The Rapist in the Neighborhood

Have you felt someone watching you?

Have you heard a noise in the house and have been convinced someone is there?

Have searched for an intruder with a baseball bat/butcher knife/gun in hand?

Have you walked around the outside of your home at two in the morning, certain that someone is hiding in the bushes?

Fear captivates us all.

When I was a child, we lived near a convicted rapist. This is no joke, but this is before the time of sex offender websites. (Have you explored those and found the creeps in your neighborhood? It’s frightening.)

But our rapist did not keep to himself. He enjoyed the attention. He had a large tree in his front yard, a trunk as wide as a car, leaves like a cloud that hid his window.

He knew the neighbors knew about him. He knew the neighbors were terrified of him.

My grandmother was convinced he was out for her. In her 60s at that time, she cried at night, “He’s gonna get me! I just know it!” I laughed and replied, “Grandma, I doubt he wants those 60 year old chicken legs.” She frowned at me and locked her door.

Then the most interesting thing happened in our neighborhood. He used large, white adhesive tape and wrote a letter on the car-sized trunk of his tree each day. The first letter was “I.”

“What does it mean?” the neighbors asked.

The next day he wrote the letter “A.”

We held our breath and waited for the next day. The new letter was “M.”

“I am… I am what?” the neighbors wondered.

Then he followed a 14 year old girl home from the park. My friends and I spent an evening planning a battle.

“What should we do?” I asked my older, wiser neighbor friend. He was 16.

“Eggs,” he said with confidence. “Eggs.”

The next day, with that obnoxiously large white tape, he put up the letter “W.” We responded by tossing eggs at his front door and windows, laughing at these adult fears with a childlike naivety.

His message continued, one letter each day. After “W” came “A.” Then “T.” Then “C.” And then “H.” Next was “I.” Then “N.” And “G.” And then “Y and O and U.”

“I AM WATCHING YOU,” my grandmother read, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. But he wasn’t done.

On the next day after the message was complete, he used the white tape to construct a smiley face. That was the last thing he wrote on his tree.

“I AM WATCHING YOU :)”

The older boys in the neighborhood had more than enough. They moved from eggs to baseball bats, and in one crazy night, they took the bats to his door, to his car, and to his windows. They bashed in the door, shattered the glass windows all along the front and sides of his house, and turned his cheap car into a nothing more than an incredibly dented piece of metal.

He called the cops on those kids, as I watched from the sidelines. I don’t know what happened to those brave and obnoxious teens. I was forced to go inside by my parents.

Later that summer, we read an article in the local paper about this man. He was arrested, thankfully, once again. He was caught by a police officer masturbating in a park while watching children. I had never been so disgusted in my young life.

This is one of the creepiest memories from my childhood at home, and I think he’d make a great villain in one of my stories. It took place in the early 90s, before the time of cell phones and internet. It was one of the last years before we could search online for predators. We lived in fear and ignorance. We had to read the paper each day for updates, as nothing was instant. And no one could post photos of the letters he put up on his tree each day to publicly condemn his behavior.

My grandmother really did think she would be attacked. This pervert really did stalk a 14 year old girl. We really did egg his house, and several older boys really did violently destroy much of his property. And they were punished while he smiled with his letters on his tree, that is until he was caught doing a disgusting public act near children.

He will be a villain in one my stories. He will do terrible things. And he will be punished for it.

Sting, a poem

Lots of metaphors here need to be strengthened. If you've been following my blog, you know a lot of this is my writing practice, a place to think and create. Here's a little poem I played with for about fifteen minutes. Not nearly enough time to make something great, but I'm keeping up with my goal of writing once a day. Have comments for strengthening the metaphors and clarifying the image? Share if you wish. But be kind. It's a lot easier to write about a random thought or insight in fifteen minutes than it is to construct a poem! This will be something I'd like to return to later and revise.

Sharp and surprising, that stinger.

The bee is gone before the pain sets in.

Rubbing my hand, there’s nothing to see

But a red mark and inflamed skin.

Where did it come from?

The villain is gone now, not a scent in the air.

I wonder about pain. I wonder about beauty.

I wonder about flowers and bees and perfect harmony.

There is beauty all around.

Look at that butterfly by the flower.

There is pain all around.

Look at the bruise on my hand.

Memories are like this.

A shock to the system from out of the blue.

One moment a smile. One memory a tear.

Dangerous hives bring sweet honey.

Life will bring you pleasure and pain.

There is no day without night, no spring without rain.

And joy can bring a powerful sting.

Even the most beautiful of days have bruises.

To a Dear Friend, With Love

This post is dedicated to a dear friend.

We are a part of nature. We know that as a part of nature, we live and we will someday die. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less sad, however. It’s a way of trying to be logical with our minds, but when it comes to death, it’s our hearts that are torn apart, and no logic or reasoning can sooth the pain of a broken heart.

It’s particularly tragic when someone far too young passes away. We view our lives with a series of milestones, and it’s deeply sad to know the many years of joy someone will never know. We cannot beat ourselves up on what we could have done. We must mourn and grieve, cry and yell. But we also must remember and celebrate life, take care of those around us, celebrate the years someone had, even if they were far too short.

I know a good mother. When talking to her about visiting a troubled son, she once told me, “I’m going to hug him and kick his ass. But probably not in that order.” She loved him no matter his mistakes, like a good mother. She did everything in her power to discipline and help him, like a good mother. She was always there for him. I hope you know that. We always have a thought that we could have done more. But you did everything you could. Everything.

It is not right for the old to bury the young. It is not right for a parent to bury a child. It is not right and it is not fair, and I can think of nothing worse in life.

My dad passed away at too young of an age. Only in his early 60s, he should have had many golden years to live and laugh. I had to see him die slowly, moving from hospital to hospital, from nursing home to nursing home, with no brothers or sisters to help, as I was an only child. When he passed, my family knew it was also a blessing because he was in so much pain. But still I suffered and cried. I remember trying to go to bed that first night, but I began sobbing uncontrollably. It hit me like the flu, powerful and terrible and uncontrollable. I moved from the bed to the bathroom, where I sobbed by the toilet. I will never forget that night, as I have never experienced such painful sorrow.

But even with that: I knew it was coming. I knew he would pass, and I guess you could say I was blessed that I had months to prepare for it. I cannot imagine the shock of losing a loved one, especially a young and healthy loved one. No preparation. No chance to say a final good-bye. It’s the epitome of tragedy. What does one do?

I don’t know. I’m not an expert and I have not experienced that. Cry. Cry a lot. Never be ashamed of tears or emotions. Cuss. Cuss a lot. Never be ashamed of the power of words. Pray. Pray a lot. Search for a deeper meaning. When those stages pass (and really they never do—I will be doing fine for months, and a memory of my father hits me like a bee sting out of nowhere and those emotions come back all over again), I think we have to learn and celebrate. Cherish the stories and the photos. Do something in his memory. Find a purpose to fulfill the emptiness. Celebrate the years he lived and all the times he helped others and made someone smile.

Who isn’t terrified of death? Who doesn’t absolutely dread the day we must deal with the loss of a loved one? We will have those days, and if you are fortunate to have many loved ones, then you may experience many such days over a lifetime.

I’ve always thought that you can’t fight emotion with logic. We will think that we could have done more, we will be terribly sad, we will hate the world that caused this, and we will cry. Telling yourself it’s not your fault is logical, but it doesn’t help. The only way I know how to fight emotions is to be emotional. Let the tears flow. But find ways to smile and laugh. Find positive emotions to fight the negative, and live your life. Your life is every bit as special too, and we cannot forget to live while mourning the death of a loved one.

This all may be garbage, who knows. But when I want to reflect, I take to pen or paper (or a keyboard).

Dear friend. I am here for you. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. Please know that there are many people who love you, people who will help you stand tall when you feel weak.

All my love,

Joe

P.S. I know you’ve probably seen this before. I’m not shy in sharing it. I read it at my dad’s memorial, and it holds deep meaning for me. This is an excerpt from Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays With Morrie.

“I heard a nice little story the other day,” Morrie says. He closes his eyes for a moment and I wait.

“Okay. The story is about a little wave, bobbing along in the ocean, having a grand old time. He’s enjoying the wind and the fresh air — until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore."

“‘My God, this is terrible,’ the wave says ‘Look what’s going to happen to me!’”

“Then along comes another wave. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and it says to him, ‘Why do you look so sad?’"

“The first wave says, ‘You don’t understand! We’re all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be nothing! Isn’t it terrible?’"

“The second wave says, ‘No, you don’t understand. You’re not a wave, you’re part of the ocean.’"

I smile. Morrie closes his eyes again.

“Part of the ocean,” he says. “Part of the ocean.” I watch him breathe, in and out, in and out.

The Best Fitness Class is . . .

For those of you who have been reading this blog, I like to write a lot about accomplishing goals and striving for success. I'm also sharing little short stories and creative writing pieces at times, as one of my goals is to practice my writing. Fitness, however, is a huge part of my life, and I want to share some fitness motivation with you. And as a teaser, if you keep reading, I'm going to tell you what the BEST fitness class is!

No matter what you do in life or what you want to accomplish, I have always encouraged others to incorporate fitness. It sharpens the mind. It energizes us, we feel better, and we sleep better. When all of that happens, you find that you have more energy and greater focus for the other things you wish to accomplish. There’s just no excuse not to do it! And if you want to tell me that you’re too busy: foolishness! I can promise you that I'm pretty busy too. But I find time to brush my teeth every day because that’s important. You can find time to exercise too. Because it's important!

I love some time on my own in a weight room or out on a run, bike ride, or hike. It’s good to have that meditative, independent time. But what I want to do here is encourage you and challenge you to get involved in group exercise. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for my fitness.

In group exercise, I’ve made new friends and found many new mentors and inspirations. I’m motivated by the great music and the fun atmosphere. I learn more about fitness and technique all the time. And I work harder and make the most of my time. You can get a great workout on your own, of course. But you will be motivated MORE, learn MORE, and have MORE fun in a fun setting with other participants chasing a goal similar to yours all the while being led by a motivated and trained fitness leader. My point: You get MORE out of group fitness!

I’ve been a certified fitness instructor for over three years now, and I work at a facility with dozens of great classes. So what should you try? And what’s the best? Let me tell you about a few of my favorites. These are some of the classes offered at the fitness center where I teach.

BODY PUMP: This is a full-body strength class that uses barbells and dumbbells. It’s fantastic for toning, weight loss, strength, and endurance. The moves are matched to music, and it’s always a motivating and rewarding class!

P90X LIVE: P90X LIVE is the group format of the classic home DVD series. Like Pump, you’ll get an amazing strength and endurance workout. It’s not choreographed to music; it’s more of a boot camp (do this one move for one minute), so if you prefer to work at your own pace but still have a motivating group environment, it’s a great option for you.

BODY COMBAT: What a great martial arts inspired class! You punch and kick your way to a leaner body with the spirit of a fighter. Moves are choreographed to music, but they are easy to follow and learn. You’ll feel like Rocky at the end of a workout!

TURBO KICK: Like Combat, it’s punching and kicking, but if Combat is the main fight, then Turbo is the victory celebration after the fight! It has a lot of athletic moves and a rave-like feel. There's a ton of variety to the choreography and you will never be bored. This class is all about energy and creating that party-like atmosphere.

BODY FLOW: It’s the ultimate yoga + Pilates class that leaves you feeling calm and refreshed. You’ll stretch the body and strengthen the core and end with meditation and relaxation. It’s an absolutely beautiful workout-- good for the body, mind, and soul.

RPM/Spinning: Who doesn’t love a bike? Now, add a fun instructor and high-energy music and take a spin with a group of motivated people! You’ll use resistance to burn mega calories and strengthen the body all in a fun and challenging atmosphere.

There are a ton of other classes, but I won’t lie: The above are my favorites to take. I teach P90X and Turbo Kick, but respect all of the classes. I recently got certified in KettleWorX and look forward to adding the uniqueness of kettle bell training to my workouts too.

Now, what’s the best?

The answer is simple. The best fitness class is the one you do. We all take pride in our individual interests, but egos aside, what matters most is that you are active. If you take a class, you’ll learn new things every time you workout. It’s not just working out; it’s an education too! And when you’re surrounded by other people and a motivating instructor, you will find yourself working harder than if you were on your own.

One of the common themes I write about when it comes to achieving goals is this: it’s often the positive influence of others that really help you succeed. The same is true for fitness. Try different classes and find a format that you like. You won’t like them all, and that’s ok. That’s why we have so many! There is something for everyone. You’ll find encouraging instructors and supporting participants like yourself, and when you put that together, you will get better results and will learn to enjoy exercise.

Do you have a favorite class? Why do you love it? Let me know in the comments. 

Who am I? Who are you?

I sit down during the summer of my life and the fall of the year to ask, “Who am I?”

We all need to consider the big questions from time to time.  The who, the why, the how.  We need to know who we are, what the world is, who others are.  We need to know about the big guy upstairs and little guys surrounding us.  Essentially, who we are, who I am, is somewhat dependent on those answers.

I am made of elements, atoms, cells, those science things.  I will die and someday return those elements to the earth as I decompose.  The earth will swallow me whole, and a part of me may appear in a rose, a dandelion, be eaten by a raven, a cow, and maybe pop up in a happy meal.  That’s kinda weird, but kinda true.  One way or another, we will return to the earth.  We are part of something bigger.

But who am I?  What makes me unique beyond those points?

I fear at 35 that I sometimes forget the face of my younger selves.  Who was I when I was 4?  7?  17?  21?  Who I am is who I was . . . time is a lazy river that never ends, and I am the part of that lazy river from when I was born up until now.

I try to remember what the child Joe felt.  I want to look him in the eyes and ask him questions about the world.  I wonder how he’d answer.  I want to know what the puberty Joe felt.  I want to remember his hormones, his humors, his fears. 

Sometimes I feel that I am on top of the world; sometimes I feel that the world is on top of me.  Sometimes I yell with enthusiasm; sometimes I can barely breathe at all.  But I don’t think this is unusual.  It just . . . is.  There are days where I can accomplish anything.  There are days where the actions of the world sadden me to a point where I don’t want to get out of bed.  Thank God for coffee.

I am inspired and passionate. 

I am my family.  I have the fire of my grandmother, the fire that caused her to hit my four year old head with a telephone receiver because I first did that to her.  I have the laziness of a hard-working grandfather (RIP) .  He worked his bones dry and desired nothing but comfort and relaxation in the winter of his life.  I am my father (RIP)—his jumbled brain and maniac thoughts.  I am my mother—empathetic and sensitive but coated with a turtle shell that grows harder to defend against life’s blows.  I always want to feel, always want that passion, and the few times I’ve lost it, the few times it began to slip away, I grew cold and frightened.  My passion and fire are everything.

I am the kindergartner who threw racecars into other kids’ building blocks to destroy their castles. 

I am the 7^th grader who almost failed science because I fell in love with the most beautiful girl in the world, and she had to sit right next to me.

I am the 8^th grader whose best friend did the worst thing a friend could do another.

I am the 9^th grader who pretended to be sick so that I could stay up late and finish a horror novel.

I am the 10^th grader who encountered great evil and was surrounded by a gang of kids violently swinging baseball bats.  I am he who said I would learn how to not be afraid.

I am the 11^th grader who had his self-esteem smashed by two teachers, teachers he respected, teachers who hated the youth they had lost.  I am he who vowed never to let young people encounter the wrath of such demons, at least not in my classroom.

I am the 12^th grader who rarely showed up for school because I lost enthusiasm for learning.

I am the college student who vowed his life would mean something.  I am he who decided to devote my energy to others, who found passion, meaning and inspiration all around him: some wonderful professors, amazing friends, and incredible experiences.

I have known true love.  I have experienced the loss of people close to me.  I have had a gun pointed at me head and thought I would surely die. 

Now, thirty-five years later I am just getting used to being called “Professor.” It feels good.  No, it feels great.  But we all wear many masks; we all have many faces.  These are but a few.

I am a little of all that surrounds me.  I am you, and you are me too. 

                                                                                      

World Championships & Life Lessons

When we take to social media or the blogosphere, it’s easy to want to brag about one’s successes. I’m guilty of that, but I hope such stories are also covered in humility.

Virtually all of our success, I would argue, is a combination of the positive influence of others and our own determination. But with that said, I thought I’d share a story of when I reached for the stars…. and fell on my face. I want to share examples like that though in the framework of something positive.

When I pursue a new goal, I think of two sayings.

Always happy; never satisfied & It’s ok to be disappointed; it’s not ok to be discouraged.

I just sent out two more queries this afternoon on the novel I wrote this summer. As I pursue that larger writing goal, I think of those two quotes.

In a previous blog, I wrote about how to reach success after setbacks. I’m trying to look at my ambitions from a variety of perspectives, trying to find some extra motivation to reach new goals. And I find it helpful to look at those setbacks more closely.

One of my biggest goals from the last decade was to compete and place in the US Open World Martial Arts Championships. After some success in local tournaments, my eyes got bigger. I was happy, you see, but not satisfied. That seems to be a pattern for me, much more so when I was younger. But I think having constant new challenges is healthy for the mind, body, and spirit. I do want to be happy—and I am—but I also don’t want to be too content or too satisfied that I never stop learning and challenging myself.

So back in the mid 2000s, I made a goal to place in the US Open World Martial Arts Championships. I competed in the adult black belt forms division in the summer of 2005. Talk about stage fright! ESPN was there recording on the main stage where black belts competed (no, I never saw myself on TV), and as I announced my form introduction, I thought I would surely throw up on the judges. Here are a couple of pictures of my actual forms competition at the world championships.

That was a great summer for training. I worked out every day, completing the formal 90 day P90X program for the first time that would later inspire me to want to become a P90X certified instructor. I also practiced my kata (form)  a dozen times a day at least.

There were over 100 competitors on that main stage, and only the top ten received formal awards. When all was said and done, I was not one of the top ten. I do not know where I ranked to this day, although I sure like to think it was somewhere in the teens! Not knowing my rank and not placing in the top ten disappoints me still. For all of you who work so hard to accomplish something: Have you ever felt that disappointment? I must have trained and worked out 3 hours a day that summer. And when I first looked back at all that hard work, it felt like it was for nothing. But that’s stupid, and if we think all the work we’ve put into something—even if we didn’t earn a reward—is worthless, we are missing the big point.

It’s ok to be disappointed. It’s not ok to be discouraged. All the hard work we put into our life’s ambitions makes us stronger, and even if we fail (I hate that word) at one goal, we can apply that determinism and the life lessons we learned to new goals.  Competing in the world championships was a great life experience for me, and the lessons I learned would be passed on to my martial arts students, several of whom competed in the US Open World Martial Arts Championships a couple years later. Several of those students placed and have “world champion” on their resume. That is pretty sweet!

You see, as I work to publish a novel (or any number of goals), I remember my training to compete in the US Open. I practiced every day. Well, the daily writing I do on this blog is some my writing practice (plus revisions and other stories I don’t want to share publicly yet). And if like my US Open experience, what if my biggest writing goals never come to life? That’s ok. Because I am having fun on this journey, and learning new things about myself, about others who share their writing and blogs with me, and about others who leave comments and send me messages. That makes all of this practice worth it. And if nothing else, my writing skills will sharpen as I age, right? My ability to compete athletically may not increase as I age. So thankfully this goal only requires some time to sit and imagine!

Thank you for all of you who encourage me to write and are rooting for me to succeed. Tell me about  your goals and ambitions, and I am every bit as happy to cheer for you too. Remember: It’s the influence of others plus our own determination that are the two main ingredients for success.

The Story of Hachiko

I love a spontaneous adventure, especially one that remains in memory for over a decade. I thought I’d share the great story of Hachiko the dog, an adventure my friend Rachel and I experienced back in the summer of 2000.

We were both studying abroad in Tokyo, Japan, and at school we heard this great story of a loyal dog and his love for his owner.

According to the story, Hachi was one of the most loyal dogs ever known. His owner took the subway to work, and each day, Hachiko would await for his owner’s return at the subway station. But one day, his owner passed away, and the dog waited and waited. This trailer can sum up the story best, although keep in mind this simply an Americanized version of the Japanese story.

(Note: When I heard this movie was on DVD, I bought it and purchased one night shipping from Amazon. The movie is ok.  Really, you only need to watch the trailer.)

When we heard this story, we were told a statue had been created in memory of Japan’s most loyal dog. Of course, Rachel and I wanted to find the statue. We left on an adventure, before the convenience of GPS and cell-phones, and had only a handy guide book and our imaginations to find the statue.

We got lost. Big time. We had left the subway station and wondered around in an unknown part of Tokyo. We had seriously gotten to the point where we thought we wouldn’t find our way back or even find anyone who could speak English and help us return.

I can laugh today at the memory of my friend threatening to throw my guide book over a bridge, but in that moment almost fifteen years ago, there were fears and tears and it was far from humorous. We hunched down on the pavement, studying the guide book, trying to find our way back, when a Japanese man came to us and said, “Do you two need help?” It was the most beautiful English we had ever heard.

“We were trying to find the Hachiko statue,” I said.

“Oh, you’re pretty far from that. It’s right outside the subway, in a courtyard by the main entrance.”

How did we manage to walk what felt like miles into an unknown part of the city when the statue was right outside the subway doors? I have no idea.

We made it back, thanks to the guidance of this kind man, and we got to see the statue.

Doesn’t look like much does it? Yeah, it was easy to miss. My friend, I think, distrusted my navigational skills the rest of our trip, but I’ll say this: There’s something about getting lost in a foreign country that sticks with you for a lifetime.

Inspired by the original story of Hachi and our not so epic adventure, I decided my first dog as an adult would be named Hachiko. Here he is.

(Note: A second great little story is that Rachel and I were roommates for a bit. She had taken a job teaching in France, and while she was gone, I couldn’t wait to get my puppy. Originally, I was going to wait until she returned. But no, I have always been impulsive. One day she called from France and heard me say, “Quiet, Hachiko!” Can you imagine her shock?)

Like the original Hachiko, I can’t imagine a more loyal pup. He cries when I leave the house, still to this day, ten years old now. I hear him cry through the windows as I get in my car to drive to work. He even knows when I’m leaving. Sadness consumes his eyes, and he physically shakes. He’ll try to sneak out with me too, and a couple of times, he’s even managed to run out and jump in my car as I’m trying to leave.

I can’t deny that sometimes it can be annoying, especially when I’m in a hurry. But when I can detach from that human craziness, it’s a beautiful thing to see a creature so loyal. It’s the most pure form of love and attachment. As the famous quote says, “A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”