Across the Sands

I never believed in ghosts. I’ll be plainly honest with you; I thought the entire concept of spiritual haunting was a crock of shit. Oh, I enjoyed a good spooky story like the next guy, but whenever I heard them, there was always that voice in the back of my brain, asking me, “you know this is some straight up bullshit, don’t you?”. I knew it, and I stood by it. That is, until I met Charlie.

I was just out of my second year of college (at The University of Houston after a year at Baylor), and I’d decided to pursue that teenage dream I’d had of becoming a rock and roll star by moving up to Austin with my boys Scott and Eric. We’d met in high school, and had started a band that had convinced me that we were going to be the biggest thing since edible panties. We had high school groupies. We had the lock on all the parties. We were the shit. So when the guys asked me if I’d be interested in moving up to the Texas state capitol (legislative and musical), despite the arguments with my folks that would ensue, it was a no-brainer. I pulled out of school, packed up my car, and went off to find my fame and fortune.

We rented a three bedroom house on Oltorff Street on the south side of the city, and I immediately took to the house. It felt like home. I had been tired of dormitories and my mother’s house; it was nice to get my own place, and be king of my own castle, even if I was sharing the kingly duties with two stark raving idiots. But we were all idiots in those days, weren’t we? But enough of the set-up, let’s get to the ghost.

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On Wednesday at 10:30 AM in Iran (11:30 PM Pacific Standard Time Tuesday January 9th in the USA), a woman goes on trial for the second time facing a death sentence for defending herself in a rape attempt. Nazanin Afshin is a 19 year old woman who stabbed and killed one of three men who were attempting to rape her and her 15 year old neice in a park in Karaj, a suburb of Tehran, in March of 2005. She was 17 at the time. On June 1, 2006, the Head of Judiciary, Ayatollah Sharoudi, announced a stay of execution and the call for a retrial. Nazanin Fatehi’s retrial will take place in a matter of hours.

There is (and has been) an international movement to help the voices of those who would like to see this woman’s life saved afoot. Please if you have a chance (and care) sign the petition to save Nazanin’s life. There are over 250,000 signatures on it as of this moment (including my own). If this woman is put to death for defending herself and loved ones, what kind of message does that send to our sisters, daughters, and mothers who face this kind of crisis far too often?

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You know the story of Father Christmas, don’t you? It’s the tale of the European gift-bringer of Christmas and Yuletide. Though his origins began in paganism, by the time the Anglo-Saxons ruled England, it had become customary for a community elder to dress in furs and visit each home as the spirit of winter where he would be showered with food and drink. The traditional Father Christmas was neither a gift bringer, nor associated with children. He was nothing similar to the modern more rotund version of Santa Claus we know and seemingly worship today. There was however a story involving a Northern European bishop who carried a satchel of toys for good children on his back, wore a crown of pine boughs, and had a magic lantern on the end of his staff to guide his boat across the misty seas. This is supposedly the first mention of the Teutonic toymaker Kris Kringle, but there is another history involving this monument of our holidays, and it’s a history that has gone long ignored by the various cultures of the West.

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So we’re driving back to Huntsville from Houston and I’ve managed to keep my wife awake nearly the entire way home (this is a monumental feat, let me tell you). We turn onto the final main highway before we get to our neighborhood, and I see three horses (with riders) walking on our side of the road. I’m a big fan of horses. My mother owned one long ago and, though I always wanted to, I just never followed through with the purchase. I pointed the horses out to my wife as we came up on them

About fifteen feet from the horses, the lead one starts at something and jumps the fuck right into the middle of my lane. I see the look of shock cross the rider’s face, and I brake hard and veer into the other lane where thankfully there are no cars. I tell you the whole experience was exactly like the Hollywood clichés in which time slows down to a crawl. All I can remember is brake, turn the wheel hard left, a gigantic horse’s ass nearly engulfing the windshield, my wife almost ending up in my lap, my daughter lurching awake, more horse ass in my wife’s passenger window, and me coming to a complete stop only to find my fingers digging relentlessly into the steering wheel.

I turned and looked at the rider, and he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

I mouthed the words, “No problem,” and drove home shaken but none the worse for wear.

It’s been pointed out to me that I never really gave you an official update on the swelling in my shoulder (Sorry, Ari). I’ll keep this short and sweet.

The doctor has no definite answer on what it is. He doesn’t seem too worried about it as he says that cancerous growths are generally quite hard to the touch and this seems more like a soft tissue beneath the skin. As a matter of fact, he says that people often get growths of this nature in their bodies (especially in the back area) but since mine is in an area with relatively thin skin (the collar bone area), it’s visible and detectable. He measured it and sent me home with instructions to keep an eye on it and we’ll measure again in six months. If there’s no change in it then, he says we’ll leave it alone.

I’m thrilled.

“You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.”
~Desmond Tutu

I’m sitting on the couch yesterday watching my family watch television. Have you ever done this? Have you ever sat in a room full of your loved ones and pretended to focus on something else when all the while you’re actually intently studying those you’ve dedicated your life to? I do it all the time.

Jordan (nearly four and more than a giant’s handful) is running around the living room, jumping (literally) from couch to recliner, and pretending to eat his “chocolate fingers”. I’m amazed (even more so than my other children) at the growth of the human body and mind as I watch him on a daily basis. He makes me feel that despite all the failings I’ve had in my life to the people I’ve loved and have loved me, I still have that one chance to get it right here. He’s a good kid…. Hell… scratch that… He’s a great kid. I’m lucky to be his father.

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