Guilty Pleasures

Wikipedia defines Guilty Pleasures as: “something one enjoys and considers pleasurable despite feeling guilt for enjoying it. Often, the ‘guilt’ involved is simply fear of others discovering one's lowbrow or otherwise embarrassing tastes, rather than actual moral guilt.”

A List of Guilty Pleasures, in no particular order, or Things that Make Me Happy for No Good Reason:

1.  Ke$ha
2.  Ok, I admit it.  Degrassi
3.  The occasionally girlie drink with pineapple juice.
4.  OchoCinco
5.  High School Musical, but not 2 or 3, or the stage versions, and specifically Ryan & Sharpay’s version of “What I’ve Been Looking For.”
6.  Cowboy-esque Shirts that fit.
7.  The following musical soundtracks:  Cats, A Year With Frog and Toad
8.  “The Way You Make Me Feel” by Michael Jackson
9.  These words when combined together:  passionate, emotion, violent
10.  Early morning kitty love
11.  Manning Face
12. The bench facing west where the paths fork in Flowing Well Park... Specifically, the view of the sunset from the bench.
13. Deep songs disguised as pop fluff... For Example

Note, Pro-Wrestling is not a guilty pleasure as I have no "guilt" over others discovering my lowbrow taste in fake fighting.  However, a John Cena feud/storyline would be a guilty pleasure.

Let's converse. Tell me some of your guilty pleasures in the comments.  Or email me

Doubt

God, what do you want from me? The last time I was like this, you turned me toward you. Is that what you are doing? What if I don't want to turn right now? Why even make me feel at all? Can you teach me without making it sting? Is this really the temptation, the test, to see if I'm learning, to see if I'll break? Obviously, I am if I am filled with such doubts I know where I stand and what to do; I'm just maybe a little resistant to accept the honor. Can't you bring the moment here, now, so I can show my resolve, my strength and be done? Test me so I can either pass or fail, but take these doubts away. I can take failing because then I'd know what I need to do, what to work on. This constant back and forth is the drain.

Is it possible to love You and follow You, yet fully be the artist I need to be? I need to create. I need to express. I need to write. I need passion. The good, the bad and the ugly. This is my "Starry Night." My "Scream." Bohemian Christian... Is that an obtainable and sustainable lifestyle? Does it scream of love for You, of life, of people, of emotion, temptation, depression, sin, a journey with You?

If this is truly the story of my relationship with You, I think it is great we fight like a married couple and I always can express my frustrations. And You listen. I know you listen. You know where those pains are coming from because You know what is in my heart. Thank You for loving me and being a God who is passionate about our relationship.

As I reflect, I still have my doubts and consider deleting this. Perhaps, I'll feel different in the morning.

No, you know what, if this is testimony and therapy and the pouring of it all out there, I cannot be afraid of letting my love for You be hidden by my own censorship. You give me strength. You give me love. You give me wisdom. I cannot live afraid.

Five-Seven-Five

A long, long time ago, I used to write more. Poems - generally, badly written ones - were my thing. I think I'd like to maybe get back to that again. In the meantime, here's some haikus:

These haikus of mine,
Like rivers, they ebb and flow
Written over time.

The thing that is best
And the heart's true desire
Are never the same.

As the last leaf falls,
The sun pays attention and
The giving tree grows.

I could write more poems
Of grander size, theme and scope.
But who has the time?

Worst. Dad. Ever.

I just want to understand why or how I became the Worst. Dad. Ever.

Is it wrong to be honest with your child? Is it wrong to warn them how unfair and cruel the world is? Is it blasphemy to try to teach them respect and discipline? Can a father not point out where mistakes were made, how to better handle a situation the next time, and maybe most importantly, understand that actions have consequences?

Isn't that my job as a parent? To say, hey, I understand that you are a free spirit and I get that and I love you and your individuality. But, the world thinks that tattooed 17-year-old's without a GED or diploma can only flip burgers or be fry cooks. Yes, it's unfair, but that's reality. And that means you have to work 10 times as hard as everyone else to achieve your dreams and goals. Your goals are achievable, but you have to do to work to reach them. I just want to make sure you understand that. I don't have a problem with certain choices you have made.

Yet, this is not love? This is not caring?

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love my son. Not my step-son. MY son. I am just frustrated with how my love comes across. I am frustrated that I struggle with the balance between giving him space to learn and grow and keeping him leashed to reality. Somehow, that unbalance is perceived as... un-love... (Hate is the opposite of love, and certainly the wrong word).

And, if you do read this one day, please understand I am not criticizing you. In fact, this is a lot more about what I perceive as my own failures, frustrations and insecurities. I want to know one day before I die that I didn't screw up my one and only opportunity to be a father. You may not understand it now, but I hope you one day see that my frustration is proof that I do love, care and respect you. If I didn't, I wouldn't have such a passionate response.

My only fault is caring and loving too damn much. I'm sure his grandfather would, with a twinkle of wisdom in his eye, say, "Like Father. Like Son."

Since we are made in God's image, we feel the same passionate emotions. I bet He feels the same frustration with His and my relationship as I do with ours.

"Hardest Part of Love" lyrics from Children of Eden:

Oh this son of mine I love so well
And all the toil it takes
I'd give to him a garden and keep clear of snakes
But the one thing he most treasures is to make his own mistakes
He goes charging on the cliffs of life
A reckless mountaineer
I could help him not to stumble
I could warn him what to fear
I could shout until I'm breathless
And he'd still refuse to hear

But you cannot close the acorn
Once the oak begins to grow
And you cannot close your heart
To what it fears and needs to know
That the hardest part of love
Is the letting go

As a child I found a sparrow
Who had fallen form the nest
And I nursed him back to health till he was stronger than the rest
But when I tried to hold it
It would peck and scratch my chest
Till I let it go
And I watched it fly away from me
With it's brightened self resolve
And part of me was cursing I had helped it grow so strong
And I feared it might go hungry and I feared it might go wrong

But I could not close the acorn
Once the oak began to grow
And I cannot close my heart
To what it fears and needs to know
That the hardest part of love
Is the letting go

And it's only in Eden grows a rose without a thorn
And your children start to leave you
On the day that they were born
They will leave you there to cheer for them
They will leave you there to mourn ever so
Like an ark on uncharted seas their lives will be tossed
And the deeper is your love for them
The crueler is the cost
And just when they start to find themselves
Is when you fear they're lost

But you cannot close the acorn
Once the oak begins to grow
And you cannot close your heart
To what it fears and needs to know
That the hardest part of love
And the rarest part of love
And the truest is part of love
Is the letting go

Question for God and Prayer

Despite my knowing You never give me more than You know I can handle, I swear it doesn't feel like it sometimes. You sometimes ask too much of me and my fragile, frail shoulders. And I wish You'd stop that.

I've been the "good guy" all my life and sometimes I think all the respect garnered for doing the right thing isn't nearly as good as the happiness that I think I deserve more.

Please stop making me choose respect over happiness. Can't I have both? Can't Your plan for me include my own happiness?

Make me stronger. Thank you.

PS: Even your son had his doubts.
PPS: I want my Sylvia fucking Plath.