Sunday, May 25, 2014

‘Who is Mark?


Friday, May 9, 2014

I have gone back and forth about whether I want to share who Mark is. I fully realize the interest that some may have in Mark; who he is, or perhaps more to the point; who he was to me. I go out of my way not to share too much or discuss him at length because he holds a special place within me. His place in my life however, is relevant. That in mind, I chose to run the idea of discussing our relationship here by him first. After some deliberation, he gave me his blessing to write about him and explain at last, how he fits into my life.

I was 19 years old when I first met Mark. It was a Sunday morning at the base of Echo Canyon in Camelback Mountain. I had pulled into a parking place. An incredibly sexy guy, dripping in sweat, having obviously just finished a hike, was jogging up to the Land Rover parked next to me. He was 6’4, 255, brown hair, hazel/green eyes and tanned skin. My Doberman, Bud, (always the protector…) jumped out of my Jeep, got between us and showed his teeth. I told Bud to relax and apologized profusely to the man. He said that it was no problem. We locked eyes for a few seconds too long before Bud and I took off up to the canyon. – I was immediately smitten.

A few weeks later, I was pulling into the Biltmore and the same man was getting out of the car in front of me at the Valet. Instead of being shirtless and sweaty, he was instead in a linen suit with an egg shell crew, sockless loafers and a pair of dark aviators. We locked eyes once again and the recognition was instantaneous. He approached me as I got out of my car and we finally made introductions. As we headed into the Biltmore together, I learned that Mark was 36, he was a transplant from Ohio, that he owned an advertising company and was single. Before we parted ways, he asked me to dinner. I agreed and there began our journey. 

The relationship progressed quickly and before I knew it, I was staying at his house 90% of the time. My mom and Mark hit it off immediately and she more than approved. Since it was my first adult relationship and he was indeed older than me, I looked to him for almost everything. He introduced me to a lifestyle that was unlike anything that I had ever before experienced. While my mom had provided me with a pretty amazing life, Mark was in an entirely different league. He was in that 1% financial bracket and though that made me incredibly insecure, I was mesmerized by it.

In time, we began to travel a great deal together. He insisted that I have the very best of everything; the best clothing, cars etc. I even had that infamous black Amex card. All the while, I had convinced myself that he wanted me to be more exciting, cultured and ambitious. Those thoughts and insecurities compelled me to lie to him about many things. My hope was that I would somehow remain interesting to him. Clearly I was very uncomfortable with who I really was, and that – was a problem. I knew eventually that it would all blow up in my face and yet I continued to lie.

A year into our relationship, Mark ended up speaking to my mom in confidence about some of the things I had said which were not adding up. All of my lies were brought to the table and Mark was expectedly furious. He was very hurt. He couldn’t understand why I would lie to him about anything or why I thought that he wouldn’t love me as I was. I did not know how to put it into words. I packed a bag and returned to my mom’s house. I think I ended up sleeping for a week, reeling in the reality and anxiety of everything I had done.

Seventeen days passed before Mark called me wanting to talk. That evening, I let everything go. I allowed myself to be vulnerable and came clean with everything. I really had nothing to lose at that point. He asked me to promise him that I would work on my self esteem and that I should remind myself that he loves me just as I am.

From that point on, our life was really wonderful. We had settled into a typical domestic situation and it really suited me. When the car accident happened a couple of years later, that was the beginning to our end.

Mark did his best to continue to support me. The getaway to Hawaii was the last thing we did together and, as I explained in the previous “guilty” entry, I was indicted by the Grand Jury during that trip. When it became clear that I was in fact headed to prison, I made peace with the fact that our relationship was over, Mark begrudgingly came to the same conclusion after seeing that I was adamant in the decision. After that point, we never wrote, spoke on the phone or saw each other.

In October of 2011, I received a letter from Mark. I held it in my hand for about 3 minutes before opening it. Not long after that, we began corresponding regularly and speaking on the phone. He began to visit in 2012 and thus far, we have rebuilt a friendship.

There is no expectation that we will reunite as partners. Mark has realized that he has had to get to know me all over again. Today, I am a very different person who wants and needs different things. We both recognize that now.

‘Arizona is Bad’


Wednesday, May 7, 2014

People always aske me why I feel so negatively about Arizona. It’s a challenging task for me to explain why that is though when it is impossible that they could relate. My issues with Arizona are personal and based on my own experiences. There are many people who love this state. I know that it has its perks for some, but I admit candidly that I could care less if it fell off the map.

In my own opinion, Arizona is culturally stagnant in almost every way. The majority of the population is Caucasian, followed by Mexican Americans. There is a small percentage of Native Americans, Afro Americans, and then Mexican Nationals (illegal immigrants). Unfortunately, The ethnic breakdown also reflects the financial/economic and political structuring. When it comes to politics, AZ is as RED as you can get. I believe that politics and religion should remain as private matters so I will not get into what I think about those who currently make up the Arizona legislature.

Consider for a moment, the following:

-      If you aren’t Caucasian in Arizona, you are almost assuredly subject to being pulled over in your car, questioned and required to prove citizenship
-      The penal system is a actually a privatized big business in Arizona
-      The state is so bankrupt that the legislature sold the State Capital and is leasing it back from the new owner
-      The legislature attempted to pass a bill allowing businesses to refuse service to people based upon ethnicity, sexual orientation and religion

I lived in the beautiful area of North Scottsdale. The streets, homes, golf courses, retail and resorts are all amazing. Everything in that part of Arizona is supremely manicured and maintained daily. The roads are filled with Range Rovers, Ferraris, Aston Martins and Bentleys. In the off chance that you do encounter a person of color, they are likely rappers, musicians, professional athletes or married to one.

The people will smile and be welcoming but its not at all genuine. Rather, they are sizing you up in every possible material way. Is your bag real or fake? Your sunglasses, shoes, hair style and clothing are all carefully scrutinized.

There is a surprising amount of racism here. I lost count of how many times I was pulled over by Scottsdale PD. I was pulled over because of the simple fact of my skin color and that I drove an expensive vehicle. Their questions were always the same:

-      “Where are you coming from and where are you going?”
-      “You look lost. Can I help you find your way out of Scottsdale?”
-      “This sure is a nice car… Is it yours?”
-      “Your address on your driver’s license is up in North Scottsdale. Is that where you really live?”

The questions would go on and on to the point where it was clearly harassment. I finally began calling my mom at the hospital and putting her on the phone with the officer who had pulled me over. Once the connection was made that they knew my mom from seeing her at the Emergency Room, they would let me go. It was racial profiling at its finest.

As the years went by,. I became well known in the area and was less scrutinized. The problem was, that I began to be defined in the following ways:
-      “That’s the guy who lives with the hot red head, I think he’s Latin or Black…” (The red head is my mom.)
-      “He’s the guy that drives the Jaguar and that lifted Jeep.” (we are all defined by our cars.)
-      “He’s the gay guy with that tall white boyfriend.” (Not only were we the token gay couple, but a mixed race one at that…)
-      “He’s the guy always out running that big scary Doberman. His boyfriend is the really handsome white guy that has the sweet Labrador.”

These things were demeaning, superficial and elementary. They never changed and in time, I simply began to accept it. Clearly, I was the odd man out.

It doesn’t matter how long I sit and think about all of the things that I have mentioned in this entry. For me, whether it is the person that I was then, or the man I have grown to be, the net conclusion is the same;

I DO NOT BELONG IN ARIZIONA.

Courtesy of MAD Magazine

‘Feeling Good About Having Nothing’


Monday, May 5, 2014 

At the age of 37, I will be quite literally starting over. The majority of people who I speak to in here are terrified of that but oddly, I am actually looking forward to it. For me, it will be freeing and since nothing is written in stone yet, my future is completely up to me.

Through the years, my belongings have all been donated or have disappeared to various places, Some were even poached by people who wanted a piece of me. What furniture I have left will be discarded before the house is sold. The other night, I did a mental inventory of everything of mine that is currently in the house. The goal was to compile a list of things to tell mom that I would like her to take to Boston for me. After a good 20 minutes or so, I realized that the piece of paper was still blank. It occurred to me that I want nothing.

I never had the bond that develops between home and homeowner and psychologically, I said my goodbyes to that address 12 years ago. Not that it’s a bad thing, but the house, Scottsdale and everything that it represents, does not exactly leave me with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. Mind you, all of the negatives that took place while living here were brought upon by my own actions, but it is still, how I feel.

Though premature, I have decided that I want mom to pick me up by herself when I am released. I have no desire for a lot of people to share that moment or a spectacle to be made. I want simple, one on one time with mom and the ability to slowly absorb everything. We will almost immediately be boarding a flight headed to Boston. I can see the actual take off as being both emotional and cathartic. It will symbolize the closing of a chapter in my life. It seems like an impossible task at the moment but it will happen. When it does, I will be just fine having nothing at all.

My personal goal is to not be resentful, sad or scared about what my future holds. I just want to be able to continue on in my life being the best person that I can be. Take the immense lessons that I have learned away with me and I believe that, in the end, I will be okay.

‘On My Own’


Tuesday, April 29, 2014


“I’m on my own.”, “You are on your own.”…



I have been hearing these two phrases more and more lately and it’s really having a strange effect on me.. I feel like screaming to the world that “I GET IT! I’M ON MY OWN!!!” I can’t shake it for some reason. It is really beginning to effect my psyche. If there is in fact a subliminal message that I am not getting then I have no idea what it could be. In the past, I have feared being on my own, or alone. I viewed it as a negative thing but I have changed, I have to go back and explain some things.



12 Years Old:

Joe. I loved this man more than anything in the world. He was my best friend and the love of my mom’s world. I called him my ‘dad’.

The night that Joe died, mom was working the 7PM – 7AM shift at the hospital. Joe took me to play 18 holes of golf and when we got home it was around 9:00 PM. We ate dinner, showered and settled in. I fell asleep on the chaise lounge in his office while he was working at his computer.

It was around 3:00 AM when a loud thump woke me up. I got up, and as I walked past the master bedroom I noticed the door was open and the TV was on. When I entered, the bed was still made. I walked around to the master bathroom. Joe was still in his clothes but lying face down on the bathroom floor. His body was lifeless. Intuitively I knew he was dead, He was only 42 years old. I remained calm and tried to move him. I was unsuccessful, He was 6’4”, 260 lbs and I was still a boy. I eventually decided to give up and instead, to lay down next to him. I put my arm around him and stared into his face. I spoke to him, begged him not to leave us and then remained there in silence until I heard the garage door opening. Mom was home.


I got up and ran through the house. I arrived at the laundry room just as she was entering. When she saw my face, she asked me what was wrong. I told her that Joe had died. For the first and only time in my life, she had hit me. I flew into the dryer, stunned. She yelled at me and wanted to know why I would say such a horrible thing. She proceeded into the house. Moments later, as I lay on the laundry room floor, I heard her begin to scream. It seemed to go on forever.

Phone calls were made and within minutes, the police, coroner and friends all filled our house. Mom was inconsolable and I took care of as much as I could. Without realizing it, I completely disassociated myself and tried as best as I could, to be strong for my mom. As she cried in my arms that night, something darkened inside of me. I knew that we were on our own.


I have dealt with Joe’s death in my own personal way but it is still the worst thing that has ever happened to me in my life. It may come of a surprise to hear that coming to prison would be a very distant second.


33 Years Old:

I live methodically. I perform daily tasks alone, only having social interactions when someone needs my help or advice. It is common knowledge in here that I am not one for small talk. I keep occupied with letters, blogging, music and working out. Prison is my temporary home; it’s simply where I live. I am grateful for everything I have, but I am most definitely on my own in here. Loneliness consumes me most days but I have grown accustomed to it over the years. It’s become my ‘status quo’. It’s my version of “normal”.


37 Years Old:

It is difficult to hear how my release is going to impact everyone’s lives. They want me to succeed in life and I appreciate that. I feel an unsettling amount of responsibility at knowing that the changes they will be making are really to accommodate me. Those are lives that are established, lives of people who do not easily embrace change.


Mom

-      Uprooting her life and moving across the country. (She detests Arizona however and is embracing New England.)

-      Liquidating some of her investments to buy property in Boston

-      Taking the responsibility of another 30 year mortgage. (Inevitably I will take over that mortgage, but not for several years)

-      Starting a new job

-      Postponing retirement

-      Saving funds for my start-up reserve


Joey

-      Surrendering his bachelorhood for mom to live with him for 14 weeks prior to her permanent relocation

-      Allowing me to initially live with him if Mom has not yet established residency

-      Making changes to accommodate me getting on my feet with everything; money, transportation, acclimating me to Boston. (Basically holding my hand)


KB (mom’s BF)

-      Impending possibility of him relocating to a city he doesn’t want to live in

-      Fear of racism in Boston (Though I can’t imagine it could be worse that Arizona

 in my opinion…)


All of this is a lot to think about but today, I see being “on my own” as a positive thing. It is a sign of independence and success. I have gained strength from Joe’s death and strength from prison as well. The irony is that ‘being on my own’, is what I want to achieve most in my life now. I will be in a new city that I feel will be my home for the rest of my life. And I desperately want to succeed. 

I do not want to let myself, or my friends and family down.