The Eight Wonder - Ezra's Universe

It was past bedtime when Ezra stumbled out of his room.  He stood in the hallway door frame leading into the living room, visibly spent. Illuminated by the light behind him, his silhouette took on the look of a performer right before hitting the stage. I looked up from the couch to acknowledge his presence and he hit me with the money line: “I can’t sleep.”

The night was a tough one earlier between us. He wasn’t listening to me. He fought me when I tried helping him with his homework. He delayed jumping in the shower after my repeated requests. He didn’t budge when I asked him to brush his teeth. With my patience wearing thin, he became overly emotional and even shot me some attitude. It was then where I lost it, raising my voice and coming down hard on him to get it all done. The tears began flowing down his face. l didn’t console him. I did not give in as he cried himself to sleep. I had put my foot down and all was finally quiet. Or at least I thought so, but I learned silence and sleep aren’t the same thing.

Now, there he was not even 15 minutes later, standing in the doorway, looking at me.

Part of me was still frustrated; part of me wanted to continue his punishment so he understood that he couldn’t goo-goo eye his way through this one.  Instead, I waved him over, took his lanky body into my arms and rocked him to sleep.

Sometimes the struggles of life and the ups and downs of parenthood put you in positions that test every ounce of your patience and decision-making. This moment definitely pushed me to a place I hate going but it also served as a subtle reminder of something intrinsic that lives deep within every parent – our kids will always be our babies. 

Today, Ezra turns 8 years old, and I have one thing I want him to know: We are going to figure this out. 

It starts with me understanding and accepting who he is. We sometimes dismiss children because they are children. Newsflash: he’s still a human being with his own thoughts and individual, unique personality.

It helped to learn that Pisces are naturally emotional, and those emotions are in a constant state of flux. Hard to know exactly what you’ll get, but I can visually see him battling those feelings as they pull him in like a strong ocean current. In those moments I tell him to breathe and focus. I encourage him to use his words so we can talk it through. In a lot of ways, I’m speaking to myself.

When I learned that Pisces adapt to their emotional environment and reflect it back like a mirror, my eyes opened wide. I realized I needed to look within and change how I approached things. Keep my cool. Set the example. These were things I was telling Ezra to do but was I showing him? He’s supposed to be learning from me and yet, in a bit of irony, in the midst of everything that has transpired in the past year, he’s exemplified grace under fire. It became clear to me that I am learning from him. With the world on his shoulders, he’s carried it with a maturity that I admire and draw inspiration from. As emotions ebb and flow throughout his body, he’s tapped into the most powerful one. Love.

At his last parent-teacher conference, Ms. Williams pointed out explicitly how much he genuinely cared about his classmates. “He cares so much,” she said a few times to drive the point. That made me smile. Empathizing with others is a rare trait. It can be taxing and demanding. It can drain you. It can consume you. But it also gifts you a power that can move mountains.  

Ezra and I watched the movie Captain Marvel this past weekend. The main character's super power comes from absorbing an all-encompassing energy source that she wields on command. Sound familiar? Our children take in our love, our fears, our expectations, our mood swings, our frustrations, our words of affirmation, our hugs and kisses. They process it all. They manifest it within and miraculously transform into the best versions of themselves. Like a superhero, their ability to absorb and release an energy so great it can not only save our present universe (the idea of self) but alternate ones as well (the effects of generational love). How beautifully amazing is that? The thought of Ezra having so much more to take in and infinite amounts more to give.

So now can you see? When I hold him close and rock him to bed, I hope to be infused with the immense power that naturally emanates from his being.  It soothes my soul. Now and forever.

Seven Echoes for Ezra

I know, Ezra. I know.
I have a terrible memory. I forget you’re only turning 7 years old. Sometimes, I speak to you like you’re a full-fledge grown up and expect you to act like one. I then remember who the adult is -- and it’s me. I know.

I understand, Ezra. I understand.
When I see you cry for things so small and insignificant, I feel your pain. I used to wear my emotions on my sleeve as a kid too.  I’ll be honest, I still do. I know what if feels like to have a swell of emotion override your senses and take over. To have that lump in your throat begin to pulsate. To have tears rush your eyes faster than you can blink. It’s so hard to contain. In fact, it’s nearly uncontrollable. So in those moments for you, when it seems my patience is non-existent and I can’t figure you out. Please know, I understand.

Focus, Ezra. Focus.
It’s obvious that your mental strength is still in its infancy. But I’m your pops, I want you to be the best. So it’s hard for me to see clearly through these glasses fogged by expectation. I constantly tell you, mental fortitude is as important as physical strength. You have to practice making the right choice mentally even though you’re still figuring out what exactly that is. Choose to take control of your emotions, I say, or choose to let them take over you. Know that your choices have consequences and I won’t hesitant to enforce them. You always have a choice. So remember, always try to make the best one. You got this. Focus.

Believe Ezra, Believe.
The power of positive thinking is real. Just writing these words at this moment I feel the energy it brings. I feel motivated. I feel inspired. As you mature and gain knowledge and understand how to harness that power, whatever it is you want to do you will do, all because you did one simple thing: You believed it was possible.

Choose the light Ezra. Choose the light.
You decided to have a Star Wars party this year and became a Jedi Master through Jedi Training. You learned how to summon the force with one hand. You learned some cool moves with your light-saber. But most of all, you learned that when you do good, good things come to you. When you are kind and caring and thoughtful, your friends and family will reciprocate two fold. Despite the rain, they showed up to support on your special day and that is a testament to who you are as free-spirited, loving child. You’ll keep shining if choose the light. 

Sing. Ezra. Sing.

To hear you sing-along to the Coco movie soundtrack makes me smile. There’s something endearing to hear you speak Spanish, even though your accent isn’t quite right. (My fault!) And when our favorite song comes on, we sign together: “Ay mi familia, oiga me gente. Canten al coro. Let it be known. Our love for each other will live on forever. In every beat of my proud corazon!” The truth in those words is undeniable. So keep singing Ezra. Sing.

I love you Ezra, I love you.
Seven years ago on this day, I spoke those words directly to you for the first time and the sound floated out into the universe to echo for eternity. Happy Birthday big boy. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

-Dad

Ezra *The 6th Man* Sanchez

I hate to break it to you kid, but you were once a Warriors fan. 

Golden State had just won a championship and they were chasing No. 2 the following year. Stephen Curry fever swept the nation and you got caught up in it. You were 4 years old, so I gave you a break. It was those two years of watching playoff basketball that inspired you to want to get on the court. So we signed you up!

I hate to break it to you kid, but the first practice you attended at the Van Nuys YMCA, you cried and said you wanted to go home. I remember telling myself that I wouldn't let some tears keep you off the court because you "needed to learn." Then you looked at me and I could see in your eyes you weren't ready. We left that day and decided to wait another year.

A couple of things happened that help changed your history.

First, you visited Staples Center. It was the day you became a full-fledged Lakers fan. LA played Cleveland. LeBron James vs. Kobe Bryant. It will be remembered as the last time the two would face each other in a game. Two legendary careers colliding in one night. Your eyes lit up when you heard 19,000 people cheering Kobe’s name in unison. KOBE! KOBE! KOBE! You knew of him before but that was the moment you realized WHO he was. The legend came to life and it was that moment when the love for the game and franchise was passed on to you. 

Secondly, you shook off any fear and joined the Van Nays Sherman Oaks Basketball League. I hate to break it to you kid, but you weren’t very good at first. You struggled to dribble. You didn’t have the strength to get the ball up toward the hoop. But as time went by and with every practice, you slowly improved. The snippets of videos strung together on social media show the growth of your skill. But for me, the real growth was in the fearlessness and competitive assertiveness you developed. A grit and determination you can’t learn just sitting on the couch.

Malcolm Gladwell says 10,000 hours of practice is the magic rule for one to become great. Believe it or not, there was a moment in the hospital, right before you waited for the nurses to officially collect your stats, which started the clock for you.

Like the baby NFL combine or NBA pre-draft workout, they measured your weight and length and you recorded your first mark in this world. I thought you were the No. 1 pick, a franchise changing player. As you lay there, you started fidgeting and couldn't keep still. Your beanie was on tight, you had a diaper and wristband on. Only other thing on your body was a coat of residue fresh from the womb that gave you life. Perhaps it was that layer of strength that empowered you to attempt to stand up. I did think in those split seconds you were going to somehow rise to your feet. I learned quickly, and some day you will too, that as a father, the expectations of your child tend to rise high above reality. 

To be honest, it looked like you started doing push-ups. My dad, your grandpops, was amazed and pointed it out first. You could hear the pride in his voice, shining through an otherwise even-keeled
man.

I was beaming as well. My son was showing super strength. I dreamed of us playing basketball together. I imagined us wrestling and putting you in a headlock. I thought about how I wouldn't let you win at anything because you needed to earn your stripes. Baby Boy, you were an athlete in my mind, before you were even born.

The day you decided to play soccer, you came out like a man on fire. You showed grit and fight on the field and you brought a little flair too. Maybe those “pushups” as a newborn set the tone for the rest of your career. Or maybe, I’m just being a proud dad again. Who knows? All I care about is that you continue to develop into a young man with a passion to compete in everyday life.

In other words, you’ve started the 10,000 hours of becoming you. And that should always be enough. Of course, you’ll have some help, with one million hugs, kisses and high fives from me along the way. 

Happy 6th Birthday Ezra Rey Sanchez. The world is yours.

5 for 5: Growing up Living the EzLife

Dear Ezra,

Before your birth day – as in the actual day you arrived on this earth – I furiously studied how to be a good dad. Friends sent me books on fatherhood and I had conversations with other dads to start gathering information. Trust me, with all the material I collected, it looked like I was walking into a CIA intelligence briefing.

I spent my nights scouring the internet for tips on everything from treating a diaper rash to the sniffles. That first year of your life, I read story after story about essentially keeping you alive. Seriously, I should have just googled how to keep human baby breathing.

And today, on your 5th birthday, I can honestly say that the research never stops. And I realize I'm totally behind too because I focused so much on one thing. Let me put it like this little man: the re-education of your pops, Rick Sanchez Jr., is in full effect.

Did you know that when I was a kid, YouTube and Siri did not exist? I mean, they’re killing me by giving you all that information and explaining everything in a fun visual way, all at your fingertips.  The knowledge you’re collecting I’ve either forgotten long ago or never ever learned. The average person doesn’t know how many days it takes Mercury to revolve around the sun. Or the weather conditions on Neptune. Most can’t name the capitol of Maryland, Vermont or North Dakota.

How am I supposed to know all of this bro!

But I’m so proud of you and your exploration of the solar system and the planets. Like you, I used to get a kick out of memorizing the capitols of the United States. Your innocent thirst for information definitely reignites my boyhood passion for learning about the most random facts. And I love it.

***Side Note, real quick: One of my favorite movies is the Jackson 5 American Dream that aired on ABC back in the day. It's a classic. I’m sure you’ll watch it soon. In that, Joe Jackson woke up Michael and his brothers and sisters in the middle of the night and had them sing and dance for his friends. I’m guilty of something similar but you don’t realize it. See, I occasionally ask people to try and stump you by challenging you to name the capitols of all the states. It’s just me trying to show you off. And you always deliver. Always.***

I can’t believe it’s been five years since I watched you enter this world. And since then, the world has changed and evolved with you. You were born into the social media age which has revolutionized how people communicate and communities interact. Because of this you’re probably smarter and more advanced as it is natural for human beings to develop skills and adapt with the specific tools and resources at their disposal. But guess what, you still don’t know it all. And after five years of you schooling me, it’s time that I start teaching you some stuff too. 

So, in the spirit of Buzzfeed and every other digital media site out there that represents the time in which you were born.  Now that you are 5 years old, here are five things you should know:

1. Never stop loving unconditionally. Ok, that’s deep and probably way over your head, but trust me, you do it every day. Do not let anything or anyone stop you from exhibiting love. It is a true power that can move mountains.

2. Fight. Fight. Fight.  I don’t mean fight with your friends. Or me. Or your mom. Fill your heart with a drive and determination to achieve the things you truly want and fight for it. Not everything will be handed to you, remember that. Oh, and if you absolutely need to pop a bully in the nose with quick jab, then do what you have to do.

3. Never let anyone put you down. They are intimidated, they are scared, they don't understand and thus feel threatened. When your light shines some will cover up. Ignore them. The people you want are those who will see your light and bask in it.

4. Continue to smile big. When you gift someone a smile, anyone, a stranger, your grandmother, your teacher, you may inject them with a little bit of hope, love. Smiles are contagious. Some people are immune but the majority of the world is not. And because it’s not, it is a better place due to the warmth that radiates from each interaction.

5.  Be brave. Do it. Even if it’s against conventional wisdom or popular belief. Even if it means you’ll be embarrassed. Even if the results won’t go your way. It’s in the “you never know” that lies the bravery. The biggest regret you'll ever have is uttering the words "I wish I would have..."

Ok, Ezra, sorry son. Let’s bring it down a couple notches. You’re only 5. I realize these words will be completely lost on you. Hopefully when you look back on them, you’ll understand. For now, here’s a Top 5 that might work for you:

1. Eat cereal. For whatever reason you don't like it but find a way, through a Lucky Charm, a Cheerio, a Frosted Flake, something!

2. Dancing is cool. Find your rhythm. I love that you love Bruno Mars and Michael Jackson. Keep that going.

3. Don't cry for everything. Do your best to suck it up. This does not mean to keep in your emotions, it means to control them.

4. Speak clearly and speak up. Your voice is powerful when it’s heard.

5. Brush your teeth. Please. Just brush them. Really Good.

That’s it.

Love you and Happy Birthday,

Dad

Don Marcio, 1945-2015

Growing up, my Tio Marcio always had a movie to share. His library was extensive. Each one of his VHS tapes held anywhere between three to six movies. New releases, classic joints, B-movies, Spanish, English, comedy, action flicks, you name it. He always had the two VCR set up in his home, perfect for dubbing. He’d rent a movie damn near every day and recorded it just for fun. It was his hobby. Every time we visited him, we’d always leave with a new release. He was our family’s Red Box, our very own live stream app. I’d browse his collection like walking through Blockbuster. And the great thing was we didn’t owe him anything. “Have you seen this one?” he’d say. His reviews were simple and to the point, something like “esta buena” was equivalent to Siskell & Ebert’s “two thumbs up.” But that was the only time he kept things short and sweet. He knew how to command an audience. My Tio had excellent oratory skills. He had a speaking voice akin to how Vicente Fernandez sings. His word play was poetic and poignant. He used vivid examples and painted pictures during his speeches at weddings, quincenieras, and family gatherings. I always looked forward to hearing him speak because I knew he was about to drop the mic on everyone. That’s who I remember growing up, a stoic man with many depths. He had his demons too but I’ve learned now as a grown man, we all battle those daily.

During my childhood, my family never really talked about the past. No one sat the younger generation down to tell “back in my day” stories. At least not when we were kids because, hey, we were kids and we were on a need-to-know basis. The only way you’d learn about your family history was by eavesdropping on grown folks conversations during the holidays or in passing when visiting Abuelita Consuelo’s house.  I say that to say, I cannot give you the definitive history about my uncle’s life. I can only share my perspective, what I saw, heard and experienced.  And from what I know, he was a well-known, super connected business man in Honduras and brought that same passion to the United States. He instilled that work ethic and drive in his children and it trickled down generationally to me and my younger cousins. I looked up to his sons and daughters as examples of what to do with my life: go to college and establish a career (not just a job). Their success is the realization of his vision when he left Honduras to escape political turmoil. He had deep political ties in his birth country and remained passionate about it all until the day he died— ironically or poetically while on vacation in Honduras. 

The other day, my mother shared that it was my Tio Marcio who helped put her paperwork in order so that she could come to the U.S. and be with my dad after they were married. Skimming through old photo albums she pointed to a picture of her with my Tio and said: that was the day he drove me to the airport. We continued skimming the album and we came across my parent’s backyard wedding in Honduras. That was your Tio Marcio’s house, she said.  Of course it was, I thought. My Tio was more a grandfather-figure to me than uncle and it was clear that he dutifully filled the role of patriarch for the entire Sanchez family in one way or another. Over the next two days, we’ll say goodbye to him at his wake and funeral as he joins his son Juan Carlos, his sister Ceneyda, his mother Consuelo and his father Andres in heaven. The Sanchez-Montoya legacy they all helped create will be there to mourn him. In that gathering and moving forward, I hope to celebrate him by remembering and honoring what he and his siblings have endlessly preached my entire life: family always comes first.

Tio Marcio taking my mother, Janett, to the airport to come to the U.S.

Abuela Consuelo, Tio Marcio, Tia Ceneyda

Image Fathers- 2015

LET'S BE TRANSPARENT. The Father's Day project you hopefully will take the time to read and

enjoy was partly conceived for selfish reasons. The six men highlighted are my friends. In fact, we've known each other for 18 years plus. We've been to each others weddings, either as men of honor, the best man or guests. But in the midst of it all, the question arose: How well do we know each other?

DuJuan Johnson, my college roommate freshman year and very first friend at Cal State Fullerton, came to me with an idea. He knew that our stories were universal and he wanted to make sure they were told. If we didn't do it for ourselves, who would? He was right and I was onboard to help create it. He took the pictures and designed the website. I wrote the profiles.

As this project progressed we understood it's mission was simple. We wanted to celebrate each others' successes and recognize the hard work we've put in over the years to become loving husbands and fathers. This project is also an opportunity for us to continue to build a bond with one another as friends and brothers. As the demands of life pull us in different directions, it's important that we find the time as men to commiserate, to conference, to share best practices and philosophies. If a little sports talk breaks out so be it. 

It's clear that our backgrounds paint a picture of who we are and help us connect in ways we didn't think to before. Personally, writing the features for each of my friends was a daunting task. I knew their story was important and people could relate to them but I was afraid to not represent them well. I feel more connected to them knowing a little bit more about their past and the events that shaped them as men. 

 

With that reflection, I hope other fathers and men could connect and be inspired in some way.

Click here to check it out. IMAGE FATHERS- 2015

 

The Genesis of a 4-year old

THE BATTERY didn't fit. He didn't care, he was determined. The game had no business working. Didn't matter, he found a way. Every time I think I have all the answers, Ezra somehow proves me wrong.

Remember the spinning pond game with the fish in it? The one with the plastic rods? Ezra recently was gifted one but he couldn't play with it because it needed a C battery. The next day, we went to the store to find one and as I put the package in my cart, Ezra stopped me.

"We already have a battery Daddy,” he said.

Thinking my wife had found one, we left the store for home and as soon as we walked in the door he ran to his toy and flipped the switch.

"See Daddy, it works!"

Sure enough it started spinning and I looked in the compartment surprised to see a small triple A battery powering it. I laughed at the sight of this tiny battery, barely touching the connections in order for it to work.

Ezra had grabbed the first thing he saw from our miscellaneous drawer (that one place in the house where you keep random stuff like matches, scissors, instruction manuals, takeout menus, extra keys, you know you have one...) and placed it in the battery compartment. The thing just started moving.

My smile was as big as one of those fish grasping to get caught. I'm amazed how his little brain works sometimes. I wish I could have read his mind as he probably thought something like… “Pops, let me show you how it's done.”

The ingenuity that comes from the innocence of a child sometimes is astounding. Proof that always relying on conventional thinking can stop you dead in your tracks. Once more, an example of a kid with an idea, applying it regardless of what authority says and making it work.

Ezra is smart. His imagination grows faster than the curls on the top of his head. And I respect it. Which is why sometimes I treat him like he's older than 4 years old.

When I started thinking about what to buy him for his fourth birthday, I realized this kid already has everything. Could it be possible that my child is privileged?

It reminded me of a recent conversation I had with some of my closest friends about how much we struggle with the luxuries we afford our children. I mean, growing up, would we have the latest and greatest of everything on the market? Would you have had an Ipad? Or a Wii, or a flat screen TV?

I used to dream about decorating my room with the likes of He-Man or Thundercats. Don't get me wrong, I had plenty of cool stuff as a kid but it was different. We understood the real struggle of our parents to provide. We appreciated what we had (later when we finally understood), even though it wasn't much. Ezra asks questions to this friends at school that remind me how much he has it made. "Where's your Ipad?" "Do you have a pool?"

By no means do I mean privilege in the way that's automatically bestowed upon a certain race in which at times they find themselves feeling guilty about -- that's a whole other story. Nor do I mean it completely in the old money, traditional context of the word associated with the uber-wealthy or the upper-class. Although it's closer to the latter. We aren't broke but we're not buying a mansion anytime soon. We're doing alright for ourselves despite our challenges and Ezra reaps the benefits. He has his own room, something I didn't get until later in life. He has a flat screen TV with a Wii and it's decked out with Ninja Turtle decorations and toys everywhere. I would have killed for a room like that when I was kid. It's just normal to Ezra. He expects every kid to have it. And that's when it's clear this generation is different. I knew it when he, as a 2-year-old, would walk up to any TV or computer monitor and expect it to be touchscreen. And why shouldn't it be? There's that innocence and ingenuity again, this time mixed in with privilege. It's my job to keep him humble.

Back to his gift. I thought about it as I walked down the aisles of the store and then I saw the Sega Genesis console on the shelf. My eyes lit up. I wanted to buy it-- for me! But I knew Ezra would love it too or at least I hope he would. I realized the box clearly was marked 10 years plus. I knew some of the 80 games built-in were a bit inappropriate. But despite that, I needed him to experience it. I wanted him to feel the joy I once did playing “oldschool” video games. Of course, I'm not helping this whole privileged theory of mine, buying him even more stuff to add to his vast collection of stuff. At least it's not the X-box or Playstation 4 so I'm good. Either way, I figured the best way to try to keep him humble is to take him back to the things I experienced as a young kid and perhaps it could show him that everything wasn't always so fancy and advanced.

The other day we hopped on YouTube and I asked him if he wanted to see some real cartoons. I searched for He-Man and it popped up on cue (everything is on YouTube). Somehow, I thought that if he experienced the same cartoons as I did, we'd connect on some other level. I realized the animation in He-Man was campy. The dialogue, terrible. But guess what? Ezra was into it. Kids are kids. They they love to laugh, sing, dance, be silly and most importantly, use their imagination, whether its sparked by a cartoon from the 80s or 2010s.

So I won't hold it against him that he's obsessed with Big Hero 6 and Ninja Turtles. Maybe one day he'll sit down with his son and pull up clips of BayMax or Michelangelo to show his children 'old school' cartoons and reminisce with them.  Until then, it's Road Runner and Wiley Coyote for you big boy. Happy Birthday, kid.

Listen, Listen, Listen, 3 years down and forever to go

ON THE first day Ezra came home from the hospital, I put my ear up to his tiny body while he slept.  Someone outside peeking in through a window would've seen me standing there, my neck halfway in the bassinet like an ostrich with its head in the sand.

A confusing sight for sure but any parent would understand. I needed to make sure my baby was breathing.

Just a few days ago, Ezra peacefully lay in bed -- too peaceful for my liking -- so I leaned over and put my cheek against his. Again, I wanted to feel him breathe.

Today marks three years since I first started monitoring Ezra's sleep, watching his chest go up and down. How many countless breaths he's taken since, I’ll never know. Somehow though, it feels like I've been there for every inhale and exhale, each one a reminder that my seed is growing. Maybe faster than I expected.

He calls himself a big boy. He can build a puzzle on demand and I've even tried to start teaching him math.

“Ezra what's 1 +1? ... 2!

Great! What's 2+2? … 4!

Awesome! What's 1+2? … Pickaw!!!

Try again. What's 1+2?  Coo coo!!!”

Typical Ezra, gives you a little smart followed by a whole lot of silliness. I shouldn't expect anything less from a 3 year old, especially since watching Mateo's video the other day that went viral. “Listen, Listen, Linda, wait, Listen to me?”

Mateo is so cute pleading his case for a cupcake, looking and sounding like a sensible adult making an impassionate plea. I think about Ezra and how he handles his frustrations at times. Wish it would be more like Mateo but instead my son is a whiner. He cries because his food is too hot. He cries when you help him pour his juice.

"I can't open it." Cry.

“Time to take a bath.” Cry.

Little man would win a Baby Oscar for his performance after he falls down and gets an “ouchy." He forces me to come with the “Sana Sana Colita de Rana” because that’s clinically proven to heal all ouchies, right?

As a kid I was a cry baby too (some might say I still am). And I'm afraid that he's somehow inherited that from me.  It’s my fault he's sensitive to everything around him because it's my blood that runs through him. Even worse: does he act this way because I am an emotional person? Sometimes I can’t control my frustration. Many times I know he can sense and see it. I wonder if I am responsible for his demeanor. The possibility weighs heavy on me.

My best friend John posted another video that made the rounds on Facebook depicting children emulating the worst behavior of their parents. It reminded me of how delicate our children are at this point in their life. It’s stating the obvious but we are molding these precious materials hoping they transform into beautiful pieces of art -- which feels silly to say since they're already wonders of the world, magnificent masterpieces.

I guess my job is to maintain my integrity so that one day my son can say he learned how to be a man by watching me. And that’s so daunting. Everyone has their opinion on how to do things the "right way." But if having a child has taught me anything, it’s that in parenting, there is no one way to do something right.

Back in the day, I could only imagine what my life would be like as a father, when I used to bump Kanye’s first joint in my car for months on end. This year marks the 10 year anniversary of the College Dropout and I can’t believe it’s been that long since I moved to the Bay Area after college. Those days feel like distant memories now but I mention it only because I remember dreaming about my future and wondering how life would be when I had a family and those beats provided the soundtrack in the background. There’s a song on the album that has stuck with me and I relate it now to Ezra and how he makes me feel. On “Never Let You Down” there is a particular poem by J. Ivy that resonates with my soul. I've put a few lines in italics:

"Determination, dedication, motivation. I'm talking to you about many inspirations when I say I can't let you or self down."
 

Every year he grows older and smarter. Every day he watches me and the world around him and adds to his own personality. I sit back and enjoy every second of it. And all I can think about is how I will never quit on him. Ezra, I can't let you or self down.

 
"I too dream in color and in rhyme."
 

His dreams now consists of a dog biting his leg or maybe the "Monsters are coming!" His dreams will mature and grow with time, along with his creativity. For now, the joy his imagination brings to my life is vibrant and colorful, allows me to paint pictures with my heart.

“Whenever you open your mouth, a touch of GOD reigns out.”

It feels like Heaven when I walk in the door from work and he runs to me and proclaims “Daddy’s home!” Maybe he shows me a drawing he made at school or he offers me food from his own plate: “You hungry Daddy?” Those blissful instances balance out and overshadow all the other hard stuff that comes with the growing pains of a toddler, making the hard knock part of a pop's life more than bearable.

Still there are choices to make and lessons to teach in spite of me.

I know when Ezra cries, I sometimes become frustrated. To that I’ll tell him: “Don't ever let anyone stop you from showing emotion.”

When he’s running around and bouncing off the walls, I sometimes make him calm down or be quiet. To that I say: “Never let anyone block your light from shining.”

When he’s attempting to do something on his own – like spread peanut butter on a piece of bread and he’s furious he can’t do it – I may become impatient and try to do it for him. To that I’ll tell him: “Never let anyone convince you that you can't do something. Not even me.”

So, I’ll tell you again son, now and forever, Happy Birthday big boy. I’ll let you eat cake and I’ll buy you gifts but none of those can ever compare to the gift you gave me the day you were born.

The gift of fatherhood.

Ezra Rey Sanchez (3yrs old)

Hey Blue, Thanks for the Ride

The sun shines brightly through windows designed to make riders feel outside. Instead, the glass resembles over-sized picture frames, showcasing people sitting on aluminum seats and cheap fabric. On the Blue Line you'll find sticky, wet floors, paint chipped aisles, graffiti-scratched metal, a cultural art gallery floating on greasy tracks. Twenty three million ride the mechanical wave yearly, with train stops serving as bookmarks, keeping a place for those coming off the graveyard shift or on the way to work, visiting a parole officer, prepping for a job interview, falling asleeep on the way to class. Everyone just trying to make it. I realize why I was reluctant to ride the Blue Line. Now it’s hard to say goodbye. I developed a unique relationship with Old Blue and all its nuances; the funky smell, the nauseous motion, the sudden braking, the grimy, urban landscape zooming by in my peripheral. This is where I come from and where I’ve never been. The Los Angeles no one visits and others call home. The LA you won’t find in travel guides, the place too many leave behind. And yet, I associate it with love. Photo by Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times The Blue Line represents my son Ezra because he’s the reason I had to "sacrifice" and make the trek. I use sacrifice lightly because it implies struggle and struggle is relative, especially when sitting near a woman asking about a restraining order or when the man across the aisle is holding a plastic bag containing all of his belongings. "Welcome out OG," someone says. Ezra is not on the train with me but I see him every day in the eyes of kids fidgeting in their strollers, being brats, others sitting patiently, asking grandma a million questions. Of course, when I recount this whole experience to him years from now I only hope he’ll empathize with the human stories I’ve witnessed here. I will remember them vividly, turning them into instant urban legends, my epic tales that start out like this …"When I was younger, I rode the Blue Line…” Blue Line? All I see is white, black and yellow :) Turns out my wife and the Blue Line are in cahoots. They have conspired to reveal the hardworking, grind it out, no excuses, blue collar type of guy inside. Get up, drive, fight traffic, catch the train, be on time, stand, knee pain, tolerance, compromise, understanding, back hurts, tired, keep going – all of it together tells a story, the first chapter of when my life became life, which is to say when things got real. When responsibility began checking on me, keeping me honest like an LA County Sherriff looking for fare evaders. My wife keeps me on my toes too. Two years ago I shared my vows with her and for two years I’ve been on this ride doing all I can to love her unconditionally, respect her, protect and love her. All I have to do is give up my seat, hold the closing doors, show up every day with love as my ticket, giving us access to anywhere. Next stop: another level. As my commitment to the Blue Line ends, it taught me that my marriage to Candace is a daily adventure filled with ups and downs, starts and stops, funny and heartbreaking moments, anger and frustration. Ultimately, there is faith, hope and, the greatest of them all, love. The last part comes from Corinthians 13. Yes, there are preachers on the Blue Line, sharing the Good Word to whoever will listen. I started posting all of my observations on Facebook, collecting these memories hoping someone could relive it with me even in their imagination. The ridiculous impromptu entertainment became my ride partner. The overheard conversations from cell phone users lacking any damn shame or sense. The sometimes creative, many times annoying, sales pitches from the homeless needing real change not just coins and cash. The informal fashion shows, cheap sunglasses and hoodies on a hot day...CALI- FOR-NIA. Knock-off brand named shirts. Are they fake on the Blue Line? Or are they real? Real enough to make us feel connected to something, a cause, a community. I am a proud card carrying member. Its light aqua, says TAP, and has two dollars left to use. Two dollars better served for an agua or a Snickers. History tell us the Red Car Line used this route back in the day from Long Beach to Downtown until service stopped in 1961. The Blue Line sprouted back up in the 90s and it’s taken nearly 20 some years for a revolution to brew, a slow but rising demand for public transportation in Los Angeles. I know I'm late to the party. So many have relied on trains and buses before and will continue to do so. Ironically, I leave for the current Red Line, North Hollywood to DTLA, but it won't be the same. Old Blue won't be there to comfort me, to provide a safe haven, a moving office, a respite to collect my thoughts. It will no longer tour me through the place that offers perspective, something of which I still need daily reminders. No more Staples Center, no Watts Towers. No more knowledge-filled vignettes provided by average Joes living life. That’s the beauty of the Blue Line, a lesson always being taught and learned; an opportunity either seized or missed. Keep your eyes and ears open or it might pass you by.  #BLChronicles Other perspectives: "Killing Time on the Ghetto Blue" LA Weekly 2004  "Blue Line cuts across LA County's Invisible Boundaries" Los Angeles Times 2010  "History of the Blue Line" The Transit Coalition

Two Years Ezra and The Lion King

The orange and blue sky provided the background and I could hear the buzz of the street in my ear. I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. I was ready to speak to my son.

Candace pressed record and the lens focused in on me. I envisioned what he would look like, thought of what I would say to him and how he would react to my voice. I directed my words to him and began letting out my hopes and dreams, the Santa Monica wind carrying my every word into the universe.

He has yet to hear these recorded words and if I do let him watch the video, now on his 2^nd birthday, he probably won’t understand. But it felt like the first time I truly spoke to him. Candace let out her heart too. A glowing smile on her face. A special giddy tone to her voice. We stood near the famous pier with the horizon to our backs, transforming into the colorful mess one of those Big Stick Popsicles leaves behind. We knew our life would never be the same.

We patiently ate dinner at Wockano’s that night – March 13^th, 2011 – acting like a couple of cool cucumbers, when in fact all we wanted to do was get to the hospital. We were so nervous about the life that awaited us. I can honestly say those last few hours before I officially became a father were the most clear my head has ever been. That final day before my son’s birth and my re-birth is one of the happiest I could remember.

Little did I know, Ezra Rey Sanchez, the cute boy everybody loves, would eventually lose his mind. (Cue dramatic piano music here! Ton, Ton, Ton!) Yes, the little belly ball has gone Coo-Coo for Coco Puffs. And in the process, so have I.

Parenting 101 is no joke and the toughest test I've taken is managing a human being you love to the bone after he shuns you, disregards you and flat out leaves you feeling helpless.

Ezra has an imagination and a mental capacity that is beyond my understanding. I love it to death until it makes me feel like death.  Let’s just say he’s too smart for his own good.

It started with the word No.

“Ezra, give me that, it’s not a toy!”

“No!”

“Ezra, come over here.”

“Nooo…”

Honestly, the first time this happened, I smirked.  Who does this kid think he is? And even worse, why do I think it’s cute and funny? After perfecting the phonetic sound – Noooo – he started throwing it around, letting it roll off the tongue all crisp and articulate. Needless to say, this wasn’t amusing anymore. In fact, after one such outburst, I was ready to go Mufasa on him: “Zazu, take Nala home. I’ve got to teach my son a lesson!”

Gulp!

The Lion King has become such a parallel in my life these days. Yes, the 1994 Disney movie about a lion cub and his pops. The movie has resonated with me from the first time I saw it. The powerful opening sequence, the lessons throughout about life’s decisions, the strong relationship between Simba and his father in the present and afterlife, all make it such a wonderful flick and Ezra loves it too. He sings along to the Circle of Life, Can’t Wait to be King and of course, Hakuna Matata.

Beyond that, Ezra recognizes his ABC’s and can count to 20. Name a nursery rhyme in Spanish or English, he can probably belt it out. The dude is a performer. He’s also extremely independent. He doesn't want help with anything and let’s you know he’s not happy if you try. I wonder where he gets that from?

Everyone always says Ezra looks like Candace. If they only knew that it doesn't stop at physical appearance. He embodies his mother’s spirit. The most independent, driven, determined person I know is my wife and I’m so grateful those qualities have transferred over to our son. The stubbornness, hard headed, short-tempered stuff, he gets from daddy – not so grateful.

Even with all the craziness Ezra brings to our lives I wouldn't have it any other way. The responsibility is daunting and at the same time easily manageable as if parents were given a gene that is activated to handle the madness. The struggle with this balance is visible and some how I know Ezra understands by the way he looks at me. I need to set an example and be his guide. In other words, whenever Ezra loses his mind, I need to find mine.

I think back to that sky in Santa Monica and it reminds me of when Mufasa tells Simba to look up at the stars.

“The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars,” Mufasa says, “...So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I.”

Happy Birthday, son. I’ll always be here for you. Always.