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My Credits

Everyone has strange times. Some of us rarely have normal times. The past few weeks have been particularly strange for me, and it's kept me off balance.

I will be OK, don't worry about that. I've gotten through worse times, some imposed by others and some I created. But tonight, I'm simply overcome by a sense of my place in this world -- how small it is, and yet how many people can be blessed when I do something write, or how many lives could be wrecked by the smallest of mistakes.

My life is mine, my path is my own, and no one but me can walk its journey. I should not wait until its end, when I'm bitter and rambling about those damn kids of today, to tell you that I couldn't have gotten this far alone. They are mentioned in the order they are, and nothing more should be inferred from that.

Some days it's difficult to look in the mirror and know that even though hundreds of people love and support you, thousands more hate you for who you are and always will. It's the hundreds that make it possible to get out of bed. People whom I met dozens of years ago still check in on me, express infinite patience with my foibles, and encourage me to make a difference every day. I would not have made it this far without them. Mark and Sally Baumwell carved big chunks out of their time when I needed them most, and have done so for over 14 years, despite Mark's inability to win any war with office toys. Eric Mueller made sure I knew I was not alone when I felt permanently excluded from life. George Hearn, Steve Kinoshita, Guy Forsythe, Dean Esmay, Adam and Tonya Engst, and so many others took time to find me when I felt lost. You would not be reading this had they not.

Dave Lyons and "Steve Gunn" have never doubted that I had good intentions, even when I gave only reasons to doubt. Dave should be listed in the American Heritage Dictionary for "unselfish" and "patient," Steve for "loyalty." Both are married to wonderful women that somehow make them even better than they were before.

Jon Katz wrote "Voices from the Hellmouth" to describe the hell on earth that is high school for smart kids in the US, and I remember it all too well. I think fondly of a very small group of teachers and friends from those days, but none more than Kevin Williams, his annoying sister Renee, and their gentle and kind mother Dolores. I rarely see any of them, though Renee served as Mrs. Oklahoma last year, but their influence is long-lasting. Leslie Roblyer stood up for me when it was not popular to do so, not once but twice, and I will always remember it. Karen Reed and Marvin Marquardt started an appreciation for science and technology that keeps the world a place of wonders for me.

I learned how to run an organization by watching Gene Thrailkill, who taught that leadership means letting talented people do their best, a lesson I remember infrequently at best. He also demonstrated the value of civic service more than anyone who actively tried to do so. Coach reinforced a passion for symphonic wind music that was about to wither; Bill Wakefield introduced me to modern symphonic music, and how to respond to challenging music by challenging it back. My tastes would be simpler and my life poorer without them. I will never set foot in my high school band room again, God willing, but because of these men I will support the OU Band Department until the day I die or the day they bar the door.

The people of Oklahoma Presbyterian Cursillo taught me that, even today, there is such a thing as Christian love without politics. I'm not always sure they remember that, but I do.

Nat Irons went from an MDJ reader to subscriber to contributor, and now handles just about every technical odd job I cannot handle. Along the line, he became a confidante and friend, who annoys the hell out of me by challenging almost everything I say. After a year of fighting, he finally seems to understand what I want, and I see brighter horizons for it on dark days. He is more intelligent than he is grumpy, and someone should hire him while leaving him enough time for my problems.

Jerry Kindall liked sample code I wrote 12 years ago so much he had his company license and resell it as a product. He is the only person I know who writes as fast as I do, except he does it better. Dean Esmay suggested I ask Jerry, out of the blue, to help with serious workload issues some five years ago. He couldn't protect MDJ's first run, but he's saved MWJ and MDJ's bacon many times since then, as well as spending more hours on the phone with me than any person with different political views should be able to tolerate. The only thing wrong with his Weblog is that it may keep him from writing a novel you should read. He finds wonder in everything from photographing the smallest details of life to detecting patterns in the universe itself. They should keep Futurama on the air just for him.

I lost touch with Robert Thurman a few years ago in a disagreement over the personality of a mutual friend. I miss him.

Mike Opitz has been a thorn in my side for twenty years, starting when he harassed me all throughout a computer conference for gifted students by pretending to be someone else. In turn, I gave him hell for the next ten years for being quiet, reserved, anti-social, and an overall stick in the mud. He ignored this, instead amassing academic credentials that make me feel completely inadequate. He redefined rigor for me, taught me the tenets and values of progress while maintaining high standards for evidence and research. He is the best editor I've ever had because he demands that everything be approachable and understandable, the idealist. He and his wife Colleen are determined to enter the space age while protecting the environment, to make the world a better place while using less non-renewable energy. He inspires me, though I'd never tell him that to his face. Mike and Colleen moved away a year ago and I miss them terribly, rocks of stability in my turbulent sea.

Justin Seal is the most amazing person in Oklahoma City. I have known him since he was 15 through our common church, though he no longer identifies as Presbyterian or even Christian, the bum. He is talented, patient, hard-working, loyal, gentle, caring, cuter than four buttons and one of the best friends anyone could ever have. He has handled change and turmoil with a maturity that belies his 21 years. He is both adventurous and responsible, a lover of classical music and Japanese culture while embracing all things new. When he approached me to fill a contract job opening, I didn't know if it was wise to work with very close friends or if he had the technical chops for it, but he's made up for that with determination and an inner confidence that everyone else sees even when he does not. He can be depressed without being defeated, and he can seek help when he needs it and offer it when others need it and he has the ability. He is the prototype for a modern Oklahoman -- he solves problems, makes his community stronger, does not blame others, and gets the job done, all qualities this state used to exude before it lost its confidence. It is amazing to me he has remained single, and as much as I advise him to take things slowly, I root for him every day. Without the dinners, movies, chats, talks, and quiet times I've shared with Justin, I would have gone crazy years ago. I know it even if he does not.

Delia Lamb, my sister, has been betrayed by her body -- she's had over six years of intestinal problems that have at times kept her all but bedridden. It has come close to defining her at times, but it has never won. She can't do as much as she'd like, but she has two healthy kids and has managed to continue to both support and annoy me through the best and worst times of my life. She can always find time to lecture me on something I already know, or fight over politics (or sports), or complain about a world full of people who would not be doing such stupid things if they'd stop and think a little bit more often. She vents to me and I vent to her. She is a Registered Nurse and was almost a CPA. She studies XML in her spare time and scores baseball games. She once assisted in launching the space shuttle by not storming the launch pad with bottle rockets, despite her children's encouragement. Cats trust her. I've worried several times in the past few years that I might lose her, and she still needs some help coping with the effects of her illness, but I wouldn't be here without her and her family.

It is a miracle my mother is around at all, considering her parents: her mother was a cross between Joan Crawford and King George III, and her father was genial but ineffectual. They had nothing, but she made something. She survived the loss of her first child to raise two more, worked inside and outside the home, eventually figured out how to make Ham Strada, and now oversees a farm household that will be changing for years to meet her standards. No one fights my mother and wins. She taught me to never give up, never surrender, never let the bastards get you down. If they have to build themselves up by tearing you down, you've already won. Because of this determination, we forgive her fondness for clichés.

My father is the luckiest man I know. Both of his parents came from extreme poverty to build a business and a life for him and his brother. Aside from a serious bout with rheumatic fever as a child and another weeks-long illness in college, he's been relatively healthy all his life; I can't remember him ever being hospitalized. His mother had open heart surgery at 58, but it has missed him. They gave him the tools to build his own life, and he now lives on the farm they earned, yet he feels no sense of entitlement. He served his church for 20 years and his community for just as long on the local hospital board. When my life conflicted with everything in his view of the world, he could have done what most fathers seem to do and cut me loose. Instead, he changed his view of the world to include me. He works hard and sleeps hard every day, he is more fond of his cat than he will admit, and his very life has taught me that you follow every step with another step. Like his father, he never met a stranger. He cries when I don't expect it and remains strong when I fall apart. He has had far more of an impact on the world than he knows.

There are so many more that cannot be named, some because they don't want their names in public -- not everyone can admit to being my friend. They know who they are, and I hope they know how much I've needed them over the years. There will be more over the years to come, I hope, for this journey is barely half over if I have anything to say about it.

"It's a big world out there, and I'm part of it." Lots of people believe people "like me" have no part in this world. These people have all shown me I do, even when I don't accept it. If all I accomplish in the next 40 years is to make these people proud, I'll have done extraordinarily well. They mean the world to me, even if I cannot say it to their faces, and I only hope they know it.

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