High Five. Up High. Down Low. Too Slow.

“It’s 1 AM and this might be the bad pizza I had earlier talking,” he begins, “but I believe I have something to say.”
-Jerry Macguire


Recently I was at a social gathering. I didn't know anyone. A woman came up to me and we started talking. First just small talk, weather (seriously), the new beer she was drinking, getting out of the house that night.  Then as any conversation goes if you have enough in common and maintain eye contact we started talking about ourselves. Jobs, hobbies, partners, kids....and so on. After hearing about her family she asked about mine. I gave some basics and said something about having seven children ages 5-21.. And just like almost every other time I say this, her eyes got wide and she said "that's amazing! You look so young. How do you do it? You are so put together".......

I hear this a lot. Not because I am special in any way, but because seven is a lot. Because when I leave my house on the rare occasion it's "shower day". I may even wear makeup. Fix my hair ...I don't know, but I sure don't look like I do 90% of the time while living in yoga pants home schooling the herd of children in my home. I put on a good face. We all do. That is WHAT we do.

It got me thinking.

I don't have Facebook, but I do have Instagram. I post pretty regularly for someone who really doesn't do a whole lot. It's the artist in me. But most of the pics as I have come to notice are done in a flattering light... pics of me smiling, kids doing fun things, my house when it's clean... best foot forward and what not. It's cool...no one want's to see the shit side of a mundane life.
This is also not a true representation of who I am.

So today I am going to talk about the other side. We all have it. Some more than others.

My whole life I have struggled with my mental health. I feel like it first started to show in my early teen years. Impulse control, drug use, a couple rides in a cop car, destruction of property, sudden outbursts, dangerous self harming behavior, a stint in-patient, a stint out-patient, several marriages, over eating, under eating, running for problems, hiding from people, self loathing, days of no sleep, days of only sleep. I can keep going, but you get the idea.

Some people never experience this and so they have a hard time understanding or sometimes even believing people like me.  Especially when you throw in the attention seeking aspect that a lot of people like me have in some episodes.

It was over 25 years ago that I first started on pharma meds. Briefly. This was a frowned on practice for normal, healthy kids. Kids who played sports, got good grades, played instruments, had lots of friends. I was just adjusting to transitional period in my life they said. I was going to be just fine.

12 years ago I was on one pill for anxiety, one for depression, one for insomnia, one for bipolar, and an all day popper to keep me going. I also self medicated in every form.

11 and a half years ago I stopped it all cold turkey. I do not recommend  this. But I didn't have insurance.

Since then have been on anti-depressants twice but couldn't stick to it. Sure I was much more level, but my brain felt like it was the fog rising off a lake. I wasn't acting impulsively or going from manic to crash in a two day period, but I was also not really feeling anything. The hardest part about being medicated for me is it kills my creativity. It mutes all the colors I see, kills on the melodies I hear. This is not the case for everyone I am sure, but for me the ups and downs were better than the alternative most of the time.

A few months back I decided to start addressing my health. I was not working out or eating right, I was drinking a lot...it was right after summer. Everyone on the lake drinks during the summer. This was my justification. I didn't have a problem, I wasn't self medicating, I was just behaving like everyone else. This is the dialogue I have used with myself my whole life. The problem is when you don't have good impulse control one is great, two is better an if you keep going you can feel like you are on top of the world. You can be giddy, funny, as interesting as you want. People use the word invincible and I can sometimes see that. So I thought I would get a handle on it.

I started doing keto, started going to the gym, stopped drinking. I felt better. I looked better. I even started to feel pretty darn level. If you have ever done keto you probably know that it is no joke if you  have a couple drinks. It hits you like a freight train.... I did this several times. I paid dearly for it.

Cue holidays. Holidays kick my ass. I don't like them. They are exhausting and no matter how hard you try you can never make everyone happy. My mental state started to slip. The depression was as bad as it had been in a long time, so I did what I always do when that happens and I started to drink more. And for the first time in years I was truly and actually out of control.

If you know me personally you know that at my core I am a musician. I play every day. Sometimes for hours. I write poems and songs and stories all the time...notepads full of them. I don't perform often, because if you have been to one of Violent Bear's shows you know it takes several drinks for me to just get on stage....and then I am at the point of no return. There isn't an off switch. Especially if I am in a melancholy state for the days or weeks prior. The pendulum swings all the way up, hits the ceiling, crashes the light fixture and has to be carried to the car. This happened in the fall....several times. These are not my finest moments and the next few days are the lowest of crashes. The self loathing kicks in...the what did I say what did I do starts to take hold of my mind. It's hard to climb out of.

I used to think that I had a drinking problem. But I can go weeks without a drink and without wanting one. It's an impulse problem. It's a depression problem. it's an "I just want to feel good" problem. It's a bipolar problem.
I often tell myself I will just quit putting myself in these positions. I will just not have a drink while playing... or I'll just have one, or I'll just drink beer or whatever....
But everything I do I do out of balance. Everything I do is at full speed and without fail eventually crashes.

Some people can stick with things really well. I have a husband who has more self control than about anyone I know. He is the master of balance. He is my rock. He takes the good with the bad. He forces me out of bed, he questions me, he holds me accountable and he loves me unconditionally.

There was a really bad episode after a holiday party. I drank too much on a really really low time. Like I almost couldn't get dressed and cried in the shower because I had to socialize kind of low.  When I drink too much on a cycle it also cues the insomnia part of my brain. So I am awake as I crash. I sat in my bed and wondered if it is even worth it. Should I keep going. I am broken, my brain hurts, my heart hurts, I made a fool of myself yet agin. This is not suicidal tendencies, this is literally just the I want to stop. How do I stop. How can I stop. Ask myself, would they be better with out me? Tell myself, they would be fine I am bringing them down. I joke (and I shouldn't, but you know...coping) that I go from high as a kite to I'm going to throw myself off a bridge in less than 24 hours. I have been doing this for years.

I share all this not because I have a solution. I share because I know I am not the only person like this. I share because just like everyone else I give the best foot forward, the best picture, the best and most carefree smile I have when I see you. I want to strive to become a better person tomorrow than I am today. I want to face who I am with a level of dignity and seek understanding. I want to know I am not alone.

I am hoping this is not my Jerry Macguire Mission Statement moment. That I don't throw this out into the world and then end up tail between my legs with no one getting me besides a goldfish and Dorothy from accounting.

I haven't blogged in a couple years. I don't actually think anyone reads them any more, so I assume I am doing this mainly for me. And my demons.

Too Much of a Good Thing

Too Much of a Good Thing

It's not that I don't love playing music live... I do. Probably the best high an artist can have is the immediate and intense gratification of a crowd who is actually enjoying and listening to your music. We put our whole hearts into it, I swear. And who knows if anyone is taking me/us/you seriously....seriously. 

So I am going to be honest about what I think and have thought for a long time about being a musician. 

I started playing an instrument at 7. That is the same time I started writing music and lyrics. They were about trees...and cats, and all the other things a first grader would write about. I had a lyric book diary and an illustrated version as well. These are most likely with the rest of my childhood crap in my mom's storage barn.

I started making album art by 9. (for my actual super lame 9 year old tapes).

I was in my first "band" by 13.

Played my first "gig" by 15.

Played my first open mic at 17. 

*procreated a bunch

Played my first solo show at 28.

Played in first duo at 29 (The West).

Played first actual paying gig at 32.

Went to record first album but never followed through because (see below)

changed duo name to Violent Bear because these guys were already super popular

http://bandthewest.com/

* more procreating
Submitted music catalogue and was rejected repeatedly (like shit tons) by publishing companies.

Made new album at 36.

Started playing live to support said album.

Ok we have made it to present day!!!

For those of you still reading....here are some dancing cat people.

Recently playing shows has been a bit....not really disappointing, but sort of disenchanting.(that is a word right?)

I have seriously played with some of the best, most dynamic, most interesting, and intensely fun bands I have ever heard. That is a luxury every musician craves. It has been a huge fill to my personal well that had honestly been running a bit dry as of late. I am the ultimate fan kid and am not even kind of embarrassed about it (I lOVE merch and will buy your album!). But here is the thing...

Playing out is a bunch of work. Promoting is a bunch of work. Setting up and breaking down? Work....and it has always been the kind of work I love. I mean it. I love making flyers and merch. It is just another avenue that I can travel down as an artist....and we have always sort of called playing out our "date nights". That is kind of cool too. 

But recently it has just been too much of a good thing. Maybe I am going about it wrong or maybe I am just kind of old and not wanting to just do music just for fun....but honestly, and that is the thing about my blog is that I try to keep it honest.....Honestly, it has been a major blow to my creative self to try to share my music  when I am not sure there is a market for it. 

So here is the thing...I think we over played...and either under or over valued our music...I am not sure. Kansas City is a market saturated with amazing musicians.... every night of the week you can walk into a venue and it can be magical. I mean it. And every single one of those acts whether a full band or a solo and everything in-between just wants to share their art. 

But at what cost? 
And here is the ugly side of it, it costs money to make an album. Equipment and repair and maintenance....merch, hard copies, websites, time and energy, promotion....and I truly believe every one of us goes into it excited and guns a'blazing...and we love to play. We aren't in it for the money. I LOVE TO PLAY! And even though I am in my core an artist...well, I don't want to work for free or...in the red.

I need a break. 
When my lifeblood is "lovingly" referred to as an "expensive hobby" I need a break.
When I quit knowing how to get people into the door, I need a break.
When I forget why I have been doing this for so long...break.

I have always been a multi-tasker. I have a million kids and house and husband and dogs and schools  and work and blah blah blah. So music for me has always had to fit into that. But, for now, I am giving it a back seat. Taking the summer off and getting a fresh perspective. 

I never want to stop loving music and I never want to quit making it. But maybe right now I am part of the problem. Who knows, it's my blog and I cry if I want to....heheheehehehehe.....not actually crying.

Making Eye Contact

Making Eye Contact

The other day Piper and I were out to celebrate her birthday. On her actual birthday she got to hang out at Knuckleheads and listen to Aaron Lee Tasjan and Bonnie Whitmore play an amazing set,

chill with her newly "adopted" godmother Sarah and family, grab an inappropriate shirt, 

and be gifted a CD from the lovely Bonnie. This was a pretty solid night for sure and she really didn't expect anything else, but I figured we could go out for a day of bonding that weekend as that seemed to be the thing to do.

We had begun the drive home after lunch and such and were passing over the Broadway Bridge when we hit a stop light. Right beside our car was a homeless man...young, maybe 20-25 with a sign that read "cold and hungry". I didn't have any cash on me but piper had already (unprompted) started digging into her wallet and came up with 5 ones. I told her I would pay her back when we got home. As I handed him the cash and he said "thanks" we made direct eye contact and he half smiled and nodded. The light turned green and he stood back up and waved to us both again looking me right in the eye.

I got kind of teary and started clearing my throat and Piper asked me what was wrong. It took me a while to get my emotions under control enough to talk but I finally said..."thanks Piper....that was a good thing".

Then I kind of got long winded, though to her credit she didn't interrupt me a single time... and I will paraphrase here but this is what I said to her...

"Every man and woman on the side of the road holding a sign came into this world just like you and I...no more or less important...just human. Maybe when they were born they were wanted and maybe they weren't but they came just the same. 
There is a really high chance that that young man just aged out of foster care and had no where to go. 
There is a high chance that that young man lost his job and fell down on his luck and has no home. 
There is a high chance that that young man is a vet and served our country and no longer has benefits or job placement or the support he needs to merge back into American society. There is a high chance that that young man has a mental disability, that he wandered away from those who love him or never had anyone to help him. 
There is a high chance that that young man had an addiction to something that took his life away from but left him living. 
There is a high chance that that young man has a family and he is doing the best he can.
There is a high chance that that young man was a kid just like her but ran away from home because he was neglected or abused....We don't know his story.

This is what I do know about him. He is human. He gets hungry. He gets cold. He gets lonely. And on Sunday afternoon, all by himself he was holding a sign because he needed help. 

He is just like us.

Eye contact shows him we know it. Eye contact shows him that we treat him with dignity, that our connection is intentional and real.  Eye contact makes us both human. 
We can't help everyone. But we can can always help someone and we can always, always look them in the eye.

She then said " Some people say he is just going to buy beer or drugs, but I don't think he will"....

I was actually caught off guard by this and didn't really have an answer then I said, "do you care or do you just hope that a few bucks will grant him some relief?"

And Piper, nodded, kind of crying but trying to pretend she wasn't said, "I just hope it helps a little."
I learned a lot about what a cool kid I had in that few minutes. I was reminded acutely about the true disparity that exists...hidden from my day to day life. 
Reminded about how sheltered I had become again. Then in true suburban kid form asked " Are we still running by Target?"
This was funny to me because at the end of the day it  showed me that I have it really good...that I have a pretty special kid...and that's ok. It's ok to be in a good place.

Peace

That Being Said

So yeah, it's a new year. I am no different than most when I say I too have grand ideas to better myself, my life, and my surroundings. I also want to look 10 years younger, eat all the peanut butter I want without gaining weight, and have our soon to be released debut album get written up in Pitchfork (I would take shitty or positive reviews as I am not picky). All of those are probably not in my stars but I do think this will be the year I clean up my act.

Now before I get called out for being a hypocrite and all and people start coming out of the woodwork yelling back at me my favorite saying "no one likes a quitter, Tammy"....let me just say I am not going all straight edge or whatever.... I won't suck the joy out of your party (anymore than I already do), and I will still most likely insist that my neighbors are wrong and I can play music as loud as I want when ever I want...(just not past midnight as that is the rule here)....but man, I am tired. Literally...and in every sense of the word. Mind, heart, body....all those guys. And I think I finally realize I have done it to myself.

I think a couple years back I had gotten pretty secure in who I was as a person, what I represented, maybe what I stood for. I am not really a fighter but I think I have some fight in me and even was delusional enough to believe I had enough conviction to be my true self. Now I don't even know what that means. I was maybe a bit judgmental for all the wrong reasons and not scrupulous enough in my own stance to really be very reliable in my personal convictions.

Ok that was wordy as fuck but what I am trying to say is maybe it is time I actually became truly accountable for my speech, my thoughts, and my actions. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I have been throwing my middle finger up at the man for years...Truth is, I AM the MAN. I married an engineer for pete's sake...I live in the burbs. I drive an SUV. I use night creme!!!!!! That doesn't mean I can't be authentic, it means that by fighting this lifestyle I haven't actually been authentic. Do I have to give up cussing...probably not, but then again I shouldn't get blitzed at a post funeral meal and drop the F-bomb on unsuspecting long distance family members.... no I wasn't being mean or hateful...just a jackass.

And maybe 

isn't always the best action.....
What I am saying is that maybe now is just the time I have been waiting my whole life for. ...
Maybe I am finally ready to really look at who I am and what I can do....and do it. So yes this is a completely pointless post but as I am starting to tackle this blog again, thought i would give it a new beginning!
So again...welcome back and please join me while I am Anchored in Roam.

chin up

http://youtu.be/R3kPH2MJzlg

It is only a season

Moonlighting

For the 10th or so time last week I was asked while waiting tables what my real job was....hum.

I was also asked if I was single by this same table because they have a friend who is in marketing and just loves gals who moonlight as waitresses. Seriously.

Well I must confess, having a 6 top of twenty something professionals assume I am young enough to be hanging with their hip single marketing friend was flattering...they even said he was a bit older...you know, like 28, but he was still cool...

ugh.

I handled it well I think. I said I was married and then to drive the point home I mentioned all the kids and then that one of them was a senior.

cue all the "oh my gawds" and youth flattery....then the question came. Well what do you really do?

I wanted to say "nothing, my life is meaningless" and then walk away.

But because this IS my job and I would like a nice tip I respond with "I stay home. I married an engineer. I raise kids. I thought I was going to be a musician." 

As a running joke in our house we often say restaurants are where musicians go to die. Seriously, we cook, wash dishes, work the fry, or wait the tables...but we all actually still think we can make it.
In the end, however, the restaurant is our job. We work hard and do it well. We do it hungover and never call in. We are polite to you and all your kids...and your parents (and their dietary restrictions). We do it for 2 bucks an hour plus whatever you deem to tip our services (that we share with our bussers, bar tenders etc). 
My point here is that most everyone I work with is a restaurant employee. It is our only job. We pay our bills with it.  

And strangely enough, most of us love it. Sure we all hate to fill your fucking diet soda 15 times in a half hour, and sometimes your need of "special" treatment is exhausting (no the bread is not gluten free)...and we all know you want a free dessert when you mention it's so-and-so's birthday. In the end, there are lots of jobs out there that need done, but it takes a special kind of person to drop what they are doing and listen to your story about your mom, actually mean it when we say "Happy Anniversary", and tell you jokes when we can tell you have had a bad day all while delivering pounds of homemade pasta. 
Servers are just that. They serve, and I would like to think that most of us do it graciously. 
No, I am not moonlighting as a server. That's okay with me. I think I am good at it. I am proud that I can contribute to our family income. I think I look pretty good in a bow tie. 

And until the money rolls in with the music (hehehehehe) I can keep this gig up with a smile on.

love, actually

As a parent I have had the not so unique experience of watching my 11 year old daughter fall for a boy for the first time. I say not so unique only because each and every parent will go through a first crush with  their child. For me strangely, it brought back a season of my own childhood that I had long since tucked into the heart on my sleeve. My first sincere feelings for another human other than my family...love, actually. 

Just like me, Piper fell for a boy who likes basketball, is quiet and kind, polite...and her friend first and foremost. He introduced her to hip hop and motor cross, the NBA and the awkward feeling every kid has when their crush knocks on their door for the first time. It is both sweet and terrifying.

Though I was only a seventh grader, the type of love I felt was more along the lines of curiosity and comfort in the acceptance and mutual interests of a certain boy. I would never have spoken to him (out of shyness and for the very fact that we may have never met) if not for the outcome of my parent's divorce when I was dislocated from our family home and relocated to a completely different neighborhood. I was isolated and alone and ... well, lonely. It is strange really after over twenty years I can recall each and every particle of the foison of emotions that I felt through this time. Some burn bright and still flare when I think on them, some drift in a fog, a distant coating of the background, a type of impressionist painting. 

I was used to a neighborhood teaming with tweeners. With the constant doorbell rings and pebbles thrown at windows to invite me to early or late pick-up ball games. Over nights, swimming pools, canoe rides in the local lake. It was a child paradise. And it was all behind me. As were my friends. It was weird,  I was now a sort of pariah...the lone wolf of divorced parents. It felt like in my upper class suburb, my old friends and their parents treated me as if it was contagious, as if I was contagious...Fuck, maybe I was. First the invites and phone calls stopped...Then the it was as if I never existed at all. I would like to say that once we all ended up in the same high school things got better....but really I just couldn't compete. Figuratively and literally. My mom was working class now, not some posh stay-at-home with an allowance. Sport were expensive, lessons were expensive...everything was expensive and I felt both the burden and the pressure of it all. And then we had to move.

It started like any other first meeting between kids in a relatively uncomfortable situation. My mother's side of the family was helping my mom and I, and the tag along siblings, unload the moving van. Full of her half of all the shit my parents had accumulated over the 15+ years of marriage, we were all long into the day and sinking further and further into the solemness of our task. Reality had sunk in and I watched as my mom slipped between bouts of uncontrollable crying short bursts of anger and sudden fatigue, then back again. I was exhausted and pissed off and all I wanted to do was shoot hoops with my friends...who now lived far away in the land of My Life is Still Normal while I was brooding in Fuckitall Town. I didn't even have a basketball goal anymore as it had the luxury of staying firmly embedded in concrete at our old family home. Lucky fucking me. (yeah, I know I was feeling sorry for myself, but I was 13)

So anyhow, there I was, sort of half-ass moving things from the truck to the garage when I heard the familiar thumping I so loved. The rhythmic hollow pound of a basketball hitting asphalt...and it was coming closer. I peered out from behind the moving truck as not to be caught by whomever it was, and I watched as a boy about my age dribbled the ball up the street and past my house to come to a stop in front of the last driveway on the block (conveniently located next door to my new house)...where nestled in the ground was an old worn out goal and a torn net. It was like a lifeline. 

We made eye contact in that strange way humans do that can only be described and as immediate acceptance. As an adult this is often referred to as chemistry or even love at first sight. For kids this is a mutual understanding and need. Maybe for friendship, maybe for someone to confide in...maybe out of shared loneliness. For the two of us it was a little of all these things....and the catalyst was the game of basketball. I looked around and realized everyone else was inside lifting or unpacking so I walked over and stood to the left of him and waited my turn. We fell into a pattern immediately just shooting and dribbling, sometimes working in some defense and blocking but really all we were doing was feeling each other out. After a while I noticed movement on my drive and saw that they were back at it so I walked home to continue my part. I realized two things. We hadn't said a single word and I didn't know his name.

The next day I was in my room in the basement when again I heard someone dribbling a basketball. I unlatched my basement window and slipped though the opening sticking my head up and out of the window well. There he was again. I threw on my shoes and headed out the garage door. Once again we fell into a pattern of basketball play but this time we spoke. All he said was "my name is Jason". All I said was "my name is Tammy". It was enough and we played until it started to become dark. 

This became our daily ritual. I would wait to hear him and then I would head out. After a while I started to wait in the driveway and even in the neighbor's driveway under the net. We started to become familiar with each other's habits and started talking a bit every now and again. But never a lot. We shared water out of those giant plastic blue cups everyone had back then and sometimes we even shared a snack cake or the occasional soda. Mainly we came together for the companionship. A partnership really. It was much different then the herd of kids I was used to playing basketball with in my old neighborhood. It was better. It was real friendship.

Then we really started to talk. We talked about music. We talked about public school...which I knew nothing about. We talked about my parent's divorce. We talked Led Zeppelin and punk rock. About soccer ...which I also knew nothing about, and David Copperfield. We talked about constellations and favorite cereal, the trains in Parkville and staying home while both your parents worked. And sometimes when we had nothing to say, we didn't need to talk at all again. This was one those friendships that people write novels about and make into a TV series....We had our own soundtrack and all the innocence adolescences affords. This was the very boy that snuck the Schnapps out of his parent's liquor cabinet and pulled up a lawn chair with me while we talked about the stars existence one fall night. We were in our Golden Years. Or Golden Year (ish) to be exact...We made it until summer. We made it to the point where we entered each others houses, dined at each others tables and talked to each others parents. We made it to the point where we held hands and sat too close to each other when no one was around. 

It was summer and all the parents worked. The whole neighborhood was unsupervised. This was my first summer there and it was completely different than I was used to. There were no stay-at-home moms bringing us donuts and Gatorade after swim practice. There was no one to check in with during the day unless you called their work. We all had unlimited freedom and limitless time. It was a recipe for disaster. My Grandma Aggie was at our house to take care of my younger siblings during the day but I could do basically what ever I wanted.

And it turns out there were kids in this neighborhood after all. I just didn't really fit in too well. I was naive and gullible and hadn't really tested any boundaries before. I was a bit uncomfortable for a while but found my groove, got on the swim team (which competed and always lost miserably to the powerhouse team of my old neighborhood) and started to socialize. 
There were kids from my private school that lived in the other side of the neighborhood and I started to hang out with them every now and again, though they were already pretty tight and I was new to the circle.....And then there was Travis....

Travis. What can I even say about him. He went to my school and I had known him for years. In sixth grade I thought he was cute. He was and still is quite a handsome guy. He was a trickster, a jokester really. He had no off button and pushed every envelope thrown at him. He only colored outside the lines. He was a typical 13 year old boy in the sense that he was rude, gross, and completely insensitive to human feelings. He lacked empathy and never ever got caught. 
He was also the most fun, the most daring, and lived only a couple blocks away.
Miracle of Miracles that somehow Jason and Travis didn't know each other yet.

Then I made a huge mistake. Cue screeching halt to partnership....You know what they say about a third wheel? Well it was me that became that third wheel. The odd man out...actually odd girl out, but whatever. It all started innocently enough.

I had bumped into Travis at the neighborhood pool and thought,"hey, Jason usually keeps to himself, but he may like Travis and since we only live a couple of blocks away....."
I don't know, it seemed like a good idea so I invited him over to our street and they had an instant liking to each other. They both played soccer, they both played soccer on Nintendo, they both like the same music....they were both boys. Suddenly I was the one with less common interests. No more basketball chats...they wanted to ride bikes to Parkville to pay for lunch at the diner in pennies (why?), play soccer, shoot off fireworks, jump fences and break shit. They skateboarded...better and faster than I did even though I had been skating since 5th grade. They liked Dr. Dre...and knew all the words. 

I didn't....
at all.
I grew less cool with each passing moment. They snuck out at night to do....well nothing really but they did it. When I tried, I got caught. Then there was a whole group of boys...doing boy things...having boy hangouts...living in the glory of their testosterone laden youth.

Suddenly I was sort of in the way. Not really sort of actually, I was in the way...of Travis. And the best way to get me out of the picture was to have Jason dump me. 

Now we weren't exactly an item, but we weren't exactly not an item.  
One afternoon I am quietly hanging inside. It was a Thursday, meet day and we weren't supposed to play outside in the heat so we could stay hydrated and swim our best that evening. The doorbell rang and Jason was out front. 
Weird. He knew I had a swim meet and he had been acting stand-offish lately so I had given him space and been feeling sorry for myself (again I was still 13).He asked if I wanted to come over and hang inside his house for a while. 
Also weird, as his mom and dad had made it very clear that no girls were allowed in the house while they were at work. But I am glad to see him and happy to come over if just for a little bit. I missed him and knew Travis was either headed over to his house soon or they would be hanging out later as they were now inseparable....And Travis could go inside the house because he was not a girl....(I was clearly the safer option, but whatever).

Not one to over-think things too much, I put on my imitation Birks and followed him down the street a few houses to his front door. I had a gut feeling that this was a bad idea, but I chalked it up to the guilty conscience I was having for entering his parents home without permission. I headed for the living room but he pulled my arm and said "I need to talk to you and it is private, and Aaron (brother) is in there. We can talk in my room".

Now all my internal bells and alarms were sounding....Jason was acting weird. Really weird, but again, desperate to have him to hang out with again I followed him to his room where he lead me to the foot of his bed and told me to sit down because he had to tell me something.

Then he said the most heard and most heartbreaking phrase every soul has had to listen to at least once in their lifetime.

"I don't want to go out with you any more".

This was all said while I was peering into the knowing gaze of David Copperfield flamboyantly posed on a poster.

"ok....don't cry. Just stand up and escape as fast as you can.
That was what I should have done, but instead....I remained still and FUCKING STARTED CRYING!
Now there was a brief shadow that passed over Jason's face. I knew he felt bad but I think I also knew it was coming. I stood with ZERO dignity and made it out the front door before the waterworks really started. I was almost to my house when I heard a familiar voice yell "Tammy....Tammy why are you crying?"
I turn around to see none other than Travis standing on Jason's porch taunting me.
Taunting me! 
"I hate you" I yelled.
"I hate you and this is all your fault!"
But that little shit, all giggling delivered the worst part of all..."I was in his closet! hahahaha...I heard the whole thing! And I video taped it. I video taped you getting dumped and crying!"

I would like to say that I was able to extract some sort of vengeance upon them both...but Travis ran inside and proceeded to tease me mercilessly from the front window behind locked doors.
I was a mess and false started twice during my butterfly swim that night. 

So now if you are still reading I just want to tell you that coming of age is hard for everyone, and clearly I was no exception. These weren't bad guys, just 13 year old boys. I don't believe for one second either of them thought that this would be one of those memories that sticks with you for a lifetime. What was a big deal to me was just another prank to them. I never found out if they actually recorded the breakup. Travis would make the occasional threat through out the rest of the summer when I saw him, but at the end of the day he just wanted me out of the picture (I really wasn't very much fun back then).

Jason and I didn't speak for almost an entire year. When we did the first thing he said was "I'm sorry". 
That was enough.
He and Travis and a couple other boys started a punk band. Somehow I was involved in the beginning of the project even playing a couple shows with them. Jason and the group rode it out a while without Travis (who had moved to a different band) and even made an album. It came out on tape. They were called 110 Volts. I took their photograph for their album art and still have all the original prints as well as the negatives...somewhere.

this was one of the pics for the album....^^^

During this whole process Jason and I became friends. Actual friends. My mother married a really great guy who had a son my age named Blake (he deserves his own entire chapter) and Jason and Blake became super tight. They went to college together, met a girl....Jason fell for her....and so on and so forth.

About 6 years ago Stephen and I were in Austin on our way to the coast. We met up with Jason for sushi and whiskey....because of coarse that is where he lives now. Long gone was the boy I had known, now replaced by a long haired hippie in a local band, wearing worn out second hand western shirts and a mile wide smile. He was still smart and pleasant and completely engaging in every way. Stephen loved him instantly. We learned about his band and his life...that he was now married to the very girl he met in college with my brother. 

Fast forward four years. I was sitting out front of a Caribou Coffee on 64th Street here in KC when I had a strange feeling. I was talking to my mom and was 6 weeks postpartum with Clover who was rocking in her car seat at my feet when suddenly I knew I had just seen Jason. Sure enough, pulling in the drive-thru was the whole beautiful family including a couple boys and a very lovely and pregnant wife....who I hugged.
"I knew it was you! I totally sensed you!" Thank goodness his wife is a hippie as well or that would have sounded super weird. When they left he said "bye mom" to my mom.
Then just 2 month ago Stephen and I were able to hang with Jason and Wife and all the kids at our house for a brunch. It was completely great and I adored her as much as I did him. The kids were awesome and they were both really interesting and dynamic people. I still felt connected to him...and her, and all the offspring. 

As for Travis....he is the craziest, luckiest SOB that ever did live and he is traveling the world, drinking copious amounts of booze, meeting all the beautiful and exotic people and doing it all behind the lens of his camera while under water. We still are in contact from time to time. I think he may be a bit of a Peter Pan though....and why should we all have to grow up anyhow?
  
He is part of this show here.
http://natgeotv.com.au/tv/into-the-drink/episodes.aspx 

https://www.facebook.com/intothedrink
and you can like them on facebook...hahahahahahaha.

As for love?..Actually, that is what is contagious. When you really love someone for all the right reasons...even for a season in life...even as a kid....Well, you somehow fall in love with everything they love. Somehow they are connected to you and you to them. Somehow that love helped form a piece of who you are and how you live. Because at the end of every day that is all that is left and all that ever mattered....love, actually.