The Thrill of Hope, A Soundtrack of Quiet Desperation

Growing up in Mexico was the best thing that could ever happen to me. My neighborhood was a place where I was poor but happy because I could feel the community, ruled by simplicity, and any other stereotype you wish to impose on the third world but I appreciated the value of loyalty. There were no convalescent homes, few childcare centers. We raised our young and kept our old. I don't know that I would have traded any amount of money or toys to miss all the moments of having my mom, grandparents, great grandparents, uncles and cousins within the same house or block.  The water in the desert came on twice a day with a view of the mountains. Like the way I imagined most Mexican neighborhoods, we played in the dirt streets. We didn't have many things so we made do. We played a game of hide and seek in which the timer was a soda can filled with little pebbles. There was a fascinating version of a snake game in which we all twirled around and the last person hung on for dear life, a...

I was born at a very young age. At least, that is what people tell me; I don't really remember. I was born 8/8/80. I wanted to be born in 88 to make it complete but my mother didn't want to wait. It's not that I don't have a cool birthday. It just could have been cooler but I guess I compensated by turning 8 on 8/8/88. Even at birth I was always aiming high.  I am a real bastard. My parents were never married. Well, they were, just not to each other. My mother was a young divorcee with a 6 year old son seeing a man who at the time had 3 daughters but no sons. They had been friends and now were busy conceiving me. Well, I guess conceiving me wasn't the goal but the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray. My mother did not tell my father she was pregnant and disappeared out of his life when she found out he was still married despite being separated. Among my early memories is  my brother's dad, my mom's first husband, would come to visit him and I wou...

This is the overture to my own memoirs of sort. My own million little pieces with less, at least intentional, fiction. It’s titled The Thrill of Hope, a Soundtrack of Quiet Desperation.   That is the crossroads I seem to have lived my life in. The ancient idea that there remains, faith, hope and love. I will share my Faith both in lower and upper case, share where I have failed and been failed at by what I believe in. I will disclose that somewhere I am still an eternal romantic.    I believe in love, both the feeling and the principle seem to be always so tantalizing close but I never quite arrive; I’ve been twice divorced both by women I promised my life to and both at their request. Maybe I’m just in ‘love with love and the idea of something binding us together.’ While the ancient text says the greatest of these is love, I’ve not achieved greatness in it.  But ultimately my biggest driving force has been hope, something I’ve long referred to as my four letter word...