It is 6:41 p.m.. It is Thursday, May 29, 2003. I'm sitting in my work chair looking out of my window. It's a little breezy outside. I'm waiting for my brother to call me. I'm supposed to check out his step-son perform and receive an award at some sort of function this evening. His step-son's name is Anthony.

The event is to be held at an outdoor auditorium. It's one of those places where you sit outside and watch people on stage. I was looking forward to this event, but now I'm waiting to hear if there is an available ticket. The phone just rang....looks like I'm headed off to see a performance.

Later.

Sadness

Certain areas of the city bring sadness and despair to my heart--quite possibly a mild depression. In what people may see as life, I see death. The inner city is where life is for me...Green Valley is death for me. I see loneliness and despair masked by nice buildings, fancy cars and chic looking restaurants. I'm having lunch at a chic restaurant today. The only plus is that it is family owned and operated...which means there should be lots of people and many kids running around. Thank God for big Italian families.

This is my first real blog.

Although, this is not my first blog account.

Back in August 2002, I created an account with the title name of "La Calle Catorce."

14th street, I thought, was to be an experience in my life unparalleled to any other. I along with a friend (Alan) moved into an apartment in the barrio, which happened to be on 14th and Mesquite. Alan and I had planned to live there for one year. My stay lasted 2 moths.

Usually when people find out that I only lasted 2 months in the barrio, I typically receive a half-cocked smile, maybe a wince--as if somehow they were feeling my pain of defeat. Usually, in my opinion, their wince, half-cocked smile is out of sympathy because an assumption is made. That assumption goes something like this: "the barrio chewed you up and spit you out, that's tough bro...[pat, pat on my back] you'll do better next time."

If that were only the case.

Truth of the matter, as I reflect back, I think it was totally in God's plan for me to move into an apartment for only two months. Regardless of all the planning, prayer and preparation that went into the decision of moving into the barrio. I think God allowed it that way--which quite frankly, has served me well.

For those of you who don't know my story and this whole barrio thing makes no sense, let me explain.

I'm a schmuck. And I have a problem with controlling myself in many ways. But even more truthful, I don't know who I am. Well, I think I have a better idea of who I am now, than I did back then. Back then was August 2002 and the 25 years before that.

My friend Alan and I moved into the barrio with a specific goal: to love people, have a good time, experience community and in the end, if a house church birth through this process, then we were cool with that.

I left our goals. And I left the barrio, too.

I no longer live in a 2 bedroom, cockroach infested, no air-conditioned apartment. I now live in a 3 bedroom/2 bath home with a front and backyard. However, I still have the roaches. I think my parents are still peeved about me bringing my roaches to their home. But, I'm quite positive that it is the last thing on their minds. Especially my father's.

My father has brain cancer.

And that is why I left the barrio.