An amazing friend of mine recently introduced me to Mark Schultz. He is a christian songwriter and singer who was adopted. He wrote a song for his birth mother that I really enjoyed. The following you tube videos are of him describing the story behind the song (remember, I love getting the story) and the actual song. I'll also post the lyrics so you can sing along!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z61zdZJ9uZc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhqJYOYcnAU&NR=1
Mark Schultz Lyrics - Everything To Me Lyrics
I must have felt your tears
When they took me from your arms
I’m sure I must have heard you say goodbye
Lonely and afraid had you made a big mistake
Could an ocean even hold the tears you cried
But you had dreams for me
You wanted the best for me
And you made the only choice you could that night
(Chorus)
You gave life to me
A brand new world to see
Like playing baseball in the yard with dad at night
Mom reading Goodnight Moon
And praying in my room
So if you worry if your choice was right
You gave me up but you gave everything to me
And if I saw you on the street
Would you know that it was me
And would your eyes be blue or green like mine
Would we share a warm embrace
Would you know me in your heart
Or would you smile and let me walk on by
Knowing you had dreams for me
You wanted the best for me
And I hope that you’d be proud of who I am
(Chorus)
You gave life to me
A chance to find my dreams
And a chance to fall in love
You should have seen her shining face
On our wedding day
Oh is this the dream you had in mind
When you gave me up
You gave everything to me
And when I see you there
Watching from heaven’s gates
Into your arms
I’m gonna run
And when you look in my eyes
You can see my whole life
See who I was
And who I’ve become
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
This Makes Me Smile
"Drawing is just two things, putting lines on paper, and deciding where they go."
James A. Owen
James A. Owen
Sunday, July 20, 2008
BFF
This one is simple, thanks to my good friend Chris, who spent the weekend with me being a friend and helping me find happiness again.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
To My Friend
His name was Lance. He was truly my best friend up until he took his own life in 2003. I met Lance only a few years earlier, he knew me by reputation and showed up at my front door one day. I had been heavily involved in the local wakeboarding community; I helped out our local dealer, competed competitively, and taught a group of local riders - mostly kids that wanted to compete in local tournaments. He purchased a boat from the local dealer that I helped and was privy to my involvement. Coincidentally, his parents also happened to live in my neighborhood. I don’t know how long Lance knew me before I knew him, but one day when I had my boat in my driveway he stopped by and wanted to talk wakeboarding. I warmly welcomed him in. Lance was instantly the type of guy that you just had to like. His outgoing personality and sense of humor was wonderful. We instantly became wakeboarding buddies and friends. Lance was the first guy that I allowed really close to me. I have always been the type of guy that just “took care of it” on my own. I would use my toes to hold a screw before I allowed someone to help me. I tell you this because at some point Lance showed me how he could not only be my friend, but be the guy who could hold my screw when needed. Lance was a big part of my life. We hung out together, wakeboarded together and enjoyed each other’s company.
Lance was only a few years older than me with a wife, a 5 year old daughter and a 7 year old son. The fall and winter of 2002 his marriage became rocky. His wife was having an affair with a man at her work. This devastated Lance and he threatened suicide. He was admitted to a hospital where he convinced doctors he was not suicidal – he was good at knowing what to say. His wife filed a restraining order as she feared for her safety after his suicide attempt. He started living at his parent’s house just up the street from our house. Consequently he spent much of his time at our house; which we welcomed. He loved his wife and wanted nothing more than to be with her. She gave up on their marriage, but Lance would not. While he tired everything to mend their relationship she only wanted him to stay away. Lance consoled our family and due to our past we were able to help explain some of the decisions she made and pain he was experiencing. We spoke regularly on the phone when he was working or needed someone to help him through some of the hard times.
The day before Lance left, I briefly spoke to him on the phone. I was home sick, lying on the couch when he called. He was going through another “tough time” and wanted nothing more than to talk to me on the phone. I was sick and very short with him. He was able to quickly tell I was not in the mood and did not keep me on the phone very long. The next day I received a frantic phone call from his wife saying he had threatened suicide again and left their house after he had gathered a bunch of odd items like the garden hose.
Months went by. People randomly provided reports of seeing Lance at the grocery store. They would spot his truck in a parking lot or some other similar sighting. But none of the reports or police investigations turned up anything. The news finally came during deer season in the fall of 2003. I remember hugging and crying in the arms of Lance’s mother while we both were only able to mumble “it’s over.”
In typical “my buddy Lance” fashion, he duck taped the windows and doors of his truck and then did the same with a garden hose he placed in the exhaust. A hunter found his truck in some thick woods not far from a major road. He was missing for nearly 6 months.
At his funeral they asked his family and friends to stand up and tell a story about Lance’s life. I had chosen a story about one of our many wakeboarding outings, one that made me smile. In front of a church full of his family and friends I stood up and tried to speak. I managed to get four words out before I broke down in tears. “Lance was my friend” I said, before I lost complete control of my emotions. Take time to be there for your friends, you never know when it might be your last opportunity – this is one of many lessons I learned from Lance.
I miss you so much.
Lance was only a few years older than me with a wife, a 5 year old daughter and a 7 year old son. The fall and winter of 2002 his marriage became rocky. His wife was having an affair with a man at her work. This devastated Lance and he threatened suicide. He was admitted to a hospital where he convinced doctors he was not suicidal – he was good at knowing what to say. His wife filed a restraining order as she feared for her safety after his suicide attempt. He started living at his parent’s house just up the street from our house. Consequently he spent much of his time at our house; which we welcomed. He loved his wife and wanted nothing more than to be with her. She gave up on their marriage, but Lance would not. While he tired everything to mend their relationship she only wanted him to stay away. Lance consoled our family and due to our past we were able to help explain some of the decisions she made and pain he was experiencing. We spoke regularly on the phone when he was working or needed someone to help him through some of the hard times.
The day before Lance left, I briefly spoke to him on the phone. I was home sick, lying on the couch when he called. He was going through another “tough time” and wanted nothing more than to talk to me on the phone. I was sick and very short with him. He was able to quickly tell I was not in the mood and did not keep me on the phone very long. The next day I received a frantic phone call from his wife saying he had threatened suicide again and left their house after he had gathered a bunch of odd items like the garden hose.
Months went by. People randomly provided reports of seeing Lance at the grocery store. They would spot his truck in a parking lot or some other similar sighting. But none of the reports or police investigations turned up anything. The news finally came during deer season in the fall of 2003. I remember hugging and crying in the arms of Lance’s mother while we both were only able to mumble “it’s over.”
In typical “my buddy Lance” fashion, he duck taped the windows and doors of his truck and then did the same with a garden hose he placed in the exhaust. A hunter found his truck in some thick woods not far from a major road. He was missing for nearly 6 months.
At his funeral they asked his family and friends to stand up and tell a story about Lance’s life. I had chosen a story about one of our many wakeboarding outings, one that made me smile. In front of a church full of his family and friends I stood up and tried to speak. I managed to get four words out before I broke down in tears. “Lance was my friend” I said, before I lost complete control of my emotions. Take time to be there for your friends, you never know when it might be your last opportunity – this is one of many lessons I learned from Lance.
I miss you so much.
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Summer Solstice
Sandals, shorts and an optional T-shirt: my summer wardrobe.
On the longest day of the year and the first day of summer I am as giddy as a 7 year old boy on Christmas Eve. Throw in the fact that this year it comes on a Friday, right before a “lake” weekend, and you have a big kid that is going to accomplish very little at work! If you haven’t noticed yet, today marks the beginning of my favorite season. A season where you turn the heated seats off and keep your swimsuit on. A season that offers long evenings which often extend into the night and bathtub-warm water that invites you in, over and over again. Here’s to cold beer, the warmth of the sun, the sweet smell of coconut oils and tanned bodies! Summer is upon us.
I’m extremely excited about this summer. I have more reasons than ever to welcome in the season with open arms and a smile. I'm off to work on my tan!
On the longest day of the year and the first day of summer I am as giddy as a 7 year old boy on Christmas Eve. Throw in the fact that this year it comes on a Friday, right before a “lake” weekend, and you have a big kid that is going to accomplish very little at work! If you haven’t noticed yet, today marks the beginning of my favorite season. A season where you turn the heated seats off and keep your swimsuit on. A season that offers long evenings which often extend into the night and bathtub-warm water that invites you in, over and over again. Here’s to cold beer, the warmth of the sun, the sweet smell of coconut oils and tanned bodies! Summer is upon us.
I’m extremely excited about this summer. I have more reasons than ever to welcome in the season with open arms and a smile. I'm off to work on my tan!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The - Guitar - Song
Hey Kitten, whatcha doin'?
Wanna play the guitar?
You say, what's that sound
Coming out of the hole in the wood?
You say, what's that sound
Coming out of the hole in the wood?
You say, what's that sound
Coming out of the hole in the wood?
It's the guitar
"The Guitar Song" - The Dead Milkmen
My ability to play music stops at iTunes. I've always wanted to play a musical instrument. I remember being disappointed back in second grade when we were all given a "recorder" and had to learn to play - I remember thinking that we were each going to be given a "tape recorder" and somehow were going to be taught the proper way to play such a device - don't forget this was the 80's and a serious skill was to be able to synchronize the play button with the record&play button on dual tape decks. Granted, I never pursued an illustrious career as a recorder player, but have always wanted to play something.
I created a sort of goals list, not quite the bucket list, but things I'd like to do or learn. I was recently able to scratch off my #1 (finding my birth mother) so now it is on to #2 - learn to play the violin. So I changed my mind since I wrote the list - besides I've been told learning to play the guitar is a great foundation for learning to play the violin. With that said, I picked up an Ibanez acoustic guitar last night and can't wait until I know what I'm doing - so feel free to provide me any comments regarding learning to play.
My stimulus check went to good use - actually, I think I've spent it about 4 times!
Wanna play the guitar?
You say, what's that sound
Coming out of the hole in the wood?
You say, what's that sound
Coming out of the hole in the wood?
You say, what's that sound
Coming out of the hole in the wood?
It's the guitar
"The Guitar Song" - The Dead Milkmen
My ability to play music stops at iTunes. I've always wanted to play a musical instrument. I remember being disappointed back in second grade when we were all given a "recorder" and had to learn to play - I remember thinking that we were each going to be given a "tape recorder" and somehow were going to be taught the proper way to play such a device - don't forget this was the 80's and a serious skill was to be able to synchronize the play button with the record&play button on dual tape decks. Granted, I never pursued an illustrious career as a recorder player, but have always wanted to play something.
I created a sort of goals list, not quite the bucket list, but things I'd like to do or learn. I was recently able to scratch off my #1 (finding my birth mother) so now it is on to #2 - learn to play the violin. So I changed my mind since I wrote the list - besides I've been told learning to play the guitar is a great foundation for learning to play the violin. With that said, I picked up an Ibanez acoustic guitar last night and can't wait until I know what I'm doing - so feel free to provide me any comments regarding learning to play.
My stimulus check went to good use - actually, I think I've spent it about 4 times!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Open Letter to My Birth Mother
The process of searching for a birth parent is overwhelming. But my guide through this process suggested I write a letter to my birth mother, so if/when they found her they could let her know why I wanted to meet her. A few beers, one cold December eveing, and a shit load of tears later I had the following letter saved on the hard-drive of my laptop. My hopes were that she would read this letter and agree to consent - meaning she would allow the courts to release her information to me so we could communicate and start a relationship:
To the woman who gave birth to me:
December 19,2007
Dear Mom,
I love you. Rarely does a day go by that I do not think about you in some fashion. I wonder about the woman you were, the person you have become, and the unimaginable choice you had to make. I question whether you think about me and how I have grown. I wonder what you look like and where I got my dark hair, hazel colored eyes, and love for music. I speculate about your life without me and reflect on my life without you.
I admire you for your decision and your choice - the choice that afforded me a childhood that did not know hard-times, poverty, or hunger. I grew up with a family that loved me like one of their own – if not better. I am full of hope, love, and questions, not resentment, bitterness, or animosity.
I grew up always knowing I was adopted. I cannot recall a time when I thought or knew otherwise. I praise my adoptive parents for this. Nonetheless, I wanted to know more about you, my birthmother, from the time I could comprehend the meaning of adoption. These feelings only grew stronger as I grew older and as I questioned my own heritage. When I was eighteen, I was able to receive non-identifying information about you and your family. These three pages were, and have been, my only tangible link to you. I’ve read them over and over, and while they only capture you at a single moment in time they bestow me with just that – a view through a window into your life of some thirty plus years ago.
Since then, I’ve tried numerous methods of trying to find you. I’ve registered with the state, I’ve contacted the children’s home, I’ve registered on countless internet adoption match and registry sites. I’ve even tried a few other things…. All to no avail.
I’m writing you this letter as your son - the one that kicked you from the inside of your womb, the one you think about every St. Patrick’s Day – asking you to allow me back into your life, to let me to see your face and speak your name. I ache for these simple pleasures.
Your loving son,
Anthony Patrick – “Michael”
(she agreed to consent before they even read my letter to her)
To the woman who gave birth to me:
December 19,2007
Dear Mom,
I love you. Rarely does a day go by that I do not think about you in some fashion. I wonder about the woman you were, the person you have become, and the unimaginable choice you had to make. I question whether you think about me and how I have grown. I wonder what you look like and where I got my dark hair, hazel colored eyes, and love for music. I speculate about your life without me and reflect on my life without you.
I admire you for your decision and your choice - the choice that afforded me a childhood that did not know hard-times, poverty, or hunger. I grew up with a family that loved me like one of their own – if not better. I am full of hope, love, and questions, not resentment, bitterness, or animosity.
I grew up always knowing I was adopted. I cannot recall a time when I thought or knew otherwise. I praise my adoptive parents for this. Nonetheless, I wanted to know more about you, my birthmother, from the time I could comprehend the meaning of adoption. These feelings only grew stronger as I grew older and as I questioned my own heritage. When I was eighteen, I was able to receive non-identifying information about you and your family. These three pages were, and have been, my only tangible link to you. I’ve read them over and over, and while they only capture you at a single moment in time they bestow me with just that – a view through a window into your life of some thirty plus years ago.
Since then, I’ve tried numerous methods of trying to find you. I’ve registered with the state, I’ve contacted the children’s home, I’ve registered on countless internet adoption match and registry sites. I’ve even tried a few other things…. All to no avail.
I’m writing you this letter as your son - the one that kicked you from the inside of your womb, the one you think about every St. Patrick’s Day – asking you to allow me back into your life, to let me to see your face and speak your name. I ache for these simple pleasures.
Your loving son,
Anthony Patrick – “Michael”
(she agreed to consent before they even read my letter to her)
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