Life As I Play It

Fourteen years is a long time to be cut off from the world. Most people I know can’t imagine not speaking to their parents for very long, and almost everyone I know will not go very long without seeing their parents, no matter the circumstances. I used to think that was weak. Do for yourself; you’ll be just fine. Now, I’m not sure anymore.

I have not seen my parents in fourteen years, and neither of us have indicated a great desire to see one another. The endless battling between my father and I was the main source of contention in my old house. In the end, they are better off without me, and vice versa. Read to the end of this before you pass judgment.

Not every family gets along in the traditional way; sometimes, people are better left separated. My sister and parents all still live together and have a great life. Dad has gotten a lot of his anger issues under control, my sister has finished college, and my mom gets to take it easy more often. I, of course, have a very good life at the edge of Middle America.

There’s a cold finality that sets into the center of your being when you know you can’t go home. Life becomes very simple; fend for yourself. Learn to survive on your own, or die. And dammit, you know what? I got really good at it.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when I realized I didn’t need anyone to take care of me, but it was coldly liberating, I remember that. Complete and utter freedom; free from what anyone else thinks, free to follow your own rules (and suffer the consequences), free to do as you will. I finished high school on my own, saw my first son brought into the world, all while living in the Tenderloin, where there was one bathroom per floor in most hotels.

Fighting was a rush and a release. First, I wasn’t that good at it (although I thought I was), but as I got better at it, it became so easy to let go of everything and lose myself in the moment. I didn’t have to think about the child I left behind, the hatred for my father that fueled me, I didn’t even have to think about what I’d do for dinner that night; I just had to beat the holy shit out of the person across from me.

Something I never confessed was that every single time I finished a fight, without fail, the first thing I always felt was regret. I used to think it was because of how badly I beat the other guy (I would often imagine my father while I was fighting. I went over the line in quite a few of my early fights).

But when it comes down to it…I haven’t seen my parents in fourteen years. That’s a long time, in fact, it’s too long, to live with so much hate in your heart.

Living on my own for this long, transitioning from homelessness to stability and gainful employment has taught me to think and rely on myself no matter what. I will always believe that the mind is one’s greatest resource. Learn to solve your problems, learn not to be afraid, learn to analyze and rationalize your fear. Learn to adapt; if what you are doing is not working, then try something new. Your own shortcomings are no one’s fault but your own, but if you look at them as opportunities to better yourself instead of placing blame, you can go very far in life. That I’m still alive is proof of that.

But…there’s always a but.

I cannot get close to people. Intimacy scares me more than anything else in the world. People almost inevitably let you down, right? People are out for themselves, and they’ll say the nicest things to your face while plotting your destruction. Need no one. Have nothing in your life that you can’t walk away from. Let know one truly know you and gain an advantage over you. Never place your fate in another one’s hands.

I’m almost thirty-four years old; the world is a different animal than the one it was when I was in my twenties.  I have screwed up virtually every single relationship, platonic or otherwise, that I’ve been in. It’s a day-to-day struggle to keep my self-destructive tendencies in check because I hate getting close to someone…anyone.

My biggest regret? The shitty relationship I have with my kids. I can say what I like about my father, but he was there in my life. I’m a voice on the phone to my youngest son. Yes, my kids scare the hell out of me, too. All those questions I have to answer.

I have pushed away so many beautiful, wonderful people who did nothing wrong but try to love me. In the end, I found some skewed, screwed-up reason to get away from them, and I vanished.

I may be a coward, but I face my fears. This is why I’m going home for a few days…
I already set the wheels in motion. The flight’s been booked, I even got the time squared away from work (how’s that for God’s will? All the time I’ve missed, and I am not only free to go see my family, I will be not lose time for it). And now, about one week from the trip, I’m about scared shitless.

I don’t think seeing my father and mother will be like some miracle cure-all; it will be a start. I miss my hometown. I miss BART, I miss the red brick street of the Civic Center, I miss the smell of the bay on the breeze, I miss the view from the fourth floor of the Virgin Megastore, I miss the ginormous five-floor main branch of the San Francisco public library. I miss playing with my kids…hell, I miss my kids. Terry went and turned fourteen without me. We talk on the phone, but it’s not like I’m actually there, you know?

I’m tired of that fire-like fear that boils up inside me and makes me awkward when someone looks me in the eye for too long. I’m tired of expecting the worst in people (and I’m fed up of always being right, when it comes to that) I don’t want all of this rage and hatred anymore.

I have to go home for a bit.

Anyway, that’s your foray into my head for the week. Thank you for reading. God bless and be safe.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I spent a few minutes trying to sort through the madness of my life. I spent about ten minutes warming up, and this is what I came to.

My life is, and always has been, about faith. But I have yet to find the words to accurately convey what it means to me, yet I can provide examples.

If I may elaborate, please?

Faith is falling out of the running for a job—and then interviewing for it that following week.

Faith is living homelessly for more than five years and living to tell about it.

Faith is maintaining your residence and way of life despite a lack of income.

Faith is victory after exhaustion.

This is the most trying time of my life, and I’m not talking about the lesson plan I keep twittering on about. I’m still amazed that my children’s family (on their mother’s side) were the ones who alerted me about my children. Once my staunchest adversaries and now they’re the ones who’re instrumental in me being able to maintain contact with my kids? That is faith.

Still, the questions mount, and these are questions beyond whether or not I can do it; if it was that simple, there’d be no question.

There’s the thorny legal process. My ex-wife abandoned our children, leaving them with her family so she could be with her drug-addicted boyfriend. I don’t have much better on my side; I still left them. But…I’ve gotten myself together, somewhat. I mean, I live alone, I’m self-sufficient, I have a trickling revenue stream even though I’m out of work, and my oldest son seems excited about seeing me again. Will my ability to support them count for anything in a system notorious for awarding custody to the mother regardless of the father’s status?

I’m not just saying that. I’ve seen it firsthand.

What if I have to remain in California in order to keep my kids? This is the only way I’d have to concede the issue. I can’t afford to live in California, much less support two children.

I don’t want to live in California, either. It took me more than a decade to say that (and I would do it for my kids if left with no choice, and I had the means), but there’s nothing for me there. I grew up in San Francisco, and that feels great to say, but Missouri is home, and God willing, I’ll spend the bulk of my years in St. Louis.

Moments like this, when doubt creeps into my mind, I get that feeling at the pit of my stomach, and the comforting thought that I’ve had since I was a child; it’ll all be okay.

Funny thing; it always is.

And so I fight on, working towards the inevitable exhaustion, for the first time unsure as to whether or not I can achieve my goal. I know that I have a gift for pulling things together, and I do not quit.
Faith, like always, is what will turn raw willpower into reality.

So at last I find the words. What is faith?

Faith is the knowledge of knowing that things will work out without knowing exactly how.

Faith is the will to fight on.

The source of my faith is, and always will be, God and His Son, but what you use is entirely up to you.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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If I had to liken myself to any two objects, the first would be one of those pullback/release type of toy cars. You know how they feel when you pull them back; as though they’re about to explode out of your hands? Well, when you let me go, I’ll charge ahead blindly at full speed, until I hit the wall.

Another object would be a bullet. Once fired, I would usually destroy my target without caring about collateral damage. I was one who very much believed that the ends justified the means.

I’m not as reckless as I used to be. In fact, the older I get, the more things come into perspective.

I should’ve done something about my children a long time ago, but I didn’t, and I try not to waste time lamenting things that cannot be changed. Here and now is what I have to work with. I am terrified of being a single father. At nineteen, I edited out Eminem CD’s and allowed my son to sing along, and at thirty-two, I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. I don’t engage in random acts of violence. I don’t even dress the same way anymore.

In short, I’m not going to have any idea what I’m doing.

I will have help—for which I’m grateful—but in the end, these two children are my responsibility, as I’m the one who brought them into this world. I don’t believe I’m any less guilty than their mother—we both left—and no matter what arrangement I work out with my children, I will never abandon them again.

I enjoy helping people and making a difference in people’s lives, even if it’s people I don’t know. I do this largely because I believe in karma, but also, it’s the right thing to do; I’ve had a lot of people help me for no reason throughout the years, I feel almost obligated to return the favor. My problem is that I don’t know as much as I think I do, and I absolutely hate to say no to someone in need. I used to habitually say yes and then apologize later, feeling guilty that I failed.

Okay, I admit to being pretty screwed up.

I’ve come to realize that there are things I know, and things I’m very good at, and those things I can pass on.

I would still like to create a place that encourages creative freedom; a place where writers, artists, and other creative minds can meet and bring their dreams to life without (too much) restraint. I have no idea how to do this right now, but when it’s time, I’m sure I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll use the little traction I have as a writer.

I’d like to be able to work as a full-time writer. I had a little taste of it last month; as unbelievable as it seems, I paid the bills using nothing but my imagination. It’s an addictive, galvanizing sensation, and I want more of it. Besides, being able to work from home allows me to spend more time with my kids…and family.

So there it is. This is what I’m about now, this is what I dream about, this is what I’m working for.

Maybe the next time I speak of my dreams, I’ll be able to compare myself to something less destructive than a bullet.

From the publish button to God’s ear.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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There’s this new dream I’ve been having lately…
There is a torrential rainstorm in a barren land. The rain is coming down with such force that I can’t see but three feet from me.

Thunder and lightning strike with enough force to make me think the ground is coming apart.

I’m dressed; black button-up short-sleeved shirt, black jeans. No hat, no gloves, no do-rag. This is me, Avery K. Tingle.

This storm seems to call the end of the world forth, but I’m not affected. I keep walking, unsure of where I’m going, until I see a dark figure ahead, moving towards me.

It’s me. Well, sort of. It’s…who I used to be.
Blue jeans, black sleeveless T-shirt (which I still own), the trademark blue jean jacket with the black star on the back, and the hat I gave to Drea almost four years ago now.
The gloves are there too. I remember there was a time I did not nothing without them. The gloves are running with fresh blood.

For some reason, I’m not surprised.

Today (real life now) I’m at the desktop, trying to get my two computers to like one another. While going through the desktop I’m surprised to find two sets of users, both with very different settings. In one folder, there’s Avery…in the other, Busterwolf.

Chilling to the bone is that I do not remember setting this up.
Also chilling are my friends telling me that my eyes are different in almost every single picture I take. I know why.

Busterwolf is not a monster, although he can be. He is a shell I created to protect my weaker self. I find myself no longer needing this shell, which refuses to go quietly into that good night.

So it’s time for us to face. In my heart, right now, I know I can’t beat him. I know just how strong he is; I made him.

This past week, I began exploring a photography hobby, tried red wine for the first time in life, I got to meet up with some of the smartest literary minds in the city, I landed quick work setting up someone’s computer, ranked in on a writing contest, and I even forgave a friend.

Even the martial arts have taken on a different perspective for me; my chi is much more aligned, time seems to slow down when I go through a form, punches and kicks find their mark with much more fluidity. It’s like I’m more fluent than I’ve ever been.

For all the fear I’ve overcome, there is still one more hurdle I have to face, and this is where Busterwolf awaits. I have yet to confront my own rage.

An interesting tidbit is I’ve always gotten a much bigger rush from fighting than from sex. With sex, I care very much what my partner likes and in fighting…I don’t care about anything but being better. I think less and go almost entirely on emotion. Going deeper into my emotions eventually leads me to rage, at which point I no longer care if my opponent lives or dies.

With sex, there’s always that point I will never go beyond, no matter how much I get into it. I don’t think I’d ever kill the person I was sleeping with, but I don’t know what would happen if I gave that deeply into my emotions, either. I think it’s because I’ve held back so much is the reason I’ve never gotten a rush out of the experience.

I take extreme measures to keep my temper in check. Very few people have ever seen me angry, and the few who have don’t talk to me anymore. It’s not something I’m proud of.

I look at everything I’ve screwed up in my life—my kids, people that loved me—and I have come to realize that what I have now—my writing, getting my children back, Molly—is my second chance. I am letting the past go, but I still have no idea how to healthily deal with rage.

I know that I won’t overcome—or make peace with—Busterwolf through some fight in a dream, that would be too easy.

No, overcoming Busterwolf will involve me earning the right to raise my children, finding literary success (my goal is to do it full time, for a living, but if I have to choose, I would rather be respected), and finally, at long last, get on one knee to the girl I’m supposed to spend my life, ask that very fateful question, and she says “yes”.

Yeah….I can freely admit I want a home and a family. And I would like at least one more child with the one.

When I start to find those, that’s when Busterwolf will walk away, taking the storm with him.

But right now, he’s waiting for me.

(It’s not about me, it’s about my sons)

Alright, Wolf…let’s you and me go….

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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Before the last fight, I spent a good hour on the net with Molly learning all I could about St. Louis. Yeah, I’ll cop to it that I’m moving out there to be closer to her–she drives two hours to come see me–but it’s more than that.

I’m a city kid. I love the country, I have nothing but love for small towns, but they’re not my environment. Give me skyscrapers, overpopulating human traffic, subways and other forms of public transportation any day. Damn, I haven’t been on a subway since BART back home and just the idea of stepping foot on a train hypes me up.

I also have a weird feeling, different than when I moved to Belding, Grand Rapids, Rapid City, or even Jefferson City; I always felt like those places were way stations. I don’t get this vibe from St. Louis, and Molly has nothing to do with it. Regardless of my relationship (which is going really good, and hope has a long future)…I don’t think I’ll be leaving there anytime soon. I think I’m getting ready to go home.

Then again, I may have said this about Jeff City a year ago. I’m wild-hearted, and it’s time I got that under control. It’s not about me anymore.

This is going to be the place where I raise my children, part of the time, anyway. I won’t lie, I want full time, they’re my kids, but my ex-wife’s family has played straight with me, I’ll play straight with them.

On one hand I’m really psyched about seeing my kids again, and on another I’m terrified beyond belief, and this is a fear I’m not familiar with. Do I really have what it takes to raise two boys by myself? Can I provide for them? Pay for their medical care when they need it? Help them keep their grades up if I get that responsibility? Can I ensure that they never have to worry about a place to live? I can barely keep minutes on my freaking phone for crying out loud.

And yet…I have to. I have to find a way. I’m good at that, it’s what I do, and this time I have so much more than myself counting on me to do it. And I love my kids. Both of them, even though I barely know Brandon.

These next few months are going to be some of the hardest of my life as in record time I need to secure an apartment and raise the fare needed to go get them, and bring them back. I’m going to need to work in addition to whatever full time job I pick up in January.

Besides, the sooner I get out there, the sooner I can put money away for other things. I’d like to own a home eventually.

And….I gotta be honest. Molly drives two hours one-way just to come see me. We have something pretty solid and I need to see it through. She shouldn’t have to put forth all the effort.

So there it is. I will be in St. Louis, Missouri by June, I want to be there between March and April.

So it begins.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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