Foreword

        by Jacob Haas

It's astonishing how saying yes to the right things can be transformational. Depression, anxiety, addiction - each of these can be viewed as an active choice of sorts. And in a certain way, they are. But choice necessarily involves understanding. It involves an awareness of what comes with it - a sense of possibility, wonder, and even hope as to what could come next with an affirmative yes. Depression, anxiety, and addiction are defined by despair and a sense of hopelessness so deep that one feels powerless to even confront them. They're a prison - a set of lies so powerful that some people spend their whole lives trapped in them, unable to walk out of the open door right in front of them.

This story isn't about a "fucked up" family. It's not about the crazy travails of a wild-eyed wannabe Karate Kid nicknamed Caine, who tried to play the role of a culturally appropriated John Shaft, dispensing street justice on older bullies while simultaneously peddling drugs and getting into trouble like Youngblood Priest. It's not even about the same kid falling in love with the love of his life and living happily ever after. It's about a kid who saw that it's never too late to start over, to recognize the endless possibility of life, and to embrace it.

He chose to say yes to the right things. He chose so when he got on the bus after physically and emotionally collapsing to his knees on the side of Old Redwood Highway in Windsor, California, and flushed his addiction down the toilet in the bathroom at the San Francisco International Airport, before almost biblically going into exile in the barren desert that was South Central Los Angeles to build himself up, to sing Whitman's "Song of Myself," and to recognize that "life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute to a verse."

His life has been a series of choices: to get sober, to return to Cardinal Newman High School (even after being asked to leave), to audaciously pursue a girl who stole his heart with just her smile, to say yes to marriage and family, and to ultimately come to terms with a past that most would rather spend a lifetime repressing and ignoring. He chose to accept the beauty in the world around him rather than dwell in the prison of his previous choices; to be baptized in the blood, sweat, and tears of his escape from despair; and to ultimately achieve grace.

He did all that. He benefited from the kindness and generosity of strangers who were the most real affirmation of beauty that this world could offer, but no one could say yes except him. He did that.

The story he tells ends with him meeting my mother and their marriage, with his rebirth, of sorts. In his (and often my) telling, he's not that little boy from Windsor anymore. But while this is nominally true, it downplays the significance of his triumph. He chose to see the best inside of himself; to say yes to the possibility of his own life, of his own spirit; and to become what he was capable of all along. That boy from Windsor knew that, and he knew what he was striving for, even if he couldn't quite articulate it. Rudyard Kipling wrote:

"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, with nothing in you except the will which says to them, "Hold on!"... Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it. And which is more, you'll be a man, my son!"

Even when overwhelmed by despair and hopelessness, he did that. He chose to do so, hoping beyond hope to sing the song of himself. He is my father who not only gave me life but also the courage to live my own life.