Superstition

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

I do want to say no to this, but to be honest, it’s hard to be Appalachian and not hold some superstition. Growing up in this area you hear a lot of wives’ tales about why things work the way they do, what this event or happenstance might mean, or how changes in the weather can effect the seasons ahead (can anyone say “mythology” and the origin of storytelling?). Hearing those things, you also can’t help but notice that some it does kind of make sense. For instance, there is a saying that if you see a bee/hornet/wasp nest built high off the ground in a tree or on a structure it means there will be a bad winter. The idea is that insects know that bad weather is coming and try to build high enough to stay out of the snow.

I noticed late into Fall and early into Winter there were several nests/hives built high in the trees on my drive to and from work, and made note of the myth. This winter we had some decent snows – nothing like the 3 footer we had about ten years ago, but a decent amount. You can see how there are some elements of potential truth to things like that, I hope.

Knowing there are truths to some of the superstitions in these mountains is not exactly a bad thing, either. Seeing the leaves turn upside down in the summer typically means there will be rain soon, so that can give you an indication you should seek shelter soon. Likewise, the color of the sky in the morning or at night can give you an amateur meteorologist’s view of the day’s weather (Red sky at night, sailors delight vs. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning) and let you plan a little.

On the other side of this, there was a wives’ tale I heard growing up that said if you hear a Screech Owl (one of my personal favorite sounds in the mountains) at night while in the bed you should tie a knot in your bedclothes or someone you know will die. Needless to say, I don’t have any reason to necessarily believe this is true, but when I heard that lonely, warbling screech last year I was sure to tie that knot. In other word, I may be superstitious at times but, with some things, it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
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Ideal Day

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Describe your most ideal day from beginning to end.
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My ideal day would have to be one filled with peace and adventure. I love traveling with my amazing wife, and we have some excellent experiences on cruises, whether we are in port in a new land, or just on the sea. We also have great days on land in our mountains. Personally, I think as long as we get to enjoy the beauty of the world around us and God’s creation, get to enjoy some good food and have plenty of laughs there isn’t a limit on where that can be.

So a perfect day for me would be one spent adventuring to a new or favorite place with her, getting to enjoy nature and good food and good music. Waking up in the morning some some nice coffee or an energy drink to get me started and then leisurely making our way to our destination to get us started. A day full of fun and love, complete with a relaxing bit of time to lay in bed and unwind sounds wonderful. The filler is so fluid I can put in a new experience every time I imagine it. Throw in some time to read and write in there and you’ve got Heaven on earth for me. As long am I’m with her all is well.

Perspective

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
How do significant life events or the passage of time influence your perspective on life?
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For a long time I didn’t realize just how these things could influence the way I look at the world around me, but as I’ve matured it seems more and more I reflect on them. It’s definitely not a stretch of the imagination to say my happy memories and experiences have made me in large part who I am today. Between traveling and being with my wife, to writing and attending conferences, I can look back on those things and see how I want more of them. So far as life events, that can be both good and bad, of course. My wedding, our first (and every subsequent cruise), my first day teaching at my school, all of these things have a profound positive influence on me. I can see the benefits of keeping those memories close to my heart and I feel that it helps me to grow and improve as a human.

On the other hand, the loss of family members, bad days, and sad events are just as important. Coming off the loss of my biological father, I can definitely say the entire experience of a 30+ year bad relationship with him to literally not knowing who he was as a person as I looked into his coffin, has had a profound effect on me. Not in the least it shows me more than ever how important it is to maintain proper mental health, and to let those who matter to you know how you feel. Perhaps, by saying nothing, he said all he needed to, which is fine. For the rest of us, however, we can use events in our lives – both good and bad – to improve on ourselves and our abilities and generally take life lessons forward that will make us better and happier if we let them.

Coming to Terms

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I went to the visitation service for my biological father last night. I’m not at all sure what I expected to happen there, but it was certainly not the way things went. Or maybe it was.

For those of you who don’t know, I was raised in a single parent household because my father made his own choices. Those choices did not involve me. Through the years I have made an abundance of attempts to reach out to him and create some sort of relationship, against the advice and better judgement of pretty much everyone around me. For a little while at one point it worked. When I was 12 I convinced my mother to take me to his adoptive parents house and ask about him. This resulted in his nephew taking us directly to his house and we began forming what I hoped would be a real friendship, if nothing else.

It may have lasted a year. During that time we went to a few movies, ate a couple of meals. he bought me an action figure or two and I paid for at least one of those movies with saved allowance. Of course, toward the end of this period of time as we were driving him back to his home he asked to stop at a convenience store and borrowed money from me for a beer. I probably should have known.

Not long after that the contact stopped. Again, his choice, not mine. He stopped answering calls and letters. Faded into the distance again with no explanation or excuses.

For five years I didn’t know if he was alive or dead until we received a letter from the state that he had been summoned to court for back child support. The state’s choice. Not ours. So, at the age of 17, I convinced my mother to go with me to the courthouse and see if he showed. Surprisingly he did. He was told to pay, said he would, walked out the door with barely a glance in my direction, but I followed. I shouted for him and watched as he thought about walking on and getting in the car as if he hadn’t heard me.

But he stopped. He turned around and came back with his shark-toothed grin and made me feel like he was happy to see me. More empty promises of future contact, blank apologies for a lack of communication, and we went our separate ways.

I never heard from him again.

For nearly 18 years I went without a single word from him. Nearly as long without any word about him, save the mention of him given by his brother after the man found me online. I could have had a child of my own in that time, and watched them grow to be the age I had been the last time I laid eyes on the man who contributed to my DNA. I know damn well I would have treated that child a lot better than I had ever been treated.

Several times during those 18 years I attempted contact again, including one shameful time when I went to his house and knocked on his door. As I looked at the window I saw him looking back out at me before the woman he lived with opened the door and told me he wasn’t there.

I told myself that was it. I had done more than enough. But, it didn’t stop me from sending some last ditch letters. Or from making a phone call after my grandmother passed. A phone call that asked me to leave a message on a voicemail that had his name on it. I told him I wanted nothing from him, no money, no goods, I just wanted to speak to him. Even once.

I won’t even pretend I was surprised when the call wasn’t returned. Or that the next time I tried the number it had been disconnected/my number was blocked.

That time it really was over. I stopped trying. I won’t pretend I hadn’t thought about trying again, but I hadn’t. I had no clue if the man was alive or dead, if he had other children, if he thought about me. I knew nothing. Until I got the message last week that he was actually dead.

If you haven’t lost a parent, I’m glad. It has been something of a whirlwind for me, and nothing like the standard I’m sure. In talking to friends who have reached out, I do realize how many of us have a non-standard (read non-glamorous, non-Hollywood, non-cookie-cutter) relationship with our parents, so I definitely know many of you will know what I mean. A parent who has been nothing but a repeated disappointment, who you truly had no relationship with despite your best efforts, suddenly passing, is still quite a shock.

As I said, I went to the service last night. A more than two hour drive from where I work and nearly the same back to my house. To say I was nervous is an understatement. I have always hated funeral homes and hospitals, and this made that even worse. But I went. I’ve asked myself why it was important that I do so, and others have wondered the same, and I think the full truth is exactly what I said from the start. This is the only time I have had full control over the way this relationship ended. I never got to say my goodbyes. I never got to be the one to really choose how things would progress, or whether they would progress.

Sure, I had decided to stop trying to reach out, but that was really tantamount to deciding to stop pounding a closed door and let my bloodied knuckles heal. It was already sealed. I merely gave in to the choice of others. No, this time I was the one who had the final say. So I went to the service. It took a while to work up the gumption to walk in, but I did it. Amanda and I were 2 of the 7 people there for the man who had isolated himself from his flesh and blood. I will never be able to thank her enough for putting herself through that for me, for supporting me in what she knew was a lost cause. Having her by my side was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip, as it so often is.

When I went to the casket he looked so different from the man I remember, the man who I have maybe three pictures of, that I was worried we were in the wrong chapel. But it was him. His mother was there. My grandmother. Whom I hadn’t seen in probably 25 or more years. She had to subtly walk to the sign-in book to see if I was who she thought I was, but she came up to me and spoke. Told me she knew the effort I had put in, but chalked it up with the true Appalachian “you know how he was.”

No, ma’am. I do not know how he was. He made sure of that. You all made sure of that. I know next to nothing about the man. Even the things my own mother can tell me about the father of her child is little more than three decade old facts. How much of that changed? How much different was the stranger in that box who made sure I never had a chance to know any version of him from the 22 year old she had once cared for? I have no idea. And, given the likelihood those who have chosen not to reach out in the past will continue on that trend, I may never know.

Not once did my grandmother ask about me, my life, my wellbeing. Would it matter to her? No. Just shrugging off the way her son had behaved the same way he shrugged off his own child. I can’t pretend I’m not upset by it all, but I finally am at a point where I can truly say I did everything I possibly could. I will be able to go to sleep tonight and every night knowing I never closed the door on my father, though I likely should have. At the end of the day I was able to say goodbye on my own terms, something that feels as close to satisfaction regarding the matter that I may ever get.

Confusion and Grief

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 3 Comments

Last night, I found out my biological father died this week. No way to sugarcoat that information, really. I hadn’t spoken to the man in nearly 18 years, not for lack of trying. I sought him out time and time again, wanting to have a relationship with him, no matter how small it was. I put myself out there and gave it my all to try and be a son to a man who didn’t want to be my father. I’ve never gotten to share my accomplishments, my sadnesses, my truths, and myself with the man whose DNA I share. I might never have even known he was gone because of these decisions on his part.

I am forever grateful to the cousin who made sure I knew, also. A lifetime of potential memories gone. A lifetime spent wondering why I wasn’t good enough, if there was something wrong with me, if I would ever even know why he wanted nothing to do with me. Now I guess I will never know the answers.

I think that is the strangest part of the whole thing for me. I have thought about going to the last place I knew he lived and seeking him out, or pushing harder to find the relatives on that side of the family that are still alive (which, according to his obituary – in which my name is not even correct, I might add – is nearly everyone except his father), but ultimately have chosen against it. For the last few years, I honestly didn’t even know if he was still alive, with Covid running rampant as it did. Until his brother found me on Facebook last year and at least confirmed that much for me, that is.

Even until I got the obituary and saw the face of the man I barely remember looking back at me, some part of me said my cousin must be mistaken. But there it was. The first line in the obituary read that he died with his daughter by his side. A daughter I’ve never met. Not a biological sibling, I know now, but nonetheless, someone who mattered enough to him for him to raise. To stick by. To live for. Someone I never even knew existed. Did she know about me?

Did he ever mention me? Could she hold the answers to why she got a father figure out of him and I never did? Do I even want to ask?

Those questions and more have been flooding my mind for the last 16 or so hours, and I am no closer to deciding if they are even worth asking. I have a whole side of my family whom I know nothing about. My father’s obituary said he loved God, loved to cook, was a great dad. Two out three ain’t bad… we have those in common at least. Is there anything else we share?

There is a service for Scotty Wayne Osbourne on Monday. A time for those who knew him to grieve him, to say goodbye to him, to pay their respects for a man they now have to build a life without. Do I fit that mold? I know next to nothing about him. I only know life without him in it. But I’ve never gotten to say goodbye. I never knew I would have to. Until it was too late. Just like this time.

Decluttering my Life

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Where can you reduce clutter in your life?

The idea of decluttering is always a positive one, if the act itself is a bit difficult. As much as I hate to say it, one of the key ways I can declutter my space is by slowing dwindling down my collection of physical books. Not my first editions or rare ones, or ones that hold special meaning, of course. But nonetheless. I currently have more than 1,200 physical books and I’ve long since ran out of shelf space for them. I’ma working on selling my used books on eBay for anyone who is interested, of course (https://www.ebay.com/usr/dmathews91), and I’ma hoping to use the money made from that to get as many copies of my favorites as possible on my Kindle. Granted, I also need to upgrade my more than 10 year old Kindle, but still! That’s where I’ma at. What about everyone else?

Dream Job

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What’s your dream job?

While I, first and foremost, think the idea of wanting to work for a living is one of the many skewed parts of humanity and a product of the long-term lies we have sold ourselves to explain why we ultimately ruin the planet, freedom, and happiness more with each passing day… I have to say I’m living a version of my dream job now.

I’ve had a lot of thoughts on careers throughout my life and have explored everything from paleontology, oceanography,  and forensic investigation,  there are a couple of things I keep coming back to. Writing, of course, has been my chief desire for most of my life. I would love, beyond any other job, to be able to fund mine and my wife’s life and travels solely with the money made from my books. In other words, I’d love to be a bestselling author. But teaching is also a passion of mine. I have had dreams of being a college professor for a long time, and that is still an ultimate goal, but teaching high school English is one of my greatest achievements to date.

In essence, teaching and writing are my dream jobs, and I’m beyond blessed to day that I am living that dream each day. I might not be riding the bestseller list, and I might still have to teach standards of learning rather than specialty period courses, but I am, as they say… living the dream.

Erosion of Free Speech

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Good morning, all. Of course, in the states, one of the most talked about issues right now is the ban of Tik Tok. While I’m the first to admit I was slow to the game, and I definitely didn’t utilize to the full potential I could have for my writing and business ventures, I did enjoy the app. Fortunately, I was not one of the thousands, if not millions, who used the app so successfully they were able to start making their living as content creators and no longer need a day job. I will say that I know some of my posting drove people to my books and my events – because they told me so.

Since I started using the app to promote my writing and my travels, I have had numerous encounters with people who found me and my work through the app. At one of my events I had a young man who left his job early one day, telling his boss he was sick, just so he could come to the book store I was at and meet me and buy some of my books. Another time I was out in a local store and met someone who frequently interacted with my videos and we were able to make a face to face connection. These are just a couple of examples in my own personal life that came about because of the freedom this app allowed.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the hours of laughing and simple entertainment I have gotten from the hilarious content there, as well as the bands I have discovered (one of whom, Definitely Maybe, has even graciously allowed me to use their work and their name in a book of mine) because of the platform. This is all a drop in the hat to international connections made because of a simple video platform.

I mention because I want to emphasize that the app was more than just a silly place people could go learn dances or recipes. It allowed homebound individuals to catch glimpses of faraway places they might not ever be able to go. It allowed readers to connect with their favorite authors, genres, or other readers to discuss books in an easy to use way that offered real time discussion rather than short messages back and forth. It gave truly free speech to a number of people who might otherwise be too timid or worried to speak to people outside their home. Introverts thrived on Tik Tok.

In order to truly understand s to have this platform taken down, you have to be able to look beyond the surface and the lies that politicians and nay-sayers have been spreading. There little to no “data breaching” happening on this platform. As long as this country still orders mass amounts of goods from Shein and Temu, those will always be a much bigger threat than Tik Tok. No, the threat was not to data or citizens. The threat was to the lies we are told every day. The threat was to the control the U.S government wants to maintain over its citizens and the information they receive.

Therein lies the true issue. As long as people across the world have the chance to speak their mind to others without interference from the Powers That Be, we will always be a threat to them. Of course, Agent Orange is pretending that he is going to save the day, despite being the one who started the whole issue 5 years ago, but is he? Will anyone offer the same brand of freedom and connection without limitations? Sure there were issues with the app. There are always issues with new things. But even I witnessed the growth it experienced. Growth that now doesn’t stand for much. 

The point I’m making is that, with this ban, goes the first in what could be a long line of changes toward information sharing and free voices in this country. What will be next in the list of things that keeps us from connecting with like-minded people both in and outside this country. If you want to see some possibilities, you can always grab a copy of “1984” or even “The Handmaid’s Tale.” Oh, wait… those are banned books. Books that the local and federal governments have deemed in some ways dangerous or damaging to the minds of learning individuals. Coincidence? I think not….

Childhood Love

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Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

The biggest thing that comes to mind here is the stuffed Bugs Bunny I had as a kid. I’m not sure when I got it, but it was legitimately my favorite thing in the world. I always have and always will love Bugs Bunny, and this little guy went everywhere with me. The store, vacations,  libraries. Everywhere. I recall the various stages of “well-loved” he went through. From hearty and whole, to slowly becoming more threadbare, holes in his body, the wire that held his ears up starting to poke through the fabric. Unfortunately, I do not know what became of him, but I do know I would do a lot of sketchy stuff to have another one. I’ve seen some that are on eBay and online elsewhere, but they don’t look like mine. He would have been released probably between 1990 and 1995 if anyone has any clues on where to find one… what about you guys? What was your favorite childhood thing?

Everyone Should Know

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Frankly, the biggest piece of knowledge I would share with anyone and everyone I possibly could, is that YOU MATTER. In today’s world that is a message that is not shared enough. From parents/guardians who are hands-off (or hands-on in the worst way) to an educational system that tends to forget about if not outright shun those who might not be riding the top of the honor roll, this world is too quick to pick favorites. As a child of a single mother from a small town in the Appalachian Mountains, I had a foundation of care, but I knew tons of people who did not. I’m not saying things were perfect, by any means, and I could tell some stories, but there are many who had it worse. Now, as a teacher of largely at risk students, I see those kids who do not have that foundation. When children are raised in an environment where they are treated like an afterthought or a burden they cease to believe they matter. I could write and speak for hours on this, but the toughest person you know is likely that way because they have had to be. I try to approach all of my students from a place of understanding and care, because everyone deserves to know they matter. If you are having a tough day, a tough life, or if you are feeling like you have been shoved aside, please know for sure; YOU MATTER.

There are people out there who genuinely care. I am one of them. You are all always invited to reach out to me in any way you can. For those who feel they have no other options, the end does not have to come. Do not ever think your time should be over. For those feeling the worst extremes, remember to dial 988 on any phone. It is an emergency number. It is free. They care, just like I do. Reach out.

Daily writing prompt
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
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