my hero

Dr_Stephen_Cyphers

Dr. Steve (a.k.a. Dad)

My dad is my hero.

Those of you who’ve been following Shift for a while may remember that my father is an orthopedic surgeon. He fixes bones. It’s a good job, and an important one, but what many people don’t realize is just how hard it is: My dad has NO IDEA how to sleep for eight hours.

Last weekend, he was on call*. It’d been a busy few days (call goes Thursday through Monday morning), and by Sunday afternoon he was ready for the weekend to be over. He was hoping the emergency room would stay quiet overnight, but, as usual, it didn’t. At around 10 p.m., as I was returning home from a bike ride, he passed me on his way to the hospital. A man with an ankle fracture and dislocation had been admitted to the E.R. He needed surgery, and it had to be done that night. Continue reading

this is me

stand aloneed. . . and this is real.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it is that makes writing powerful. What is it about a blog that would bring you back and leave you wanting more?

One of my favorite bloggers is one of most irreverent, vulgar, say-it-like-it-is bloggers on the Internet. His writing is awesome, but what makes him powerful is that he is REAL. He doesn’t hide behind a curtain of pretense. Oh, no — he owns his shit. (Pardon my french for those of you who aren’t used to cursing on my site.) He talks about everything from alcoholism to fighting for custody of his child to his religion (or lack thereof) to parenting to . . . And, what’s more, he doesn’t give a damn what others think. He would never apologize for cussing like I just did. Continue reading

path to immortality — a father’s day tribute

babydad

My dad with his dad, 1956.

We start out mere mortals,
’til “Father” turns son.
It’s then our potential
“forever” is won.

We live through our children,
and they on through theirs.
So what will we show them?
How say, “Daddy cares”?

..

pool

Dad’s love for the water started early. (Dad, right, with his brother Verlin in their backyard in Riverside, late 1950s.)

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Two kids in a tub.

..

It’s here I’m no expert,
but look to the best.
And he to his own dad—
they both passed the test!

With love and compassion,
through fire and through ice,
they gave with devotion,
and never thought twice: Continue reading

mom’s got the gun

82214615_Power_Of_Symbol_HeroShe was gangly. I was early. While I waited, sipping my cappuccino in a corner, I watched her. Except for one scraggly strand at her temple, her thin yellow hair was pulled tightly to a bun on the top of her head. The loose strand was hot pink. Piercings filled with metal ran up and down her ears. Her jeans fit like tights.

She went outside to smoke a cigarette; icy air blasted the store as she went. I shivered and shook my head: she was all of about sixteen.

My friends arrived, and, for the moment, she was forgotten. Lost in conversation and the catching up of years, I failed to notice her reenter the store or the way she was camped out, vacant, on a sofa in the corner.

That is, until the text. Continue reading

little birdie

54_SPARROWS ON WINDOWLittle birdie out my window,
Chirping, calling, “Come and play!”
Can’t you see I want to join you—
Work, I must, this day away!

But when I’m through, I promise you:
Nothing here could make me stay.
I will find you through and through,
We will play the day away!

Image: Pinterest

it’s about control

My student is crying because her father made her finish her food.

Usually, she brings a lunch from home. That’s why today, when I sat down, I was surprised to see her eating a plate of macaroni from the caf.

It would be an exaggeration to say that the food in our cafeteria is bad. The food in our cafeteria is terrible. Overcooked greens, limp noodles covered in thin sauce, grayish-brown tofu and vegetables served over rice . . . I stopped eating the caf food—and most of my students stopped buying it—after the first day.

One thing to know about the caf is that they serve huge portions. If a primary student goes through the “big kids'” line, they end up with a mountain of food that only a ravenous sumo wrestler could finish. My students are petite Asians.

When she had eaten as much as she could, my student asked to go talk to her father, who is also the local church pastor. He usually eats lunch at the same time and was sitting just across the room. Imagine my surprise, then, when a few minutes later a couple of my girls said, “Look, M-‘s crying.” I looked to where they were pointing. There was M-, tears streaming down her face and her father towering over her, scowling.

The next thing I knew, M- was trudging back to our table with her unfinished plate, sobbing. She had to eat all of her food.

She’s been teary ever since.

And my question is, “Why?” I’m not a parent, and my intent is not to criticize, but . . . Why? The cafeteria had obviously given her way too much food, and it’s not like the food is expensive. And even if she was eating caf food because she’d forgotten her lunch at home: who doesn’t forget their lunch once in a while? What had she done so wrong?

A friend of mine tells me M-’s father’s behavior is quite normal. Some Asian parents beat their children for less. It’s cultural, he says. It’s about respect and control: Asian parents like to exert their control, and Asian children are more disciplined than Westerners because of it. On the flip side, Westerners tend to be more creative than Asians. There’s no use in thinking outside of the box if you’re going to be beaten because you didn’t stay inside it.

Hmm.