The Rest of the Beginning

Scanning over my previous post I realized that I never actually explained why I started the post. I just babbled about my brother. Well, look back to the note I made of my brother's "Journyel". I don't know whether television always shows kids with journals or diaries because children always want to record their lives like adults or whether children have journals and diaries because the kids on television do. [The ancient life/art imitation question] What I do know, though, is that I should foster this in him; it may make him a writer one day or (at the very least) a better communicator.

I miss writing. I spend so much time with school, work, eating and scratching myself (annoying back itches) that I've forgotten my long lost love.

I was always skeptical about blogs because I feared that if I started one, I'd never write that journal I always wanted. But writing here has got some creative juices flowing and I'm slowly starting to pedal again. I figure that I'll probably start that journal soon...nothing fancy; just one of the many notebooks I have from reclaiming what wasteful people discard. In fact, I'll start it this morning when I get home.

I'm working now; I'm a student patrol officer for the department of Public Safety @ Hofstra University in NY. I'll probably head home on my bike around five, get home @ six, collapse on the front room carpet, shrug a reply to my mother who'll invariably wake me up at six-thirty as she steps out to go to work and yells at me for not cleaning something, tell my younger brother to brush his teeth and stop watching television when he should be waiting for his summer camp van, make sure he gets on the van when the driver arrives and (as per usual) seemingly proceeds to drive an elbow into his steering wheel at eight in the morning waking up half the block and finally, I'll debate myself on whether or not I can make it to daily mass. Sometimes my piety wins; sometimes my fatigue does.

In the beginning

I have to begin here because every moment is the beginning of the rest. It is also simultaneously the end of the past. I've never kept a journal for a long time. But my younger brother J recently wrote two words on the cover of a black and white composition notebook: "my journyel". Forgive him; he's eight. I love him. He is essentially my son. And I...I am a bad father.
I've taken care of him ever since I was 12. My mother made his name very close to mine. And so somehow I've become his patron saint. Primarily, I safegaurd his education. I want to make sure he gets into a good high school and subsequently into a good university. My goal, however, is not a doctor or lawyer for a little brother. I don't care if he becomes a janitor (as long as he has benefits and can support his lifestyle). To me different careers aren't better than one another, they are just a matter a choosing which position in life will best help one's self and one's community/world. What I want from him is a full use of his mental capabilities. I don't need a genius-child but I love the intellect and what human being can do with one which is finely tuned.

Invocation

IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER AND OF THE SON AND OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. AMEN. I dedicate this blog to the greater glory of God and pray that what is presented here may be in accordance with His will and honor. Thank You, Lord.

Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam (To the greater glory of God)