friends | Jason R Benninghoff-Becerra

December 31, 2018March 29, 2019

The Story of Us

I wish I could tell you a story about our first kiss or the magic moment under a bowl of stars when fate made itself known to Us.

I wish I could paint a portrait of me brushing the hair behind her ear as she first looked at me with those eyes and that smile that change my life every time she graces me with them.

I wish I could describe the precise moment when I first heard her say “I love you” in a way I had never heard her say it before.

I wish there was some way I could capture all those fireworks and butterflies that come in the moments before that first kiss that changed our lives…the kind of kiss that changes anyone’s life really.

But I don’t have those stories to tell. Ours is not one of “new” love or of flames so passionate that their heat carried us into the sky.

Our story begins in a musty sophomore geometry classroom. We were bound together by the alphabet and its influence over Ms. Grissom’s seat assignments.

Unencumbered by the kinds of promises kids so often make though they are too young to know they can’t keep, our friendship was instead marked by our social awkwardness, our misfit friends who inhabited the land of broken toys that was our classroom, and shenanigans. (Well, the shenanigans were mostly mine.)

That smile continues…my hair? not so much.

She was beautiful though she won’t acknowledge it. She was funny and smart with an air of cool that again, she’ll deny. Her self-image is much different than my view of her. I suppose the same is true for me.

I was shy and insecure with a sense of fashion that could generously be described as ridiculous…except for my black trench coat. I’d like to think it was the first step in wooing My Love.

Sometimes the class clown, other times desperate to melt into the faded paint on the mid-century classroom that incubated us, I was never quite comfortable in my own skin.

She had my eye even then. She doesn’t believe me but it’s true.

Somehow despite my often crippling awkwardness I summoned the courage to write her a note. Clumsily folded with a little tag that had the word “pull” and an arrow, it was my first attempt at telling her how I feel. She denies this too but it’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Then as now, every word was a piece of my heart.

Whenever I made my clumsy attempts at humor she would look at me with a tone in her eyes that seemed to embody both a sense of dismay and approval. She tried to keep a straight face and sometimes she managed to but more often than not that smile would not be denied.

That smile.

Through circumstances unique to adolescence we were pulled apart and lost touch despite always being in the other’s orbit.

It seemed like we were always five minutes and two miles away without even knowing it. We visited the same friends’ apartments always just missing one another. One night in particular I left our mutual friend’s house about 10 minutes before she arrived.

We didn’t even realize we knew the same people.

For a time we lived almost exactly across the street from one another.

She worked at the restaurant directly across the street from the pub I frequented. I ate at her restaurant with some regularity too. Evidently it was always her night off.
I’m serious. You can’t make this up.

For years we circled one another, never knowing just how close we were. So close yet so far away.

Enter Facebook and a simple friend request I received one afternoon.

It was Kristin Benninghoff.
I won’t even attempt to deny that my heart skipped more than a beat when I saw the “alert” nor the fact that I stared at the screen for I don’t know how long waiting to see if she would send me a direct message.

She did.

When friends reconnect after time apart they often say they “picked up where they left off.”

Kristin and I did not.

We picked up right where we were.

We slipped into one another’s life both as if we were never apart but also with all the miles, scars, tears, laughter, and experiences gained over the years we spent in orbit.

That time carved and molded us into more than just old friends catching up.

The first time I saw Kristin in person after all those years she spoke to me as if we had never spent so much as an hour apart in our entire lives.

She knew me so well, our conversation so fluid and intimate that I asked if perhaps she had reached out to my then-wife to inquire about various details.

She had not.

She just knew.

Since then, every step we’ve taken has been taken together.

We became inseparable despite seldom having the opportunity to even grab coffee.

We became each other’s biggest fans, boldest champions, most caring confidantes, and loving supporters.

The good, the bad, the awkward, the triumphant, the failure, the loss, the joy, this life, the universe, and everything have been experienced together.

We have spent these years supporting one another through heartache and the stress of building the lives we always envisioned but seemed unfathomable to that point.

We’ve celebrated too.

She cheered me as I performed on stages large and small alike.

I cheered every milestone achieved as she, Jakob, and Olivia moved through life.

She embraced the birth of my son with a passion and tender love that continues to humble my soul.

And together, we walked across the stage, her in Houston and I in New Hampshire, to receive our Master’s degrees. We spent the day texting back and forth as we sat waiting for our names to be called.

She is the first person I want to tell about anything that happens throughout my day.

Someone cuts me off on the road? Call Kristin.

Oliver said “SEGA!!!” I must call Kristin.

Exactly how does so much laundry appear in the hamper? Kristin will know.
I’m struggling to maintain a grip on my life. Kristin can help. Kristin will understand.

Whether inconsequential or monumental, Kristin is my first instinct…and always has been.

Yet, we were never single at the same time.
Being together as we are now was never even on the radar.

Perhaps a fleeting curiosity or the proverbial “what if” would cross our individual minds but it was never outwardly acknowledged. We never spoke of such things.

What could have come of such talk or consideration?

What would the point have been?

We thought of it in the same way a child may think of what it would be like to fly but without the naivety that youth provides to allow them to believe they have wings to spread.

We were in long term relationships and we had our friendship. What more could we ask?

But things change.

Several months ago I made the very difficult decision to end my marriage after 14 years. That marriage gave birth to my darling son and taught me more than I can describe about sacrifice and compromise, about love, and about what it means to fill the measure of my creation.

It was not a decision taken lightly. There was no singular moment or action that led me to that decision but it was one that I came to believe was the only and best choice to make for the family. It was an inevitable and in many ways unfortunate choice to make but no less essential for the lives of everyone involved. As I made my way through the maze of divorce settlements and trying to reconcile my beliefs about family and individual fulfillment, I came to understand what life would look like. Maybe I’d have an apartment somewhere or maybe I’d spend time with my parents planning the next chapter of my life as a divorced father.

But then, something happened on the way to the rest of my life.

I’ll resist the temptation to frame the way Kristin and I became Us within the context of destiny though the manner in which we went from “us” to “Us” begs for such otherworldly poetry.

What I do know is that we were collecting all the photographs and memories, joyful mornings and mournful nights, wisdom and knowledge, that have all led us to this moment…to This Right Here.

They say timing is everything and I suppose it is.

We had in fact never been single at the same time.

We had in fact never spoken of any sort of life together beyond what we had always enjoyed.

And then we did.

And when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life together with somebody you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

And so it has.

We turned Our new life over and in doing so we found Our Love.

This is why I cannot tell you a story of a singular moment when Kristin and I became what we are today.

Our story is one of Choice.

Our story is about the choices we’ve made as both individuals and as Us.
Some of the choices we made while apart, unfortunate though some may have been, were essential in shaping us into the individuals that have become Us.

So too are the choices we made to craft the lives we wanted to live, lives we thought impossible until we had the audacity to believe in ourselves and in Us.

We made choices to earn degrees and to further our careers.

We made choices about family and faith and all the while challenging and inspiring one another as we took those steps together in hopes of building our lives. We didn’t realize it but we weren’t just building our lives.
We were building Our Life.
So too have those choices involved others.

She chose Oliver.
Oliver chose her.

Olivia chose me.
I chose Olivia.

Olivia chose Oliver.
Oliver chose Olivia.

And while Jakob is already building his own life, growing into a man anyone can be both proud and humbled to know, he too made a choice.

He chose to open his mind and heart to Kristin and I and to stand with Us, his own beloved at his side when Kristin and I make the most natural and obvious choice of all: to be married.

We all chose to come together and build something new.

Our story is not defined by any one moment.

Our Life was not born in a whirlwind. There is no story of falling in love, of courtship, or dropping to one knee.

Rather, Our Life is defined by moments sewn so tightly together that I struggle to find the seams that join the separate pieces.

I’ve no concept of a life without her…not one that I would ever want to live.

God Only Knows what I’d be without her.

The fact that we are now We is a testament to, and confirmation of, what I have always known to be true but was too afraid to allow myself the chance to consider as ever being possible.

Kristin, It Had To Be You. It could not have been anyone else and I’m so glad it’s you.

Kristin you are my best friend. We Can Do Anything. We have. We will.

I love Kristin Benninghoff.

She is My Love, from Here On Out.

Always and Forever and Regardless.

Be Well and Kind,
Jason

January 15, 2018September 29, 2020

The Lunch Table

Through the years and miles between us
It’s been a long and lonely ride
But if I got that call in the dead of the night
I’d be right by your side
– Jon Bon Jovi

Each one of us is a brain, and an athlete
And basket case, and a princess, and a criminal
– The Breakfast Club

Not long ago I wrote about “pals”, the tragic loss we felt within our group and how that tribe molded so much of who I am.

Today I want to talk about furniture…and how a simple table can form and maintain bonds far beyond anyone could imagine.

I was not a particularly happy student. At home I was loved and cherished but when I left for school every day I entered a very lonely and isolated world.

Every year kids looked forward to picture day but for me it was perhaps the most traumatic day of the year. All the kids ordered these huge packs that included dozens of wallet-size photos that they would trade amongst their friends. My mother was always encouraging me to order such a package and it was always so difficult to try and temper her enthusiasm because really, I had no with whom to trade.

This point was never driven home so deeply than when I offered to trade with one elementary school classmate in particular. He had already given his out and told me “I may be your best friend but you’re not my best friend. You know that right?”

He did accept the photo from me but a few hours later I saw it on the hallway floor where he tossed it away with some trash.

That comment came to dominate all my relationships…even to this day, as silly as that may seem.

By sophomore year I’d become quite isolated. I had a couple friends and that was about it. I didn’t really fit in anywhere.

I played sports with some measure of ability but far below the level needed to be accepted into that crowd.

I was smart but a bit of an underachiever and thus the “GPA” kids, for the most part, also seemed to shun me.

One of the people I was most close to, a fellow Beatles fan, was a theater kid and thus I knew some of them but I wasn’t in theater but for a single year and as such I was but a stranger in their strange land. I didn’t get their inside jokes, didn’t share their communal experiences

Despite my musicianship, I did not participate in band so I was I existed only on the fringes of their group.

I didn’t listen to enough heavy metal or cut class. I wasn’t quite strange or anti-social enough to get into those groups despite knowing quite a few of those cats as well.

I was just some sort of nomad, roaming from group to group, ever really being a part of anything.

Then, during the summer between 10^th and 11^th grade my family made an unexpected move to Florida and I started fresh in a new high school.

Miami Southdridge High School circa 1993

And I loved it actually. Despite my solemn intent to refrain from any social interaction I met my dear “little sister Wendy” and we became inseparable..to the point that if we weren’t actually side by side, teachers would ask us where our other half was. Never romantic with one another, we were bound by our shared experience of having moved from other cities. I had a girlfriend in Deer Park. She had a boyfriend in New York. We loved literature and music and we were both committed to being as miserable as possible until we could return home to our beloveds. Haha. All the while, we became quite happy were carving out our own little niche there in our new school. I continue to cherish her friendship to this day.

Then my family’s life took a very odd turn.

My family had to move BACK to Texas…in the middle of the school year no less.

Within six months I’d been ripped from one school I didn’t like, placed in a school I’d come to love, and then sent back to where I came.

It was incredibly bittersweet to say the least. I was tormented about leaving Wendy and the kids I was just getting to know but I was looking forward to coming back to the girl I’d spent so many days and nights pining for. When I got back though, I was greeted with the unfortunate reality that this relationship was not to be…at least not to be what I had hoped. It happens. We were kids.

And thus I found myself in a sort of limbo. The only thing pulling me back to Deer Park was gone and it only magnified what I had left behind in Miami. Add to that the fact that I had moved back just before mid-term exams at Miami Southridge but arrived in Deer Park just after their mid-terms. Thus my entire first semester did not exist. All of the sudden I was in danger of not graduating.

But then something very odd happened, and I honestly have no recollection of exactly how it happened. I ended up sitting at The Lunch Table with Skip, Honour, and Nikki.

always behind the camera snapping pics of all of us, this is one of the few pics I could find of Honour

I have to assume it was Honour that brought us together. Always the sentimental one, she has an incredible commitment to preserving memories and maintaining that which binds people together. You should see this girl’s scrap books.

Skip and I quickly became fast friends. We both loved music, played guitar, and both like spinning a good yarn. I tried not to hold his love for Metallica against him and just pretended that part of him didn’t exist. haha

And then there was Nikki. My dear Nikki. Somehow we managed to have a sort of uncanny mind-meld. We didn’t need to go into details with one another about why we were sad or angry or feeling dejected. We would just sort of lock eyes, understand what we were silently telling one another and know that, in that moment, we would be ok.

The Lunch Table was 45 minutes of paradise. It was shelter from the sort of storm that maybe only teenagers feel. It was the only place I fit in.

This simple table was just like almost every other one in the cafeteria. It sat four and was kind of tucked away on the edge against the wall…and it was miraculous.

All three of my tablemates were a year ahead of me so at the end of the year they were gone. I briefly dated Honour that summer before she went to university, I stood with Skip during his marriage and I hold him and all of Catholicism responsible for the pain that creeps up in my knees whenever it gets chilly out. (So much kneeling and standing, standing and kneeling. Haha) Nikki, too, went off to school and I, well…you read about the tribe I built in the months and years that followed.

All these years later, and this whole Facebook thing takes off and we all reconnect and share pictures of the kids and our food, and argue over Metallica (though there’s really nothing to argue about…but hey, no one’s perfect haha).

And so here we are, in that place we all find ourselves as our teens morph into our 40s…seemingly overnight. We have our lives, we have our friends, our bills, our receding hairlines…all that stuff.

But we still have each other. That’s never changed.

So there I was last week, pouring through Craigslist as I do whenever I want to gawk at mid-century record player consoles…you know the kind your grandparents had.

I love them. I fell in love with them when I was a kid at MY grandparents’ house. They had a gorgeous one.

I posted a link to a particularly interesting one…a Motorola that had, not just the phonograph and radio, but a TV! It was gorgeous. Two buddies of mine are also into these so I thought they’d be interested in checking it out.

I barely gave it a second thought and went about my day…that evening I get a call from Nikki. The first thing I thought was “What’s wrong?!”

Other than via Facebook we hadn’t spoken in several months but rather than being a call of distress it was a joyous call that I’ll never forget. She wanted to thank me for the years of friendship, apologize for not bringing Oliver’s birthday present over during the summer (did she not remember Hurricane Harvey? I think there’s more than enough slack to be cut haha) and to say she wanted to get me a belated graduation present.

Seriously? A gift? C’mon.

After much debate I simply told her she should come by the house over the weekend and just spend time with my family and call it even. Why the need for a gift?

Then she rolls out with the fact that she wanted to get me the Motorola console.

I told her she was out of her mind.

She insisted.

I said she was out of her mind. She called back a few minutes later and said it was done and she was delivering it Sunday afternoon.

I told her she was out of her mind.

She assured me she was very much within her mind and that it’s done. She’ll see me on Sunday.

Turns out my Lunch Table friends conspired to make this happen. Honour contacted the lady selling the console, Skip helped load and unload, and then, as promised, Sunday afternoon here come Nikki and Skip, some sort mash up between Santa Claus and Sanford & Son in a pickup with this console tied to the back.

Just like that I am the proud owner of a fully operational 1952 Motorola TS-228 TV complete with original tubes and even the manual.

This gift, this miraculous and unexpected gift, is the most thoughtful surprise I’ve ever received. After Nikki and Skip left yesterday I kept looking at the console sitting in The Cathedral as if it had always been there. I’m in awe. This doesn’t happen to me. I feel like some sort of lottery winner.

Mind Blown.

My mom was teary-eyed over how sweet it was and how Nikki had brought Oliver a beautiful frame and even a sweet tent. She just went on and on about how these friends of mine are so amazing and how touching it all is.

And she’s right.

But really, it isn’t even the console. Don’t get me wrong, the console is super rad but it’s what the console means.

It’s like I said, I’ve always struggled with the idea that somehow I’m less important to anyone I know than they are to me. It’s just ingrained in my identity at this point.

I can’t help but resist any hope that somehow I’m as important to someone as they are to me…that I’m on even footing with others. When I try it makes me somehow feel arrogant or full of myself…and more importantly I become vulnerable to so much more disappointment because eventually I’m going to discover that indeed they might be my best friend but I’m not theirs.

Even as a father I look at my son and have to constantly reassure myself that yes, he loves me at least as much as I love him.

Turns out, at least to the kids who shared The Lunch Table with me and the adults they became, I am important. I am valued. They love me as much as I love them.

Thank you dear friends. Thank for you letting me sit at The Lunch Table.

Thank you for helping me seek shelter from the storm.

Thank you for the years of friendship and thank you for forcing me to do my very best Sally Field impression today.

And thanks for this console.

Seriously…it’s freaking rad!

Until Next Time….

Be Well and Kind,

Jason

January 10, 2018September 29, 2020

The Magic Penny – Musings on Love

I’m not a wise man by any means. My life often seems like a complete mess in fact. So, take what I say with whatever grain of idioms you choose.

BUT…I have come to learn a few lessons over the years and perhaps the hardest one is about love.

It’s impossible to demand love or affection. There have been so many times I’ve felt betrayed and resentful towards someone because I felt I had earned their devotion. Damn it, I did everything I was supposed to do. Why don’t they love me back?!

In reality I didn’t always do everything I was supposed to and that begins with acknowledging that people get a say in the matter. I don’t get to decide for them. And maybe, just maybe, I did all I did with a motive beyond genuine love.

Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe we shouldn’t do things to get something.

It always seemed that the more “justified” i felt in having earned someone’s affection. The greater my sense of entitlement the further that person pulled away from me. The tighter I clung, the more vicious their resistance.

I see this with parents a lot too…I guess being one I’ve begun to notice it. The family will be in a mall and one of the parents is yanking on the kid, demanding a kiss or a smile, trying to take a photo or whatever. It’s awkward for sure and a little sad when I think about it too long.

No matter the type of relationship, we shouldn’t demand love or affection from anyone. We should aspire to receive it, cherish it when we do, and self-assess when we don’t.

No one is entitled to a kiss from that guy or girl they’re in love with. You can’t force that crush of yours to feel the same way about you. You can’t force your kid to want to cuddle. You can’t even force your boss to respect you.

It’s perhaps been the hardest and most awful feeling I’ve endured…that feeling of wanting someone to love me back, to want to kiss me, to want me the way I wanted them to only be denied. Sitting in that filthy resentment, confusion, and loneliness is crippling.

Try not to end up there.

At some point I suppose we just have to learn to do the whole “letting go” thing. At some point we have to accept that others really do have a choice in the matter. At some point we have to realize that the more we force ourselves upon someone, the more we demand, the less likely we’ll ever receive what I think we all want and need most: to be loved…and to have our love validated.

Use whatever fable or song lyric or idiom you want to express this sentiment.

There are tons.

In this moment though, I shall quote a classic from my Deepwater Elementary School music class:

Love is like a magic penny
Hold it tight and you won’t have any
Spend it, lend it, and you’l have so many
They’ll roll all over the floor
– Malvina Reynolds

Relationships are hard. They’re the hardest things I’ve ever tried to do. I’m no good at them…even with my son who seems to adore me, I find the concept of fatherhood and my relationship with him to be so complex. I’m never quite sure if I’m “doing it right.” Yet, it seems so counter-intuitive. It seems, at least superficially, that it should be quite simple. I love my son, he should love me. But things are never really that easy are they? Though…perhaps they are.

Like I said, I’m not a wise man.

I know I didn’t “do it right” with pretty much any of my friendships and attempts at romantic love through the years…and that’s part of life and all that jazz….the “Wonder Years” or whatever. But the failures hang heavy on my soul and lay the foundation for everything I am and will be…sometimes in a healthy way and sometimes, I guess, not so much.

But if you take anything away from what I write, let it be this: be ok with yourself and be willing to work for love. The kind you get when you force someone’s hand is never real. I’ve been told “I love you” plenty of times in life and at this point I can look back and know when someone meant it and when they said it because I expected it or because they thought I needed to hear it or because they didn’t know what else to say.

When I hear Young Master Oliver say “I love you Dad” I KNOW it’s real. There’s no confusing it.

Anyway, let’s turn on some Ramones or something…seems a little thick and heavy in here….all this talk about love and whatnot. haha

Until Next Time….

Be Well and Kind,

Jason

November 2, 2017September 29, 2020

The Season

I have grown up with a father who cherishes baseball. Some kids were told bedtime stories like “Goldilocks” or “Three Little Pigs” but I was cradled while being regaled with stories of him hanging around Yankees spring training in Florida, of Mickey Mantle’s heroic feats, and of Earl Weaver’s passionate belief in The Three-Run Homer.

Some kids grew up quoting chapter and verse while I grew up citing batting averages and RBIs. As popular as “The Goonies” and “Star Wars” were in my house, “Bad News Bears”, “Major League”, “Bull Durham”, and of course “Field of Dreams” were constants.

Music? Terry Cashman’s “Willie, Mickey, and the Duke (Talkin’ Baseball)” was heard as often as the Beatles and Bob Dylan.

His decorated broadcast career included several years as the “Spanish voice of the Houston Astros” so the Astrodome became somewhat of a second home. I marveled at that incredible scoreboard and was shocked when it was torn down in favor of more seats. My childhood was shaped by watching Jose Cruz, Craig Biggio, Ken Caminiti, Jeff Bagwell, Billy Doran, Nolan Ryan, Mike Scott, Brad Ausmus and so many others. When watching at home, the TV volume was always down so I could listen to dad or to Milo call the game on the radio.

Every year we looked forward to spring training. Dad took me to several and those were among my most favorite family outings and come the regular season, I rooted along whether my beloved Astros won or lost.

When the team announced they were moving out of the Astrodome I was shocked but understood. By that time I had come to loathe Astroturf and looked forward to our boys playing on real grass…like God, Nature, and Sparky Anderson intended!

I still vividly remember listening to the radio when the team finally announced Minute Maid’s field dimensions. I scratched out a quick diagram and could not, for the life of me, figure out how it was going to work. 315 to left, 404 to left-center, right-center 376, right 326 and what? A flag pole sitting in centerfield…on top of a hill?! Is that even legal?!

I immediately picked up the phone and called my best friend David to ask if he was listening to the radio and we just couldn’t make sense of any of it.

All these years later it is still the most beautiful and dumbfounding stadium I’ve ever seen. The team seemed to enjoy the move too. We had fantastic lineups throughout the 90s and 2000s that included guys like Roy Oswalt, Billy Wagner, Moises Alou, Randy Johnson, Andy Pettitte, Daryl Kyle, Mike Hampton, and Roger Clemens. They came close to winning the series in 2005; I even had tickets…..to game 5. Ha.

Which brings me to this season…this incredible, magical, transcendent season.

Young Master Oliver in his favorite seat in the house as we make our way inside Minute Maid for one of the many games we enjoyed This Season.

There has never been a question about what my son Oliver and I would be doing at game time. I come home from work and we play a bit, bath, dinner, and then time to cuddle in front of the TV to watch the game.

Every night I would hold him and tell him stories of the great Ken Caminiti and his superhuman plays at third base. I’d run down Jose Altuve’s batting stats. He was told tales of Lunhow’s master plan and how it was all coming together. I’d do my best impression of dad and provide play-by-play for Oliver as he drifted off to sleep. On off days we watched “Major League” and “Field of Dreams”.

Then Harvey happened.

My parents’ home, just a few blocks from mine, was completely flooded and while I am so very happy and grateful to be living under the same roof again, this isn’t how I hoped it would happen.

FEMA claims, inspectors, disaster relief…all these things came to be regular themes in our lives but so too were evenings spent watching the Astros.

Now my son AND my dad were sitting with me watching the ballgame…I am indeed a fortunate son.

While everything else was swirling around my family, the Astros were the constant. The Astros provided a calm, joyous diversion that connected three generations together. My dad was once again spinning yarns about baseball of days gone by, when girls were girls and men were men…when starters never came out of the game and how we could indeed use a man like Joe DiMaggio again. I have so thoroughly enjoyed watching Oliver with this little pillow running to the sofa only to stop realizing he had to make a choice: cuddle with his dad or with his grandfather. It was adorable…even when I lost out. Sitting there in front of the TV with my son and my dad, the games took on an otherworldly and poetic nature.