually).  You assume, from a position of moral certainty, that I am doing something wrong while you are doing something right.

You are, in fact, so arrogant in your belief that you are right that when I try to explain my weakened immune system – you scoff, cut me off, and look at me down your nose and accuse me of making excuses.  Of using my past cancer as a crutch.  Of not trying hard enough.  You give me tough love because all I need to do it try harder, right?  Stay consistent.

I know you all love me, my health nut friends and colleagues.  I really do appreciate all the fitness advice you give me.  I respect the hard work and dedication you put into it.  I understand that you can point to other people who have beaten deadly diseases and run marathons.  Awesome.  Good for them.

They are not you.

I spend every day, 10+ hours a day, in an unhygienic environment where we work so hard and our work intensity is so high we are already compromising our immune systems.  We have hand sanitizer in every room, but no one really uses it.  The conference tables were wiped clean with antibacterial wipes sometime last year if we’re lucky, the kitchen counters are only cleaned every few days, people work even when they are sick because we have a lot to do and we are all dedicated.  The carpets on the floors get cleaned once a year.

I go home every day to a family of high school kids who are a petri dish of whatever local illness is going though the community.

When you have 35 radiation treatments, run mustard gas through your veins, beat cancer but have a weakened immune system, work and live in a petri dish of germs, then you can come to me with unasked advice and comments on why I am so sick (never really sick, but always a little run down).

Until then, while I respect your opinion on everything else – keep this one to yourself.

Cancer, Health, Rant
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Gave Ashlee an "eye pad" for Christmas last year

I have a daughter and her name is Ashlee Sparks

March 16, 2013 by Sparks 1 Comment

She didn’t want me in her life.

Not at first, anyway.  I was mommy’s new boyfriend and I was a nuisance because I kept getting in the way of how things were supposed to be.  Sure, she liked me.  I was funny, considerate, and I actually talked to her and was interested in who she was.  But she was a strong-willed 10-year-old little girl who had very definite ideas about what a normal life constituted, and I was not really a part of that consideration.

Monster Jam 2008

Monster Jam 2008

Her mom had told her how much she liked me and wanted me to meet her.  Our first “family” outing was Monster Jam at the Citrus Bowl.  She was introduced to two boys; one was the same age as herself.  She was shy and stuck to mommy the entire time, but she did have the good managed to smile for the camera once.

It was an awkward family date, but as the lure of monster trucks crashing into each other grew on all of us, we started enjoying ourselves.  Ashlee chatted with the boys and Carey and I had a chance to exchange a few affectionate glances at each other.  I don’t think we actually held hand that night; we were the book ends holding the children together so they would actually interact with one another.

We left early because it started to rain and Ashlee decided she had had enough of the evening and wanted to go home.  I was concerned that she didn’t like the boys, or me.

This was a valid concern; Carey and I had discussed what we would do if Ashlee didn’t like me, if my boys didn’t like her, and if the children couldn’t get along together.  And really, there was really only one thing to do if any of those scenarios occurred; our relationship would have to end.

Pushing Ashlee on the swing.

Pushing Ashlee on the swing.

So we took it slow, but not too slow.  The thing to remember is that Ashlee was (is) a strong-willed girl.  She was resistant, but she had to learn that resisting just for the sake of getting her way was not fair to herself or her mother.  So we had more family outings and get togethers.

We had dinners.  We went to movies.  We stayed in and watched TV.  We went to Disney.

We never forced ourselves on each other’s kids, but we didn’t shy away from being parental adults around them either. If I saw Ashlee about to throw a tantrum, I would gently remind her that young ladies were supposed to act better than she was acting in public.  Similarly, Carey would talk to the boys in such a fashion.

As I fell in love with Carey, I fell in love with Ashlee.

One day, we decided, Carey and I, that I would stay over at her place one night while Ashlee was there.  I was there when Ashlee went to sleep and I would be there when she woke up.  Carey was nervous, because young Ashlee had a habit of coming to sleep with mommy a couple of night a week.  Ashlee was surprised to see me there the next morning, but took it in stride.

From there, the pace accelerated.  I was already headlong in love with both Ashlee and Carey.  I sat down with Carey and told her these exact words, “If you won’t let me be a father, completely, to that little girl in there,” I pointed to the living room where a sleepy Ashlee was eating cereal and watching cartoons, “our relationship won’t last.  You need to tell me soon if you can handle that, because when I say I want to be a father to her; I mean it.  I want to love her, hold her, treat her like my own child.  That includes discipline and intimacy.”

The kids together early in our relationship

The kids together early in our relationship

It was a big leap.  The kids had already started bonding, and this “ultimatum” of mine could have ended all of our relationships if Carey was not agreeable.

Carey agreed, thankfully.  She wanted me to be the father-figure for her daughter.  Ashlee’s grandfather had been the primary male influence in her life until I arrived and what I was asking for was a complete changing of not only my relationship with Ashlee, but also with her grandparents as well.  I was proposing we actually become a full-family and we all assume the roles of mother, father, grandparent, children, etc.  No blurring of the lines; we focus on what we were supposed to be, not what circumstance had forced us to be.

As you can imagine, it was easily agreed to, but difficult to actually implement.  But not impossible.  The biggest challenge was to get Ashlee to respect my position as an authoritative father figure.  My parenting style was unlike anything she had ever seen before.  I approach child-rearing as a great obligation, responsibility, and opportunity.  I am, as a father, supposed to teach and lead (by example) key lessons in my children’s life.  Honesty, integrity, selflessness, accountability, critical thinking, compassion, and strength among others.

Some lessons were easier learned than others.  Not just for Ashlee, but for the boys as well.  I also believe  as a parent, in consistency.  That means, even if it breaks my heart, I need to enforce discipline when a rule is broken or when a privilege is abused.  Multiple infractions, always, increase the severity of the discipline.  Ashlee responded with mixed emotions to consistent boundaries, and consequences that were well-defined but never negotiable.  But she soon realized that, even though she hated the boundaries imposed on her, they were always the same.  She knew what was allowed, what was right, and what was wrong.  She had a solid framework around her for decision-making, growth, and learning.

And so she learned, quickly, the value of critical thinking.  And she embraced it.  She blossomed almost immediately as she stopped trying to rule to roost and started to engage in just being a child.  She had safe, if sometimes frustrating, boundaries around her and she could leverage that foundation to build her character and personality upon.

Ashlee and I at Lake Eola as I battled Cancer

Ashlee and I at Lake Eola as I battled Cancer

And then I got cancer and saw the one thing I could never, ever, teach her.  Something that she had inside her that was there well before I ever entered her life.   Love and compassion, so powerful and so deep that it staggers the imagination.  She had a hard time showing it to me back then.  But she had fallen in love with me as much as I had with her.  when I got cancer, she, like her mom, stayed by my side.  She was scared and confused, but she stayed with me.

She helped me walk down the hallway when I was too weak to move.  She plugged in my feeding machine to feed my through my PEG tube.  She came home from school every day while I was on disability and rushed back to the living room to make sure I was ok.

I saw.  I noticed.  And I wept for joy that she was returning the love that I felt so strongly for her.

Ashlee cuts my hair before chemo takes it away

Ashlee cuts my hair before chemo takes it away

With her help, and the help of my boys and Carey, I healed.  I beat my cancer and stopped dying and started living again.  Thanks to Ashlee, and the boys, I never battled a deep depression through my cancer.  They were always there for me.  They always loved me and they always showed me.

And so life went on.  We came together as a family, truly.  Ashlee was integrated into the rest of the family and was one of three children.  That was a hard adjustment for her, but she gained two brothers and all the good and bad that came along with it.

In Matthew and Christopher she suddenly had someone to blame things on, she had two protectors, she had two friends.  She learned to love them, embrace them, and of course she learned how aggravating having siblings can be.  She learned that a brother is always there, even when friends come and go.  She also learned that they’re just as likely to pass gas on you than commiserate with you when you are sad.

Playing at the beach with her brother

Playing at the beach with her brother

She suddenly had two brothers who were excellent students and challenged her to be her best.  And she rose to the challenge.  Struggling with certain classes before, she showed a fire and determination to excel that amazed us all.  She learned that she was not slow.  Anyone who can quip with her uber-witty and sarcastic brother Christopher and hold hour-long philosophical conversations with Matthew is not slow at all.   In fact, it’s all come to fruition lately; her teachers have recommended her for honors classes next year when she enters tenth grade.

In the middle of my cancer treatments I proposed to Carey, and she said yes.  Wedding plans commenced and we quickly decided that the kids were essential to the wedding party.  They were part of the planning process, they were engaged every step of the way.  They helped pick cake, dinner, colors, dress styles, and even helped scope out the venue.  This was not just Carey and I getting married, it was ALL of us.

Ashlee next to me for a wedding shot

Ashlee next to me for a wedding shot

The kids had all grown up so much in the few short years since we had all met.  They were so beautiful at the wedding.  All of them.  Ashlee was stunning and I think I cried as much looking at her as I did at Carey.  In her heels, Ashlee towered over me; she had grown so much.

After the wedding, and after the honeymoon, life resumed as normal.  One day, though, Ashlee made a comment that she wasn’t a Sparks, like the rest of us.  She was joking as she said it, but I heard a note of real emotion in the statement.

It hit me right then and there that Ashlee had never had a father but me.  I was the only father she had ever known.  Sure, her grandfather dual-filled the role for years, but he was grandpa.  I was dad.  And she felt disconnected from me at some fundamental level because she wasn’t a Sparks, but still a Dobson.

From there it was a no brainer.  I needed to adopt Ashlee.  I had no idea where to begin, and I had no idea how much it would cost, but it needed to be done.  She deserved it.  She should never, even for a second, feel like she wasn’t a part of our family because she didn’t share a name with us.

So Carey and I started the process.  It took forever.  It cost a fortune.  But after a year of lawyers, legal proceedings, subpoenas, and stress over it all, we made it happen.

Last Thursday, Ashlee and I stood in front of a judge and I was asked, “why do you want to adopt Ashlee?”  And there was only one answer I could give, “Because she’s my daughter.”  In every way that matters, Ashlee is my daughter.  I want to yell it from the mountaintops.  I will acknowledge her to the world and woe betide anyone who tries to come between us.

I have a daughter.  I love her so very much.  And her name is Ashlee Sparks.

Gave Ashlee an "eye pad" for Christmas last year

Gave Ashlee an “eye pad” for Christmas last year

Blogging, Family
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TSA Allows Knives on Planes Now

More TSA Tomfoolery

March 10, 2013 by Sparks 0 Comments

This question isn’t whether or not the TSA should allow knives on planes.  The question is why is the TSA even involved in private travel in the first place? (why is there even such a thing as the TSA?)

Security is the job of the airlines and the airports; not the federal government.  When a private company searches me, or imposes restrictions, I submit because it is a condition of doing business with them.  When the government searches me and imposes restrictions, it is a violation of my Fourth Amendment right.  Period.

There’s not much more to say than that.  We continually allow the transgressions against our liberties in the name of safety.  We are made to feel unreasonable and portrayed as extremists when we exert our rights and when we challenge any infringement upon them.

I am not unreasonable and I am not an extremist.  In fact, I am pretty damned liberal.

It is the job of the airline to provide a safe journey to my destination.  If they fail, they lose business and go away.  No one can guarantee absolute safety, and this ongoing security theatre we are forced to endure in the name of our safety is nothing more than a continual erosion of our Constitutional rights.

Don’t get fooled by the red herring; a 2-inch blade on a plane is no more dangerous than a sharpened pencil or ball point pen.  Your safety is not impacted by this.  The real issue here is why you keep allowing the TSA to infringe upon your rights.

Do something.  Opt out of the full body scans.  Make it painful and expensive for the TSA to operate.  Enough people doing that would change policy quickly.  Write your Congressperson.

Stop giving away your rights for the illusion of security.

Blogging, Politics, Travel
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