Ranger

Ranger was my first pet. I got him around my sixth birthday, I believe. He was a full-blood American Staffordshire terrier. A pit-bull. A GREAT dog.


He was more tan than white, but to describe him, I'd say he was white with a tan vest and tan cowl. His paws, neck, and tip of his tail were white. There was a small tan island on the back of his neck.

Later in life, he had a bald spot in the middle of his tail from wagging it against furniture and such. He was most polite, always being ever so careful when stepping around our toys as we played. Hiding under his end table when someone would say: "Pew!" Poor guy, he was prone to flatulence!


I wasn't with him when he died, despite being inseparable from his side during his sickness. He died of liver failure, from too many table scraps. My sister woke me to tell me he had died at the foot of her bed. It makes sense. He probably wanted to protect her right to the end. And me; he probably didn't want me to suffer through it by his side; thus, he timed it carefully.


I wrapped him in a sheet and carried his still-warm, heavy body outside. My sister and I spent nearly two hours digging through the clay with pick axes to bury him. We ereccted a cross from lumber I nailed together and painted white.


He was replaced by my grandmother, less than tow weeks later, by Nina.

Bronze

Porcelain's husband. In looks, he lives up to his Cer name. In person, he does as well. Tin is by no means a precious metal. Tin cans have gone the way of the dodo. Copper is valuable because it is a great conductor of electricity. As well as water. Mixing the two, tin and copper, you get a stronger alloy: Bronze. Also a some what precious metal. Bronze, despite his troubled youth and dropping out of High School, went on to marry the illustrious Porcelain, create his own successful business, and serve as an inspiration to any man who wishes to somehow juggle success and spirituality.

Obsidian

My wife's brother. I am no fool to think it's nothing special that I have a close relationship with most of my wife's family. The happiness they believe I've brought to their special girl caused them to seemingly adopt me. Again, I'm not so foolish as to push the issue. I don't try stupid things only a blood relative could get away with!

When my wife and I flew out to New York to set up our wedding, years ago, I was holed up with her brother while she with her mother. Her aunt had showed us around town, a good time, until that night. That's when the food poisoning kicked in. No, it wasn't on purpose, even though the family is very Italian. See, I used to like eating the skins on baked potatoes, even in restaurants. If you don't know the risks involved, you really should.

About 2 am, I woke up my future brother-in-law. Indirectly. I was vomiting so violently that my throat was raw, I had pulled a few muscles, and I had passed out twice. Not to mention the terrible sounds woke Joe. Funny, none of the other guys woke up. Their rooms were closer. I think only Joe had a heart caring enough to recognize the sounds of someone in distress.

Joe had to pick me up off the ground and carry me out like he was some kind of hero or something. Now I know why his sister loves him to pieces--wait 'til I tell you some stories! I wasn't emasculated by the experience or anything, I was just happy somebody helped me live through it!

The thing is, just like my good friend Erik (McCoy), Joe grew up thinking he was sub-par. His peers ridiculed his thick Italian accent, his teachers had him convinced that he was "slow", his counselors stigmatized him with ADD, he had a lazy eye, and (of course) his older sister picked on him!!! I know what that's like, man. Only difference is, he didn't relish the change into manhood, when you get muscular enough to kick your sister's ass despite the age difference! Again, he was too bloody nice.

To look at a piece of obsidian, it looks like a chunk of bland, black glass. Compared to other rocks, minerals, stones, and gems you could go as far as calling a raw piece dull. A piece of black glass? We all know the bad associations with the color black. And who would want a chunk of glass when they're looking for stone? It would come as no surprise if any average person were to cast such a rock aside.

But Joe took himself, like obsidian, and chipped away, and polished, and chipped away, and polished some more.

Did you know that nothing can carry a sharper edge than obsidian? Natives used it for arrow heads. In certain procedures, surgeons rely on its incredible sharpness to perform feats a steel edge would find daunting. Polished to a luster, it makes a mockery of the sleekest panther's coat.

Cer Obsidian, today, is one of the kindest, most clever, charismatic GQ-looking men you'll ever run across. I often refer to him as The East Coast Erik. He's got himself a great reputation throughout the city, a list of true friends of high caliber, several college degrees, plenty of oppurtunity, the piercing-yet-comforting gaze of a trusted leader, and a beautiful fiance. Sorry ladies. Maybe you should track down McCoy. Or Window even.

I feel better as a person to be able to count him among my friends.

Solaris

Solaris was the wife of my close friend McCoy. She is American-Indian, I forget form which tribe. Her parents moved to Arizona from Nebraska when she was about...14? She almost immediately took a liking to Erik (McCoy). Her parents loved him almost as much as she. And his parents treated her like a prized daughter. Her parents and his parents discussed it, and came to the conclusion that they'd allow Mandy (Solaris) to marry Erik at 17. Seems a little crazy, but you had to know them. It was beautiful. Then something terrible happened.

Mandy and her parents went Wedding Dress shopping in Phoenix. She drove out in her car. After all the excitement of the long day, Mandy was tired. Her dad, a guy as genuine as Erik, insisted on driving them home so she could sleep on the back seat. It was raining that night.

I was living with Erik at the time. I was home to take the call. Mandy was calling from the hospital. She was a bit confused. She'd been in an accident.

The only reason she lived is because she was lying down in the back seat. Her father had been impaled on the steering column. Her mother died on the helicopter.

Solaris took pride in her Native roots. She loved how her dad was so stoic and spiritual. He was tough, not afraid to roll up his sleeves and get dirty. Every one in our congregation loved the venison jerky he'd make after a hunt, especially me.

After burying her parents, she had to fight the remainder of her family for her right to everything. Especially to marry Erik. She prevailed. She had a good teacher.

On the trip to the Pacific for the wedding, I realized my love for Glass. It was a special trip.

Over the years, Solaris never talked about it. Never cried. When they came of age, she and McCoy began hitting the infamous club scene of the Southern California area. Ultimately, Erik regained his senses, opting to commence his pursuit of a more respectable life. Mandy didn't pull out of the spiral. She kept going out alone, coming home drunk at odd hours. Left the job my wife got her at the bank. Lost a few other jobs.

When Erik confronted her about it, she admitted to having an affair. She left after that. He kept the house, and when she was turned out elsewhere, he let her back in. He kept the door open, even in his heart.

The economic slump has been carving chunks out of Erik's business. Recently, his father went in for surgery. Erik caved. He left his business behind, sold his cars, foreclosed the house...

My wife never got to meet Mandy's parents. She moved to Arizona later in the year. But, coincidentally, while I was living with Erik, she was living with Mandy. They were about as close of friend's as Erik and I.

My wife has been devastated by this. Everybody keeps blaming it on Mandy's age. I think that's stupid. That opinion lacks insight. She never dealt with her tragedy. The party scene, an entertaining phase for Erik, was for her a way of coping. An escape.

Last I heard, McCoy's doing alright. He just went scuba diving and spear fishing in Cali. As far as Arizona, we don't talk about it.

Cer

Cer is a word from my language. Basically it relates to people who now have, or have had, a profound influence on your life. Cers, Cera in my language for plural, can also be the people tethered to your Cera. Not to be forgotten is the fact that a Cer can be a very negative person in your life.

Urso

Urso is Luna's husband. He's a big guy. Big enough to be intimidating. But he's got a very steady disposition, almost dry. Whether he's angry or making jokes, his voice and words are measured and equal. You end up feeling quite relaxed in his presence, despite his formidable size.

Murky

Aunt Mercy had eyes the green of used, dirty money. Her hair shone like polished gold. She had a sly smile. Her size belied her movement, which flickered like the candles she burned throughout her home. When she hugged you - or made contact at all - it was always distracted. Not like it was forced, but like it was restrained.

She gave me my first Snickers bar; salty-sweet, delicious. I also tried potato-salad for the first time outside her home - gritty, awful. Her home. She'd grow frantic if you disturbed the tassels on her throw rugs. Everything smelled of incense, scented-candles, disinfectant. She smelled of beer, and of the hunt. Despite her alcohol-slurred speech she spoke in soothing tones - the better to con people with, her means of living. I don't mind potato salad these days. I don't really care for Snickers, though.

Grandpa's body finally caught up with his spirit and died. Aunt Mercy was there when it happened; she was the only one in the room. She said his suffering had finally come to an end. He had known about the cancer for three weeks. Everyone understood. She seized all the property. Grandma had a stroke and fell into Mercy's custody.

Perhaps she finally felt empowered, controlling the fate of the woman who controlled her. If not, then maybe when she took her mother's life too. I wonder sometimes, if she ever felt love, or if she ever will. I wonder, too, if she'll ever be strong enough to show love. I intend never to find out; I know enough about the darkness to identify those consumed by it.

Luna

Luna is a girl. A friend of my wife's. This girl is a bad ass. But she doesn't act like it. She's always got a sunny disposition. Nothing rocks her steadiness. And she's tougher than most men I know. Might be tougher than me! She dislocated her shoulder years ago. It was WAY worse than either of mine.

She got a shoulder surgery recently. All her ligaments had to be re-attached. Every last one. The surgeon was shocked. He thought it was going to be in and out. He'd never seen so much damage. Barely phased her. Back to work, lugging around her foster kids, pushing her uppity monstrosity of a puppy down to teach it not to jump on guests, moving furniture alone. Quite likely as tough as me, only she's nice. Got me beat, in spades.

She's cute, no doubt, but something about her transcends gender. Honest to God, most times I forget she's a she, and carry on just like she's one of the guys. She's the first girl I've ever known who that ability came naturally to. Some girls hang with the guys to get guys. Some girls are tom-boys 'cause they've got "something to prove".

Luna has nothing to prove. She deserves the mantle of a Cer.

Nina

Nina was bought to replace my "brother" and boy's best-friend, Ranger. Nina was half Lab, a quarter Husky, and a quarter German Shepherd.

Despite what you'd imagine, she was as white as the driven snow. She had a brown nose and brown lips, the bottom of which pouted pout, just like my sister's bottom lip. And just like my sister, she had brown eyes.

I suppose I needn't tell you that the dog who was to replace my dog became my sister's dog. She was my sister's dog, and no one else's. She would sometime jump in the air--straight up--to catch low flying birds which she would deposit at my sisters feet. If my sister and I were playing to rough, I could expect to get attacked. The same went for anyone who upset my sister in any way. My sister reciprocated, for the most part: she wouldn't let our grandparents hit Nina. She helped Nina birth her nine puppies. She concealed Nina from my discipline.

Nina was something else; she would "kickbox" when we'd play. She'd use all four paws, plus her teeth and tail to mount elaborate attacks. As if that weren't taxing enough on her intelligence, she learned how to open ALL types of doors and to climb all types of fences.

Her intelligence prevented us from keeping her locked within our property's borders. It also cost her her life.

Aquila

My sister. Between us and our mother, we are the last of the Mohicans. We are the only people who understand each other, who we can communicate with without words and with words be unfettered.

We are of different fathers, but make no mistake: there's nothing half about our bond. We were all each other had growing up.

She was given up for adoption to our grandparents when she was just two. I never gave in--I refused to let them adopt me. I often wonder if she would be less like my mother and like her more if she had been dragged around by mom like I had. She still holds a grudge: she believes mom loved me more, hence I wasn't left behind.

She's a professional chef in Arizona, living with her two sons beneath themselves in her ex-husband's parents' house. Grrrr.

Porcelain

Porcelain. Fragile looking, but deceptively strong.

She came down to Arizona from Washington. At first, we were all too intimidated by her beauty to approach her. In fact, if her mother-in-law hadn't told my girlfriend at the time that their friendship was inevitable, Glass would never have talked to her. But, intrigued by such a challenge in that statement, she spoke to Porcelain. They've been close friends ever since.

She's petite in size, blond-haired and blue-eyed, and has the features of a "Lord of the Rings" elf.

Up until our visit in Feb '08, I only liked her because she was my wife's friend. Our stay as guests in her and her husband's home enlightened me. It's funny how sometimes when you don't get along with someone, it's because you have a lot in common.

Pine and CedarElm

Pine is my other Real Life Role Model. He is serene, insightful, intuitive, calming, informative, spiritual. He's married to an overwhelmingly gorgeous and loving wife I have named CedarElm, or Celm for short.

Why he's a role model: He's has a long-lasting successful marriage. He was a missionary in Tonga for several years. He is a good husband, father, and friend. He raised three gentlemen (the youngest I call Gecko) and an exceptional lady.

He lives in a beautiful, yet modest home and owns a coffee franchise that has a one-up on Starbucks: drive-thru!

He and his wife are so warm and large in heart, most people (my wife included) refer to them as "Mom and Pop."

Mach

My horror of a grandmother.

She raised my aunt to be a homicidal psychotic and my mom to be a "daddy-issues" teen runaway. Then she adopted my mom's daughter, my sister "Aquila". Aquila ended up almost as screwed up as my mom.

My mom raised me on the streets and in the desert of Southern California and taught me love and fear of God. My grandmother taught me criticism, manipulation, that the anticipation of pain is usually worse than pain itself, make the pain worth the anticipation, and to hate and fear myself with my newly acquired skills.

I call her Mach because she was married to my grandfather, and they traveled the world in the Air Force. She never passed on a chance to mock and belittle someone, and her back-hand was faster than the viper she stole her eyes from.

Aflack

After Church came Aflack. His name was Donald, like the famous duck with the infamous temper. Not that Aflack had a terrible temper. I only mention his real name so you don't think I'm THAT much of a jerk when I tell his story.

I often refer to him as my step-dad. This is because he was the only man my mother had that was a provider. He had a house and several tough Dodge cars. A '69 Charger (think Dukes of Hazard) and a '70 Challenger. He was a grease-monkey. He LOVED working on his babies. Fact is, I don't remember him ever actually driving the Challenger. However, I did manage to convince him to install the CB antenna in the trunk, like Dukes of Hazard. He wouldn't give up the metal-flake green paint for orange though!

He over corrected on a hill going to work in a Toyota Cellica. The car launched off the hill. He, not wearing a seatbelt, launched through the windshield. His head landed on a rock over 100 feet from the car. The doctors removed an enormous chunk of his right frontal lobe.

By the time he woke from his 3 year coma, my mother had moved on. And moved, and moved, and moved.

Byrd

My mother's boyfriend after I moved to Arizona and beyond.

He was highly intelligent. Part of two different clubs for vain people with excessively high IQs. You know the two. He was a formidable swordsman too. Sounds like my mom finally picked a winner, no?

He'd been living with his mom for the last 25 years. Doing NOTHING for a living. You see, when he was fresh out of high school, with all the prestigious colleges jocking for him, he chose a girl instead. Shortly after their joyful marriage, she was murdered. He fell into a depression he never recovered from.

Decades later, my mom took him on as her latest fixer-upper. At the time, he was hooked on morphine. She nursed him off that, only to have him fall into alcoholism. The alcohol raced through his already ravaged body, sending him to the hospital with liver damage. Upon returning to his mother's house, he cashed in the alcohol for pills.

One night, Asterisk, feeling lonesome and sorry for himself, paid Byrd and my mother a visit. Byrd punched Risk (terrible idea) and Risk jumped in his truck and used it as a weapon.

Back from the hospital, Byrd added pain-killers back to his repertoire of addictions. He overdosed, leaving my mom to cart him back to the hospital for the umpteenth time. This time, doctors were more concerned than my mother. And Byrd's mother? She said: "I don't care if he dies."

I can understand her disappointment, but if you don't have the parenting skills to get the kids out and keep them out, even under his special circumstances, it's YOUR damn fault.

He took the message to his already fractured heart. He told my mom: "Sorry I put you through this, that I'm leaving you like this," before slipping into a three day coma and, ultimately, death.

That was October of '07. Right when I was reeling from having failed my midterms. The fact that I was 3,000 miles away from helping my heart-stricken mother started my own slide into the deepest depression I've personally ever experienced. Life got worse from there...

Asterisk (Risk)

I played this game once where there was this weapon that they called the asterisk. It was a Shuriken, a throwing star, that would blast apart into two stars at the push of an RC button. If you so chose, you could press The Button again, detonating the stars after they were embedded in your obstacles or enemies!

My favorite of all my mother's boyfriend's. Schizophrenic, unmannered, foul-tempered, prone to paranoia, Kenny was the best damn driver this side of the dirt. Despite his personality flaws, there were times he'd talk civilly to you. During those times, he'd somehow give a piece of advice you've never heard before or since that proves precious and true. His hard-earned life advice was more precious and rare than platinum-encrusted meteorites.

Most important of all, even though he was a black belt (like my father) and former varsity wrestler who, when I knew him, weighed around 300 lbs and was well over 6' tall, NEVER hit my mother. We went many rounds. He actually pinned me in such a way to where I could literally kiss my own ass after I destroyed his cigarettes...

His self-loathing and paranoia did him in with regards to their relationship. He's incarcerated somewhere now after running down Byrd with a truck.

Baguira and Raksha

My spiritual "uncle and aunt". After Torch and Lighthouse moved away, I continued my studies under their tutelage.

Quite a fascinating couple. He's African-American. Retired from Chrysler as a welder. Prior to that he worked in a hospital as a janitor--while he was illiterate! He learned to read from the Jehovah's Witnesses whom he studied the Bible with.

Raksha is a natural born leader-of-the-pack. The "black sheep" in her Italian family with it's former ties to the mafia. She did quite a few stints in the can due to her violent temper before succumbing to the advice to follow Christ's example.

They were an inter-racial couple back in the '60s. As if that wasn't hectic enough, her family threatened him, despite her violence against him--she even stabbed him!

They overcame all that to be one of the most devoted couples you could ever find.

McCoy

McCoy. The real deal. As genuinely good a guy as you'll ever meet. Smart, humble, soft-spoken, masculine yet compassionate. Infectious laughter that is frequent. A good listener. A true friend and a friend to count among your blessings.

Hank McCoy in the X-Men is known as Beast. If you know his character, you have yet more insight into my friend. Incidentally, he resembles Beast.

Polaris

Polaris. Glass and I have this mutual friend since the beginning. She is the daughter of Pine and CedarElm, sister to Gecko.

She is an attractive young lady, with an even more attractive personality. Seemingly an extrovert, yet enigmatic, with a quirky sense of humor. Never fails to brighten the moment. I had a crush on her before she took off to New York to court her then fiance. As with all my crushes, I knew it was nothing real, just a self-prescribed infatuation to keep my mind off my loneliness and fear of possessing an unloving heart. Even when I heard she was engaged, I maintained the crush. I was finally at an age of independence; I figured I'd crush on her until I found my true love.

Like sailors using the star Polaris. They set their sights on a star, never hoping to reach some beautiful yet alien galaxy. Rather, they follow it to a safe, fruitful harbor.

Polaris's engagement fell through. She returned to her recently purchased home, not with a husband, but with a roommate!

I'm sure you can figure out the rest...

By way of mentioning. Before Glass and I started dating, we were talking about attraction. I said on the phone: "You know who has the most beautiful eyes--real or imagined?" Glass swooned, ready to take her sappy compliment: "Who?"

"[Polaris]," I stated. Fool.

My wife takes great pleasure in recounting this tale to all her friends-of-the-female-persuasion, most recently out in San Diego, when we were visiting for Polaris's wedding. Different guy. I'm glad they all have quirky senses of humor...

Glass

Glass. My new name for my wife. Formerly Freeness.

Sharp, fragile, useful, pretty. In the brightness you can see through it, see in. But that doesn't mean that you can get inside. When dark, it's like a mirror, reflecting a darker version of yourself.

There's a glass platform over a section of the Grand Canyon. Imagine walking out on it. Exhilarating. Beautiful. Empowering. Like walking on air.

Cracked.Broken. Shattered. Regardless of the degree of damage, walking on broken glass is painful.