What Does “The American Dream” Mean to You?

This question has been rolling around in my head for a few years but it’s become more salient to me because of life changes and the recent economic/political climate. I think finishing graduate school, getting married, becoming a father, and beginning to make student loan payments instead of receiving disbursements threw me for a loop. My expectation of some financial relief when school was over was totally unrealistic and I’m finding myself more strapped than I was as a student. I find myself really questioning the concept of the American Dream that was instilled in me from my parents, grandparents, and educators. I’d like to make it personal and explore what it means to me and how it has informed my decisions.

I need to start out by stating that my experience growing up has been within the privilege of a white middle class household. My parents were college educated, homeowners for almost the entirety of my life, and my family never needed to worry about the basic necessities. I just want to acknowledge that other people’s experience and ideas of the American Dream may be vastly different than mine based on a number of factors including but not limited to their socioeconomic status, immigration status, and the generation that they grew up in.

My idea of the American Dream was that I would maintain a similar lifestyle to my parents and possibly surpass them if I got a graduate education. I thought that they would help to finance my college education and that I would go on to get a job and make good money much like they did. I thought that if I worked hard for my first few years after school that I would quickly pay off any student loan debt that I needed to incur and buy a house much like they did. I expected to have a job that would provide health care, a paid retirement, nice vacations, and if I played my cards right maybe a second home such as a lake house or cabin to get away to. I expected to drive newer vehicles and to be able support a wife and children on my income alone. Where did I get these ideas? I think the sources of the ideology were school, family, and church.

I was told many times as a child that I could do or be anything I wanted. I was told that I had above average intelligence and that “if you work hard you could be the President someday, boy.” I was told that this great country was established upon the belief that all men are created equal and that I had a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I was told that poor people were just lazy and that they had the same opportunities that I did. These ideas are very warm, seductive, and comforting when you’re a child growing up in the middle class. They were so palatable and easily incorporated into my beliefs; it wasn’t until much later that I actually questioned them. Even as I struggled to thrive I held on to these beliefs because the alternative truth was uncomfortable and depressing. I don’t think I fully let go of these ideas until my master’s program forced me to critically analyze them.

So, where did my American Dream go? What happened? Here’s my story as I see it today. I acknowledge it may change in the coming years.

My father was an early baby boomer and he found himself a part of the generation that first felt the effects of the eroding ideal of the American Dream; it was called “downsizing.” He had worked approximately 25 years for Remington Arms, a company that was bought out in the eighties by the mega corporation DuPont. He was an accountant who had worked very hard, putting in many long hours, and was promoted into management, to eventually find himself one step away from becoming the treasurer of the company. After the buyout Dupont began laying people off and cutting costs (downsizing) to increase the short term profitability of the company. My father was given the option of early retirement or a demotion with a greatly reduced salary. He took the early retirement with plans to move on and start over. He soon realized that starting his career over in his 50’s was not going to be easy and he struggled along, interviewing for positions, attempting to start his own bookkeeping business, working various odd jobs, doing taxes for H&R block, and even working in retail at a lumber yard to try to keep the bills paid. Eventually his health deteriorated to the point where he could no longer work and he had to retire. He did retain some retirement benefits from Remington but he was basically left with nothing after all of his medical expenses. I remember my father’s bitterness about how he was cast aside after all the years that he gave his time and energy to his company. The concept of corporate loyalty was dissolving; a part of the American Dream was lost. The idea that workers and their employers had a contract that the workers would give their best effort and that the employer would take care of them until they died was over.

Needless to say I had to figure out my own finances and by the time I was college age they had no means with which to help me.

My first venture on my own as a young man was to try surviving with just my high school diploma. I worked three jobs for a while, a series of different full time fast food jobs, a full time warehouse job, and a part time serving job. I did this for a few months and was barely getting by. Minimum wage at the time was between $3 and $4/hr and I hated the way that the power tripping managers at these jobs treated me for the meager pay. I thought that they were fools that should have pursued an education but instead sold out on their dreams to get a nice car and a better apartment. I still held onto the American Dream and somehow believed that I was going to figure this out and get into college and everything would still turn out the way it was supposed to.

I took a full time job at a convenience store that paid a little better and a part time job at Toys R Us doing basic retail work. I did this for a time hoping to save up to get back to school. I had no healthcare, had to live with multiple roommates, and was still barely scraping by. When I think back I realize that my parents gave me a vehicle (my old 69 Beetle) and that was a huge advantage that many of my co-workers did not have. I quit the convenience store job and started going to community college. I took out the maximum amount of student loans, which at the time was not much. I was lucky and got a full time position at Toys R Us for $5.75/hr. This was a huge triumph for me and meant that I could afford to live in a rented house with only two roommates instead of the apartments where I lived with 5 other guys and had to share a bedroom. After struggling at minimum wage and being treated like crap for so long I felt really appreciated. Not long after that I was offered a management position and I took it because it meant that I would get healthcare and benefits. It was no American Dream but I felt like I was moving in the right direction.

I was working 60 hour weeks in my new position and I was constantly exhausted so I thought it would be best if dropped down to part-time in school. I was making straight A’s but I couldn’t keep it up. I ended up dropping completely out of school and focusing on my job. I was being offered promotions and was offered a salaried position which included stock options and bonuses. I was so tired of struggling to survive. It seemed like the answer at the time. I was 26 years old and naively decided that it was time to settle down and stick with what I was doing. The upper managerial types kept telling me about the great opportunities ahead of me and I guess I drank the Kool Aid. After a year in my new management position I had my yearly evaluation. I had worked very hard, very long hours, and had been given the highest possible rating in every aspect of my job performance. I was given a 3% raise that equated to about 30 cents an hour. Again the American Dream eluded me; I did what I was supposed to do and I wasn’t rewarded. They told me to hang in there and shoot for a promotion and that it would all be worth it.

I was furious and immediately decided to return to school. I was looking for a quick way to get an education that would turn into a lucrative career and I didn’t want be in school for years and years. This was in the early nineties and the high tech industry was booming. I found a technical school that charged me $14,000 for a two year program in Computer Graphic Design. They made many promises about what I would be taught and how they would help me find a good white collar job when I graduated. They promised that many people in the field were starting at $60K/year and that in a few years I could expect a six figure salary. Those promises were lies. After school I left my retail job, vowed to never work in retail again, and moved to Portland to find a job as a graphic designer. I couldn’t even get hired as a copy boy at Kinko’s. The dot-com bubble had just burst and after burning through my meager savings I did what I had vowed to never do; I went into the local Toys R Us store and asked for a job. I ended up giving them 13 years of my life.

After working here in Portland for about a year and obtaining my residency I enrolled at Portland State and began to work on my Bachelor’s degree. I had learned the hard way that short cuts don’t work in education and so I went back to the Dream and began working very hard. I was working full time and was a full time student through much of it. I was determined to do this if it killed me. I would surpass my parent’s education so that I could finally achieve the standard of living that they had when I was growing up. It took me a long time to finish my undergrad. I had to take breaks when I got overwhelmed; there were times when I thought I was losing my mind because I was working too hard. Finally in the summer of 2008 I graduated. I began my Master’s program the next quarter and continued my pattern of full time work and full time school. Throughout my education I took out student loans to supplement my income. The money I made, even working full time was not enough to survive on. At the end of all of it I find myself buried in student loan debt.

I work as a professional in my field. My profession requires that I spend large amounts of time and money on trainings, licensure, and certifications. The salary is commensurate with what I made as a retail manager 10 years ago. The healthcare plan is adequate and affordable for me but the cost goes up exponentially when you add a spouse and child. It would be about 25% of my take home pay to cover them. I have no retirement plan. I work long hours. My work is complicated and difficult. I have looked into various employment options in my field and I have not found anything that would compensate me any better that I’m qualified for right now. This is it. I’m living the dream.

I know the story isn’t over. I still have dreams about finding a way to increase my income by starting a business where I can apply my professional knowledge and skills. I guess that’s part of the American Dream to me too; starting up my own venture and trying to make it work. I honestly haven’t deeply explored what it would take for me to do something like that. It seems so daunting. I yearn for the American Dream of my grandfather’s day when you got a good job with a company, stayed with them until you retired, collected your pension and social security, and your biggest challenge was to figure out how to keep yourself occupied from age 65 on. I don’t think that exists anymore unless you get elected to Congress. Where did it all go? What happened? I’m definitely no expert but here are a few of the factors that I think are significant:

CEO vs. Average Worker pay:

Inequality of the super rich to the middle class:

Lack of Union Membership:

Despite all of this I still have an American Dream. Today, my American Dream is that the system can be changed to ensure that inequality of opportunity is eliminated. I dream that we will be able to put power back into the hands of the middle class and stop letting the superrich manipulate and control us through the media and corrupt financial systems. I dream that all people will have access to a decent secondary education that emphasizes critical thinking skills over test scores. My dream is that my son will grow up and live in a USA that provides affordable healthcare for every American, get a good college education without going into large amounts of debt, with some hard work he will be able to obtain stable employment that pays him a wage that affords him the opportunity to own a home, have his basic necessities taken care of, and to save money enough money for a comfortable retirement. That’s not too much to ask, right?

I don’t know exactly how we get there but I do know that protesting the status quo is the beginning. I have seen the media focus on the negative aspects of the “Occupy” protests, the dirty park where people left their stuff behind and a bunch of dirt kicked up or whatever. Let me just say that they are completely missing the point. Let’s focus on the messes of the top 1%’s policies and politics. How about 36 million Americans including 13 million children live in households that experience hunger or the risk of hunger? How about 40 to 50 million Americans who have no health insurance (many of whom such as my wife can’t get it because of a pre-existing condition)? How about the 10% unemployment rate? How about the millions of Americans that are underwater in their homes, have had their homes foreclosed on, or cannot get into a home because of the unscrupulous practices of our financial and political leaders that wanted less regulation of the housing market? I could go on but I think you see my point that a dirty park is pretty insignificant in light of the overall state of affairs.

This can all get really gloomy and I think many people just tune out and keep grinding away feeling guilty and depressed that they haven’t been able to achieve their dreams. The more people tune in to what’s happening and protest the more pressure it puts on the top to make change happen. You can hear the tone changing already. The 1% will not allow things to change without a fight but they can’t withstand the pressure from a majority of Americans that have the same agenda. The tipping point will be reached and things have to change. I just hope things don’t have to get worse before they get better.

What does the American Dream mean to you?

The Next Big Thing; Fatherhood

***Special Note - this post is from over a year ago, read all the way through for an explanation***

8/10/10

No one told me that men can have post partum depression too. But I’m pretty sure I’m having at least a mild case of it. I think it’s common enough although it’s not talked about because the female version is so much more prevalent. Or maybe because guys are being strong and not talking about how they’re feeling during this fragile time for their female partners. Well I need to talk/write about it to help me process what I’m feeling.

Lately I’ve frequently found myself close to tears and I’ve actually started crying a couple of times for no apparent reason. I’m trying to understand all of the thoughts and feelings that I’m having in my normal rational way and it’s like I hit a blockade where I can only feel and think in a strange dark cycle. What I feel is terror and overwhelming exhaustion. The feelings wash over me like a wet shroud and make me want to run. It’s like a compulsion that allows me to finally understand the cliché of the father who goes out for a pack of cigarettes and never comes back.

The thoughts I have are along the lines of “I’ll never be able to do _____ again,” and “Why the @#%* did I think this was a good idea?” Yesterday I saw a young couple walking out of Trader Joe’s holding hands and smiling at each other. They looked like they were heading off somewhere to do something care free and fun. I had an urge to walk over to them and tell them they don’t know how lucky they are, and to savor this moment, and to always use birth control. Anticipating the crazy stare I would have received I abstained from aforementioned compulsion and numbly pushed my cart to the car to return to the sleepless zone.

Today on the way home from the lactation clinic I saw a sunburned hipster riding his banana seat bike with his greasy long hair and his tattoo sleeved arms meandering down the sidewalk on the wrong side of the street and I envied him. I bet he was taking his lazy time heading to the record store or going to read poetry at the coffee shop. I bet he hadn’t the slightest clue of what it’s like to have your life broken into 2 to 3 hour chunks of time that are regulated by a newborn baby’s crying, hunger, defecation, eating, and sleeping.

I’ve tried to talk to other guys about this but they just smile, shake their heads and say things like, “Yeah, the first year’s really rough.” The first YEAR? Thanks for that punch in the stomach. Smug guys that have older kids telling me, “it gets a lot better after that first year when you can actually, you know, interact with them more.”

Why didn’t I do my homework more thoroughly before embarking on this adventure? If I were going to buy a new computer or phone I would spend many, many hours scouring the internet to read all of the comments left by purchaser’s of the device I was investigating. I would particularly look at all the negative comments to know what my future complaints might sound like if I were to make the purchase. I didn’t do that. I heard guys say things like “your life will never be the same,” and I knew that sleep would be at a premium. I’ve been sleep deprived plenty before so that wasn’t a big deterrent and I assumed that what people meant by life not being the same that they were talking about all the misty-eyed moments of insurmountable joy that I would have watching every little thing that my son did.

So, here I am. Tired, confused, depressed, shocked

10/4/11

I was looking through old writings to get a feel for where to go in my blogging; it’s been a while since I wrote anything at all. I came across this and I had forgotten all about it. It was left unfinished because I lost the steam to complete and post it. I remember reading through it and thinking it was too negative and that I probably shouldn't even put it up but now I can look back and with a little perspective and I think it’s worth posting.

I definitely don’t feel anything like I did when I wrote this. Fatherhood feels pretty great these days and now I get to be one of the smug guys with the super awesome interactive 14 month old. HA!

I’ve settled into a comfortable routine and although it’s not my ideal it’s pretty dang good. I look forward to coming home from work and getting the excited smile from Everette and hearing about the new thing he said or did. I miss my time alone with Rachelann and that’s something we’re working on improving now that he’s a little older. I’ve let go of a lot of my friendships and I’m feeling the energy to create new ones and to rekindle some of the old ones. I’m writing again which is a huge outlet for me that I’ve been missing.

My goal is to have more balance and to stop living in survival mode. I want a life outside of work and fatherhood. I want a romantic date with my wife. I want to go to a rock show with Pete. I want to go for a beer with colleagues. I want to develop myself professionally. I want to read a book that gets me thinking deeply. I want to go out and take pictures (of something other than Everette).

Thanks to my Dad friends that remind me through their examples that there are a lot of things that I can do and be and have. This year is going to be a much better one and I’m feeling hopeful and excited again.

Next Round of Ultrasounds

For those of you that haven't heard yet; it's a boy! His name will be Everette Mercer Bryant and he was due on 7/21/10.... so anytime now!

This lady is about over it and we are pulling out all the stops (the natural ones anyway) to get things going.

1st Baby Pics 13&1/2 weeks

Believe it or not I'm about to become a full fledged grown up! Very excited & can't wait to find out the sex!!!

RA doesn't believe me, but this baby definitely has the Bryant nose :)

In Honor of Gammi

(Gammi when she was little)

I lost my Gammi this week. Gammi is my grandmother's nickname given her by her grandchildren. She died at the age of 93 and she lived a great life. She's been released of the great physical pain that she suffered for the last few weeks.

(Gammi as a young hottie)

Gammi was a bright shiny person that always made people feel special. I was talking to my Mom today and she said that Gammi's accountant told her that he felt like he had a special relationship with Gammi. Mom reflected that most people that knew Gammi had a special relationship with her. This is profoundly true. Mom said that in the last few days her phone has been ringing off the hook by people calling to find out when her memorial service will be so they can honor her life.

(Gammi with baby great granddaughter Lainey)

Gammi was the kind of person that always remembered you and could recall things about you that let you know that she thought about you and that she cared. Although she lived far away from me for the majority of my life she always remembered all my friend's names and asked about them when we talked on the phone or visited. Even in the last few years as her memory became less sharp she remembered what I was doing and the important people in my life.

(Gammi with great grandson Chip)

When you spent time with Gammi she was always really with you. She was present and she had presence with you as very few people do. I think the reason she was able to do this was that she lived her life in a way that allowed her to live without unnecessary worries. She worked hard, stayed on top of her business/financial affairs, invested in her spiritual life, and nurtured the many varied relationships that she had. When she was with you she wasn't distracted with the worries that many of us carry in our minds, she was focused on you and how she could have a good time with you.

(Gammi and 3rd husband John Waddell just after John got out of the hospital)

Gammi outlived four husbands and was a tireless caretaker and mate. I didn't know my grandfather, but I knew her next three husbands and they all adored her. She was the kind of person to put other's needs before hers, but also to command your respect and make sure her needs were met too. I would say she had very healthy boundaries with the people in her life. Gammi was a big believer in charity. She spent many days in her retirement years involved in her church and helping sick people, visiting widows, and bringing food to people that needed help.

(Gammi and John in St. George visiting me while I was a missionary)

I can't imagine a better grandmother than my Gammi. She was endlessly thrilled with us as kids. She spent countless hours with us doing what we wanted to do and she loved it. She always had great ideas of fun things to do with us and she understood us in a way that made us feel safe and special when we were with her.

(Gammi with her last husband, the great love of her life, Warren "Bud" Robinson)

One of my earliest memories of Gammi was when I was 6 or 7 years old and she came out to visit us in Herkimer, NY. She left her makeup bag in the bathroom and I was looking through it to see what I could find. I decided to try her lipstick on because I thought it must feel really nice since Gammi wore it. Not understanding the fragile nature of lipstick I pressed it on and mushed it up in the process. My Mom's instinct must have told her I was in trouble because she suddenly turned up and was really angry with me for getting into Gammi's stuff and ruining her lipstick. She told me to go to Gammi and confess and apologize to her. I was in tears and mortified that I had done something bad to Gammi. She took one look at me and made her little "pssh" laugh sound and giggled at me with lipstick mashed into my face. She gave me a warm hug and told me she wasn't mad and that the lipstick wasn't important to her. She understood my curiosity and got a laugh out of it instead of getting upset. I knew she loved me a lot.

(Gammi and Bud visit Dee Dee on her mission)

(Gammi and John at Amy's high school graduation)

A few years later I got to spend most of the summer with her at her house in Kansas City, MO. I was so excited to be able to spend the time with her at her magical house. That summer was the happiest time of my childhood. The time with her was golden, every day filled with fun times, awesome home cooked meals (with lots of snacks in between), and plenty of time for us to get to know each other. We established a routine of getting up early and working in her yard before the heat kicked in, having a huge breakfast, and then going out somewhere for the day to explore all of the wonders of Kansas City. Some days we went swimming at the pool, some days we'd go to a museum, and she even provided me with my own Willie Wonka experience when we went on a tour of the Hostess factory where I saw how they made the junk food treats I loved and got fresh Twinkies right off the line!

(Picture I took of Gammi with my 1st camera in 1980 in Herkimer)

One of the best memories I have of that summer was playing office with my cousin Jennifer. Gammi's husband had his old business office in their basement complete with stationary, a big ox blood office chair, a big wooden desk, typewriters, and one of those old school adding machines with the big crank on the side. We spent hours writing memos, taking pretend orders on the big heavy black phones, and taking turns being the boss and the secretary. We'd take our lunch break on Gammi's patio where we'd eat all the watermelon slices we wanted and drink iced sun tea that was sweet and refreshing. After a hard day's work at the office we'd have dinner and play cards for hours. It was a care-free imagination fest that I wished would never end.

(Gammi and Mom in 1995)

As I grew into adulthood there were trips to visit Gammi where she would pay for me to go to the dinner theater or take me to the art museum. It never mattered what we did as much as the personal attention that she always gave me. She knew the food that I liked and always made everything taste so good. I'd always gain a few pounds on a trip there.

(Gammi and John with me in front of the St. George temple in 1991)

One of the few regrets I have about Gammi's passing is that she won't be alive to see me get my Master's degree. I credit her for me being able to make it this far in my education because she helped me financially a couple of times when I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own. Through my ups and downs in life I knew that Gammi always believed in me and that she was always behind me. I never felt judged by her even in my toughest times and she always gave me unconditional love during my struggles.

(Gammi with great grandchildren Alyssa, Savannah, & Gavin this past summer)

(My last visit with Gammi while she was in physical rehab, summer 2009. Dee Dee, Jared, Pete, Alyssa, Savannah, Laramie, & Gavin)

It's been difficult to see Gammi's health deteriorate these last few years, but she's always been a fighter and kept a bright attitude through pain and sickness. Gammi is one of the most complete people I've ever known and I'm so grateful that she showed me how to live a joyful life. She will be missed by many people and the memory of who she was will always be with me. My hope is that I can reflect back on my life with happiness and satisfaction the way Gammi did.

Pictures and Memories of Uncle Charles

These two pictures are from our last visit over the Christmas holiday.

These two pictures are from the early nineties. I was picking up Gammi's Dodge Rampage from Charles. He had just repainted it; that little truck got me around for quite a few years!

I liked this picture of Mom and Charles. Charles looked a little naked without his beard.

Pete and Charles out on "the shooting range" on the land behind Charles' place in AZ.

At Gammi's house a few years ago.

Pizza and beer at the casino a few years ago.

Tribute to Charles Douglas 11/07/1938 to 1/28/09

My uncle Charles passed away on Wed night at about 7:30 after a 3 month battle with stomach cancer. He passed into peace, relieved from a painful condition that took him quickly. His two daughters Jennifer and Laramie were with him as he passed on and he was able to visit with all of his grandchildren and close relatives in the past few months. I got to see him over the holidays and I’m so glad that I got to visit with him one last time.

I’ll miss my Uncle Charles. I didn’t see him very often and I wouldn’t say that we were especially close. However, he was an important presence in my life and I’d like to describe why.

My Dad and I always had trouble connecting; we disagreed a lot when I was growing up, and I think because our personalities are very different I never saw him as my male role model. My Dad’s a good man and I inherited many good qualities from him, but I always related more to my Uncle Charles’ personality. Where my Dad the accountant was careful and calculating, Uncle Charles could be impulsive and rash. My Uncle Charles was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy that was a bit of a thrill seeker; especially when it came to fast machines. He loved to tease people and sometimes he’d get a twinkle in his bright blue eyes and flash a smile through his bushy beard that let you know he was up to some shenanigans.

When I was a little guy I think I was kind of scared of my Uncle because he was tall and had a big beard. He could be abrupt and he has never enjoyed being around the noise and racket that young children produce. Despite all that, I could always sense that he liked me, probably because I was the first boy born in our family. When I was about 3 years old he let me drive a kid-size battery powered Model T car at his house; I think that was when my love affair with machines and my bond with him began.

When I was growing up, my family moved around a lot, but we always came back to our home base in Kansas City, MO where my Uncle and my grandma (Gammi) lived. There was one trip back where we went to Kansas City for the first time in quite a few years; I think I was about 10 or 11. We flew in and as we got off the plane there was this familiar looking guy standing in the jet bridge just outside the door of the plane. He was looking right at me and had a huge smile on his face, and said “Hi Paul!” It had been so long that I didn’t recognize my Uncle, but after he said my name I figured it out. He worked for the airlines and had gotten on to the jet bridge to surprise us as we got off our plane. I’ll always remember that greeting because it made me feel really good that he was excited enough to see us that he went to the trouble of figuring out where we would be so he could surprise us. He had a way of lighting up whenever I’d see him that let me know he was always really happy to see me.

My Uncle Charles was a guy’s guy. He had a great love of wide open spaces, fast cars, and motorcycles. As a kid growing up he seemed like a real life version of Clint Eastwood, Steve McQueen, and Peter Fonda all wrapped up in one. He drove everywhere like it was a race, was a pretty good shot with a gun, and could ride for days at a time on a motorcycle. I remember going down into his basement lair once where all his cool guy stuff was and looking at his movie collection. I think he owned every action movie ever made. Right next to that room was his garage where his 69 Camaro sat. He’d blown the engine in a drag race when it was new and it had basically sat ever since. As a teenage boy I dreamed about cars like that, and I always hoped that someday he’d bring it back to life and let me drive it. The car has become his teenage grandson’s now, and hopefully he’ll get it going. Besides the Camaro his garage was always full of motorcycles. Charles loved to ride motorcycles; he rode pretty much every day, even in the harsh Kansas City winters. He had different bikes for commuting and long trips and I was always in awe of all the metal and chrome in his garage.

One time not long after he had bought his BMW touring bike, he came to Gammi’s house for dinner. I remember he asked me to come into the driveway to see his new bike. My Mom protested, but nothing could have kept me from going to see his bike. He saw the look of true love in my eyes as I looked at the bike and he asked me if I wanted to get on it. I think I was 13 or 14, maybe younger, I remember I was still pretty small, but I wanted to know what it felt like to be on that machine. As I mounted the bike he said, “Now don’t drop my new bike, and watch out, it’s heavy as hell.” I took it off the kickstand and held it as straight as I could, my skinny arms trembling at the weight. I was terrified of dropping it over and pissing him off, but at the same time the feel of those grips in my hands and the seat under me was a thrill; I knew I’d ride a motorcycle someday. I came back in the house talking about motorcycles and my Mom was not happy. Well, thanks to Charles I’ve been riding motorcycles for 17 years now, and Mom, I’m not dead or crippled yet!

In his younger years he was in the military in Germany, and he dragged muscle cars. His experiences provided plenty of grist for stories, which he was full of; he loved to tell stories. He could tell you stories for hours and he never seemed to run out of them. The fun part was that he was a dang good story teller and he could actually keep you entertained for hours!
One of my favorite things about my Uncle was how fired up he got about things when you talked to him. Pete (my brother) and I loved to drink beer with him and talk to him about how to solve the world’s problems. After quite a few of these conversations over the years I realized that he had two favorite solutions that would pretty much always ended the conversation:

1. Line the SOB’s up and shoot em all!
2. Nuke the whole damn place and blow it off the map!

He wasn’t actually a raging maniac, but sometimes he talked like it. Charles was actually a pretty gentle guy at heart. He’d do anything to help you out if you needed it. He’s helped me many times with vehicle repairs, and he was a great teacher. When he showed me how to do things he was always very patient and kind. I’m not the most mechanical person but he would go through explaining how to fix my motorcycle without ever getting irritated with me even when I asked the same questions a few times.

A few years ago my uncle moved out into the desert with his friends Mark and Joyce. He started out in a little camper trailer and moved up to a single wide trailer that he has slowly transformed into a nice little home. He had plenty of things to fix and tinker with out there and plenty of space to shoot his guns. I always enjoyed visiting with him out there.

I witnessed my uncle’s competitive side once when I came out to visit him on my motorcycle. I had an 85 Magna 700 and at the time he was riding Laramie’s old Vulcan that was about the same size and age as my bike. We decided that we should compare the two bikes by drag racing them so we went out onto the long straight road near his place and raced. The Magna was built for racing and I easily beat him. We got to the end and he shook his head, looked at his bike like there was something wrong with it, tinkered with it a little, and told me he wanted to go again. I easily won again. He wanted to go again. And again. And again. After the last time he drove back to his place without saying anything. I pulled in after him and he just shook his head and said, “fast bike.” We didn’t talk about the race after that, I think he was a little sore about it.

One thing we loved to do was to shoot guns together. It became a tradition by the time I was a teenager and we would go shoot almost every time I saw him. He always explained everything about the weapons we’d shoot and we were always very careful about it. There was something very cathartic about shooting with him and we could do it for hours sometimes, or until we ran out of ammo or bottles to shoot at.

Charles wasn’t big on sharing feelings with me, but there was one time when I experienced his softer side that I’ll always remember. I had just gone through my first divorce and was out in Kansas City for a visit. He was in the process of getting ready to move out to NV and leave his wife of many years, and we had a heart to heart about women while we were going for a ride in his truck. I remember being kind of shocked because he got emotional, but it helped me because I was really struggling at the time and he was able to empathize with me. He could be tough and crusty, but he could be sensitive too. I saw his soft side come out whenever he talked about his daughters or his grandkids; I know that he was fiercely proud of his family.

I’m not a religious guy, but I imagine if there’s a heaven after this that Charles is up there riding a machine that’s faster than anything that ever existed on earth, and trading stories with his uncles.

So, Uncle Charlie, goodbye, I’ll miss you.