My grandmother, Veronica “Bonnie” Farkas, is my big bang.  I believe we are a combination of the people we allow to influence us.  Some are positive, some are negative.  My existence, my being, the person I am, started with Bonnie.

I decided to call Grandma and thank her for the recent birthday gingersnaps.  They have always been my favorite cookie from one of the strongest, funniest women I have ever been able to be in the presence of.  She’s been in remission from Mucosal Melanoma and although she was given six months to live nine months ago, she’s just a fiery and full of life as I could remember.

In the early stages of my life’s journey, my mother was in the Army.  As a single mother, this made it difficult for her to be there for the day to day stuff when she was called into field training.  This would last for some time, so I would go to the “Land of 10,000 Lakes”, and stay with Grandma.  She’d tend the bar in Winton and I would play pool or pinball.  If I got bored, I could always hang out with my second cousins who were the closest in age to me since I had no other cousins to speak of.  When she was off or Jack(family friend) was around, I would ride my pint-size snowmobile.  Times were simpler and I have always felt loved.

Along with the delicious gingersnaps that did not last a week, she sent a small ornament.  A little snowman with a sign that says “MN”.  As soon as I saw it, I was taken back to those amazing visits.  For Bonnie, it was much different.

We were able to get most of the family together for my sister’s wedding this past August.  The wedding and reception were amazing as expected(thanks, ma).  Another unexpected highlight was the day at the cabin.  Nearly everyone from the Farkas clan was there and I couldn’t even begin to describe the smile on Bonnie’s face.  My aunt and uncles were there.  Their kids as well.  This was the first time that we were able to get that many of us together in a long time.  To be able to share that experience with my grandmother was easily the highlight of my year.  She said that little snowman reminded her of that day.  It’s amazing that I was worried about having her there that weekend six months ago.  She’s always been there in my life.  With memories like these and this little ornament, she always will.

Love you, Bonnie.

I wrote a suicide note on April 12^th, 2017.  It was the culmination of 48 hours of continuous life altering events that led me to think that the universe was trying to have me pull my own plug.  You’re reading this, so I’m still breathing.  Still being an asshole.  A positive one, though. 

I didn’t read the note until recently and decided that I would look at what life would be if I decided to massage my brain with a .38.  I’m not going to “butterfly effect” this and completely alter the world.  There’s too many variables in trying to tie current world events to my life, so I’m going to only focus on people and events that I have directly affected.  Sound fun with zero morbidity?  Let’s start. 

Firstly, I wouldn’t be here so every single person that I have met since April would not have known of my existence or would have gotten to know me.  That second half of the sentence seems redundant, right?  Well, this past summer, my beautiful baby sister had a wedding.  I am the oldest grandchild by 11 years.  Many of my cousins have known of me but few have actual met their mulatto cousin.  I was, by age, an adult when most were barely being born.  Off to play war with other well-adjusted individuals.  I would have missed an opportunity to meet some of the most gifted, talented and funny people in the world.  Seeing so many people you are related to that you get to experience for the first time was worth fighting through depression. 

As previously mentioned, I would have missed my sister’s wedding.  I wouldn’t have been able to meet her new husband and his wonderful family.  I’m pretty sure the mood of the wedding weekend would have been slightly different if I wasn’t there.  I wouldn’t have seen my beautiful grandmother after her cancer went into remission.  I wouldn’t have been able to witness and thank my mother for putting on the best weekend I have experienced in Minnesota ever.  I wouldn’t have been able to thank my mother for everything she and my dad did for my sisters and I.  I was able to hand Chris, my future brother-in-law, his engagement ring.  Ashley’s, my other awesome sister, engagement would have been filmed by some other shmuck who lacks the steady hand of war torn veteran.

My roommate moved in around mid-July.  That wouldn’t have happened.  So, the numerous experiences we have shared since his arrival would not happen.  There would have been no Outside Lands.  So, all the bands taken off of Arron’s bucket list would still be sitting there.  There would have been no 80s boat party on the East Bay.  He would have moved back to Ohio and never gotten to experience the Bay Area.

Honestly, I could list a bunch of people and events that have happened since then but I will do an obvious one.  There wouldn’t be this blog.  A small extension of myself to the world that I was afraid to show.  Not that it’s read by many but those close to me know it’s really how I view the world.

It was hard to read something written by what seems someone else.  I read it and read it, wondering whether I would delete it.  I won’t.  Not yet.  I still have bad days but reading it made me realize that even a bad day still gives life to a new one. 

I remember every Sunday, going to Abuela’s.  All my cousins would be there.  We’d have a BBQ in the afternoon but the true star was the menudo.  No, I’m not talking about Ricky Martin’s old boy band.  I’m talking a savory Mexican soup that could convince Trump to shut up about building a wall.  Made with hominy, cow tongue and a spicy broth that I would dip my Abuela’s handmade tortillas in, this was truly a meal in itself.  My mouth’s watering now but I wasn’t always a fan of this soup that could raise the dead.

Growing up with my mom primarily in my younger years left my palate…very Caucasian.  Sorry, Mom, shit was bland.  Your lasagna still kills though.  I wasn’t used to spices or any seasoning really.  So, when she married my Mexican dad, my mouth had a bit of culture shock.  One of the first things that I had to get used to was citrus and spice in everything.  Every Sunday, we’d go eat as previously mentioned, after church, and there would always be this huge pot of menudo.  Every week, I’d say no.  Finally, my cousin, Tony told me to dip a tortilla in there and try that.

So, I dipped…and dipped.  This was amazing.  Is this what brown people food tastes like?!  Mom, have you been hiding seasonings?  I kid but the flavors that bombarded me were amazing.  I can still taste the lemon juice hold hands with the broth and run down the yellow brick road into my stomach.  As long we went to Abuela’s on Sunday, there would be menudo.

As I grew older, I’d go to church less and less.  My Saturday nights would grow longer and bleed into my Sundays.  There is one thing I know, if I felt under the weather, hungover or just wanted a great Sunday morning, I’d go to my Abuela’s house and have some menudo.

Day 1:

BEST DAY EVER!  Scotty hadn’t been to the dog park since moving to the States with Arron his owner and now that I have been bestowed the responsibility of this majestic creature, I figured I’d take him.  Scotty needs attention, he’s young and that’s understandable.  The magnitude of his excitement was immeasurable.  I’m positive there has never been a dog this happy or a dog park trip this exciting.  Probably the greatest dog park day known to man.

Day 14:

I haven’t taken Scotty out to the dog park since the first day.  I don’t have to remind you but that was the best day any dog has seen in his life.  I also don’t walk him as much as I should.  I feel that amount walking that I have been doing is good enough and I can still focus on my other interests.  He’s still loyal and that’s all that matters.  I will get to properly taking care of him when I can.

Day 30:

What the fuck is wrong with this dog?!  He constantly asks for attention and has done nothing to deserve it.  I took him out to the dog park for Christ’s sake!  He doesn’t know how good he has it.  This mutt is ungrateful for the life that I have provided him.  If he thinks sitting and pouting is going to make me listen to his wants, he’s sadly mistaken.  He sits when I say he sits.  I know he doesn’t have to pee because I haven’t given him water today.  This is completely unacceptable.  There are dogs in other countries that only get a fraction of what I give Scotty.  If he doesn’t like it here, he can leave.

This short journal is in no way true other than my roommate left his dog with me.  I have not harmed Scotty in any way and have grown very fond of the little goofball.  What I want you to do is replace Scotty with America and myself with our current administration.  The big difference is Scotty has no choice in who his owner is.  You do.  Fucking vote.

“There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?”

Such an odd question, really.  Why do you want to be treated as an equal?  Is that a question anyone would ever ask another person with any type of seriousness?  Do I have to ask people to not spit on me as well?  I have always been fascinated with the fondness that people look at the “I Have a Dream” speech by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  Most people seem to focus on the equality part but Dr. King points out social and economic problems stacked against people of color.  Things that are unfortunately still true today.

“We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.”

13 years.  13 years in the military and I’m still afraid of the police.  Let that sink in.  I have done tours and been trained beyond any civilian need, but I’m still afraid of the police.  Here’s the biggest issue I have is that I was trained and had to follow the Genova Conventions, Laws of Armed Combat and other local laws they had.  We had to get approval for going red or shooting on site.  The police do not have to adhere to these same types of laws(they really don’t) yet they still have military level weapons and gear.

“We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.”

Have you ever been in a situation where you were being treated differently and no one noticed?  Do you know why most people don’t notice?  It doesn’t affect them.  I recently had an experience with a boat captain.  A female friend and I were both doing the same thing and got two very different reactions.  Getting caught in my own bullshit didn’t allow me to realize that not only was the “captain” being racist but sexist as well.

“We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.”

I cannot ever get past this line.  Now more than ever.  Not only are minorities forced to live in lower income areas but once they move to nicer areas and more follow, those areas are slowly drained of their resources.  Funding slowly gets cut, then jobs and then crime rises.  It’s systematic.  Some places like Watts are torn to shreds and never recover.  Dr. King had a dream and that dream died with him.  People are finally waking up to see the nightmare has only really started and it’s too late.