The Light

(From a Facebook post today.)

My son is special. I don’t mean that like most people do.

Yesterday I took him to our ice cream spot after we finished filming a scene from a movie I am in. I call him my agent. “I’ll pay you in ice cream” is our ongoing deal.

He always has an interesting story to tell me when we are together or long explanation of his Minecraft adventures and such and was in one as we got out of the car that caught my attention more than most of the rest.

Anyone who knows me knows that I consider him the best “thing” that ever “happened” to me, and my relationship with his mother not one of my greatest choices. Usually, I find, these things go together like that.

There have even been times where I have tried to explain everything to him, how life is with him and why it “had to be this way.” Each explanation is more elaborate but always lacking in some way.

“I saw you,” he said, “I saw you and my mom when you got married. I was there, watching you.”

Many times before he has asked where he was at this time, since he was born a year after the event.

Immediately when he said this my mind went back to that fateful day: standing on the altar waiting. And I felt a powerful feeling when he said those words. It was like a light- I remembered that moment: behind even the people who sit in the back in church at weddings there was a space my eyes were locked on where I felt a presence that kept me from running out of that church that day, even though I really didn’t otherwise want to be there. It was so powerful that I stayed.

Based on how I was at the time, he would not have been otherwise.

When he told me that, another version of myself may have told him “that’s not possible”; but instead, I felt it, and immediately hugged him from behind, and he, like he did as a toddler, nestled into me, and I buried my head in his hair and held my arms tightly around him; so he couldn’t see me cry.

The Mountain

From two Facebook posts:
September 18, 2019

4:22 PM

Ever since I was a kid I wanted to be in movies. I was always Brando, Dean, Pacino, DeNiro, Ford. I was all movies all the time.

Couple years ago I got a message from a good friend of mine asking me if I wanted to be in a Jeff Goldblum movie. She didn’t have to ask twice.

That day was like Christmas to me. I got to meet several actors I would later cast in my own film, and then was asked to not only background act, but stand-in for Tye Sheridan while they set the cameras.

In came Jeff, who sat right next to me, talking to Rick Alverson who I would a night or two later realize was an indie god. Jeff sat there, talking through his character’s backstory with, basically himself, twirling his fork, practicing his moves. I didn’t move a muscle.

I compare what I gleaned in that moment to what must be the knowledge one gains from a whole year of acting school. Once we were in full swing, everything ran like clockwork: every intonation and flinch was so perfect from both actors. I soaked it all in. It was surreal to say the least.

I might be in the movie for two seconds or not at all; but it was so worth it, an experience I will never forget.

The film went on to be selected at several big fests, garner mostly negative reviews from the general populous, as I had hoped; and after years of waiting, landing other small gigs, and finally- inspired by that experience- playing the lead in a film I helped make- tonight - I’m going to see it on the big screen.

11:20 PM

One of the greatest experiences of my life was seeing myself in a/that movie! Absolutely loved it! (Most won’t, that’s kinda the point.) Chilled with the lovely Liz Cameron, my scene co-star, after. We were on cloud nine that day and today. Just about as surreal as the film itself. Took this pic at 11:11. Everybody was gone so I did it myself.

Dreams

Met an old friend on Saturday for coffee. He had been in the seminary with me. It was good to talk to him. Most people can’t understand what happened to us in there. You always felt like you were being forced to stay. Told him I have PTSD. Told him I have dreams I’m still stuck there, feeling like I have to stay, though I want to leave. I forget I have a son in those dreams. It’s terrifying. He has two daughters now. He told me he has the dreams too. He’s the second who told me he has them. Before I wake up there’s always like a sharp pain, a stinging, like my mind is going to blow up inside of my head; and then I realize my son is alive and well, and sleeping somewhere not far away from me.

Many nights I cannot sleep but when I do.

Took me 7 years to get out; but I know I never really will.