Gil Gonzalez - danaCreative

I've Moved

I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to read my blog posts on this site. I also want to inform everyone I will no longer be copying my posts to TypePad. Instead, you can find my writing on my WordPress site. You can also keep up with me on Random Writers or by visiting my About.Me page.

Thank you once again.

Mission Accomplished

There we were, standing in the bed of a stranger’s pickup truck, staring at a plume of smoke that reached up to the heavens. We stood there in silence and waited. We counted silently to ourselves. “Any second now,” we said softly. Any second now I repeated to myself in my mind. Then we heard it. It was a roar unlike anything I’d heard before. It vanquished the silence. It shook the earth. It rattled my soul. It was an experience full of sound and fury, and it signified everything!

Last week, Lee and I ventured to Florida’s Space Coast to witness the launch of the Space Shuttle Atlantis and the historic closing of a space exploration program that began when I was a young boy. To see Atlantis blast off into space was, for the both of us, the culmination of many recent failed attempts, as well as a culmination of a lifetime of desire.

Since 2005, Lee and I have tried on several occasions to catch a launch in person. On our first attempt, we heard the launch had been scrubbed as we were driving through Orlando. That resulted in a fun-filled afternoon in Downtown Disney.

The next time was wholly spontaneous. Lee came home from work one afternoon and said to me, “Did you know there’s a shuttle launch tonight?” I told her I was vaguely aware of that fact. “You wanna’ go?” I jokingly said, “Sure.” “Okay. Let’s go then,” she said imperatively. “Wait. You’re serious?” Next thing I know, we’re driving along I-4 trying to figure out exactly where we need to go. Given this was well before the days of smart phones, I managed to take a ninety minute detour that left us literally running from the car to a spot where we could see the launch. Huffing and puffing as we finally found a suitable viewing location, we were filled with excitement as we overheard others counting down. Then, with forty seconds left, the launch was scrubbed.

Our third attempt was very more involved and planned out. However, like the two attempts that preceded, that one too yielded a failure to launch. (You can read the details of that adventure here).

It’s safe to say that in addition to the immense feeling of awe and amazement we felt as STS-135, the final of all shuttle flights, escaped Earth’s pull as it rocketed into space, Lee and I also felt a strong sense of resolution. For us, it was definitely ‘Mission Accomplished’ and it was another page in the book of blessings we’ve been able to share together.

Unlike the vacuum of space, for Lee and me there is no frontier that is final. As we walk together on this journey of life, every adventure completed and experience shared solidifies in both of us the knowledge that our partnership is meant to be. She and I make a good team, even when we have our personal moments of failure. It’s truly a blessing to have in my life a woman who allows my dreams to orbit the earth but also keeps my feet planted firmly on the ground.


PS. God speed to the crew of the Atlantis. Wishing them all a safe return home.

Father's Day Memorial

I can't believe it's been nearly seven years since my father passed. Although I get to celebrate this special day with my kids, Father's Day has seemed a bit hollow for me since I lost my dad, my hero, and my friend.

Below is a reposting of the eulogy I wrote for him. You can find the original posting here.

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We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of my father, John Robert Gonzalez. I like to think that we are not only here to grieve, but also to celebrate the life of a man many people knew simply as Johnny. From his brothers and sisters in Mexico and present here today, to Pascuale Cafiero, his dear friend and fellow Longshoreman in Brooklyn, to the members of Corpus Christi Parish, Johnny was always larger than life in his own way. And even though the sickness to which he eventually succumbed physically left him a shadow of his former self, nothing can ever reduce the man that was Johnny.

Johnny was by no means perfect, his many flaws a product of the old-school, blue-collar world in which he grew up. Yet despite his flaws, Johnny was loved by all who knew him. As a worker, Johnny redefined the concept of work ethic and was not happy unless he was doing something. He realized that corners were made for placing your drink and not for the cutting. As a friend, he was known for his selflessness. The first to offer a helping hand, Johnny was the last person to ever ask for assistance. As a military veteran, he served his country in order to support his family back in Mexico. As a loving husband, he would be the first to tell you that my mother was the best thing to ever happen to him. As a father he worked tirelessly to ensure we had a roof over our heads, food on our table and most importantly, an education for our future success. He taught us to trust implicitly, allowing us to jump from the second story of my grandmother’s apartment building. I knew full well he would always catch me, and like so many other situations in my life, he never let me fall.

Johnny was loved despite his flaws. His confidence in his ability to do a job was surpassed only by his own personal insecurity. What some people saw as a perfectionist was many times his overwhelming sense of self doubt. How could someone like him ever make a mark in this world? How could he ever leave a legacy for others to see? I believe it is clear to me that his legacy is visible in the faces of everyone here today. It is clear that Johnny’s legacy is found in the unadulterated love for his grandchildren. There is a saying that the Catholic dictionary defines justice as your children having children, and his legacy – my children Natalie and Daniel and my nephews Leo and Luis – will bear down this justice on my brother and me for many years to come. Johnny’s legacy is not in what he had in his bank account or in financial assets in some investment portfolio. It is not found in the cars he drove or the house in which he lived. Johnny’s legacy is in the outpouring of love you all have shown him, both in his passing and in his time on Earth. His legacy lives in all of us and in the wonderful memories we created and shared with him. His legacy did not end when his spirit left his body to ascend to Heaven. Rather, it is merely beginning and will forever shine in how we celebrate the life of the man we all knew as Johnny. The Book of Luke teaches us, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” And it fills my heart with joy to see everyone here to exalt my father.

Dad, I pray to God that you are with Him in Heaven, finally enjoying the peace and rest you so well deserve. I also pray that I can be the type of worker you were for the vast majority of your life, the type of friend you were to everyone you knew, and the type of provider you were for your family. I pray that I can be half the father to my children that you were to me. I hope I can be a hero to someone in the way you were always a hero to me. Thank you for always making me feel loved, and please know that we all love you, Johnny. Please know that I will always love you, Dad.

Five Years Later

One thousand eight hundred twenty five days (give or take). That’s how long it’s been since my life changed, since my world changed.

I’ve recently been thinking a lot about family and what family means to me. As those who know me will tell you, my world begins and ends with my kids. My son and daughter are my everything. They are my North. They are my constant. I am who I am because of them. I live the life that I do for them.

Beyond my children, I have a loving, giving, and exceptionally fulfilling relationship with my wife. We fit together. We complement each other. Our marriage is not always roses and it’s far from perfect, but we are indeed perfect for each other.

My mother still lives in South Florida and I keep in touch with her at least once a week. My mother in law lives with my wife and me, and it’s very nice having someone else around the house to interact with and make us coffee in the morning (thanks, Patsy).

My brother and I maintain a good relationship, although he has his life and I have mine. We probably don’t keep in touch as often as we should, but with Facebook, Twitter, and text messaging, we do alright to keep each other abreast of the important things going on.

Outside all the above, I’ve been staring at the concept of family with a sense of amalgamation as to how that word applies to my life.

I once had a conversation with a friend of mine about this very topic. She was adamant the label family applied only to those related to you by blood or marriage. I apply a more broad approach to the word, allowing it to incorporate individuals with whom you have no blood relation but are still critical people in your life. She told me there were words other than family to describe those relationships. I proceeded to tell her she was the sister I never had.

It was five years ago this weekend, Memorial Day 2006, when my eyes were opened to the idea that family could be something greater that DNA and marriage certificates. Lee and I traveled to Isle of Palms, South Carolina for the first ever Sister Hazel Hazelnut Hang. It was a great experience with three days filled of amazing music and fun times. More importantly, it’s where we first met the wonderful collection of individuals with whom we interact on a regular basis. It’s where we were introduced to our Hazelnut Family (and my wife did an excellent job capturing exactly what that family means to us).

Amidst recent commentary from the South Florida home front, which included snarky comments about fleeing Miami and implied assertions of family abandonment, the idea of what family is has weighed heavily on my mind. Yes, I love my aunts and uncles, and I miss my cousins because they’re the people with whom I grew up. Thanks to today’s technology and the continued proliferation of social media, it’s a lot easier to keep in touch with them. I’ve even found renewed relationships with several of them as a result.

Still, my life is in Tampa because my kids are in Tampa. I make no apologies for that at all. In a perfect world we’d all live within an hour’s drive of each other, and we’d routinely get together like we did when we were kids. But the world is not perfect, and we all should be focusing on the life ahead instead of the memories of what’s now so far behind us.

Living in Tampa also affords me the added bonus of being near some of the people who make up my other family. These are individuals with whom I’ve bonded over the years. We came together as a result music and that weekend trip Lee and I took five years ago. We stayed together because we share a commitment to and for each other, a passion for doing right by others, and a desire to share the magic of music with others so that their lives can be positively impacted as ours have.

I can say honestly and without equivocation the life I lead today and the world in which I live is a direct result of Memorial Day weekend 2006. My music family has helped me grow into who I am, and I will forever be grateful for the many wonderful and blessed relationships that were created as a result of that event.

You and I may disagree on the definition of family, but there’s no disputing the power and impact the love of family can have. In my case, it was life changing.

The Rules of Engagement

I am a diehard sports fan. I love sports. Watching, coaching, partaking; I can’t get enough of sports (with the exception of Cricket. I just refuse to get into that at all.) Specifically, I get crazy about the teams from my hometown. So with the Miami Heat reaching the NBA Finals, instead of being 100% consumed with joy, I’m actually a little saddened.

My good friend Matt is a diehard sports fan. He loves sports. Watching, critiquing, …..er, watching; he can’t get enough of sports. (I actually think he would get into Cricket). Specifically, Matt is crazy about the teams from Dallas. Rangers, Stars, Cowboys, and, of course, the Mavericks.

The Miami Heat will face the Dallas Mavericks in the 2011 NBA Finals.

You can see my dilemma.

My dilemma is fueled by the fact it’s very easy for me to slip into obnoxious fan mode. I wish I could control it. I wish I could promise you it wouldn’t happen. But that would be the equivalent of asking Bruce Banner to control the raging, green monster inside of him. It just happens. Throw in a case of beer and it happens a lot faster.

I need to emphasize Matt is not just a friend. He’s a very good friend. He’s in my inner circle. He’s one of the first numbers I’d call in the event of an emergency. My family celebrates the holidays with his family. He and his wife come over to our house just to hang out. We’re tight like that.

So in the interest of keeping a good thing solid, I’ve developed what I would like to call the 2011 NBA Finals Rules of Engagement:

1. Under no circumstances are Matt and I allowed to watch any of the games together. I don’t care if he’s picking up the tab or providing all the beer. It ain’t happening.


2. In-game commentary shall be limited to text messaging only. Unlike Twitter and Facebook, text messaging remains the last bastion of true private conversation.


3. The ability of one person to be obnoxious following a win is directly proportional to how obnoxious the loser was during the game. Grace begets grace and douche begets douche.


4. Both parties are reminded that opinion is NOT fact. All commentary must begin with “I think” or “I believe.” Caveat: Any commentary that is substantiated by documentable statistics is allowed (which means I will lose this part every time).


5. No blaming the refs. Bad calls will be made that adversely impact both teams. It happens in all sports. Overall, it evens out. Both parties have to live with it.


6. The first person to use the word ‘Wambulance’ agrees to let the other person slap him in the face.


7. The first person to use the word ‘Meh’ agrees to let the other person punch him in the throat (I totally put that in there for my own benefit).


8. Any wagering on the series is not to exceed $20 and cannot lead to the humiliation of the losing party (although I do love the idea of Matt wearing a LeBron James jersey to work).

In the end, it’s all just a game and we’ll both return to being best of friends. That is, of course, unless the Heat lose because the refs decided to baby Dirk Nowitzki all series, and the Mavs played dirty, and the Cowboys still suck, and Nolan Ryan was overrated, and the Stars should have stayed in Minnesota, and Jerry Jones is the reason for the lockout, and Debbie was a skank anyway, and…..

…meh!

The Courage To Write

If there’s one word I really hate it’s ‘facade'. The word itself and the slyness with which it’s usually said conjure up images of movie sets for old westerns. You know the ones. The buildings are merely planks of plywood painted to look like actual structures; thin 2x4’s the only thing keeping them up in the back.

Facade. I bet your reading of the word makes you think of someone whom you feel is fake. Someone who is not anything close to genuine. Someone who tries their best to make you think they’re someone they’re not.

We live in a world of facade. We live in a world where style almost always trumps substance. We live in society that embraces flash, worships immediacy, and cowers to political correctness. Honesty is not only a lonely word, it’s a forgotten concept.

But then you have moments when you come across people who are striving to be honest individuals. People working hard simply to be authentic. Who would have thought it could be an ordeal to just be yourself?

I am fortunate and blessed to live with a person like that.

Watching my wife on her journey of authenticity has been and continues to be an inspiration for me. It also serves as a reminder of what courage is. As I’ve been privy to most of the feedback she’s received from her writing, I’m reminded of what it takes to write and publish your thoughts, feelings, and emotions for all the world to see. Blogging in the manner which my wife does takes a type of courage very few people posses.

It’s not like writers of editorials who are paid to take a position on a subject and express their opinions with words. It’s not like a talk radio host who must be both entertaining, informed, and always one step ahead of the audience. It’s also not like other bloggers who are, on their own scale, Internet celebrities and whose blogs are more a commercial vehicle than a portal of introspection.

My wife’s blog is none of those things. If we’re lucky, it never will become one of those things.

The road to authenticity begins with a realization that there’s a whole lot of distance between here and there. It also begins with the conscious decision to take what’s been given you, both the good and the bad, and to make the most with it not just for yourself but also for the greater good. It’s akin to playing poker and having all your cards dealt face up. You can’t bluff your way through a hand. When life is good, you take the pot. When it’s not, you take your loss and wait patiently until a new hand is drawn.

The admiration I have for my wife, as well as the many other writer’s out there who pour their heart and soul into the words they create, is hard to describe. The rawness with which they write is mesmerizing. Their ability to make my eyes tear and my heart ache is breathtaking. Through all the chaos, noise, and superficiality, their voices serve as a compass that reminds me of which way I want to go. It’s a moment of focus in a whirlwind of blur.

There’s a lot in this life to distract us. There’s a lot in this life to make us think we’re bigger than we are. If, however, you ever feel the desire to take off your shoes and feel the earth underneath your feet, I invite you to find a blogger that inspires you, and to latch on to that person’s work.

Better yet, if you really want to explore the inner workings of your life, take a moment to write down what you’re thinking. You don’t have to post it online or share it with anyone. Write it for you. Write it for the experience of being your authentic self.

You want to live your life? Get real.

Giving In

It’s a daily struggle for me to get into gear. The blessing that is working from home has a flip side, a side that is weighted down by sluggishness and complacency. I thoroughly enjoy not having to commute into work, but I also have to fight myself to ‘get going’ in the mornings and get the ball rolling. Sometimes inspiration - not to mention the crack of the boss’ whip - comes soon after 8:00 AM. Other times I feel like I don’t get out of second gear until well past 10:00.

Still, there is no rhyme or reason as to why or when the moment of energetic infusion hits. It could be a pressing deliverable for work, it could be a crisis situation (which in my work world usually means systems outage), or it could be the right song playing on the radio at the just right time.

Sometimes it’s a tweet from a friend. Sometimes it’s a blog post that I take a moment to read because, after all, I don’t feel like doing much of anything else. Sometimes something as simple as someone’s Facebook status can change my perspective and outlook for the day.

Inspiration is funny like that. She’s a clever little devil.

I’ve had this voice in my head for the past month now. It was a little, nagging whisper I’ve been ignoring for some time, and it finally go to me today.

“You need to write more!”

For weeks and weeks, it was there like that faint buzz you sometimes hear when an electronic device is turned on. I’d simply cast it aside like an annoying pet begging for food next to the dinner table.

“Go away. I’m ‘busy’.”

“No you’re not. You’ve been staring at ESPN.com for thirty five minutes.”

So as I gave into my lack of motivation this morning, I was bombarded online by message after message after message. It’s as if this little voice took over the Internet and deliberately directed content my way.

There was a tweet about how Rome wasn’t built in a day, but at some point the project DID start. My friend wrote a blog the mentions how Stephen Kings writes every day. Another friend’s blog got me thinking about what my calling is, and whether or not that voice in my head has something to do with it. This all came to a head when I received notification that someone I admire and is an inspiration to me is following me on twitter (yeah, I don’t get it either).

So here I am … BAM … shaking off the morning molasses and feeding the voice in my head. Call her my muse, call her a bitch; either way, both are probably correct.

Lazy is tempting seductress, one that fills you with emptiness and the regrets of missed opportunities. I know her well. Still, you never know when inspiration is going swoop in to help save you from lazy’s quicksand grip. Once she does, however, don’t let yourself hide behind excuses. I know I have.

The reward of the accomplishment is in looking back at all that was overcome to reach that point.

Missing Teen in South Florida

I was asked by a friend of mine in Miami to help spread the word regarding a missing 17 year-old from Miami.

Nicole Marie Dones was last seen on April 18, 2011, and she's believed to be in the company of her boyfriend Jackson Powell.

Please see the attached flyers for more information, and contact Detective A. Mancha of the Miami Dade Police Department (305-418-7201) should you have information regarding Nicole's disappearance.

News report from NBC Miami

Plinko and Life

My kids are coming off their Spring Break and it got me to thinking about the wonderful childhood memories I have from when I was out of school. Those days were glorious. I’d wake up, watch back-to-back episodes of ‘Family Ties’, and my mom would make me her world famous (i.e. the world inside my head) egg and cheese sandwich (two of them, actually). Then ‘The Price is Right’ would come on and I’d be mesmerized by my mom’s ability to know the price of EVERYTHING!

One of my favorite TPIR games was always Plinko. I would be so consumed by how contestants would stand there and ponder the exact, perfect location of where to drop the chip so that it would land where they wanted it to. Even at an early age, I quickly realized the game of Plinko was simply a metaphor for life itself; random supersedes planning and there are no guarantees in life.

As I was perusing the Internet today, it came to my attention today is World Down Syndrome Day. As a result of my perusing, I came across two blogs, both by mothers with a child with Down Syndrome, both retelling their stories of being pregnant and how they dealt with the idea of having a child with an extra chromosome.

This, again, got me to thinking of when my ex-wife was pregnant with our children. Both times we were asked by her OB if we wanted a test to screen for abnormalities or possible birth defects. Twice we told him, “thanks, but no” as it wouldn’t matter either way. Termination of the pregnancy was never an option, so the screening would simply be a waste of time for all involved.

Both blogs I read today touched on the conversation of terminating a pregnancy where the parents became aware there was an issue with the child. In the first blog, both parents started down the path of having an abortion until something made them change their mind; a decision they would celebrate given the beautiful child they had as a result. In the second blog, the mother was not aware of her child having Down Syndrome. In fact, her pre-natal test had ruled out DS. It didn’t matter either way. For her, too, termination was never an option.

I look back at those days of doctor’s visits and ultrasounds, and it all seems light-years ago. I have two beautiful and healthy children, one eleven years old and the other just several weeks away from turning ten. I can’t imagine a life without them, and their good health is my good fortune. I thank God every day for that blessing that is all too often taken for granted.

Still, I believe my love for them would be no less had they been born with a condition or birth defect. I look at my cousin who deals with struggle after struggle with an autistic child. She and her husband lose sleep on a regular basis, are routinely at either a doctor’s office or hospital, and live their lives with a certain sense of an impending “what’s next?” mentality. Still, they love their son like there’s no tomorrow, and the love they share between themselves is immeasurable. It’s the love you develop only after having sweat and bled with someone else, and I look at my cousin with a world of admiration. I like to think I could be as strong as she, yet I thank the Lord I was not put in the position to find out.

In the end, life, and the events that fill it, is random. It really doesn’t matter where you place that Plinko chip. It’s going to fall where it’s going to fall, and there really is very little we can do to predict or control what happens once we let the chip go.

There are two things, however, we are able to dictate. Faith and love.

Our faith in God and our acceptance of His will determine for us how we experience life. We can either fill our lives with anxiety, despair, and frustration, or we can give ourselves to the mystery that is God’s choosing, knowing that when He selects us for a particular challenge, it is for a purpose and it is for the betterment of a greater good. We may never realize or understand it, still it’s our place to accept it nonetheless.

We also control how we choose to love others. It can be so easy for the parent of a special needs child to lay blame for the situation on their spouse or external circumstances. We can allow adversity to handcuff our heart’s ability to love and, in turn, be loved. Or we can find both strength and comfort in the love of those who surround us and support us. Love is not only an emotion but also a tool. It is up to us to choose if we use it to build or to destroy.

I never thought in looking back at those memories of my early youth a simple game on a television game show would lead to such a deep and thought provoking blog post. Funny how life is random that way.

Catching Grenades

Hi. My name is Gil … and I am apparently very late to this party.

Call me clueless, call me out of touch, call me addicted to the 80’s on 8 channel on my Sirius satellite radio; but I had never, until this evening, heard the Bruno Mars song ‘Grenade’.

I stumbled across it as a result of following Chris Rock’s twitter feed. The famed comedian had a post about the song. I thought the tweet was in reference to Mars' song “Just The Way You Are”. My wife, who is light-years more in touch with what’s cool and popular than I am, promptly corrected me. This, by the way, is a common occurrence in our household.

I gave the song a listen and studied the lyrics. It’s pleasant musically and a very interesting read lyrically. To me, the song speaks to a severely imbalanced relationship in which one person clearly places the other on a pedestal without any sense of reciprocation of passion and feeling. Hmmm. Where was this song for me in late 2005?

This got me to thinking about my relationship with my wife, and what is the litmus test of true love. Would I catch a grenade for her? The deviation from the more appropriate phrasing notwithstanding (it should be “I’d jump on a grenade for you” since merely catching a grenade would still send shards of shrapnel flying everywhere, but I digress), yes. Without hesitation and without equivocation. In a moment of split-second decision making, I would absolutely give my life for that of my spouse. The same holds true for my kids.

Throw my hand on a blade? Check.

Jump in front of a train? Yep.

Go through all of the pain? For sure.

Take a bullet straight through my brain? Bring it on.

It’s called devotion. Like a seed, it is a feeling that lives inside all of us. However, it is activated only after a unique set of circumstances, experiences, and beliefs have come together and given that kernel of emotion a reason to grow. Devotion allows us to easily sacrifice what others will not for the benefit of someone else or the greater good.

We see it in missionaries who forego leisure and luxury to reach out to others. We see it in scientists who spend eighteen hours a day in labs researching possible cures for the diseases that kill us. We see it in the eyes of the women and men who put on a uniform and defend our great nation.

One thing I didn’t mention about the Bruno Mars song is that it’s also a study in hyperbole. It’s a boy’s overly exaggerated cry out to the object of his affection, a cry that is amplified because she does not feel the same for him. It’s cute, catchy, and clever, but it is not a song about devotion.

True devotion is selfless. There is no, “I agree to do this if…..”. Devotion, in its purest form, is saintly and does not bring with it conditions.

I’ve mentioned before how my life is full to the brim with blessings. I have two awesome and healthy kids, I have a beautiful wife that continues to amaze me on a daily basis, a wonderful home to share with them, and a laundry list of other things for which I am eternally grateful to God.

One thing I’d never thought of, however, was the gift of devotion. God has given me a wonderful life, but more spectacular than that, He’s given me a family I’d willingly die for. You can’t ask for anything more than that.