Hey kids how’s it going? I’m sitting in the old office listening to the new NEEDTOBREATHE acoustic live album. So good. I am also reviewing the much anticipated (by me that is I hadn’t got around to telling you about it) Ancestry.com DNA test results. I am a bit disappointed if I am being honest. I always thought I was primarily German due to my last name, but it turns out the Zwilling clan comes from the border of France and Germany that changed hands multiple times. Thus the test labeled me 16% French. That makes me kind of want to puke. I will get to that.
I really didn’t think I was as white as I apparently am. I mean I’m like the whitest guy I know. Nothing wrong with that per se (unless you’re a liberal than I am at the heart of all that’s evil being a straight white male) it’s just I thought for sure there would be some African, Latino, Asian, and or Native American blood in there somewhere. I don’t feel this white. If I was out in the sun full time I would not appear this white. I never imagined being so British. Mostly from Great Britain and the isles, Wales, Scandinavia, Ireland, and Scotland. This region was invaded and conquered by the Romans, Brits, Jutes(did you say Jutes), Germanic tribes, Vikings, Saxons, Celts, Plantenegets, Tudors, and finally the British Empire. That’s a pretty cool if not very bloody blood line.
What’s this have to do with God’s sick sense of humor? Well it’s that through my life He seems to associate me with people, places, and things I hated or thought I hated. Some of this will sound very offensive to some of you, but if you know me and fit in one of these categories you know that hatred and fear were driven by not knowing better. Except for France. I still really hate France. I hope Linda B. from high school isn’t reading this. Now I find out I’m fairly freaking French. Touché God you got me again.
How do I write this without outing the people. If you’re reading this, I am trying. When I was in elementary school I had a buddy and he was molested by a middle aged man we both trusted very much. I had another friend who had two moms. They were both really mean to him and to his friends. This left an almost indelible negative perception of gay people. My vocabulary was often full of derogatory terms for gay people.
Then in middle school I met an uncle of my best friend. I don’t think he would mind me outing him so to speak. My buddy Bryan had the coolest and funniest uncle. Uncle Tim. Uncle Tim was a very openly gay man from a very southern red neck family. We rarely got to see him because of that, but when we did we looked forward to it and he always had us cracking up. When I got older I spoke with him about my fear of all other gay people, but him and how I got it. He was very helpful in misspelling that fear and helping me to see there are monsters in all groups of people and I unfortunately hit the mother lode at the same time.
As we hit drinking age we hung out at Uncle Tim’s bar and apartment in Soulard every Mardi Gras, St. Pat’s Day, and any other St. Louis professional drinking event we could. Through Tim, his partner, and their friends I was cured of my homophobia. Uncle Tim passed at a way too early age and I miss him very much. He was one the most empathetic, sympathetic, big hearted, and hilarious men I have ever known.
Since then, God has seen fit to put quite a few more gay people in my path. In my work yes even the military, law enforcement, and Scottrade Inc. He especially likes me to have lesbian friends. I’m pretty sure I have more lesbian friends than most lesbians. We do have a lot in common it turns out. However, I’ve seen churches and their own families shun and humiliate them. The people who should have loved them and protected them the most abandoned them. That is something I will never understand. God loves us all PERIOD. If they’re sinning, well guess what, we all are. There is no hierarchy or ranking of sins. And even if there was that’s between them and God not anyone else.
Chicago. Good grief I hate Chicago. Well specifically I hate the Chicago Blackhawks and their obnoxious fans. Then God pairs me up at church with an obnoxious guy from Chicago whom I end up in several Bible studies and small groups with. Although we had many a contentious hockey argument we manage to get along pretty well. That wasn’t enough for the Lord.
He put another obnoxious Blackhawk fan in my life that I worked with in the police department and then she worked for me part time in corporate security. She is so infuriatingly Blackhawk infatuated it makes me sick, at the same time I love her to death and would fight, kill, and or die for her and her husband. She is one of the funniest most genuine beautiful people in my world.
God wasn’t quite done with the Chicago thing he stuck another very good friend of mine and his outstanding wife in our lives. He’s more of a Cubs guy which is much easier to swallow. When I finally got to go to Chicago and not just the airport he made the best tour guide. His wife could not be more awesome and Liz and I love them like family.
And it turned out I actually love the city of Chicago. I still am leery of its citizens. Our first trip there I got flipped off by some guy who cut me off in traffic as we entered the city for the first time. Whenever I’d say I was from St. Louis I immediately would get , “Oh I’m sorry.” Charming, but about what I expected. But man that pizza though.
Detroit. Good Lord Almighty forgive me I hate me some Detroit. To clarify again in hockey terms. I hate the Detroit Redwings and due to altercations both verbal and physical at Blues games I hate Red Wings fans. I did mention God thinks He’s funny right?
The second Logan put hockey skates on he said he wanted to be a goalie, because my favorite players primarily tend to be tenders of the net. When I was a kid and the only hockey we could play was in our tennis shoes on the tennis court I was the one in net with couch cushions duct taped to my legs, a huge winter coat and a catcher’s mask and glove on. However, the last thing on earth I wanted Logan to be was a hockey goalie. Eventually I made it all they way to completely amateurish beer league roller hockey as a goalie. It’s freaking stressful. I did not want that for him. I felt he was too sensitive. When I played God help you if you came in the crease. I often had more penalties than the goons. It must be my French -yuck- side that makes me the sensitive writer and my Kick ass Viking side that made me a warrior, cop, and a hockey goon with a very short temper.
So what happens? Well Logan and his parents become best buds with a family from Detroit. UGH Their kid is a goalie. The dad a professional goalie/goalie coach. What could go wrong? Well they take Logan to a tournament for us one weekend as I had National Guard duty and Liz had to work. Logan had been bugging us all forever about getting time in net by borrowing his buddies gear. I absolutely forbade it. Logan was a pretty decent winger with several goals thus far why ruin a good thing. I ask said goalie dad no matter what don’t let him play goal. He agreed. However, people from Detroit….anyway as you would guess he borrowed the gear, played a whole game in the net and was apparently pretty decent winning the game. He hasn’t come out of the net since. Despite that we still love this family dearly. Logan has goalie practice today in fact and I will be picking up said traitor’s kid from Detroit to go with us.
He wasn’t nearly done with me and Detroit. God hysterically pairs my immediate family as friends then even more funny, as in-laws with a family from Detroit. I started doing homeless ministry at our church with a family from Detroit. They even wore those God awful ugly Red Wings shirts. Disgusting. One of their annoying sons had a thing for my daughter. Originally my daughter was smart enough to scoff at him and ignore him. Then they started going on a lot of out of town mission trips with the whole Detroit clan. They became youth leaders together and then one day there he is at my house. Next thing I know he’s asking for her hand in marriage. You’re kidding right God? Right? All I hear back are Holy giggles.
You see my greatest fear with my son-in-law to be at the time, was I knew full well his heart will always be in Detroit. If they got married he might actually try and take her there. So before I would allow him to propose to her he had to promise not to move my baby girl away from me. Well remember people from Detroit and their word….? {Kidding….ish} He up and gets a job as a Ford engineer in Detroit where they now live with my Grandson. It is a testament to my faith and huge forgiving heart that my son-in-law is not currently buried somewhere no one would ever find him or ever figure out how he got there. 25 years of law enforcement experience…son. Just sayin… After traveling there a few times it turns out I also love Detroit, well not really Detroit, but Michigan. And now my heart is there as well.
You see having lived from birth till age ten in Southern California spending all year outside at the beach barefoot and looking dark enough to be mistaken for Mexican caused me to initially and then permanently hate Missouri. I have spent my entire adult life trying to get out of MO. Did I tell you this story already? Well I have brain damage remember so humor me. I joined the Air Force instead of the University of Missouri to get as far away from St. Louis as possible. I tell them I will go anywhere in the world as long as it’s far from here. They send me straight to Scott AFB, IL which is 45 minutes outside of St. Louis. Funny, again God with the funny. I did get to see a lot of the world, but never permanently. Liz and I both got jobs in Phoenix, AZ. We took a very young Ashley out there and hunted for apartments and houses. Just as we were about to head out, my job got cancelled via government contracts. I seem destined to remain here for now. Don’t get me wrong I love my people here I just wish we all lived somewhere warmer, preferably with a beach. Of course if we do move it will probably end up being to freaking Detroit. At least they have beaches…sort of. Ever so funny.
Oh right the French thing. I have always been a huge history buff. Specifically military history. From the Romans to today. Strategy and tactics have always fascinated me. Well the French all throughout history have a tendency to chicken out of fighting. The last two world wars in fact we had to bail them out ourselves or they’d be speaking German today. Their monarchy often chickened out of the Crusades and to defend the Holy Land and eventually through lies and deceit tortured and murdered the Knights Templar to steal their wealth. Nasty cowardly people. Sixteen percent? I can’t be. So not funny.
Then I actually went to France. It was late nineties and I actually only got to spend a day in Paris, but that was enough to solidify my distaste for the French. Their city, their stupid language, and heinously rude behavior. Everyone that spoke to me spoke to me like a dog digging in their trash. So condescending and disrespectful, because I was an American. I would buy something and they would throw my change back at me. We had a high school French teacher with us and they were so mean to her and her “attempt at speaking French” she ended up in tears and quit even trying to translate. I was so angry.
I can’t say God has figured out a way to get me over that except by making me 16% French I guess and not the 1% American Indian I was hoping for. That’s just so I would be more Indian than Elizabeth Warren. That’s kind of a petty thing a French person would do though.
Jacked Up Dad 