Home

If you could sit with your past and just enjoy several good, slow moments with it, how would that possibility sound? Dreadful or thrilling? Healing or heartbreaking? Perhaps you’d be entertaining utter joy, or schmoozing with a lie, a waste of time.

The last several weeks, I have sat with my past, much of which is still my present. I mean the people in my life in the city in which I grew up, joining with me to eat, laugh, work and play. Family, friends, coworkers (synonymous with the previous title), alumni and current students. What a life. How could one be so fortunate? I’ve also enjoyed a clean home, which I’m still trying to rent out, by the way! But in my house for the last seven years, I’ve been enjoying the peace and silence, filling the space between my walls with moments of guitar strumming, unbridled singing, and tranquil stillness. As long as I’m not burdened by work or making some last moment memories to pack with me. To think, a couple months from now, I’ll be living with a group of teenagers. I take several deep breaths at the thought, and tell myself over and over, you chose to do this! It’ll help you grow.

This blog isn’t about growth, however. It’s about the comfort zone. The blissful stagnancy I had grown accustomed to, held tightly to for the last several years. A comfort zone isn’t a bad thing. At one point, it was a discomfort zone, but time, perseverance and love transform it into a place of comfort. And I believe that’s what we call home.

So what is home? Well, first off, it’s family.

Home is taking my mom on ‘wild goose chases’ as I call them, or as she likes to call it, ‘running errands.’ I drive her just about all over the city, and oftentimes, we end up at Husky Deli for a large portion of unmatched ice cream. But what I really love are the moments we have in the car together, talking about who knows what, just being together with the most easygoing person I know.

Home is finding that rare weekend when I can hike with my dad somewhere in the middle of the Cascades. He likes to start on the sun’s hour, but somehow I manage to push for an extra half hour of sleep. Mom use to pack lunches for us, until I became obsessed with my physique, opting to fast during the five to ten mile jaunts. Even though I went ahead of my dad on the trail three years ago and we couldn’t find each other for a palpable two hours, I still run ahead like a little kid a little too eager to explore. Yet there he is, urging me forward and to not worry about him. How can the kid say no to that?

Home is my godson, my nephew, my little Miggy Bear who is filling out to be quite the five year old. I don’t get him to myself often, but a week ago, I got to be his special person at his pre-kindergarten school. Afterward, we had sushi and ice cream, and the conversation never died. At one point, I heard him whisper under his breath, “This is the best day ever.” I shook my head and bit my lip. Then he asked me when he would see me next. After his birthday? No Migs, I said, I’m still here for six weeks. We have plenty of time to hang out. Five weeks now as I write this. And now four.

Home is Mario and Aimee and the rest of my family. I honestly had no idea my brother would take my move so hard. He’s always been the tough guy to me. My big brother who always looked out for me growing up; I’m still growing up, and he’s still looking out. I always tell my students who are elder siblings to take good care of their younger siblings. It will go a long way in their life, and even though it can be a pain to have that responsibility, their younger sibling is often the first experience with being responsible for someone else’s life and well being. It’s a lot to ask of a kid. But my brother would not let anyone mess with me. So I tell my students who are younger siblings to remember all the kindness their kuyas and adings share, and often times, it takes an attentive eye to recognize.

Home is my band, The Starry Crowns. I’ve been singing with this group for years. When I think of how much I’ve grown as a musician, how much less nervous I am with a microphone in front of my face, and how much I love making good music with good (irreverently reverent) people, I can’t pinpoint any other source than my group. One foot in the church and one foot in the bar. Life is all about balance, is it not?

Home is my Whistler Crew. See my previous entry titled “Conversations”.

Home is the Moonshine Committee and my staff at OLG. Quick story. Our school has a famed Sunshine Committee who provide cards for staff members and obtain gifts for administration. Myself, Nato, Allie and Lauren have been part of a different committee, aptly named for organizing staff happy hours. I love all my co-workers, but over the years, Moonshine has become a bit of a thing. We went from organizing happy hours, to spending weekend getaways, then trips (several) to Hawaii, and one particularly epic vacation to Japan. I see these people (except Nato for the past few years) on a near daily basis. They are why I can say I work with my friends, and work more often than not feels like play.

Home is every student to sit in a desk in front of me at OLG and even at Shorewood High School where I started 15 years ago. Over the past few weeks and looking ahead to the next few, I’ve spent time with alumni. Coffee, dinner, OLG visits, basketball – these kids, or young men and women, are part of my life and legacy. I don’t know what it is, but once you go through my class, you have a permanent fan, and when I see a Santos graduate – on the street, at Target, on the radio – it’s instant awe and adoration. I fanboy like crazy. I tell my eighth graders that I will do anything I can to help them succeed. For the rest of their life. Why? I guess that’s the type of person I am, and I hope the same goes for most other teachers. I don’t see how you can go a full year caring about someone as much as a teacher cares for his students, and then sever ties once they leave your class. When I teach a kid, my goal is to help each one have the future they seek, and to be a good person to boot. So that’s what I look for when I see my alumni. Essentially, I ask them, are you happy and are you making a positive difference. And how I can help.

Finally, the City. Seattle. God. I was born here. My local pride was full. But then we lost our Supersonics. Then condos and townhomes, one of which I own now, gentrified neighborhoods, zapped the city’s culture, and displaced some long time local businesses. Then an overwhelming influx of transplants – some of whom are my friends – made their way into the city, but at such an alarming rate that our roads became clogged, our mountains became crowded, and our culture became fast-paced and cold. Look, contrary to popular practice, Seattle natives are some of the friendliest people on earth. And dammit, we DO use umbrellas! But I get it. I am guilty of freezing out people because I have my own friends. I struggle to conjure productive solutions to city’s homelessness problem. And yes, I selfishly want the majority of my hikes to be in solitude. In this city, it’s difficult to grumble or dialogue or problem solve without hypocrisy. I remember saying aloud to my family one day, “I hate this city.” But you know what? I didn’t mean that. In fact, I take it back in full. Because this is where my roots are. It is my home, and as it has grown, it has taught me so much. Like perhaps I should try a new home so I have an idea of what I will be missing. It won’t be the Space Needle or Pike Place. It won’t be my beloved Seahawks or the woeful M’s. It won’t even be the alpine lakes of the Cascades and a hike through pines and boulder fields.

No.

Unequivocally, the home I will miss is every person in Seattle I have grown to love. My home will always be with them.

On the brightside, that principle has just opened a door to a little place called Maui. One year, five years, or a lifetime later, I wonder how my story of home will read. Time and experience are variables, but if love is the constant, I am hopeful I will find home in Hawaii.