Blood is thicker than water under the bridge.

I spent the day trying to “get back on the horse” as it were...recuperating from a vacation of gorging myself, of being “lazy” in the typical the Yuletide fashion.

Had two BOPs today (Bühnen Ochester Probe—this is where we are on stage with the sets and with props, we do all of our staging, etc. for the first time with orchestra but are not yet in costume and make-up.) I am singing this little aria for the musical “Fiddler on the Roof” (the Russian singer.) It is a great opportunity to sing some high notes with the new power that I have learned in the past year as I change to the Heldentenor repertoire. Anyway... I sang my bit with the orchestra today, and when I'd finished, the entire orchestra applauded and cheered. It was a cool moment. It is always good to know that I am going in the right direction. God knows, I wouldn't hear that kind of enthusiasm about my voice from my fellow chorus members.

Not a single one of my relatives called to wish me a Merry Christmas. For whatever reason, my family does not seem to understand that their phones can call Germany. It is always my responsibility to call them; they never call me. And, when I do call, they try to make me feel guilty for not having called them more often. This seems a little off to me.

A couple of weeks ago, I told my friend Maria, because she had been disheartened about a recent fight with her brother, about a fight that I had with my sister Shawn years ago. I hadn't really spoken of it in a long time, and telling it certainly brought back lots on emotions that had lied dormant for a very long time.

The Summer before I started my doctorate at the University of Kansas, this was in 1999, I had gone to an opera festival in, of all places, Arkansas. I had saved enough money to pay for food and what-not during the festival, but had not thought enough ahead about what the heck I was going to do after it was over. I ended up having to actually live with a friend of mine when last curtain closed; I hadn't a penny to my name, really, or very little, I guess. I was 27 years old, and was, admitably, bad with my own finances. From the perspective that I have today, I understand that it had not so much to do with being bad with money as much as simply being poor...a poor student. I had to move to Lawrence. I had to get an apartment, and had to pay a deposit in order to get one. One problem: I didn't have the cash (I guess it was about $800—two months rent.)

To make matters worse, I was not speaking with my parents at that time. My father and I had a falling out after he informed me of how disgusting it is that I am gay (he had known for 6 years, but just didn't tell me until that year for whatever reason.) This is a completely different story, but let it suffice to say that I didn't speak to him for nearly a year after that conversation.

So, I was up shit's creek without a paddle when it came to money. I decided to call my sister and ask her for the it. Shawn lives a very privileged life in Texas as a housewife. I thought she would be a good candidate for the loan because she 1: had the money and 2: is my sister. The phone call went something like this:

“Hi Shawn, how are you?” insert lots of other pleasantries here... (I am sure you are not interested in them right?)
“I need to move to Lawrence and get an apartment, but I don't have the money that I need to put down a deposit. Do you think that you might be able to loan me the money?”
“How much do you need?”
“About $800”
“Uh, you haven't called me in months and then call out of the blue wanting $800?”
“Well, I am sorry about that. I was at an opera festival for 6 weeks this summer. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who can loan me the money, and you know that I haven't been talking to Mom and Dad.”
“You know, Josh, you are just bad with your money. I don't think it's right that we should use our hard-earned money to enable your bad habits.” This, of course, pissed me off. It probably hit a little too close to home for it to be a comfortable kind of statement. Thus prompting,
“Shawn, you surely can't be trying to claim that the money that you enjoy spending is in any way 'hard-earned' by you. You are a rich housewife, for goodness sakes. You are lucky. You are lucky to be rich and comfortable, but please don't think that you are in any way entitled to that.”
“How can you say something like that. I am not giving you the money. Call me back when you're on the street.” Click.

That's right, she said “call me back when you're on the street.” My own sister. Now, I know that I hold grudges for far too long. I know that I am not really good at forgiving my enemies. My biggest problem with this, if I can be frank, is that fact that I remember too well what actually happened, thus disabling the possibility of forgiving and forgetting. Forgiveness is definitively something I need to work on. But, really, how could anyone ever forget their own flesh and blood saying something like that?

I guess I never will.