Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Sensible

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Christopher (left) Nico (right) and their Guardians of the Galaxy look. October 31, 2017.


November 27, 2917


Being sensible is a good way at dealing with anything that overwhelms your emotions. Take my 2 kids for instances. They are currently screaming and yelling at each other as they ride their bikes up and down the street. My ears are ringing as they attempt to scream over one and other. My blood pressure is rising. My head is throbbing. My ears are ringing.

The neighbors are watching these 2 as they lob their frustrations of brotherly competition at each other. I want to scream at them to, stop! But I will only be assisting them in their chaos. I suppose jumping around ranting and raving, all the while insisting that they, "be quite!" would't be, sensible.

The sensible thing would be to walk out to the street, wave my arms, indicating to them I want to talk to them. And calmly explain to both those boys that they should be good, human, beings. That is the sensible thing to do. Albeit the most responsible thing to do, as a parent.

“Go in the house and stop yelling at each other,” I sensibly say.

“No! It’s Nico,” the youngest yells.

My new neighbors are mesmerized by what will happen next. Will I be the sensible, daddy? Understanding, nurturing, loving, and understanding.

“Go inside the house, please,” I sensibly tell him. But along with my sensible tone I give him the bulging eyeballs of, “get the heck in the house” glare.

“No!”

Clinching my teeth I calmly, sternly and of course, sensibly announce, “get in that house.”
My bulging eyes receed into pin point laser piercing looks. And now my skin turns red. The crackle of my teeth could be heard for miles around. I didn’t dare look away. It was a stare so frightening that he dropped his bike and ran into the house.

the metal bike made clanking sounds as it bounced off the asphalt.  I close my eyes and squeezed my face until my skin turned purple.

Sensible, Chris.

Sensible is the new woosah.

“Wow, daddy. I never knew you could turn that shade of red. What color do you call that,” Nico asked.


“Sensibly red,” I said.


Captain Imperfecto seeing a play. The book of Mormon. November 25, 2017.

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Wednesday, October 18, 2017

The Bloody Man, a Halloween Story

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Christopher (left) and Nico enjoying the day at Sea World in Orlando. October 2, 2017

October 19, 2017

She walked into the room and immediately saw that the Bloody Man was there. His blood stains the walls and saturates the floor with ooey gooey plasma. For many who know of his legend and believe in him, the blood instills paralyzing fear. Those who have been told of his nightly escapades realize he is there for only one thing. He is out to steal their skin, in the hopes to make him human again.

His legend grew to grand proportions and his song was passed to generations of children, who were told that that was the only way to keep that Bloody Man away.

“The Bloody Man can’t have me.  My soul is hidden under my skin to keep the Bloody Man away. My blood isn’t good enough for you.

 Bloody Man stay away from me, you can’t eat my soul today.”

Blood is layered of his muscles instead of skin. The Bloody Man seeps in through any crack or crevasse. The blood pours through from one side to the next. As his blood lands on the other side it begins to build, like liquid in a glass, and forms his human body. He thirsts for someone he can kill in order to fulfill his lustful need for skin. But killing others will never help him heal.

The dead never seem to satisfy him. Anger fulfills his vengeance for a life he lost so young. Layers of his blood vessels, veins and organs are exposed. Instead of growing skin his blood thickens. Out of frustration, he kills more people due rage. He know he will never be whole. He is cursed. The bloody Man becomes angry when he hears his song.

The girl who walked in the room stands at the doorway just outside the kitchen, which would lead her into the family room. Her breathing is labored. Her eyes shift about the room looking for reassurance that she is alone. She is standing at the edge of the linoleum as if it was a cliff and she was hovering 100 feet above the ground below.

“Hello?”

The inside of the room is quite. She begins to tremble. The room is too dark. She blindly reaches out to the wall and runs her hand along the smooth surface as she searches for the light switch.

“The Bloody Man can’t have me,” she mumbles. “My soul is hidden under my skin to keep the Bloody Man away.” Her voice trembles. “Bloody Man, stay away from me. You can’t eat my soul today.”

There is movement in the shadows of the room. The blood accumulates and The Bloody Man begins to rise.

He blood funnels up from his toes formulating his feet and rising up to make his ankles. The blood lifts up to his knees, up to his chest, making his neck and forming his head. The whites of his eyes form in the empty sockets of his skull. His skeleton takes shape. His heart beats, and the blood flows like a well oiled machine.

The girl flicks on the lights and there before her the bloody man stands. He grabs her face with his hands. She pulls away and for a moment it appears she will escape his grasp. But the bloody man screeches and blood comes out of his mouth and extends out like a tongue. It quickly consumes her face. The blood wraps her body like a vine and consumes her in. Her body breaks down. Her bones crush, her heart implodes, her fingers retract, and her legs melt into the Bloody Man.

He consumes her. There is nothing left that shows she was there. Just the pictures of her life on the walls on the inside of her home that shows that she even existed. The Bloody Man was there. He is everywhere.

“The Bloody Man can’t have my soul. My soul is hidden under my skin to keep the Bloody Man away. My blood isn’t good enough for you.

 Bloody Man stay away from me, you can’t eat my soul today.”


The chant awakens him again. The song brings him out. For generations the kids thought it was a song to keep him away but now it’s a game they play around campgrounds, sleepovers and fun. The song will summon the Bloody Man to come, instead of keeping him away.  



Captain Imperfecto enjoying my new assigned truck. October 14, 2017.

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Friday, September 22, 2017

Hurricane Blues

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Nico, left, and Christopher standing by one of the fallen trees during Hurricane Irma. September 11, 2017.

September 22, 2017

We are singing happy birthday but nothing about our situation was happy. We were celebrating, my now 8-year-old son’s, birthday but outside there was a hell of a storm happening. Hurricane Irma had begun taking out her wrath on the poor State of Florida. There was nothing normal about what were doing.

Irma’s winds started to be sustained at 40 miles per hour at about, 7 AM. The wind rolled over the house like ocean waves lapping the shores of the Florida coast. Our cinder block house wasn’t rattled however our nerves were. We knew the Hurricane was coming but unfortunately due to my work as a police officer I couldn’t flee. I had to be close to my city for an instant recall once the worst of the storm had past. I attempted to send my family to Tampa earlier in the week but roadway gridlock made it impossible. And since the storm shifted its path into Tampa it was a blessing for my wife and kids they didn’t make that trip.

Christopher had an ice skating party planned for September 9, the day before his birthday. Obviously we had to cancel it. I’m sure we weren’t the only ones who had their plans foiled by this cyclone that had set its sights on us.

The hours were counted as the wind increased and we prayed for the storm to pass with each hour we ticked off. The lights in the house flickered as the electricity was be blown off and on like trick candles on a birthday cake. It wasn’t a matter of if we were going to lose power. It was only a matter of when.

We sang loudly to our son. The howling winds that blew through the cracks and crevasse created a beat that almost drowned out our voices. Every one of us was scared but we didn’t show it. Our eyes telling the tale of our fear when we would glance up at the rattling ceiling paranoid that the rook would come off and cave in the walls. And yet we sang the son Happy Birthday in order to calm our own nerves.

Finally, the lights went out. The candles of the cake flickered and gave us some illumination, a partial break from the darkness that was ready to set in once he blew out the candle.

“Make a wish, Christopher,” I said.

Christopher closed his eyes announced,” I wish for candy” and he blew out the candles.

The innocence of a child demonstrated a quiet calm in a storm that was wrecking havoc outside and destroying lives as it moved north. He didn’t have to wish for safety during the storm. His mom and I had already prayed for it.

The rain and wind pounded relentlessly for 13 hours. But eventually it subsided at around 9 PM. Wind gusts were simmering down and it was calm enough for me to go outside an assess the damage. Trees were down, power was off, but my neighbors and myself were fine. It turned out to be a Happy Birthday for everyone.


** We lost power for 7 and half days. I maintained a generator and food during that time. I have to admit I was delirious after 5 days due to extreme heat of the day and sultry nights but it could have been worse. My entire family was safe and for that I was grateful. Please donate to help those who were not so lucky.

http://www.redcross.org/about-us/our-work/disaster-relief/hurricane-relief



The family riding out Hurricane Irma on September 10, 2017. The day of Christopher's birthday. 




© copyright 2017 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. 



Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Embrace Life Not Work

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Nico (front) and Christopher relaxing after a day of summer camp. August 6, 2017.


August 8, 2017


I recline my driver car seat back to a relaxing position. However not too relaxing, As the pilot of this ship I don’t want to fall asleep on a 700-mile road trip. I have precious cargo onboard. I have worked my ass off the past 2 months. Time to start embracing life and not work.

I love road trips to escape from my normal reality. The long drive is my window of opportunity to delve into my imagination and explore my wildest dreams on the road map of my brain. I think, maybe my 85,000 word book goes viral, New York Times best seller! Or, I come into a lot of money and I can buy that new house I have been eyeing and I won't have to worry about the down payment. I can plan my future. I see a future tubing down the Chattahoochee River. Man is it good day to dream.

I pull my car away from the swale driveway and we are off. 10 mph, 20 mph, 50 mph. Merging on the highway the asphalt passes beneath the rubber tires while my car cruises 80 miles an hour on this long high way and we are on our way.

My car passes the slower vehicles. These drivers are on their own mission to an unknown destination. They are just blurs while I drive quickly out of this town. I hope life is taking them to the places they want to be, other than work, just like I'm doing now, as I embrace life.

I need a break from heartache and worry. Life is all about work, to make my ends meet, just to live life without worrying.  Bills, mortgage payment, car payment all life's expediters. Now is the time to cast the BS of work aside and have only my family near me and start new experiences. I don’t mind being known as that fictional dad Clark Giswold from National Lampoons movie Vacation. He just wanted to be the best dad who offered the best experience for his kids.

The road noise slightly hums inside my vehicle. The car pierces the air and whistle while it works its way to the Florida, Georgia line.  We are a missile traveling north through the state of Florida headed for the green mountains of Northern Georgia. I am the captain of this trip and I’m in control of when and where we will stop. Oh so I think. Of course I will be overridden by the Commander. She knows what is best.

“Hey look honey, Alligator petting zoo, lets stop!”

“No, keep going.”

“Henry’s Sloppy Joe’s oil based meat served on butter rolls. Lets stop and eat!”

“No, the only gas going on in this car is the gas we pour in it at a gas station.”

The green trees stay in place as my car drives by like a runaway locomotive on an endless train track. My car is slicing through a manmade path. Cows graze in the wide swaths of pastures that are laid before me like an endless bed comforter. The cows could be the dinosaurs that used to roam these parts well before mankind made a footprint. Instead of a Jurassic park moment living in a fantasy of my mind, I laugh at the idea of sticking my head our the window and yelling, “moo.”

"What are you laughing at," the commander asks.

"Speaking to cows on the road side who think I'm crazy and laugh at me as I drive by because I yelled, 'moo'. But only they stare at me, kind of how you are looking at me now."

I guess I should be more daring and go back to dinosaurs and killer snakes. However, there are no T-Rex’s or Velociraptors chasing me down only the Dodge Viper tailgating me. 

My car windows are an invisible force field. They take the brunt of the meteors that are showering the front window. They explode everywhere. I use the “zalphire window wipes” to clear the debris off so I can see outside.  

“Dad, what’s all that stuff on the window?”

“Those are meteors.”

“No they are not,” he laughs, "those are bugs!”

Yes the bugs explode over the windshield. Their little carcasses splatter and are left as little streaks when the windshield wipers glide over them. Those damn marks will never go away. It is as if they will forever be tattooed there like hash marks of airplanes on the side of an Air Force jet that the pilot marks on the fuselage marking numbers of aircrafts he has shot down.


I have 400 more miles to go on this trip to Georgia. Maybe I can convince the car load of zombies to stop at the deserted haunted amusement park. If I can't convince them to stop, well, that's okay because my life is good as long as I continue to embrace life and not work.


Hanging out at the Hard Rock Cafe in Atlanta, Ga. July 16, 2017.

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Thursday, August 3, 2017

Conversations with my Son

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Nico July 16, 2017. The Eye, Atlanta, Georgia.

August 3, 2017


He is amazing. My son Nico is a great kid. I was relieved when he was born because he had his ten fingers and ten toes. I cried before I even laid eyes on his 4 dimensional soul because the nurse discovered his heartbeat on the monitor moments before he was born via c-section. Unfortunately I can’t say that for my twin daughters, who I lost on their birthday. Once my anxiety subsided after hearing those sweet sounds of his beating heart amplify on the Doppler the pediatric nurse held, his mom and I cried, hard. I was finally going to be a dad.

When Nico was born at 6:45 P.M. I studied him and wondered, did he look like his mother or me? Actually, he looked like larva wrapped in a blanket.  Holding him in my arms is a moment I will never forget. Even now at his age of 9 years old he is forever the larva in my arms.

The one thing I long for is conversations with my son. I’m not ungrateful for his miracle life but as a father I want those types of conversations with him about his goals, and dreams in this life. I understand my son, completely. I know his personality through and through. Understanding his inner layers isn’t the problem because he and I can communicate on a level we both understand but verbal expression is difficult. Nico is on the low end of the spectrum where his brain doesn’t process the information the same as we "normal" people do. On the outside he is every bit a 9-year-old kid who is enjoying his long summer days away from school. But his brain neurons take time to grasp his fluid and dynamic environments and he may not fully grasp a situation he's in. As a parent I can feel as if I failed him. 

I have learned through trial and error that routines help him understand but I am fully aware he won't have a conversation about why we make changes. He has learned to go with the flow.  But his routines stabilize his environment but, not always his emotional understanding. Routines help him cope but not necessarily understand a stranger’s empathic tone. Routines can stabilize his life when uncertainty looms and he is frightened. And even if I think he's getting better he may be forever lost in a world that is a puzzle to him

Th great news is that Nico does have his own personality, which I know intimately. And everyday he gets better with growth and age. But I understand that a simple "no" can change his emotions and he won’t understand the explanation I give him as to why he or we can't do it. Or why we need to wait 15 minutes. Giving him a different meal can alter his attitude because he has his routine of food schedules. Cookies at 2 P.M. and cereal at 7 P.M. But on vacation he doesn't rely on those times. And we won't get those types of food all the time. Parents have to make those food decisions outside his normal routine so that his meals are healthy and balanced.

All this can lead to added stress for both parent and child.  But as his parent(s) I have to force him to learn due to him being in a society that won’t be so forgiving towards his lack of understanding. Children will find him weird and parents will secretly call him odd behind or back or think I'm a terrible parent when he loses his patience. Life is fast and he may not catch on quick enough in mainstream life even though he has been attending school at the age of 2 years old. I have to get him to think independently so that he can be successful in life. 

"I don't know if Nico will ever function on his own when his older," his teacher told me a few years ago. Those chilling words haunt me till this very day.

I removed him from his year round school routine and placed him and his little brother Christopher in winter, spring and summer camp. That forced Nico into the mainstream with other kids. So far he has assimilated and has learned to adapt with other kids who are "normal."

Nico excels in sports because I chose for him to learn in a group setting. And he reads really well due to the constant reading we do for him every night. And his little brother Christopher doesn’t go easy on him. He challenges him at every turn of this life. He's getting stronger and is a way above average swimmer. His vocabulary had really grown. Hard work by all is paying off.

Our conversations may be limited. But I have a silver lining, There is this legacy blog my boys can read when they’re older. There’s over 300,000 words in this blog based mainly on both their lives, adventures and dad's stories. We my be limited now but someday they will read these blogs and  forever have a conversation with me over their lifetime. Long after I'm gone.


Christopher and Captain Imperfecto chilling in dads police car. July 27, 2017.

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