Author: Michael

Hateful Thoughtless Words

MichaelLeave a comment

I was thinking, trying to reminisce, to remember words I had heard that I found to be profound, life-altering, anything that stirred emotions that could not be ignored. Those words that keep coming to mind, come from those who were closest to me. That is not truly a surprise, it is more wishful thinking that they would come from a very different place. From someone with a positive, dare I say, uplifting message.

I have heard Al Gore’s impassioned speech on climate change. I have been in the audience listening to Maya Angelou as she read her poems and spoke empowered words of encouragement to the crowd. There are of course some of the greats in history, Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech. Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address,” neither of which I was alive for, obviously. Yet these messages still resonate today. More recently, I thought of Greta Thunberg’s impassioned speech to the U.N. on the climate crisis. I would love to say that any of these have had that life-altering and utterly profound impact on my life that many may dream of and few truly get to experience. I cannot.

None of these have compared to the words of my father. They have stayed with me to this day and altered who I am and destroyed the opportunity for me to be the better person I could have been. I cannot pinpoint one specific barrage of hateful words that came from his mouth. It’s really all the berating and demeaning comments that would come from him for an entire childhood. Words such as, “sissy,” “you hit like a girl,” and more.

It wasn’t so much the actual words, there are much harsher words that could be used. I recall my father cursing, but not necessarily directed at me. The thing that was the harshest of all was the message in those words. The constant reminders that no matter what I said or did, it was never going to be good enough. A “B” in school always brought about disappointment. It was impossible to live up to his expectations, and he let me know it.

I’d like to say there is a silver lining to this story. A message of triumph as I overcame adversity and became a better person because of it. The reality? To this day, I struggle with believing in myself. Everything I do, I don’t believe is good enough. I don’t believe I do enough at work; I am constantly second-guessing myself. I question my capabilities as a parent, and a husband…as a human. The reality is that others see things differently. Professionally, I do very well for myself. I have been married for nearly 25 years, not a small feat nowadays. Yet, I can never rid myself of that nagging in the back of my head, spoken in the voice of my father, telling me that it’s still not good enough. I suspect my death won’t be good enough either, and in my dying breath, I will hear the echoes of my father reminding me how much of a failure I have been.

College is Boring

MichaelLeave a comment

I am procrastinating. I’ll be honest, right upfront. These words spew forth from me in an attempt to avoid completing the business proposal I must complete for class by tomorrow. I am a college dropout. I am not afraid to admit that. My circumstances, being raised in a family of five boys with parents who did not make much money, led me to fight for an opportunity to attend college.

I made it but accumulated a lot of debt and ran out of the ability to pay for college before graduating. That, at least, has been the excuse that I’ve used all these years as to why I left. To be honest, that was part of it, but there were other factors. When I left, I took an IT position, getting paid more than I thought possible right out of college, yet I was making this money without my degree. Why did I need college?

I spent my entire childhood tinkering and breaking computers, then forced to fix them before my dad found out. I had on-the-job training since I was five. I don’t want to imply there is no value in college; I think there are a lot of young adults in the world who not only benefit from it but actually need it. I just don’t think that person was me. In fact, I found college boring. It failed to engage me.

I originally started out as an Aerospace Engineering major but was persuaded to change to Computer Science. The problem was that the introductory courses offered very little to me that I didn’t already know and moved too slowly. The failure of these courses to engage me, and the failure of guidance staff to identify this issue despite my erratic grades and mediocre performance, ultimately resulted in a counselor accusing me of being a drug addict, pushing me to decide to leave.

Stepping into my personal time machine, here I am, a father of three daughters, and a decision faces me in how to support their decision to go to college. Don’t misunderstand me; I will support their decision and offer them the best guidance I can, hopefully, devoid of my bias. The question is, how do you tell someone to go to college even though it may not be right for you and will leave you saddled with debt. There is no way to really know if college is right for you until you have experienced it for yourself. I thought college was right for me. It wasn’t.

Despite being comfortable with the decision that college was not the right choice for me, here I am back at it again (for about the fifth time), all due to a sense of needing to complete college so that I am not a hypocrite telling my daughters they should strive for college when their Dad has not finished. The crux of the issue now is that I miss spending time with my daughters because I spend every moment when I’m not working doing classwork for a degree that really will do nothing for me career-wise and not much more personally. I am stealing time from my daughters in order to set an example that I don’t really believe in myself. What kind of an example is that?

An Author, I Am Not

MichaelLeave a comment

I was sitting at my desk when my daily writing practice prompt beckoned me to no longer ignore it. I have become quite good at ignoring all manner of reminders. Some have called this the digital age, and although my career has been deeply entrenched within the digital sphere, I find it quite annoying. The information overload is taxing on my nerves. The beeps. The LEDs. The droning fan of electronics. The overtly warm touch of computers, tablets, and phones. I don’t believe I would complain too much if they all stopped working one day. Yes, I get the irony of writing this on a computer, with a fanciful keyboard flashing its lights with every keypress; that, however, is not the point.

I pulled up this site with the intent of writing something, anything, just to get some practice. As I hit the enter key and stared at my browser’s address bar, I really didn’t like what I saw, MichaelHernandezAuthor.com. How presumptuous could I be? I have no published works. Well, nothing printed on dead trees since I was a child. But is that a requirement to emblazon the title of Author next to your name? Must your work be printed with ink upon a physical medium and a mundane UPC code attached? Is it fair game that the work presented here, regardless of how mediocre or mundane, counts as a published work and thus warrants the title of Author?

If all who write words broadcast across the internet can claim to be an author, does that not devalue the title? Am I an author because I say I am an author, or do you become an author when someone recognizes your work? Damn these LED lights! I have spent my entire career in the software industry, and I would argue that just because you code, that does not mean you are a programmer. The influx of people who flocked to programming jobs after taking a six-week BootCamp course on programming and called themselves a programmer do nothing for me. So, I must argue that writing words will not make you an author.

I think it matters what you do with those words. An author is a conductor weaving together words in a musical tapestry. An author tells a convincing story that a reader can get lost in. An author teaches in a way that the reader does not feel like they are working. If you can write that…if you can cause the reader to lose track of time or put themselves in the shoes of someone so unlike themselves but feel as if they really are a part of the story. Perhaps, maybe, you have earned the title of Author.

A Friendship Born Of Flames

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Jarelle watched the bright orange embers in silence as they slowly drifted skyward and were slowly swallowed by the darkness. With each fading ember, she quietly recalled a memory of her fallen companion, now committed eternally to ash. She remembered the time they first met; it seemed so long ago now. They were young then, two outcasts unwilling to admit their common bond. They constantly fought and competed at everything they did. Friendship was the last thing either had considered. Trust was not something taken lightly and was often only granted upon great sacrifice. That time came soon enough for them.

The night the raiders slipped quietly into their village, murdering everyone they ever knew, Jarelle and Kindra had snuck out of the village, each for their own reason. When they saw the soft glow beyond the trees, they knew something was wrong and ran back to the village. What they found was forever ingrained into their memories. Each was overcome with sorrow, anger, and emotions they could not give a name to. Both thought they were the sole survivor, unaware that they were not alone. Jarelle collapsed to the ground as close to the raging flames as she could bear, sobbing uncontrollably. Kindra steeled herself with anger and resentment.

Kindra directed her pain outward at everything and anything she could find. A fit of rage tore through her as she broke anything she could. Her anger culminated with a fierce punch to a large oak tree that was spared the fate of her village. Her hand was not as lucky but was just as broken as she felt. Kindra collapsed against the tree, holding her hand against her chest, staring angrily into the flames as she watched the remnants of her village slowly reduce to ash. Eventually, she passed into sleep, unaware and exhausted.

I Am Coming For You

MichaelLeave a comment

Sitting silently on the park bench, Amie closed her eyes in meditation. Practicing what her mentor had once taught her, she slowed her breathing listening to the sound of her breath as she inhaled slowly through her nose. Once her lungs had filled with the smog-filled air, her breath paused for just a moment and began to exhale slowly through her mouth. As she exhaled, she reached out, imagining the tentacles of a thousand jellyfish exploding from within her. They flowed outward chaotically, writhing across the ground and through the air almost as if in pain. Despite years of training, she still struggled to control the tentacles. They lashed out with their own purpose. A purpose they had yet to reveal to her. It took all of her concentration to tame the oil-slicked tentacles. She could feel them resisting, probing for a weakness in the mental wall she built within her mind.

She could feel her concentration slipping when suddenly she felt what she was looking for. It was faint, but it was definitely there, somewhere to the east beyond the Great Divide. There was water nearby and the smell of sulfur in the air. The remnants of fire lingered somewhere across the water, embers still flickering with life. She pushed further, the tentacles sliding with resistance across the water. She suddenly realized it was a lake and kept pushing the tentacles harder, trying to force them to move faster. As they reached the shore on the other side of the lake, they became erratic, no longer following her directions. She knew what she would do next would cost her, she knew there was always a price to be paid using her ability, but too many people relied on her.

Taking another deep breath, she pushed her mind to the brink of losing control. With incredible determination, she forced the tentacles forward towards the glowing embers. Her mind was filled with eagerness and fear of what she may find. She almost let go, afraid that she may not be able to handle what lies on the ground shrouded in the dissipating heat from the campfire that she just reached. With her last ounce of energy, she felt with the tentacles’ tips and peered into the fireside bundle and sighed with relief. She sent out a message that rippled along the tentacles like electricity that simply said, “I am coming for you.” With that, the tentacles snapped back almost instantly, collecting their toll from her. A slash appeared across her body from her right eye, down her cheek, across her neck, terminating just below her left collarbone. It was a price she was more than willing to pay. She found the child, and there was no force on this planet or any other that would stop her from getting him back.

All Aboard!

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Simon walked quickly across the train platform.  Every other step making a swish as he dragged the heel of his left boot across the cobblestones beneath him. It was only interrupted by a staccato clank as the metal tip of the cane he bore in his right hand made purchase against the ground.  He paid little attention to the smell of acrid coal smoke that lingered heavily in the air burning his lungs with every breath he took.  As he approached the waiting train on the platform, he slowed his step and shortened his gait just slightly, listening for the sound of pursuers.  Hearing nothing approach, he straightened his back and extended his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the scene behind him.  The reflection in the expansive windows of the train car in front of him offered him nothing in return other than a glimpse of the travelers bustling along the length of the platform, unaware of what he had set in motion just a few hours before.

He waited a long time for this day. He lost count of how long it had been.  After watching civilization after civilization rise and fall, they all start to blend together.  It had been too long.  Today his patience was to be rewarded.  He reached the stairs and tucked his cane under his left arm. As he reached out for the brass handlebar worn by the passage of time, the car’s attendant reached out his hand in assistance. Simon quickly shrugged off his help as he tightly gripped the handlebar and climbed the stairs as quickly as he could muster.  The pain that radiated out from his left hip was another reminder of how much he was done with waiting, done with this planet, and most certainly done with this corporeal existence. At the top of the stairs, he turned right and headed toward the front of the car where he took a window seat on the right side of the train, where he thought he would have the best vantagepoint to admire his handiwork.

From somewhere behind him, Simon heard an attendant yell, “All Aboard!” The last of the passengers rushed to place their luggage in the overhead bin and take a seat. Across from him was a young couple very much naive and in love. They held hands while the young man excitedly explained to his partner how much his Mom was going to love her, and she did not need to worry about anything. Behind him was a passenger of unknown gender with their nose buried in the daily newspaper, unaware of the young boy who walked by and snatched the pocket watch attached to a thin gold chain unfit for the task asked of it. Two seats in front of him was a woman of middle age that many would consider attractive. He found her pale skin, perfectly symmetrical face, and voluptuous body offensive.

Three train cars ahead, the conductor blew one long whistle from the steam engine, indicating they were pulling out of the station. Simon couldn’t have asked for better timing. As the whistle faded, a blinding light flashed across the sky, followed moments later by a thunderclap, unlike anything witnessed before. As the thunder echoed against the train station walls, the crackle of electricity could be felt in the air. The hair on everyone’s skin rose in response. For a moment, time seemed to pause. Even the birds appeared to stop mid-flight. Perhaps they did; this was new technology after all. It was experimental and why they had chosen this planet overridden by a virus that called itself human. Despite the ensuing chaos, the train pulled slowly out of the station, aimed for what was likely to be its final destination.

Don’t Touch

MichaelLeave a comment

She told me not to touch it. She said, “Whatever you do, don’t stare directly into its eye.” But, I knew better. Who was she but my closest friend and ally? My partner in everything worth doing and everything we shouldn’t. Although, to this day, my parents insist they cannot see her. I know they must be kidding. She is hard to miss, with a boisterous laugh and a smile that spreads from person to person like a wildfire in the desert mountains. Her sheer size makes her visible even to those with the faintest of eyesight. It simply is not possible to miss such a grand creature of such magnificent talents and wisdom that rivals the smartest of them all.

Knowing that I was right in this matter and ignoring the sage advice of my most trusted advisor, I stared with such fervor straight into that hideous oozing eye, with a determination that hasn’t been seen since the dawn of time, and I reached out and touched it with the faintest of touches. That was all that it took, just a single second of bravado, one moment of defiance. The pain was excruciating. It coursed through my body from fingertip to brain, rippling across every nerve in my body. When the pain stopped, and the convulsions ceased, so did I. With the last beat of my heart, I could faintly hear the sound of “I told you so!” echoing in the distance.