Thank you to everyone who has offered prayer and support for myself and my daughters during this time. I have noticed that many people have been reading Michael’s writings. I don’t know if you are family members, co-workers, new or old friends or just someone who heard about him, but because of the personal details in Michael’s writings I will no longer be posting his book, With Renee. He started to write the book for our children and grandchildren. The following is part of the intro:
There are a few autobiographies that I would sincerely desire to read and fewer that would leave a lasting impression on my life. I enjoy the Gospels, book of Acts and the whole Bible for that matter because they tell the life stories of God and his people. But two life stories I always wondered about was that of my own parents. Who were they before I was born? You always hear of parents stopping in moments of clarity when they realize they were saying statements to their kids that their own parents had said to them. How had they changed from the child to the adult? I also wondered how my parents acted and how other adults saw them at work and other times when I wasn’t around. I used to ask my parents a lot of questions trying to unveil who they were and how they came to believe and think the way that they did. To this day I have stories that give hints to their past but ultimately I feel their true and complete story will never become clearer than a glimpse to me. I don’t want that to be true for my children. I know that how I raise you will have a lasting impression on not only how you see the world but how you will raise your own children. I desire to tell you why I do the things I do and how I came to learn and believe the things that I taught you.
First off it is impossible to tell my early story apart from God and your mother Renee because they are so much apart of it. The same way it is impossible for me to tell my later story apart from you Lydia and Melody. The other day we were all walking through the graveyard together and your mom started talking about how she would do my funeral. I in turn told her how I would do hers and we both felt like the other person truly knew our hearts and how we would want to be remembered. We both agreed that we would only allow selected speakers to speak. Neither one of us could handle a family acquaintance or friend saying a story that wasn’t true about the life of the person we loved so much. Your mom said she would make everyone walk to a difficult but breathe taking place in nature. There would be no pamphlet or summary written down about my life. Simply a bunch of people in God’s country were she would have someone play Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. She said that she would read something if she could but the funeral would have to be postponed until she felt she had truly captured what she wanted to say.
For your mother I saw a beautiful mood lit room set up for a meal like you would see for a very high end wedding reception. On the walls would be her paintings and pictures. The music playing softly in the background would be piano songs she had written herself or loved to play. I would decorate and coordinate everything with her daughters. It would be a tribute to her and I would make the point that the greatest thing she ever felt she had been able to create and devote her life to was not a painting, picture or musical piece but her children. And that she always felt that her greatest masterpiece was her family. Both of us love you two very much.
This book has two sections. The first is entitled “Loving God with your life.” It holds my personal testimony and I hope one day it will have yours too. The second section is called “Loving God with you mind.” In a world that constantly calls the things of God foolish I have written some teaching that can help us. It can be used as a defense for your faith but most importantly for your own understanding. The word tells us to love God with our hearts as well as our minds. I pray you will love him with everything in you. Believe me he is more than worth it. Jesus Christ was God and he came to earth a long time ago to show us how much he loves us, wants a relationship with us and to lead the way away from all pain and suffering to eternal life in paradise. I will follow him forever and my prayer is that one day we will all be together in heaven with Jesus Christ.
I didn’t know he had written down the details of that day we walked through the cemetery. He wrote so frequently at night while I read, painted or listened to music by him; now every letter, prayer or account of his life that is recorded is a precious gift for myself and our children. I had the privilege of meeting Michael when we were only 18 years old and by the grace of God we were able to grow up together. Everything that made us who we are as a family came from Jesus and is based on His love. A love that can walk you through any hardship and give you hope in any circumstance. Michael was my husband but he was not mine to keep. As God says in Isaiah 55 verse 8 “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,” says the Lord. “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
During this time I will continually put my trust and faith in God’s word and my prayer is that you will too. If you want to know the truth about Michael’s life or faith from his perspective feel free to email me through our website and I will share as much as possible.
Showing posts with label Michael's Autobiography. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael's Autobiography. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
With Renee (Chapter 4) by, Michael Blankartz
From shore it looked more like a cruise ship than the ferry I had ridden on with my grandparents. Once on board the ship, I explored both stories and found that the outer deck on the second story had a glass overhang installed with heaters. I remembered what the lady had told me about sleeping anywhere that was open so I put my bag on a plastic lounge chair. I was really excited to be able to sleep outside under the stars. I would be on the ferry for three days which meant that I didn’t have to worry about finding a safe place to sleep or make any decisions. For the first time in awhile I was like everyone else and it felt comforting.
As the ferry started to move I was watching a father and his son. The dad was acting like a child himself running around the boat looking at everything through binoculars. His son who must have been around nine year old was struggling to keep up because he couldn’t move fast enough in all the extra layers of clothing he was wearing.
“There’s an army look out tower. See it son, I bet they do all kinds of top secret military testing out here! Holy cow look at the wave this thing puts out! This has some serious tork!” The kid never took his eyes off his father. He didn’t even ask to look in the binoculars because he cared more about being with his dad than anything else.
I laughed my way to the back of the boat. The wind was strong and it sent a chill down my spine. I glanced at the reflection of my hair blowing all over the place in passing by windows. When I reached the back of the boat I saw a road of disturbed ocean all the way to the horizon. I watched the propeller turn the water white until the sun went down.
The next day there was deserted islands everywhere and the water was so still that it looked like a mirror. From the front of the boat I watched the water split into two thin patient swells until I noticed the jellyfish. Below me was so calm and clear that I could see palm size jellyfish rise to the surface like bubbles before floating away. A log passed by the boat carrying a stowaway seagull and I watched the fins of killer whales glide above the water in the distance. My breath was taken away by the sight of bald eagles flying gracefully over a sparkling sea. The inside passage of Alaska was beautiful and I felt blessed to have been able to see it. Sitting on that ferry I was just another traveler and I felt like I belonged. I wasn’t worried about being beat up while I slept or tired from carrying a huge backpack.
The first place that the ferry ported was in Ketchikan Alaska at 7:00am. I exited the boat with an hour and a half to spend on shore. While everyone else headed for the gift shops and tourist traps I walked off into the neighborhoods because I wanted to see Alaska how the locals saw it. I don’t know what I expected to see but I figured that people who lived in Alaska would be a lot different than Californians. I knew that they would be living at a slower pace. After walking down the main street for about a quarter mile I came to a small bridge. It was something that could have been located in San Diego. It was made simply out of concrete for the sole purpose of putting the road over a creek. The only difference came when I looked over the side down below. Back home there was a ninety five percent chance that the creek bed would have been dried up and filled with trash. But what I saw that day in Ketchikan were hundreds of salmon swimming up the creek. The top of the water was almost completely made with the backs of fish but I was even more impressed with the size than the quantity. When I was twelve years old I caught a five pound trout. It was the biggest fish that I ever caught and I even got recorded in the weekly fishing report in the newspaper. Almost all of these fish were about that size give or take a pound. I laughed at the fact that it would have been very easy for me to walk down the small bank and grab a trophy sized fish if I wanted too.
The neighborhoods were surrounded by woods and it felt like a bear could walk down the street at any moment. The weather was about 40 degrees and cloudy but I was warm in my green fleece jacket. I saw fathers warming up there cars before going to work and kids going to school. I guess that Alaska wasn’t as different as I thought. Even out in the middle of nowhere people were going to work and raising families. I called my mom and told her that I was alright. When I told her about the Salmon and the ferry ride she got very excited. In a way it made me even happier that I was getting to see Alaska. As I described it to her I thought more in depth about what I had seen and her reaction confirmed to me that what I was going through was special.
I took the ferry the farthest north that it went. I thought that the last town would be the best one to stay at but I was wrong. It was called Skagway and it looked more like Disneyland than a rustic Alaskan town. It was a complete tourist trap with the theme of the gold rush. I decided to return to the ferry and stay for awhile in Haines Alaska. It was only an hour south of where I was. At the front of the boat I met up with some college kids. The wind was so strong coming through the canyon that it almost blew you over. We all hung on to the railing and enjoyed the power of Mother Nature.
It was too dark to see much when we reached Haines but I wasn’t worried because I expected to be greeted by shuttles and taxis like I had seen in Ketchikan. When I saw the deserted parking lot I didn’t know how to feel. The good news was that I had found a rustic Alaskan town with minimal tourism. The bad news was that I was stranded in Alaska in the middle of the night. Luckily I was greeted by the number for the local cab company inside the phone booth and a taxi arrived in less than ten minutes. It was a jeep Cherokee that had no distinctive signs that it was a taxi other than it was the only car on the road.
“Where are you going,” the driver asked. She was a middle aged woman with brown hair and a decent figure for her age.
“To the hostel, do you know where that is?”
“Of course I do. Go ahead and put your stuff anywhere,” she replied.
The drive wasn’t far; it consisted of me making small talk, which I was getting really good at. She told me about moose attacks and how they are much more aggressive than bears. She described how they get you down and than stomp on you kicking with all of their legs.
As we drove through the town I noticed that there wasn’t a single traffic light. Actually the only intersection was a four way stop in the middle of town. The view lit up by the headlights out my window began showing nothing but trees and she told me that the hostile was two miles further. When the destination was reached a helpless smile took over my face. The hostile consisted of five little shacks that were nothing more than the size of tool sheds. There were two cabins that I would later find out were the kitchen and bathroom.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Fourteen dollars.”
“Holy mackerel,” I replied with bulging eyes and an exaggerated tone. All that I could think was that I should have walked. I had spent the money for a whole night stay in a hostile for a three mile walk. Than again I would have been walking in the pitch black dark with no idea were I was going.
“I’m sorry, my boss told me it’s eight into town and six from there to here.”
“I’m joking, here is fifteen dollars. I would give you a bigger tip but I don’t have it.
“No, let me give you your change your going to need it,” she answered looking guilty.
I didn’t feel like arguing over a dollar so I accepted back my change and said goodbye to the nice lady. It was starting to sprinkle rain but I didn’t mind because I was finally roughing it in Alaska.
“What can I do for you,” asked an older woman as she watched T.V behind the counter.
“I would like a room for a couple of days.”
“How many,” she asked releasing a very dramatic smile.
“We’ll do three for now.” I was happy to be able to have a place to stay for three days. In traveling with no destination or plan I was spending more time thinking about shelter, food and security then when I was back at home.
After I paid she told me my cabin number and asked me if I needed her to show me were it was. I told her not to worry about it because it was late and muddy outside. What I didn’t tell her was that a complete idiot could find cabin number three in a village of seven shacks. As I walked out she warned me that I had two roommates sharing the shed with me. One of them was a doctor named Brian and she couldn’t remember the other ones name. The thought of waking up too men sleeping in a shack made me nervous. Was the place so crowded that she couldn’t give me my own shed?
“It will most likely be locked so just knock and they will let you in.” She said forcing another huge smile. Her dramatic face expressions were starting to remind me of my mom’s twin sister back home. There was something about her that was very similar to my aunt but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Don’t you have another key?”
“No, all of the cabins come with deadbolts.” She gave an even bigger smile and I realized what she was doing. Whenever she saw the slightest chance of me getting upset she would smile to avoid confrontation. I figured that she was very insecure but I couldn’t figure out why she reminded me of my aunt other than her voice showed signs of smoking. Outside it was raining hard enough to turn the ground into one big puddle. I walked to my cabin admiring the stars while the rain touched my face. The water was soaking into my shoes filling them with water but luckily there were small stones everywhere so the ground wasn’t muddy.
After I knocked I was immediately told to hold on. He must not of been sleeping I thought. When the door opened I could make out two bunk beds, a table next to a heater and a very wrinkly old man in his underwear.
“Hello, there,” he grumbled half asleep.
I could make out another man rapped up in his sleeping bag on the bottom bunk on the left side. “You guys don’t mind if I turn on the light for a second do you?” I whispered.
“How else are you going get ready for bed?” the old man asked.
“Good point,” I laughed nervously. After closing the door I noticed that the deadbolt was a one inch hook that latched onto an open circle. I unrolled my sleeping bag on the bunk above the old man and climbed into it.
I was comforted when he started to make conversation with me because it meant that I hadn’t disturbed him too much. He was a sixty year old retired doctor named Brian. He and his wife traveled all over the world. She was a teacher and together they worked all over Asia. After retiring they moved back to Australia and he still travels once in awhile, just leaving Africa prior to arriving in Alaska. The pile of blankets was awoken by our conversation and identified himself as Ryan from Arizona. He seemed like a nice guy.
Before Ryan went outside to the bathroom he asked Brandon, “Why doesn’t your wife travel with you?”
“Oh we had grandchildren and the nesting instinct took over. Now I travel alone a lot. She says she would miss the kids to much.”
“Sounds a lot like my mom, I’m sure she’ll be the same way when I have kids.” I responded. I missed my mom.
“Oh you can bet on it. As sure as the sun coming up tomorrow, all women are like that. Well almost all of them. It’s good to travel with a bird though.”
“A bird?” I asked puzzled. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“A bloody female, You Americans I swear,” he laughed. The whole time we had been talking which was about fifteen minutes he continuously released minor farts that I tried to ignore aside from laughing into my pillow. But as he laughed he let out a loud one. I didn’t even have the option of pretending that I didn’t hear it.
“Ryan is going to come in her thinking the bathroom smelt nicer,” I said laughing.
“Trust me I’m a doctor. It’s when you can’t fart that you start worrying.”
“Ya, or if you poop in your pants,” I managed to say between laughs.
We laughed for a long time before he sighed, “Oh, let me tell you something my friend because of simplicity, I’m the happiest guy in the world.”
“I believe you,” I said smiling at the ceiling. And the truth was I really did. I was sleeping in a small building that wasn’t insulated in the middle of Alaska but I was happy. I felt really warm wrapped up tight in my sleeping bag listening to the heater sing. The mattress was softer then the lounge chair that I had been sleeping on and I didn’t feel alone. I fell asleep smiling.
Hours later I was awoken by a BANG! What was that? I was dazed from sleeping but I knew that that noise wasn’t in my head. For a second I wondered if it was a bear trying to get into our shack. As I started to become more awake I thought that a tree branch fell on our roof. After a long pause I questioned, “Did you just fall out of bed?”
“Oh my god, I did!” replied a dazed Ryan in complete shock.
We both began laughing but we didn’t start laughing hysterically until Brandon surprised us by screaming, “I thought the bloody Chinese had invaded!”
As the ferry started to move I was watching a father and his son. The dad was acting like a child himself running around the boat looking at everything through binoculars. His son who must have been around nine year old was struggling to keep up because he couldn’t move fast enough in all the extra layers of clothing he was wearing.
“There’s an army look out tower. See it son, I bet they do all kinds of top secret military testing out here! Holy cow look at the wave this thing puts out! This has some serious tork!” The kid never took his eyes off his father. He didn’t even ask to look in the binoculars because he cared more about being with his dad than anything else.
I laughed my way to the back of the boat. The wind was strong and it sent a chill down my spine. I glanced at the reflection of my hair blowing all over the place in passing by windows. When I reached the back of the boat I saw a road of disturbed ocean all the way to the horizon. I watched the propeller turn the water white until the sun went down.
The next day there was deserted islands everywhere and the water was so still that it looked like a mirror. From the front of the boat I watched the water split into two thin patient swells until I noticed the jellyfish. Below me was so calm and clear that I could see palm size jellyfish rise to the surface like bubbles before floating away. A log passed by the boat carrying a stowaway seagull and I watched the fins of killer whales glide above the water in the distance. My breath was taken away by the sight of bald eagles flying gracefully over a sparkling sea. The inside passage of Alaska was beautiful and I felt blessed to have been able to see it. Sitting on that ferry I was just another traveler and I felt like I belonged. I wasn’t worried about being beat up while I slept or tired from carrying a huge backpack.
The first place that the ferry ported was in Ketchikan Alaska at 7:00am. I exited the boat with an hour and a half to spend on shore. While everyone else headed for the gift shops and tourist traps I walked off into the neighborhoods because I wanted to see Alaska how the locals saw it. I don’t know what I expected to see but I figured that people who lived in Alaska would be a lot different than Californians. I knew that they would be living at a slower pace. After walking down the main street for about a quarter mile I came to a small bridge. It was something that could have been located in San Diego. It was made simply out of concrete for the sole purpose of putting the road over a creek. The only difference came when I looked over the side down below. Back home there was a ninety five percent chance that the creek bed would have been dried up and filled with trash. But what I saw that day in Ketchikan were hundreds of salmon swimming up the creek. The top of the water was almost completely made with the backs of fish but I was even more impressed with the size than the quantity. When I was twelve years old I caught a five pound trout. It was the biggest fish that I ever caught and I even got recorded in the weekly fishing report in the newspaper. Almost all of these fish were about that size give or take a pound. I laughed at the fact that it would have been very easy for me to walk down the small bank and grab a trophy sized fish if I wanted too.
The neighborhoods were surrounded by woods and it felt like a bear could walk down the street at any moment. The weather was about 40 degrees and cloudy but I was warm in my green fleece jacket. I saw fathers warming up there cars before going to work and kids going to school. I guess that Alaska wasn’t as different as I thought. Even out in the middle of nowhere people were going to work and raising families. I called my mom and told her that I was alright. When I told her about the Salmon and the ferry ride she got very excited. In a way it made me even happier that I was getting to see Alaska. As I described it to her I thought more in depth about what I had seen and her reaction confirmed to me that what I was going through was special.
I took the ferry the farthest north that it went. I thought that the last town would be the best one to stay at but I was wrong. It was called Skagway and it looked more like Disneyland than a rustic Alaskan town. It was a complete tourist trap with the theme of the gold rush. I decided to return to the ferry and stay for awhile in Haines Alaska. It was only an hour south of where I was. At the front of the boat I met up with some college kids. The wind was so strong coming through the canyon that it almost blew you over. We all hung on to the railing and enjoyed the power of Mother Nature.
It was too dark to see much when we reached Haines but I wasn’t worried because I expected to be greeted by shuttles and taxis like I had seen in Ketchikan. When I saw the deserted parking lot I didn’t know how to feel. The good news was that I had found a rustic Alaskan town with minimal tourism. The bad news was that I was stranded in Alaska in the middle of the night. Luckily I was greeted by the number for the local cab company inside the phone booth and a taxi arrived in less than ten minutes. It was a jeep Cherokee that had no distinctive signs that it was a taxi other than it was the only car on the road.
“Where are you going,” the driver asked. She was a middle aged woman with brown hair and a decent figure for her age.
“To the hostel, do you know where that is?”
“Of course I do. Go ahead and put your stuff anywhere,” she replied.
The drive wasn’t far; it consisted of me making small talk, which I was getting really good at. She told me about moose attacks and how they are much more aggressive than bears. She described how they get you down and than stomp on you kicking with all of their legs.
As we drove through the town I noticed that there wasn’t a single traffic light. Actually the only intersection was a four way stop in the middle of town. The view lit up by the headlights out my window began showing nothing but trees and she told me that the hostile was two miles further. When the destination was reached a helpless smile took over my face. The hostile consisted of five little shacks that were nothing more than the size of tool sheds. There were two cabins that I would later find out were the kitchen and bathroom.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Fourteen dollars.”
“Holy mackerel,” I replied with bulging eyes and an exaggerated tone. All that I could think was that I should have walked. I had spent the money for a whole night stay in a hostile for a three mile walk. Than again I would have been walking in the pitch black dark with no idea were I was going.
“I’m sorry, my boss told me it’s eight into town and six from there to here.”
“I’m joking, here is fifteen dollars. I would give you a bigger tip but I don’t have it.
“No, let me give you your change your going to need it,” she answered looking guilty.
I didn’t feel like arguing over a dollar so I accepted back my change and said goodbye to the nice lady. It was starting to sprinkle rain but I didn’t mind because I was finally roughing it in Alaska.
“What can I do for you,” asked an older woman as she watched T.V behind the counter.
“I would like a room for a couple of days.”
“How many,” she asked releasing a very dramatic smile.
“We’ll do three for now.” I was happy to be able to have a place to stay for three days. In traveling with no destination or plan I was spending more time thinking about shelter, food and security then when I was back at home.
After I paid she told me my cabin number and asked me if I needed her to show me were it was. I told her not to worry about it because it was late and muddy outside. What I didn’t tell her was that a complete idiot could find cabin number three in a village of seven shacks. As I walked out she warned me that I had two roommates sharing the shed with me. One of them was a doctor named Brian and she couldn’t remember the other ones name. The thought of waking up too men sleeping in a shack made me nervous. Was the place so crowded that she couldn’t give me my own shed?
“It will most likely be locked so just knock and they will let you in.” She said forcing another huge smile. Her dramatic face expressions were starting to remind me of my mom’s twin sister back home. There was something about her that was very similar to my aunt but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Don’t you have another key?”
“No, all of the cabins come with deadbolts.” She gave an even bigger smile and I realized what she was doing. Whenever she saw the slightest chance of me getting upset she would smile to avoid confrontation. I figured that she was very insecure but I couldn’t figure out why she reminded me of my aunt other than her voice showed signs of smoking. Outside it was raining hard enough to turn the ground into one big puddle. I walked to my cabin admiring the stars while the rain touched my face. The water was soaking into my shoes filling them with water but luckily there were small stones everywhere so the ground wasn’t muddy.
After I knocked I was immediately told to hold on. He must not of been sleeping I thought. When the door opened I could make out two bunk beds, a table next to a heater and a very wrinkly old man in his underwear.
“Hello, there,” he grumbled half asleep.
I could make out another man rapped up in his sleeping bag on the bottom bunk on the left side. “You guys don’t mind if I turn on the light for a second do you?” I whispered.
“How else are you going get ready for bed?” the old man asked.
“Good point,” I laughed nervously. After closing the door I noticed that the deadbolt was a one inch hook that latched onto an open circle. I unrolled my sleeping bag on the bunk above the old man and climbed into it.
I was comforted when he started to make conversation with me because it meant that I hadn’t disturbed him too much. He was a sixty year old retired doctor named Brian. He and his wife traveled all over the world. She was a teacher and together they worked all over Asia. After retiring they moved back to Australia and he still travels once in awhile, just leaving Africa prior to arriving in Alaska. The pile of blankets was awoken by our conversation and identified himself as Ryan from Arizona. He seemed like a nice guy.
Before Ryan went outside to the bathroom he asked Brandon, “Why doesn’t your wife travel with you?”
“Oh we had grandchildren and the nesting instinct took over. Now I travel alone a lot. She says she would miss the kids to much.”
“Sounds a lot like my mom, I’m sure she’ll be the same way when I have kids.” I responded. I missed my mom.
“Oh you can bet on it. As sure as the sun coming up tomorrow, all women are like that. Well almost all of them. It’s good to travel with a bird though.”
“A bird?” I asked puzzled. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“A bloody female, You Americans I swear,” he laughed. The whole time we had been talking which was about fifteen minutes he continuously released minor farts that I tried to ignore aside from laughing into my pillow. But as he laughed he let out a loud one. I didn’t even have the option of pretending that I didn’t hear it.
“Ryan is going to come in her thinking the bathroom smelt nicer,” I said laughing.
“Trust me I’m a doctor. It’s when you can’t fart that you start worrying.”
“Ya, or if you poop in your pants,” I managed to say between laughs.
We laughed for a long time before he sighed, “Oh, let me tell you something my friend because of simplicity, I’m the happiest guy in the world.”
“I believe you,” I said smiling at the ceiling. And the truth was I really did. I was sleeping in a small building that wasn’t insulated in the middle of Alaska but I was happy. I felt really warm wrapped up tight in my sleeping bag listening to the heater sing. The mattress was softer then the lounge chair that I had been sleeping on and I didn’t feel alone. I fell asleep smiling.
Hours later I was awoken by a BANG! What was that? I was dazed from sleeping but I knew that that noise wasn’t in my head. For a second I wondered if it was a bear trying to get into our shack. As I started to become more awake I thought that a tree branch fell on our roof. After a long pause I questioned, “Did you just fall out of bed?”
“Oh my god, I did!” replied a dazed Ryan in complete shock.
We both began laughing but we didn’t start laughing hysterically until Brandon surprised us by screaming, “I thought the bloody Chinese had invaded!”
Monday, May 3, 2010
With Renee (Chapter 1) by, Michael Blankartz
I am eighteen-years old and everyday during rush hour traffic I see what I am supposed to become returning home from work. The role models for my generation look angry and depressed. They are zombies caught up in a routine waiting for retirement. Do you know what it is like to wake up in the morning and not want to get out of bed because nothing that you will do that day is worth rising from the comfort of the warm sheets? I have read novels about people whose life had meaning, they got out of bed excited to start another day because they loved what they did. I don’t love what I do and I don’t know of anyone who does. Let me rephrase that, I don’t know anyone who is consistently excited about their life. My life is comfortable and that is all that I see people living. I wish I could have the focus and direction that the main characters of those novels had but I don’t. Unfortunately, I have no clue what I want to do with my life.
Presently I work at a recycling center. I was really excited last year when I got the job because in some small way I felt that I would be involved in helping the world while other kids my age were working in fast food. But now my only satisfaction comes from giving homeless guys more weight than the scale reads and $1.00 a pound instead of $.85. My job starts when the customer dumps their aluminum cans into a conveyer that caries them into a basket for me to weigh them. I spend my time removing everything that isn’t an aluminum can before it gets into the basket. This includes aluminum foil, rocks, trash and even old maggot infested food.
Truthfully the maggots have only happened twice but they stick out more powerful in my mind than the trash. I get to give people money for recycling which is rewarding but it isn’t enough. I try to appreciate the little things in life but my rationalized meaning only keeps me happy for so long. Let’s face it I sort through old beer and soda cans that have been sitting idly in peoples backyards. The smell of stale beer constantly stains my clothes and overwhelms my nostrils. Who in their right mind would read the novel of my life? Even I wouldn’t make it past the first page.
Lately I have started to drink beer at work with two of my co-workers. When I get to work at noon Kevin (he is a forty year old ex-meth addict) goes and buys a twelve pack of beer and a bag of ice from the liquor store down the street. Upon his return Ed (he is an alcoholic in his late forties) fills a five gallon paint bucket with a little water, the ice and the beer. Once the “cocktails” as Ed calls them are on ice we work together to serve all of the customers as fast as we can. We sit on three lawn chairs that we found in the dumpster under the shade of a torn tarp. It takes a lot of effort for me to drink as fast as them while making it look natural. I have been drinking steadily since I was fifteen but usually it is warm beer out of a backpack. This beer is ice cold and the thought of drinking at work makes it even more enjoyable. I usually only drink two or three of my beers because I don’t want to get too buzzed at work. Besides I gladly give my fourth beer to Kevin or Ed because they want it more than I do.
I don’t want to work at a recycling center all of my life but it might not be for the reasons that one would think. It isn’t because my co workers are alcoholics or because I come home covered in filth. It isn’t because I only make $8.00 an hour or even the maggots. It is simply because I am not happy there now and don’t believe that I ever will be. I think that happiness grows from situations that supply your life with meaning. So if I can’t find meaning at the recycling center now then I will never be anything more than comfortable there. I don’t want to work at the same meaningless job for the rest of my life. I don’t want to live another twenty years and still not be living a life of meaning. I am terrified that when I’m an old man and dying I will know in my heart that my life was meaningless.
My father gave me an appreciation of philosophy and adventure through the books that he would recommend to me. Stories of fallen soldiers missing their loved ones, eastern monks traveling the world in solitude devoted to the one task of finding meaning and young adventures living outside the conformity of society. I loved the books and found role models in the pages. My father and I would talk about the characters in the highest regard and I found a teacher and friend in my dad. That was until I graduated high school two months ago and I told him my decision not to go to college. Instead I was going to work on the fishing boats in Alaska with a co-worker from the Recycling center. He didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go to college and it was then that I realized something about my father. He believed in talking about living a lifestyle “outside the box” but he never dared to put his ideas into action. My father was a living contradiction and I didn’t know what he truly believed. Did he want to live a life of adventure and risk or the calm and quiet lifestyle of an eastern monk? Was he too afraid to live without routine and security? Did he lack the wisdom to live the life of an eastern Guru? In the end I asked myself one final question would I be happy living the life of my father when I was forty?
I remembered his occasional comments about quitting his job as a teacher to work somewhere with less responsibility. I had heard him say on at least ten separate occasions that he wanted to be a floor attendant at Home Depot. I thought more in depth about the time he had to write a paper about the meaning of his life for an administration course he was taking to be a principal. He brought it to me in the family room and read me the title “News Junkie” before briefly summarizing it to me. He said that his life basically consisted of coming home from work as a special education teacher and reading Time magazine before watching the news on T.V. He finished his summary with “Pretty pathetic isn’t it.” I remembered how I laughed and told my father not to be so hard on himself. I told him that he had raised a wonderful family and had a humanitarian job that touched people lives. I assured him that there was nothing more productive than that and told him that his monitoring of current events was something that I admired about him after being a great father. He forced a smile and told me, “Your right, I hadn’t thought about that” and walked into the kitchen. As long as my father wished that he was doing something else he would never realize what he had. He spent more time talking about his dreams than reaching for them. And I guess a small part of me always resented him for that.
All summer I have been waiting for Jim (another coworker from Recycling center) to sell his motorcycle so that we could buy a truck and drive up to Alaska. Every week my father tries to get me to register for college and I tell him that I don’t want to prepare for the future only to find out in doing all the preparation I have wasted most of my life. For two months I have done nothing but tell all of my friends that I am leaving yet I don’t leave. It has been frustrating waiting for my life to start but thankfully I have run out of time. College starts next week and my father gave me an ultimatum to go to college, work full time, travel or move out. I told Jim I was leaving in a week and he said that he couldn’t sell his bike by then. I saw the fear in his eyes and realized that he never would have gone.
Yesterday I sold my Volkswagen bug for $2,000 and bought a train ticket that departs in two days. I read on the internet that there was a ferry that ported out of Bellingham Washington and traveled up the inside passage of Alaska. I don’t know what will happen to me when I get there or when I’m coming home. All that I know is that I want to see life as a gift instead of a burden. In two days I was going to start living the novel that I would love to read.
Presently I work at a recycling center. I was really excited last year when I got the job because in some small way I felt that I would be involved in helping the world while other kids my age were working in fast food. But now my only satisfaction comes from giving homeless guys more weight than the scale reads and $1.00 a pound instead of $.85. My job starts when the customer dumps their aluminum cans into a conveyer that caries them into a basket for me to weigh them. I spend my time removing everything that isn’t an aluminum can before it gets into the basket. This includes aluminum foil, rocks, trash and even old maggot infested food.
Truthfully the maggots have only happened twice but they stick out more powerful in my mind than the trash. I get to give people money for recycling which is rewarding but it isn’t enough. I try to appreciate the little things in life but my rationalized meaning only keeps me happy for so long. Let’s face it I sort through old beer and soda cans that have been sitting idly in peoples backyards. The smell of stale beer constantly stains my clothes and overwhelms my nostrils. Who in their right mind would read the novel of my life? Even I wouldn’t make it past the first page.
Lately I have started to drink beer at work with two of my co-workers. When I get to work at noon Kevin (he is a forty year old ex-meth addict) goes and buys a twelve pack of beer and a bag of ice from the liquor store down the street. Upon his return Ed (he is an alcoholic in his late forties) fills a five gallon paint bucket with a little water, the ice and the beer. Once the “cocktails” as Ed calls them are on ice we work together to serve all of the customers as fast as we can. We sit on three lawn chairs that we found in the dumpster under the shade of a torn tarp. It takes a lot of effort for me to drink as fast as them while making it look natural. I have been drinking steadily since I was fifteen but usually it is warm beer out of a backpack. This beer is ice cold and the thought of drinking at work makes it even more enjoyable. I usually only drink two or three of my beers because I don’t want to get too buzzed at work. Besides I gladly give my fourth beer to Kevin or Ed because they want it more than I do.
I don’t want to work at a recycling center all of my life but it might not be for the reasons that one would think. It isn’t because my co workers are alcoholics or because I come home covered in filth. It isn’t because I only make $8.00 an hour or even the maggots. It is simply because I am not happy there now and don’t believe that I ever will be. I think that happiness grows from situations that supply your life with meaning. So if I can’t find meaning at the recycling center now then I will never be anything more than comfortable there. I don’t want to work at the same meaningless job for the rest of my life. I don’t want to live another twenty years and still not be living a life of meaning. I am terrified that when I’m an old man and dying I will know in my heart that my life was meaningless.
My father gave me an appreciation of philosophy and adventure through the books that he would recommend to me. Stories of fallen soldiers missing their loved ones, eastern monks traveling the world in solitude devoted to the one task of finding meaning and young adventures living outside the conformity of society. I loved the books and found role models in the pages. My father and I would talk about the characters in the highest regard and I found a teacher and friend in my dad. That was until I graduated high school two months ago and I told him my decision not to go to college. Instead I was going to work on the fishing boats in Alaska with a co-worker from the Recycling center. He didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go to college and it was then that I realized something about my father. He believed in talking about living a lifestyle “outside the box” but he never dared to put his ideas into action. My father was a living contradiction and I didn’t know what he truly believed. Did he want to live a life of adventure and risk or the calm and quiet lifestyle of an eastern monk? Was he too afraid to live without routine and security? Did he lack the wisdom to live the life of an eastern Guru? In the end I asked myself one final question would I be happy living the life of my father when I was forty?
I remembered his occasional comments about quitting his job as a teacher to work somewhere with less responsibility. I had heard him say on at least ten separate occasions that he wanted to be a floor attendant at Home Depot. I thought more in depth about the time he had to write a paper about the meaning of his life for an administration course he was taking to be a principal. He brought it to me in the family room and read me the title “News Junkie” before briefly summarizing it to me. He said that his life basically consisted of coming home from work as a special education teacher and reading Time magazine before watching the news on T.V. He finished his summary with “Pretty pathetic isn’t it.” I remembered how I laughed and told my father not to be so hard on himself. I told him that he had raised a wonderful family and had a humanitarian job that touched people lives. I assured him that there was nothing more productive than that and told him that his monitoring of current events was something that I admired about him after being a great father. He forced a smile and told me, “Your right, I hadn’t thought about that” and walked into the kitchen. As long as my father wished that he was doing something else he would never realize what he had. He spent more time talking about his dreams than reaching for them. And I guess a small part of me always resented him for that.
All summer I have been waiting for Jim (another coworker from Recycling center) to sell his motorcycle so that we could buy a truck and drive up to Alaska. Every week my father tries to get me to register for college and I tell him that I don’t want to prepare for the future only to find out in doing all the preparation I have wasted most of my life. For two months I have done nothing but tell all of my friends that I am leaving yet I don’t leave. It has been frustrating waiting for my life to start but thankfully I have run out of time. College starts next week and my father gave me an ultimatum to go to college, work full time, travel or move out. I told Jim I was leaving in a week and he said that he couldn’t sell his bike by then. I saw the fear in his eyes and realized that he never would have gone.
Yesterday I sold my Volkswagen bug for $2,000 and bought a train ticket that departs in two days. I read on the internet that there was a ferry that ported out of Bellingham Washington and traveled up the inside passage of Alaska. I don’t know what will happen to me when I get there or when I’m coming home. All that I know is that I want to see life as a gift instead of a burden. In two days I was going to start living the novel that I would love to read.
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