tazzybehr

Through the last little while, I’ve experienced a metamorphosis unlike anything I’ve had happen within my 46 years on this earth. I have to say that the change has been dramatic to put it mildly.

From battling physical demons in a hospital room right through to having my universe forever altered by stark realizations from my educators, everything in my field of view has been completely transformed. To say I’m blessed would be an understatement! I’ve gotten to know God on a whole new level, and what I’m seeing is light years beyond wondrous. But through all this, there have been painful realizations as well. I’ve had friends fall by the wayside, and supplanted with new and much deeper realms of love and understanding from within.

I’ve arrived at a conclusion that nothing is forever, and to glean what goodness you can from each moment. For those moments are truly all that matter in the grand scheme of things. Friends will always be there, even when the conditions of these relationships change. In saying that, one truth that came to me quite suddenly. If I wanted my spirit to soar and evolve, things in my life were most decidedly going to change to allow for my continued growth. I need to perceive the world around myself differently, so I too could start to think about myself in new and distinctive terms. In stating that, I would also need to learn to start approaching my relationships from an altered perspective as well. What was can never be again.

What I’m getting at is the law of attraction. From this theory, I am learning that I will attract what I send. In simple terms, if I think and act in negatives, I will attract negatives. Quite a concept. But honestly, whilst I lay in that hospital room, I knew inexplicably, that I’d be OK. I never for a moment doubted that. It was that positive train of thought that helped me not only recover, but also allowed me to miraculously salvage my educational goals, ones that were almost lost to me due to my illness. Remarkably, there was a switch in my perceptions during this turmoil. Something deep inside me started to emerge. I started having a great deal of trouble dealing with negative attitudes. It’s as if I had a mirror thrown up at me, and I saw how counter-productive a negative thought could be. But more importantly, I realized that one small negative thought could snowball into a larger set of negatives. If I was to succeed, I needed to cut through all that, and start examining myself through a new set of eyes.

Enter into my world, the word “gratitude”.

I am now writing to my readers, not to preach, nor to really even educate, but rather, to prove that change is absolutely possible. It has to start from within. Without becoming aware your own shortcomings, one resigns themselves to a life that lacks forward momentum and growth.

A friend once wrote “Rebirth f***ing hurts.” I disagree.

To me, rebirth is an amazing experience. It’s as if a set of blinders lifted, and once you see your path, you start to discover greatness finding its way to you. Now, that’s not to say that hard work and diligence aren’t required here. You absolutely need to put in the effort, otherwise, you’re doomed to failure.

The stage I’m at in my new journey is the “gratitude” stage, as I mentioned earlier. I’m grateful for the strangest things. For instance, I’m grateful I almost died in April. Why? Well, it has to do with the fact that it took this experience to wake me up to the fact that I’m surrounded by love and support. I don’t honestly think it ever really sunk in until I found myself struggling to get well. It also made me a much wiser person. As a result, I’m now taking nothing for granted, and learning to start appreciating the gifts I’m endowed with.

God is good.

I’m truly a blessed human being. And I know I have a purpose. But I have a lot of character flaws, which I need to change my attitude about. But, by the same token, I also have a lot of good inside me. Sometimes it isn’t clear, but beneath a cold exterior lays the heart of a loving spirit, one which tries every day to allow itself permission that it be more ”present”. I may stumble here and there, but one day, I know I’ll get it right.

Another part of me that is taking a major shift is my perceptions of the world. Up until now, I’ve had the mindset that I want to keep negativity away from me. But I’m learning that what I, in fact, have done is attracted it with that mindset. So, a polar shift has occurred. In place of said thought, I now wake up each day asking  that I be surrounded by positive people. And, to my surprise, it’s working out beautifully. I’m seeing so much goodness come my way with this new attitude that I’m having trouble processing it.

So…with all this laid to script, I would like to present a list of things I’m grateful for:

I’m grateful for the air in my lungs

I’m grateful for the rain

I’m grateful for my friends

I’m grateful for the love I have known in this life

I’m grateful for my family

I’m grateful for new ideas

I’m grateful I’m not too old to learn new things

I’m grateful I see the flaws within

I’m even more grateful that I am able to change them

I’m grateful for every negative experience I’ve ever gone through in my life…for without them, I’d never have made it to this place I’m at now

I’m grateful for the things I thought were liabilities, that with closer observation, are actually gifts

I’m grateful I had parents that were strict and butted into my life as often as they did

I’m grateful the people who sometimes say hurtful things. Despite the pain, you get to see things with clarity when the smoke clears.

And…lastly, but MOST importantly,

I’m grateful to God for being here to learn about gratitude.

I may stumble and skin my knees a few more times on this journey, but I can promise the world one thing. I won’t ever give up, nor will I ever let anyone ever tell me I can’t. I know now that I absolutely can. That, perhaps, is what I’m most grateful for out of all of this.

Stay positive, stay focused, stay true to your vision.

“You get what you give, so give your very best”

I’ve had an interesting life.  From humbling pratfalls to the sweet taste of success, I certainly cannot lay claim to leading an existence built on sameness. As I’ve come to realize over the years, it’s very much a family trait.

You see, the environment in which myself, and my entire family all came out of was far from normal. For the most part, we all had to struggle out of our environments to get to where we are today.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Well, each and every one of us, from cousins to grandparents are proof positive of that expression.

To sum us all up in one word…survivors.

I’m very proud that I am among them. On a few occasions, I very nearly wasn’t. However, God built me “Ford Tough”, and here I sit today, writing this blurb as a testament to that fact. I am truly grateful that I can celebrate my heritage here and now with my readers.

There was a time, not all that long ago, that I could not see things so clearly. My life was in ruins. Within my tunnel-vision, all I could see was the exit sign before me. It seemed no matter how hard I struggled, I always tumbled right back into that dark, dank pit of self-destruction. Fortunately, a spirit higher than myself had other plans, and it became clear that no self-inflicted solution would ever be successful. I also started to see some truth that honestly hadn’t been clearly evident.

I had love and respect from my friends and family. I was also wanted by them. And, I was worthy of both. Once these truths took hold, everything changed.

My mother promised me during my blackest hours that if I could just hang on, the clouds would eventually clear, and the second half of my life would be a better deal. I’m forever grateful that I have her loving words to guide me through my continuing journey. She helped me navigate some hellish curves in the road. I don’t know if there are enough thanks in this life I could offer her for just being there for me.

As it’s turned out, she hit the nail on the head. Today, I am seeing blessing after beautiful blessing enter my life, and for the very first time, remaining with me. I’m so glad I can still tell her I love her. A great many of my friends would kill for that same privilege with their own parents.

I also have a world-class father. He’s a constant source of inspiration to me. This is a man who rose out of poverty and strife, to become not only successful, but also one of the most resilient man I’ve ever met. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING has ever taken him down. He’s tackled demons no one I know could ever survive. Yet, he’s still here, with a big old smile spread across his face.

I remember fondly when I was growing up, his interest in helping me to see my potential. He once told me I have the makings of a leader in life. That statement was alien to me, and remained so for many years. But as I become older and uglier, I am starting to finally understand what he saw. I march to my own rhythms, seem to have the natural ability to lead by example as well as the gift of being able to guide through my words. I am also fearless when I finally set my mind to something bold and life-changing. All of these traits I developed from some tough but always loving parents.

I knew some friends that had parents, once they passed, that had left them a great deal in terms of property, bank notes, insurance, what have you. While that’s all well and good, I know I have already inherited much greater wealth.

Life skills.

I know that when the chips are down, I can tough it out. I know that despite my occasional lack of self-confidence, underneath the foolishness, I am a winner. I also know that when my back is against the wall, I have the strength to come out on top, with both eyes still wide open. No Met Life insurance policy can ever top that.

I’ve also inherited a wonderful sense of humour, phenomenal empathy skills, incredible work ethic and a razor-sharp mind. Because of both my parents, I’m probably one of the best problem solvers you will ever come across. It all comes from that can-do spirit that courses through my veins.

So, on this St. Patty’s day, whilst everyone is out and about tonight, drinking green beer, and likely causing general mayhem, I will be here, smiling, tinkering with an old stereo I am  hell-bent and determined to restore. I will be using every single work-appropriate skill my parents have given me to meet that goal.

I work with no blueprint.

I work with no schematic.

I only work with my mind, my hands, and my determination.

Thank you Ma. Thank you Dad. Both of you gave me more throughout this life than maybe you realize. I many never inherit a dime, as was the case when your parents moved onto the afterlife. But what I do have is so much more valuable than folding money.

Happy St. Patty’s folks.

Da Taz!

Today I learned that my all-time favourite blues singer, Etta James, had finally succumbed to a long and painful bout with Leukaemia. Although I knew the end was near, that she was battling Dementia among other ailments that finally overtook her life, and later ended it, it still took me by surprise.

I am not ashamed to admit I had a little cry over learning she was finally out of pain, and in God’s hands.

I know, it sounds odd that I’d shed a tear over a person I have never met, but like a few others I’ve cried over throughout these years, I truly felt like she was a cherished friend.

I had a bit of a bawl when Karen Carpenter succumbed to complications from Anorexia in the eighties. She was a constant companion throughout my childhood, much like Olivia Newton-John was. I welled up when Gene Kelly finally passed. He was my inspiration during my brief career as a dancer, and was the reason I wanted to dance professionally in the first place. And I cried when Laura Branigan died of a brain tumour in her sleep. She represented a period of my misspent young adult years. I loved every record she put out, and mourned when I learned there would never be another song sung with her one of a kind voice.

But Etta was someone special. She held a very unique place in my heart. You see, Etta was my introduction to the blues. I remember my mother had a scratchy old record without a sleeve in her record collection, “Etta James Top Ten” . First song, as is posted in large letters on the album cover, “Pushover“, was the one I played to death when Mama wasn’t about. Only later did I start investigating the rest of the album. I found myself totally loving every song track on that old album.

I played this until one day it vanished

Then one day, the album vanished. I always assumed Mama caught wind of me playing her record and hid it to keep it from being further ruined with my cheap record player. I did miss that album.

It was years later that I spotted an Etta CD with this complete song list at a record store. I couldn’t get my money out fast enough. And it’s a fair bet that I drove my poor ex insane with the disk. I played it constantly. Likely gave him grounds for making my life hell, seeing as I bestowed the same giftie on him.

But, despite his loathing of my overplayed CD, he saw fit to gift me with an Etta CD. I played “Time After Time” until his poor ears bled. And over the years, I’ve added to that collection. Loved me some Etta.

When “Cadillac Records” came out, my ex asked me if I’d like to join him at a small theatre to see the film. I have to tell you that watching Beyoncé play a thinner, more glammed up Etta was a treat. Despite her not really deeply resembling Etta, she did catch the nuances of Etta’s style pretty well. Certainly a well infused performance, exceeding my expectations.

I read Etta’s autobiography “Rage To Survive” some years earlier, and really felt a great deal more connected with this wonderfully open creation from God. She spoke of the horrors she’d endured throughout her life, stuff that would have killed just about anyone else, about her love for her “secret angels”, or in plain English, gay men, and how she deeply loved and admired them for being who they were, despite the odds. I honestly believe she felt as she did due to the fact that she faced as much adversity and prejudice throughout her life as most gay men at that time did. Also, she always received much better treatment from us “softer” men than she did from the supposed “real” men.

Gave me another reason to love her. Deep down, I wanted to be one of her secret angels. I suspect we’d have a lot of war stories to exchange.

Etta is, and will always be, my favourite blues singer. Nothing this woman recorded is less than not only her very best, but has so much more feeling than sometimes the lyrics warranted. She was the perfect blend of Ella, Billie and Dinah, yet managed to put a completely new and unique singing style out on the radio waves. And the world fell in love.

Etta was so much more than “At Last ”. She was the embodiment of grit, guts and glory. She was a fighter. Etta was a survivor. And most of all, Etta could make you feel, deep down, every nuance of pain and pleasure she had within her own life.

No one will ever replace her sound, or be her equal.

Girl, you keep God smiling now that he’s called you home. We down here will remember you always.

Cheerz.

Christmas comes but once a year, and for this fact, I am truly grateful. It’s wonderful that so many good vibrations seem to find their way to you, I truly wish the goodness could be gifted upon us all throughout the year. I mean, how much smiling can one cynic take in such a concentrated dose!  Perhaps that little slice of the not-so-nice helps me to keep the good stuff in perspective.

I had the privilege of being able to share Christmas with my whole family this year. It truly was a blessing from God.

How different things are now, looking through my middle-aged eyes. Let’s rewind a couple of generations to when I was a boy.

When I was young I remember anticipating the “big event”. We rug rats were on our best behaviour, hoping it would eradicate all the mischief and mayhem we created for ourselves the other 51 weeks of the year. Santa would surely overlook the day you tried to make your sister eat dog leavings. And yes, there was that time you insisted your all-knowing parents accept your story about how that blown light socket came to be. It was merely a by-product of Keebler Elves innocently attempting to teach you the basics of electrical safety.

Yeah…”Santa” surely bought that “angelic child” act. Riiiggggt.

So, the big day arrives. The child collective all rise up in a rare alliance with a single mission; implore their sleep deprived parents to allow them to descend upon the brilliantly coloured bounty lying beneath that needle-dropping fire hazard one floor below. With half conscious parents in tow, the shred brigade begin their acts of violence upon the once carefully wrapped items intended for them. If you were anything like me as a kid, socks, underwear, clothes, hand-made Phentex items made with love from an aunt all went flying across the room. Your quest had yet to reward you with your version of the Holy Grail.

Suddenly you spot a box…just about the right size. Could it be? YESSSSS, it is.

When the fall TV season commenced, so did the annual “brain washing” campaign. Ad after tantalizing ad implored that Saturday morning participant that if you didn’t have that G.I. Joe with Kung Fu grip or that Barbie Dream Space Shuttle, you’d surely be relegated to the D-List at your school. So your own campaign began. Slow and sure won the race, so little hints (most likely thinly veiled demands) were meted out over the next few weeks. Then, because time was growing shorter, in around November, the campaign on TV ramped up to stage-two alert. And you can bet your own personal vendetta against your parents sanity did as well. With each week’s count down towards December 25th a child would roll out their best material. There would be tears. There would be imploring looks and there would be tantrums. As you got older, you’d finesse your attacks to include guilt and joy.

Your poor parents never stood a chance.

So you rip open the crown jewel brought to you from the good folks at Acme toy co. In fact, all kids involved were attacking anything red or green, much like a school of piranha strip down a helpless elephant in a feeding frenzy. You find yourself full of joy when the last shred of paper falls to the floor. There he is. He’s tall, self-assured and ready to wage war on Big Jim. And man, does his magnifying eyeball ever work! Santa nailed it. You’re momentarily grateful you managed to impress the old guy enough so that he’d look away from the bad grades in math as well as putting your cat in the dryer. Today…you get to be bionic when you savage Barbie and her friends.

You don’t notice it then, but looking back, you could see a sense of satisfaction on the faces of your parents. That, more than anything you received that day, stays with you as you grow older.

When you hit a certain age, it’s no longer important to you who gave you what. It’s the gift that knowing they thought enough about you to give you anything at all that keeps your smile planted upon your face. The sheer joy of being able to hug your Ma, or cut up and make silly comments with your Dad. Those are the things you keep with you. Love, it seems, is the greatest gift of all, as schmaltzy as that reads. The microwave you got this year will someday fade from memory, but the moment you saw that look upon the face of a loved one as they saw the look upon yours…that’s beyond priceless.

It’s my wish that every person reading this today, or possibly in the future take a moment out of their lives, and remember that feeling of pure joy with another. It doesn’t have to be Christmas. But it does have to to make you grin broadly in the act of remembrance.

And remember, we are all on loan to one another. Today’s smile is all that truly matters in the grand scheme of things. Try to give the gift of mirth to a person in need. It is the greatest gift any of us can give.

This gift isn't just for Christmas.

I wish you, my readers, an amazing New Year in 2012. And I hope I can give you the gift of a smile with my words.

Peace and Love

Dave

(Da Taz)

I have been on a roller coaster ride as of late. Only, this time around it’s been for the sheer joy of it.  You see, a few weeks back I was finally given the green light to return to school.

The first day was nerve-racking to put it mildly.

I haven’t been near any kind of institution of learning since 1998, and was honestly unprepared for what I was in for.  In the first place, I found myself in a classroom that looked like no classroom I had ever attended. Banks of computers, all crammed in rows. Shiny and black, and filled with malfunction, these electronic teachers were more of a lesson in patience than numeration and communications.

And nary a frat house anywhere in view.

The teacher is wonderful. A highly underpaid and overly stressed woman who tries to do right by her pupils, whilst abstaining from grim acts of murder. I think I’ll have her canonized upon her death as Saint Teach. She certainly is earning it.

What this woman is up against is hell on earth. She has not the power to control the “mature students”, yet she must have the class keep up a grade point average. Kinda difficult when your classroom is half empty on day two.

So while trying to settle into the routine of learning, I’m introduced to my curriculum. A curriculum that will eventually include calculus.

Hello??? Who served this up! God certainly does have a twisted sense of humour. I have to admit, shamefully, that I was an atrocious student in high school. Math was the one thing I could never comprehend. You may as well have asked me to do a neuter on a rabid pit bull. I’d likely have been more successful and yet endured less pain. Two plus two equals rivers of tears as well as an exploding aneurysm or two. I certainly will never be a threat to Stephen Hawking.

Yet, despite my cranium crammed with concrete and dust, I found myself open and eager to learn. Surprisingly so. My lacklustre ability to comprehend basic math aside, it amazed me how quickly I seemed able to compute math in my head. This from the dolt that got math questions wrong with an abacus. Must be the insulin. It’s gotta be the super unleaded brand.

I cannot in good conscience thank the electronic teacher for my new-found intelligence. It clearly is  infected with some sort of programmed narcolepsy.  You push the keys it asks, read the content, and then try to do. But that happens on the programs time. It appears it’s playing electronic chess someplace on campus, or perhaps has found itself occupied  in some tawdry internet orgy elsewhere. Whatever it’s distraction, it certainly isn’t focused on your task. Question after repetitive question, minute after excruciating minute, this compu-stall keeps throwing the same content at you, leaving you to daydream “Beuller, Beuller, Beuller”. Perhaps Ferris’s be-speckled teacher was the inspiration for the math “challenges”.

Things that make you go “AAARRRRG!”

Yet, I patiently wheel and deal, knowing that down the line I’ll actually get to prove what I learned the hard way, yet again, in some winsome test scenario on campus. A reward for not taking a sledgehammer to the computer.

With all this learning going on, I note that day after day I am actually absorbing the lessons, and better yet, getting decent marks in the process.

Communications, however. That’s a different matter. You see, I know a great deal about English, being a writer and all. But I wasn’t prepared for how much I didn’t know. I’ve been able to write for some time now, albeit without detailed knowledge regarding the rules of grammar. It’s simply a natural response to me. I type, proof, sometimes send out to my bestest online buddy, Claudene for an edit, and voilà! Instant feat of grammatical satisfaction. So imagine my surprise when the teacher asked me what a participle was in class. My response was to put on my helmet and wipe the drool from my chin as I headed out to my short bus. Pointy hat has a “Reserved for D. M.” written across it.

Yet, despite my inept responses to the defining rules of grammar, every time the flesh and blood teacher asks the class a question, she makes a point of saying “anyone but Dave, please”. I might as well be flattered.

During my submission to the college when I wrote the pre-entry exam, from what they told me, I apparently blew them out of the water. I guess I  may as well be pleased. However, not knowing an adjective from a pronoun was a very humbling experience.

So, with all of this, each day I awake, eager to tackle yet another challenge. School is fast paced, and you can’t let your concentration slip for even a second. Did that once, and paid a heavy price for it. And in doing so, awoke some sort of educational monster deep within me. It seeks out my text books, and actually seems to enjoy ingesting new-found ideas and equations. The monster even had me pulling my gym mat out of the cupboard, and forced me to tune into Netflix for the Pilates instructional video.

What happened to Dave. Was he swept out to sea? Perhaps abduction is the answer. Well, whatever the reason, the guy with nothing between his ears but pain and suffering seems to have been overtaken by some fur-laden pod bear. One that actually has a working noggin. I can see Dave out there, someplace, in a wheat field, tied up upon a rickety stake, singing Wizard of Oz melodies. I hope he’s happy waiting for the Dorothy and Toto to come along and give him inspiration as well.

Have a Merry Christmas, dear readers.

Dave (The Taz)

Entitled “If I Only Had A Brain”!

In the mean time, I want you guys to check out the new and improved: http://iamscoundrel.com.

This guy can lay down scribe like I can inhale a hamburger. It’s amazing and sometimes brutal, but always well worth reading. Check him out!

Wondering where my funny thoughts ran off to? They're still there, honest!