friendship | Jason R Benninghoff-Becerra

April 2, 2019September 29, 2020

So Now What?

The Facebook is a strange place indeed.

I check my “memories” every morning. Sometimes random, sometimes laughable, there’s always something that brings a chuckle or raises an eyebrow in some way or another.

Yesterday’s was quite interesting indeed. Among the photos of Young Master Oliver playing in his sandbox and general musings on music there was a post describing how exhausted I was at the time in 2017.

I was drowning in work, school, parenting, household chores, some physical ailments etc. It was one of “those” posts. The phrase that resonated most was “To what end? An early grave?” I was so tired and desperate for a break.

“To what end? An early grave?”

It had been an incredibly taxing five years.

I had a second back surgery, finished my undergraduate degree, learned how to build websites, launched three of them, I had been gigging almost nonstop, built upon my professional career, had a child and who had basically spent his first two years “on top of head,” began and was about to finish my master’s degree, bought a house, was struggling with migraines, and, and, and, and…

Bottom line I was tired and didn’t know why I was putting myself through everything. Was I trying to further my career? Why? Was I trying to build a better life for myself and my son? What did that look like? Would even I survive to see it?

Here’s a screen cap of the post…

Among the comments expressing compassion and encouragement there was on in particular that looking back I find to be quite impactful.

“Our power comes within our ability to make choices”

And there it was. Wise words indeed.

It took another year but in August 2018 I began making a series of choices that would forever change my life, and the lives of many around me.

I asked for a divorce.

It was not a decision taken lightly. It was one that had been explored for nearly the entirety of that marriage, one I had tried to avoid answering until I no longer could.

The ensuing months found me in the midst of an unfortunate, stressful, and what I continue to believe could have been an avoidable process to ensure my son had equal access to both his parents and that his life would be disrupted as little as possible. I feel like I achieved close to everything I hoped.

As I’ve joyfully written before, the end of that story was quite different than anticipated. Rather than being a divorced single dad living in an apartment or with his parents, I found myself married to my best friend and living back in the old neighborhood.

Everything has changed. My clothes, my car, my address, even my name and signature are different (enhanced!).

And there my friends, is the answer to the question about why I was doing everything I was doing for so many years.

I didn’t know it then but everything I was doing then and everything I was doing before, was leading me to that “better life” that seemed so nebulous and unattainable. I was recreating my life…from the ground up.

In talking to my wife and best friend about Our Life we always come back to the fact that we didn’t “fall in love.” We didn’t meet and realize we wanted to be together.

We were living our lives parallel, working towards goals, pushing through obstacles, until those straight lines started to merge. We didn’t realize it then but This Right Here, Us, was the only way this story was going to end.

And now there’s a new question…

All the battles seem to have ended…or at least ceasefires have been achieved. Everyone has found a bit of a rhythm. We’ve settled into Our home. There are no more boxes left unpacked, no fires left to extinguish. The old house sold last week. We paid off a mountain of debt. We got our transportation needs worked out. Our budget is set. My guitars are restrung and tuned. We have our routine.

So now what? Enjoy the hell out of life, that’s what!

At some point we must lay down our arms. At some point we have to stop living for the struggle. At some point not only do we get to let out a sign of relief but we simply must allow ourselves to breathe and relax and enjoy what we’ve worked to achieve. Smell those flowers and all that jazz.

That’s where I find myself. For the first time in the last 10 years I’m not looking for the next big challenge. I’m not desperately seeking out a great struggle to overcome because at least for now, I’ve achieved everything I’ve set out to accomplish.

For the first time I can look around my home, I can look at my life and the people in it and feel comfortable, content, and happy. I’ve never known that feeling.

Life isn’t perfect. I won’t sit here and say that my best friend and I don’t get aggravated with one another. I can’t say that building a modern blended family is not without challenges but I’m not looking to fill gaping holes in my soul with massive projects and to-do lists.

Right now I want to enjoy every moment with my family. Right now I want to enjoy baseball season! I want to play guitar for the sheer joy of it. I want to binge watch HGTV, cook, and just live the life I’ve been trying to build because without even realizing it, I was building This Life…and it’s incredible.

It won’t always be. There will always be challenges and problems but I know that my best friend is at my side…not behind me, not leading the way, but shoulder-to-shoulder and together we can do anything. We have done so much and we’ll do so much more.

But right now? I just want to breathe all this in. Right now I want to rest up because life will throw new challenges at me and at Us…but right now? Right now I’m going to enjoy every second because This Right Here is glorious.

Be Well and Kind,
JRBB

June 28, 2018September 29, 2020

With This Ring….

Anyone who knows me understands how much baseball means to me. Anyone who knows me understands what this season continues to signify to me. I shared some of those thoughts a while back.

I struggled with whether or not to join the thousands of people lining up the night before in order to have a chance at getting one of these earlier this season when they announced a giveaway promotion.

After years of rooting for my beloved team and going through this incredible season it was so very tempting but I decided to avoid the crowds and see if I couldn’t find one later on down the road. Fortunately enough one was gifted to me just the other day! I’m not sure what looks better the incredibly well-crafted ringing or the dashing center fielder Jake Marisnick. (Yeah, I said it. haha)

seriously? It’s not even fair how good looking this guy is. 😉

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to truly describe what this ring really means to me but I’ll try.

I’m not a memorabilia guy. My “collectibles” at this point in my life consist largely of Lincoln Logs, analgesic cream, and orphaned sippy cup lids.

Some guys are really into sports memorabilia. They get the jerseys and signatures and all that. They may see a ring like this as something to hold on to for a while and then sell or trade it down the line.

To others it is a neat souvenir. They’ll put it on their office desk, show it off for a day, and promptly forget it’s even there.

For me it’s something much more. Hell, for me, it doesn’t even belong solely to me.

With this ring I share a lifetime of stories and coaching and anecdotes and “who was better” discussions with my father. My father, incidentally, was the proud and popular Spanish voice of the Houston Astros throughout the 80s and into the early 90s. I can’t count how many times I sat in the booth with him watching Jose Cruz, Ken Caminiti, Craig Biggio, and the rest.

My dad coached my peewee team and no matter how many times I struck out or just begged for a walk because I knew getting a hit was off the table he always encouraged me.

With this ring I share with my father the difficult months after Harvey when the Astros were our only escape from a reality we are still struggling to reconcile ourselves with and develop a path forward within.

This ring is his as much as it is mine.

With this ring I share a brotherhood with one of the most influential people in my life. Our shared love of music and baseball formed the basis of the kind of friendship that only a blessed few ever receive. I will never fully square the debt I owe him for his love and for teaching me so much about songwriting, for putting his arm around me as I slumped in a corner suffering the kind of heartache that can only be felt at such a young age, and for inspiring me to just be a better me.

David his beautiful wife Tina, and my son, Young Master Oliver at a ball game.

During the 2017 season he experienced a profound loss. His entire family did. The Astros provided him, and all of us, with something to hold on to. When we didn’t want to talk about it, (or couldn’t) we could pick apart AJ Hinch’s lineup card. We could go back and forth on whether or not Gattis was awesome. Incidentally, judging by the last month or so, David was right and I was so very wrong. He usually is and I usually am.

This ring is his as much as it is mine.

With this ring I share a renewed connection and love for another friend I’d long since lost touch with. Where did Chris and I see one another for the first time in a decade? We saw each other at Minute Maid Park.

Since that afternoon we’ve chatted almost daily. It’s been fascinating to see how much we’ve changed and yet somehow managed to remain those angsty teenagers relentlessly clinging to…well…whatever it is we’re were clinging to back then. Haha

I’m astounded at how radically some of our opinions have changed over the years.

He likes Led Zeppelin now!

I love the Smiths now!

We both finally came to our senses.

We’ve both been through our fair share of life in our years apart and I think we would have been better off together through it all but we’re together now and that’s enough.

He, David, and I have a shared text message thread and it is never lower than the third spot on my phone for as often as we talk throughout the day. As if we are still sitting on Dave’s sofa or on a park bench, the three of us are goofing around, telling stories, ranking songs, and talking Astros baseball.

This ring is his as much as it is mine.

With this ring I share a revived connection with a girl who I’ve known since those days on the peewee field flailing about just trying to at least look like I might make contact with the ball. Jennifer and I had not spoken in a number of years due to reasons and circumstances that just don’t seem to matter anymore.

I’m grateful to once again be back in touch, sharing music, trading bits of trivia, and as much as anything, rooting for our boys on the field. Throughout that incredible run up to the Series, every cheer or nervous “oh man I can’t take this anymore” we shared, so too did it seem like we slowly began to reaffirm a bond I’d long thought broken and discarded. I’ve missed her friendship more than I’d allowed myself to admit to anyone including myself.

This ring is hers as much as it is mine.

With this ring I share the the joy of newfound passion with my buddy Jon. Jon was hardly a sports fan. Our relationship was rooted mostly in music, cooking, and trying to one-up the other in that timeless game of “What’s grosser…” and “What would you rather do?” As the season went on and he saw my enthusiasm and that of the entire city he found himself wondering what all of the hubbub was about. All of the sudden I began getting text messages.

“What’s the infield fly rule?”

“Wait, why is that guy out? The ball went foul.”

“Oh man! Did you see that catch!?”

One of the most intelligent and creative people I know, I’ve learned so much and been challenged to examine issues from different perspectives. Now was my turn to help him learn something new, to expose him to something I knew a little bit about.

He’s a very tech-savvy and analytical guy so of course he has now digested the entirety of 200 years of baseball statistics. He’s not just watching Astros games. He’s watching random games from the national league, keeping track of farm clubs, and trolling other teams’ fans in their online discussion forums. Jon is now a baseball fan…a big one. This ring is as much his as it is mine….though he needs to stop calling them “points.” It’s baseball. They’re called “RUNS” damn it.

With this ring I share a tender but also tumultuous season with my son Oliver.

We were hit hard by Harvey and I can’t fathom a more patient and courageous child. As I endeavored to rescue my parents, get them settled into our home, battle back the waters that threatened to flood our home running around like a madman trying to learn how to operate a generator, find gasoline, keep the milk cold, and just get through the next hour or two he watched and waited for any second we could find to grab a hug, for me to cradle him, or take him on a piggy-back ride while lugging bags of laundry and extension cords around the house. He was a such a champ.

We had spent the whole season cuddled up watching every single game. He chanted “Altuuuuuveeee” every time Jose came to bat and we cheered every time that dreamboat Marisnick seemed to defy gravity catching a line drive in center.

This boy has stood by my side every day of his life and we are bound for life. I could not be more proud of anyone. Seeing him handle the upheaval, the loss of electricity, the heat and humidity, the complete disruption to his routine was humbling. Once we got the power back and TV back on we went back to our routine with my dad watching every game right on through that magical World Series win.

This ring is definitely as much his as it is mine.

I love you son. Thank you.

Go Astros!

#NeverSettle
#EarnedIt

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

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.