"It is what it is." My new motto. I have endured a lot of...trials and tribulations...in 40 years of life. I never knew how to just relax and go with the flow until about a year ago. The last...myriad...of years of my life have really helped me to not stress the little things. It's a great feeling not worrying about the things that are beyond my control.
I know some people who are quite...annoyed...with that phrase. And I'm sorry you're annoyed by it, but you'll hear me say it. A lot. I have spent too many years stressing things that are out of my realm of control. I'll not have another stroke, another heart attack, or another nervous breakdown. They weren't fun. Not on my bucket list of things to try twice.
Almost 40 years ago, I was put up for adoption. I have known this information since I was old enough to understand the English language. I was teased in school A LOT for being adopted. I was called "Orphan Andy." I remember one day getting fed up with the teasing and telling one boy "At least my parents got to choose me. They didn't get stuck with something that looks like you." He shut up real fast. And left me alone for the rest of the year.
20 years ago, I met my biological father for the first memorable time in my life. We met at The Bel-Loc Diner in Towson. It was Bruce Dayhoff (my biological father), Jeana Long-Dayhoff (his wife), Lynda Lynne Dayhoff-Leight (my older sister), Steven Leight (her husband), Nicole Lynne Mazuran (nee Dayhoff, my younger sister) and Jeana's three children. On my side it was Joanne Hohman (my ex-wife), Ricky Hohman (my son), Paula Blair (my ex-step daughter) and Steven Johns (her husband.)
The meeting started off well. Then, a few...mitigating circumstances...occured and the meeting went to hell in a handbag. Quickly. Bruce gave me his at-that-time contact information. Things happened, and the information was lost. I had no contact with him, and little contact with Lynda, for almost 15 years. In that time, life happened. And death happened. After moving to Texas, he and I reconnected via Facebook.
It was slow going at first. 2 months ago, I moved back to Maryland to be more active in my son/grandkids' lives. In the process, he and I have reconnected even more. We talk on Facebook relatively frequently now. We've reconnected in person twice (once at his house, once at a Golden Corral in Hagerstown with my son.) He said something to me today on Facebook about having the memory of my adoption on his chest and trying to make up for it. I told him that the past is in the past. What happened happened. There's nothing either of us can do about it. I know it will weigh on his mind for some time, but I reassured him that I hold no grudges, no animosity for what he did. He did the right thing.
I have a very unique blessing in my life. I have my Mom and Dad, June and Robert Hohman. They have given me a life. A wonderful life. All of my needs were met very aptly, and beyond. And I thank them and love them for that. But I also have another father, the man who gave me life. Then made the decision to allow me to have a life. And I thank Bruce Dayhoff for that just as equally.
I know, this seems to have strayed greatly from the topic. Worry not, I'm tying it together right here. It was what it was, and it is what it is. He had to do what he had to do. And there's absolutely no viable point in stressing about it lo these many years later. He never transgressed in such a way that he had to worry about apologizing to me or seeking forgiveness. Circumstances were beyond his control, and he did what he felt was right.
With that, I bid you adieu. And remember, don't sweat the small things...
Monday, May 12, 2014
Monday, May 5, 2014
You're kidding me, right?
I normally avoid topics like religion and politics, but I can't keep my mouth shut on this. This whole push for a $15/hour minimum wage is getting ludicrous. While yes, the cost of living is going up, that doesn't mean that someone who works form McDonald's asking "Do you want fries with that" deserves to make $15 an hour. That's not that specialized of a job. Uniquely qualified. I used to work for McDonald's. Started in the drive-thru and trained up to a Certified Swing Manager.
I keep seeing memes like this. While most of the information is quite accurate, the mathematical figures are not. Allow me to walk you through the ACCURATE figures...
Most minimum wage workers travel no more than 6 miles to work. While on deployment, our Military personnel can travel up to 8,094 miles. That's 1,349 times as far. While flipping a burger, the worst thing that could happen to you is slipping and falling or burning yourself. While on deployment, the worst thing that could happen to you is death. I think death is a little more severe (and permanent) than a fucking grease burn.
All of that being said, don't get me wrong. No job is "easy." Every job has it's hazards. But, some jobs are FAR more hazardous than others. Personally, I blame this whole "My job is so hard" mentality on Kanye West. He's the window licker who said that his career as a musician was harder and more dangerous than the military. He's also an egotistical, self-centered fuck who thinks he is the greatest musician, or even human being for that matter, to walk this Earth. The same dipshit who named his kid after a fucking airpline. Hey, Kanye! Your career is more dangerous than the military? When was the last time a deranged fan launched an RPG at you? Or set up a roadside bomb to kill you? That's right...NEVER. It never happened, and it never will. You're a rapper. Not a good one, but still a rapper. The hardest thing you have to deal with now is if your braindead, no-talent hack of a wife's ass is getting to small, and when your kid gets their ass kicked for being named after a fucking airline. Get over yourself. You shit the same way I do, you wipe your ass the same way I do, and when you die you'll decompose the same way I will.
I realize that $7.25 an hour isn't enough to make ends meet for the average American. But $15 an hour? Y'all are a special kind of stupid, aren't you? I make ends meet on the equivalent of $11 an hour. I refuse to have my taxes going to some fucker who stands there, chawing gum like it's fucking cud, looking at me like I interrupted their lives so they can go buy their rims and Gucci. Yes, I know that sounds quite racist. I'm sorry if that offends anyone. Should minimum wage go up? Sure. Should it jump $7.75 an hour? No. I could see $8.50 an hour. Maybe $9. Most jobs start you at about that any way. There is no reason why someone who is in no way, shape or form in danger of loss of life or limb make more money than someone who is.
In conclusion...I'm going to go smoke a cigarette. This type of stupidity pisses me off. Stupidity at this level should be ridiculously painful.
I keep seeing memes like this. While most of the information is quite accurate, the mathematical figures are not. Allow me to walk you through the ACCURATE figures...
Annual Salaries - Minimum wage vs Military
- Minimum wage @ $15/hr, 40 hours a week = $31,200.00
- E1 (Private) = $18,378.00
- E5 (Sergeant) = $26,172.00 (<=2 yrs exp) - $37,137.60 (top of pay, achieved at 14 years exp)
- E7 (Sergeant First Class) = $33,030.00 (<=2 yrs exp) - $59,360.40 (top of pay achieved at 26 years exp)
- E9 Special (Sergeant Major of the Army - top rank for enlisted personnel) = $58,042.80 (>10 years experience) - $90,115.20 (top of pay, achieved at >38 years exp)
- W1 (Warrant Officer) = $34,077.00 (<=2 years exp) - $58,881.60 (top of pay, achieved at >20 years exp)
- W5 (Chief Warrant Officer 5 - top rank for Warrant personnel) = $85,420.80 (>=20 yrs exp) - $111,780.00 (top of pay, achieved at >38 years exp)
- O1 (Second Lieutenant) = $34,862.40 (<=2 yrs exp) - $43,866.00 (top of pay, achieved at >3 years exp)
- O5 (Lieutenant Colonel) = $61,279.20 (<=2 yrs exp) - $104,108.40 (top of pay, achieved at >22 years exp)
- O10 (General) = $192,866.40 (>20 yrs exp) - $237,150.00 (top of pay, achieved at >38 years exp)
Most minimum wage workers travel no more than 6 miles to work. While on deployment, our Military personnel can travel up to 8,094 miles. That's 1,349 times as far. While flipping a burger, the worst thing that could happen to you is slipping and falling or burning yourself. While on deployment, the worst thing that could happen to you is death. I think death is a little more severe (and permanent) than a fucking grease burn.
All of that being said, don't get me wrong. No job is "easy." Every job has it's hazards. But, some jobs are FAR more hazardous than others. Personally, I blame this whole "My job is so hard" mentality on Kanye West. He's the window licker who said that his career as a musician was harder and more dangerous than the military. He's also an egotistical, self-centered fuck who thinks he is the greatest musician, or even human being for that matter, to walk this Earth. The same dipshit who named his kid after a fucking airpline. Hey, Kanye! Your career is more dangerous than the military? When was the last time a deranged fan launched an RPG at you? Or set up a roadside bomb to kill you? That's right...NEVER. It never happened, and it never will. You're a rapper. Not a good one, but still a rapper. The hardest thing you have to deal with now is if your braindead, no-talent hack of a wife's ass is getting to small, and when your kid gets their ass kicked for being named after a fucking airline. Get over yourself. You shit the same way I do, you wipe your ass the same way I do, and when you die you'll decompose the same way I will.
I realize that $7.25 an hour isn't enough to make ends meet for the average American. But $15 an hour? Y'all are a special kind of stupid, aren't you? I make ends meet on the equivalent of $11 an hour. I refuse to have my taxes going to some fucker who stands there, chawing gum like it's fucking cud, looking at me like I interrupted their lives so they can go buy their rims and Gucci. Yes, I know that sounds quite racist. I'm sorry if that offends anyone. Should minimum wage go up? Sure. Should it jump $7.75 an hour? No. I could see $8.50 an hour. Maybe $9. Most jobs start you at about that any way. There is no reason why someone who is in no way, shape or form in danger of loss of life or limb make more money than someone who is.
In conclusion...I'm going to go smoke a cigarette. This type of stupidity pisses me off. Stupidity at this level should be ridiculously painful.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Parents, why do you hate your kids so much?
There is an epidemic plaguing this country. And it
started in Hollywood. What the fuck is the deal with naming your kid
something that is Danish for "Please, pick on my kid
unmercifully"?!?!?!? Apple is a fruit, not a name for a kid. Can you
see the conversation in a few years? "Hi. My name is Apple. This is
my brother, Grape. And these are my cousins, Tangelo and Cumquat."
I say it started in Hollywood. Here's my proof. Gwyneth Paltrow
named her kid Apple. Frank Zappa named his kids Dweesil, Moonunit and
Diva Muffin. Michael Jackson named his kids Prince Michael I, Prince
Michael II/Blanket and Paris. Penn Gilette (of Penn & Teller) named his kid Moxie Crimefighter.
Shannon Sossamyn named her kid Audio Science. The list goes on.
Now, the American public, as non-Hollywoodians, have decided to pick up the gauntlet. When I was younger, I knew someone named Starchild. One of my old neighbors was named Summer. She named her daughters Autumn and Spring. Really? Why not just name your kid Partly Cloudy With A Chance Of Showers? Or Jet Fuel? A few years ago, there was a couple in Hawaii who actually lost custody of their daughter. They named her Talulah DoesTheHula. They lost custody under the grounds of cruel and unusual punishment.
Why? Why doom your kid to a lifetime of torture? Isn't childhood hard enough without having a name like Velveeta? Or Abcde (pronounced Absidy)? Or Le-a (pronounced Ledasha.)? Yes. Velveeta. I actually heard this name once at a HellMart in Baltimore. I started looking around for dropped groceries. Why the FUCK would you name your kid after a cheese by-product? These are real names. For God's sake, why must we be so compelled to torture our kids? I guess we've forgotten how hard our childhoods may have been with normal names like David, Stephanie, Rick and Melissa.
Just to add to the list of ridiculous names, on 8/15/2012 actress Kim Zolciak and NFL husband Kroy Biermann (Kroy?!?!?!) had a child. They named this child...Kash Kade. Read quickly...Cascade. Really?!?!? This child joins his older brother named...Kroy Jagger "KJ" Biermann, Jr. "Kroy Jagger"?!?!? Really? Are they expecting him to grow up skinny as all hell with lips the size of Montana? Unreal. And just to trump the stupidity to levels never imagined, we cannot leave Kim Kardashian and Kanye West off the list. They named their child after a damned airline. North West. Oh Kanye...you sly devil. I see what you did there. You're so fly. I wish I would've been smart enough to give my child a name that will damn them to a life of eternal torture. Naming my son Richard was just so...normal.
Just an fyi...this blog will be continually updated as I come across more examples of astoundingly stupid parents. We all know this trend will continue...
REALLY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Now, the American public, as non-Hollywoodians, have decided to pick up the gauntlet. When I was younger, I knew someone named Starchild. One of my old neighbors was named Summer. She named her daughters Autumn and Spring. Really? Why not just name your kid Partly Cloudy With A Chance Of Showers? Or Jet Fuel? A few years ago, there was a couple in Hawaii who actually lost custody of their daughter. They named her Talulah DoesTheHula. They lost custody under the grounds of cruel and unusual punishment.
Why? Why doom your kid to a lifetime of torture? Isn't childhood hard enough without having a name like Velveeta? Or Abcde (pronounced Absidy)? Or Le-a (pronounced Ledasha.)? Yes. Velveeta. I actually heard this name once at a HellMart in Baltimore. I started looking around for dropped groceries. Why the FUCK would you name your kid after a cheese by-product? These are real names. For God's sake, why must we be so compelled to torture our kids? I guess we've forgotten how hard our childhoods may have been with normal names like David, Stephanie, Rick and Melissa.
Just to add to the list of ridiculous names, on 8/15/2012 actress Kim Zolciak and NFL husband Kroy Biermann (Kroy?!?!?!) had a child. They named this child...Kash Kade. Read quickly...Cascade. Really?!?!? This child joins his older brother named...Kroy Jagger "KJ" Biermann, Jr. "Kroy Jagger"?!?!? Really? Are they expecting him to grow up skinny as all hell with lips the size of Montana? Unreal. And just to trump the stupidity to levels never imagined, we cannot leave Kim Kardashian and Kanye West off the list. They named their child after a damned airline. North West. Oh Kanye...you sly devil. I see what you did there. You're so fly. I wish I would've been smart enough to give my child a name that will damn them to a life of eternal torture. Naming my son Richard was just so...normal.
Just an fyi...this blog will be continually updated as I come across more examples of astoundingly stupid parents. We all know this trend will continue...
In Memoriam
I was not always an only child. On July 31, 1970, my brother was
born. Gregory Michael Hohman. He, as I, was adopted. My brother was
instrumental in my parent's choosing to adopt me. He and I were as most
siblings growing up...we would fight, but ultimately, he would defend
me in my time of need. When he turned 13, he began what would
ultimately be a 15 year, uphill battle against drugs and alcohol.
Fast-forward...he went in and out of jail for many years. Fast-forward...January 4, 1999. My brother was released from Snow Hill Detention Center in Snow Hill, Maryland. He came to visit/stay with my ex-wife and I. We goofed around for 2 days, staying up until 6am on the second day playing "Double Dare" on an original NES. He went to my parent's house that evening. That would be the last time I would see him alive.
January 8, 1999, my father found his oldest son dead in the bathroom in the basement. He was 28. He was poisoned with Morphine. He stood 5'6" and weighed 130 pounds. They found 86mg in his bloodstream. His death was ruled an "accidental suicide", but there is more to the story. I will digress from the full story here, as it is extremely complicated.
When I was told of his death, I insisted on absolution. I went downstairs to the bathroom where he had expired. I saw his blood in the toilet and on the floor. I live with these images...permanently. This year, he would have been 44. I always have difficulties around July 31st and January 8th, but this year seems to be harder, as it marks 15 years since his...murder.
As I write this, tears stream from my face. At times, I cannot sleep due to the images flooding my mind's eye. I have tried to drown the images, but neither the beer nor whiskey seemed strong enough. I would give almost anything to have my brother back, but I know it is futile. I must continue with life. It is what he would want. This is for you, Greg.
Fast-forward...he went in and out of jail for many years. Fast-forward...January 4, 1999. My brother was released from Snow Hill Detention Center in Snow Hill, Maryland. He came to visit/stay with my ex-wife and I. We goofed around for 2 days, staying up until 6am on the second day playing "Double Dare" on an original NES. He went to my parent's house that evening. That would be the last time I would see him alive.
January 8, 1999, my father found his oldest son dead in the bathroom in the basement. He was 28. He was poisoned with Morphine. He stood 5'6" and weighed 130 pounds. They found 86mg in his bloodstream. His death was ruled an "accidental suicide", but there is more to the story. I will digress from the full story here, as it is extremely complicated.
When I was told of his death, I insisted on absolution. I went downstairs to the bathroom where he had expired. I saw his blood in the toilet and on the floor. I live with these images...permanently. This year, he would have been 44. I always have difficulties around July 31st and January 8th, but this year seems to be harder, as it marks 15 years since his...murder.
As I write this, tears stream from my face. At times, I cannot sleep due to the images flooding my mind's eye. I have tried to drown the images, but neither the beer nor whiskey seemed strong enough. I would give almost anything to have my brother back, but I know it is futile. I must continue with life. It is what he would want. This is for you, Greg.
Namaste
Jai Baghwan
gvgeyuhi, tsosdanvtli
Indian Prayer
Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there.
I do not
sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glint on
snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there.
I did not die.
R.I.P. Gregory Michael Hohman
7/31/70-1/7/99
7/31/70-1/7/99
Fear and Loathing in...Las Vegas? No. In reality.
Worry is a powerful demon, as is fear. Individually, they are
conquerable. Combined, they are an unstoppable force. No, not
unstoppable, but an extremely formidable foe. If they are individually vanquishable, why are they so difficult to defeat as a team?
If you resolutely know you have no viable grounds to worry, worry withers and dies like a flower without water. If you know that, as Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, there is nothing to fear but fear itself, fear fades into the hellacious abyss from whence it came. But when combined, they find that one corner of the heart where a modicum of doubt lives and feed it. That modicum of doubt then grows until it becomes a black hole, consuming the heart, mind and soul.
If left unchecked, it will eventually destroy everything and everyone in it's path. There must be a force that can vanquish fear and worry. Doubt is their food. Kill doubt, fear and worry will die as well. But the mind never doubts from without, only from within. All doubt is internally and infernally founded. We are our own worst critic.
Any person who claims to like everything about themselves is either vapid and conceited, or a liar. Doubt translates into self-loathing, which becomes a preoccupying mind-frame. In our quest to achieve what we feel is our own physical state of perfection, we feed doubt. As doubt grows, fear and worry become increasingly more powerful.
Love is the blanket that smothers the all-consuming fire of doubt. If we could rest contentedly within the arms of love, doubt would die. In turn, that would kill fear and worry. If we could but retain the concept that love is the most powerful force in the universe, life would be perfect. But no one can handle the full force of love, just as no one can live in perfection. It is more than the human soul can take.
If you resolutely know you have no viable grounds to worry, worry withers and dies like a flower without water. If you know that, as Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, there is nothing to fear but fear itself, fear fades into the hellacious abyss from whence it came. But when combined, they find that one corner of the heart where a modicum of doubt lives and feed it. That modicum of doubt then grows until it becomes a black hole, consuming the heart, mind and soul.
If left unchecked, it will eventually destroy everything and everyone in it's path. There must be a force that can vanquish fear and worry. Doubt is their food. Kill doubt, fear and worry will die as well. But the mind never doubts from without, only from within. All doubt is internally and infernally founded. We are our own worst critic.
Any person who claims to like everything about themselves is either vapid and conceited, or a liar. Doubt translates into self-loathing, which becomes a preoccupying mind-frame. In our quest to achieve what we feel is our own physical state of perfection, we feed doubt. As doubt grows, fear and worry become increasingly more powerful.
Love is the blanket that smothers the all-consuming fire of doubt. If we could rest contentedly within the arms of love, doubt would die. In turn, that would kill fear and worry. If we could but retain the concept that love is the most powerful force in the universe, life would be perfect. But no one can handle the full force of love, just as no one can live in perfection. It is more than the human soul can take.
Scars
It's been a little while since I've written. Had a lot going on. Getting enrolled in college (yes, my old ass is going back to college...UMUC for my Bachelor's in CyberSecurity), trying to stay connected with friends, family and loved ones. I feel like a human yo-yo...getting slung in every imaginable direction. But I'm okay with that. Anyway...
Just this past weekend, I attended a mini-reunion for the Woodlawn High Class of '91. Not a big turnout, but fun nonetheless. Got to reconnect with a few old friends. Many conversation were had in the process of catching up on 23 years of life. One of them really hit home for me. I was talking with Rubi Uzzi about scars. I have a few physical scars. My chin, both shoulders, my left middle finger, my left forearm and my back. But these are all physical. People can see them. I have come to terms with what caused each scar.
Like I said, I have come to terms with each of those scars. Each injury has it's physical consequences/side effects. But, there are scars that are much deeper that no one can see. These are the mental, emotional and spiritual scars. And I have a lot of them, too. We all do. We each have our burdens to bear. And each burden leaves a scar from the weight.
How we handle these scars shapes us into who we will eventually become as men and women. Handle them with grace and acceptance? You may become POTUS one day. Handle them by running away? You may look like Grizzly Adams and Charles Manson had a kid. But, it's never too late, no matter how far you run, to turn around and face the scars. You can still come through with flying colors. I finally did. And if I can do it after 2 strokes, 2 heart attacks and a nervous breakdown? So can you.
Normally my posts are a little more verbose and prolific. Not today. I'm ready for a cigarette. Until next time, good people.
*SEEYA*
Just this past weekend, I attended a mini-reunion for the Woodlawn High Class of '91. Not a big turnout, but fun nonetheless. Got to reconnect with a few old friends. Many conversation were had in the process of catching up on 23 years of life. One of them really hit home for me. I was talking with Rubi Uzzi about scars. I have a few physical scars. My chin, both shoulders, my left middle finger, my left forearm and my back. But these are all physical. People can see them. I have come to terms with what caused each scar.
- Chin - Fell in middle school and split it open on the floor. 13 stitches (7 outside, 6 inside)
- Left shoulder - Arthroscopic surgery to repair torn cartilage, ligaments and tendons
- Right shoulder - Put my shoulder through a window when I was 16
- Left forearm - Hit my arm with a wood hatchet chopping a tree stump when I was 16
- Left middle finger - Had my finger closed in a piece of hydraulic machinery at a job
- Back (2 scars) - Main scar: Back surgery in 1994; Secondary scar: Bone graft from my hip to repair a crushed vertebrae
Like I said, I have come to terms with each of those scars. Each injury has it's physical consequences/side effects. But, there are scars that are much deeper that no one can see. These are the mental, emotional and spiritual scars. And I have a lot of them, too. We all do. We each have our burdens to bear. And each burden leaves a scar from the weight.
How we handle these scars shapes us into who we will eventually become as men and women. Handle them with grace and acceptance? You may become POTUS one day. Handle them by running away? You may look like Grizzly Adams and Charles Manson had a kid. But, it's never too late, no matter how far you run, to turn around and face the scars. You can still come through with flying colors. I finally did. And if I can do it after 2 strokes, 2 heart attacks and a nervous breakdown? So can you.
Normally my posts are a little more verbose and prolific. Not today. I'm ready for a cigarette. Until next time, good people.
*SEEYA*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)