Good Times

I’ve said it here before but it’s worth saying again: I’m mentally and emotionally colonized.

I’ve been living in institutions of higher education for the majority of my life–more than 30 years. As a result, those institutions have a dominating influence on me and my thinking. Their values and patterns of being inordinately become my own.

Nowhere is this more true than in the timing of things. The rhythms and pace of higher ed are the rhythms and pace of my own life. My life follows the predictable course of the semester. My autumns move fast and ebb and flow. My springs are marathons that end with a grind. This is true for my work as much as it is for my life. Maybe the most powerful evidence of this is in the fact that I speak of years not in terms of the calendar year but in terms of the school year.

This has been a crazy year. It was a comeback year, going back to work and stepping back into the classroom after a summer of major surgery. It was a year of familial adjustment. My wife started working full-time (more than full-time, actually) and that meant changes for us all, individually and as a family.

You can get a sense of what this year has been like just by observing how frequently (or infrequently) I’ve posted on this blog. Over the thirteen years I’ve been writing here, the frequency of my posting has always varied as family or work take precedent. (Maybe that happens more because I tend to favor posts that take time to put together like a mini-essay, another example of how I’m colonized by academia.) I was on a a pretty regular pace for most of 2018-19 until the fall semester got fully underway and my wife started working. And then COVID happened.

I don’t like to complain about it because I’ve got a job, my wife has a job, and we’re all healthy and happy. Still it’s been a whole mix of ups and downs for us, just like for everyone else. Most days it feels like we’re keeping our heads above water alright and doing okay, but not much else. It’s boring most of the time. My kids know how to find their way out of that better than most but they’ve also grown a little accustomed to this new pandemic life.

Like I said, it’s not all bad. In fact, a whole bunch of it is pretty good. I wish we were all back to the lives we had before but it has been pretty great to have the kids with me all day, every day for more than 140 days now. Our relationship has evolved in good ways, deeper ways, and I really enjoy watching them grow and learning about them as the people they are and are becoming. It’s my silver lining, and I’ll miss it like crazy when this is over.

My #3 starts 4th grade tomorrow. The other two don’t start school (first day of middle school for one and first day of high school for the other) for a few more weeks. And I start my online semester in two. I’m scrambling like crazy to prepare myself and we’re all baby-stepping our way out of summer and into some form of a more scheduled, homeschooling life. We don’t know what it’ll be like but we do know the familiarity and predictability of the the fall semester won’t be there to lean on.

It’s going to be crazy times ahead for us, no doubt, but it’s all good. We got good kids and a good family, everything we need to be safe and cared for, and we got each other. It’s crazy times but good times. Like the song said–ain’t we lucky we got ’em?

Abbey Road at 50

Abbey Road turns 50 years old today! The Beatles’s eleventh studio album was released in the UK on September 26, 1969. It dropped in the US on October 1.

Abbey Road was the last studio album recorded by the group (though 1970’s Let it Be–––recorded before Abbey Road–––would be the last studio album of the group ever released). The boys recorded it from February to August of that year, at the same time the group was breaking up. As the story goes, the group was done just before Abbey Road was released. John Lennon had already told the others he was leaving. When Paul made the public announcement in April 1970 that he was done, the world knew The Beatles were over.

Abbey Road is a special album for me and my son. It’s our favorite, and some of the songs–––”Here Comes the Sun,” “Something,” and the ending medley of “Golden Slumbers,” “Carry That Weight,” and “The End”–––have been a part of his life since he was a newborn. I used to play “Golden Slumbers” to him every night after bath time, while I dried him off and put on his lotion. I still think of those times when I hear it.

But it’s our favorite album for a whole lot of other reasons. It opens with a classic John Lennon song (“Come Together”). Some of the best George Harrison songs are on it (“Something” and “Here Comes the Sun”). It’s got Paul McCartney at his bluesy best (“Oh! Darling”). And not to be out done, Ringo Starr gives us a classic, too (“Octopus’s Garden”). I think the thing that always brings it all together for us is the fact that it’s the band’s last. They know they’re ending their time together and they use the album to say goodbye, not only to their fans but also to each other.

If I were trapped on the proverbial deserted island, and I had only one album of music with me to play, I would hope that album were Abbey Road. That’s not because I think it’s the greatest album ever made. Heck, I’m willing to admit it might not even be the band’s greatest album. But it is my favorite of theirs and, more importantly, it’s something that has marked the relationship of my son and I in big ways. This album has my heart.

So happy 50th birthday to Abbey Road!

A new year for me

Today is the start of a new academic year at the Claremont Colleges. I’ll teach the first meeting of my “Intro to Chicanx-Latinx History” class and then I’ll attend our college’s opening convocation ceremony. That makes it a great day to me, but it’s a pretty momentous day in other ways, too.

First off, for those of you who read this blog or follow me on social media, you know this has been anything but a typical summer. Having the brain tumor and surviving the surgery has been a life-changing event for me and for my family. I wish it was something we didn’t have to go through, but we survived it and that’s something to celebrate. I’m happy to be alive and happy to be able to head back to the classroom to the job that I love.

The other noteworthy thing is that this year marks my 30th in higher education. My first 4 years were as an undergrad at Claremont McKenna College. The next 8 were as a grad student at UC Berkeley. And that means this is the start of my 18th year as a tenure-track/tenured professor. That’s kind of crazy to me, not just in a “time flies” kind of way but also because 18 years is a long time!

I’m so lucky to have been a professor of Chicana/o/x Studies at two incredible institutions in that time. And I’m lucky for all the relationships I’ve made in those years. The past few months——as I received cards, letters, emails, and messages from a lot of the people I worked with and taught in those 18 years——I’ve been lifted up by the love and friendship that’s come from that work. I’m here, right now, in part because of the people that have made those 18 years as good as they were.

So thank you! And happy new academic year to me and to you!

Keep On Keepin’ On

I had a follow-up appointment today. My last one ended with me being admitted back into the ICU. After today’s appointment, I went to lunch with my family and then took a nap in my own bed. I think we can call this one a win.

I’m doing well. The swelling is getting better every day and the doctors were as pleased with my healing as I was. My pain is pretty much non-existent right now beyond the occasional headache, which is also good. I am sleeping better with each day, too, which is an important part of the process. Sleeping has also pretty much always been one of my best skills, so it’s nice to know I still got it.

So things are good and moving forward. I’m not back to normal, of course. I’m still really tired. I still need to watch out about lifting heavy things or straining myself. But all that should keep getting easier and better with time and rest.

This is mostly over but it’s also the start of a new normal for me. I’m going to be getting MRIs for the rest of my life. I may have to get radiation if the tumor comes back. There’s a lot of possibilities ahead of us but they’re all better than what we just faced.

So for now, we’ll just keep on keeping on.

Set Backs and Updates

I’m still doing well but I do want to say this: brain tumors suck.

During my follow-up appointment on July 3 the doctors decided to admit me to the ICU again to drain fluid from my face. In their estimation, the post-op swelling was reaching problematic proportions. My face was swelling with cerebrospinal fluid (or CSF), which is the stuff that our spine and brain both live in. The presence of that fluid makes it hard for my face to heal from surgery and so it had to go.

The way they got rid of the excess fluid was by installing a drain in my back, kinda like tapping the end of the CSF system. The installation hurt about as much as you would imagine. Nobody wants a needle put in their back, let alone a plastic tube. In this whole process of brain surgery the pain and discomfort I felt when they installed the drain was the worst thing I’ve felt.

There’s still a lot of good stuff to keep in mind. I’m alive and I am still happy to be alive. It amazes me that I live in a time where I had a brain tumor and they were able to remove it while keeping me alive. Also, my swelling is way better. The drain worked and I have that to be grateful for, too.

The downside? I just got home after 11 days locked up in a hospital with a drain in my back. While it worked and saved my life (and is allowing me now to heal from surgery) 11 days away from my wife and kids is one of the worst things I’ve had to endure.

But I’m home now, basking in the glow of my family. I’m resting and sleeping well. I feel great. My pain is mostly gone, the swelling is disappearing, and I feel more like myself everyday. I feel better about the road ahead, too.

But——just in case you were wondering——brain tumors still suck.

Thanks for the love, the prayers/thoughts, and the palpable feeling of community. I know I’ve got a lot of people pulling for me and I’ve felt it every step of the way. I couldn’t be more grateful for it. If there’s a silver lining in all this, that’s certainly it.

My uninvited growth

Here’s where I need to start. I feel very loved and lucky and I have a tremendous amount to be thankful for at this very moment in my life. I am alive and I am feeling better each and every day. When it come’s down to it, that’s all that really matters.

On June 18, 2019 I had a brain tumor. Today I do not.

I first noticed what turned out to be my brain tumor about 7 years ago. I was training for my second LA Marathon when I noticed a slight swelling on the right temple of my face. The swelling was only faintly noticeable, aligned with my right temple muscle running from the forehead just to the top of my right cheek. The swelling was pretty consistent. It didn’t come and go but it was even and did change slightly in size depending what I ate that day or on what my training pattern might have been. But none of it was all that profoundly different.

Over the years it grew more and more and changed less frequently. I pointed it out to my wife and started to get a little concerned. Finally, about 3 and 1/2 years ago, I went to my doctor to have him take a look at it. I was hoping for an MRI but he said it was an overdeveloped temple muscle caused by teeth grinding and chewing in my sleep. He recommended I see my dentist for a mouthpiece, which I did.

My dentist made the mouthpiece but insisted there was no dental evidence I was grinding my teeth at night or biting down hard. I still wore the mouthpiece for three some years and, sure enough, it did nothing. Not only didn’t the swelling shrink but the mass continued to visibly grow. As it grew I became more aware and even self-conscious about it as something that was “other” or foreign to me.

I grew more concerned. I noticed it more and I was sure people in my life (and work life) noticed it, too. After all, I work with a bunch of kids who notice the little things, like slight growths or the kinds of imperfections we associate with age that we don’t see all that often in our youth.

Last fall my ophthalmologist saw it and he finally ordered an MRI. Turned out it wasn’t the muscle but an actual foreign growth. I called it my UFG——my uninvited fucking growth. My UFG concerned my ophthalmologist and the radiologist who read my film. It looked like a tumor, one that had some origin in my brain. Luckily, one of my best friends is also a radiologist and I had him take a look at my MRI before I had any formal sit-down with a doctor to talk about next steps. It didn’t look good, but it also didn’t look like we had a 100% sure reading on what it was we were looking at.

Since UFG was on the side of my face we could do a biopsy of him and start to get some sense of what he was before cutting into my skull. Last January that biopsy told us UFG was not cancer but it also identified it as a meningioma. For those that don’t know a meningioma is a tumor that grows from the lining of the brain. That’s right: I had a brain tumor but one that decided to gentrify my face. It started in my brain but grew through the skull and took over that temple muscle before spreading to through the cranium.

It took about two months for us to learn I had a tumor and to get test results telling us it wasn’t a fatal or aggressive form of cancer. That two months was a hard time for Melinda (my wife) and me. We had to confront the possibility of the worst, which is not a pretty thing when you have 3 little ones. We survived it, sanity and love in tact. We also had the benefit of medical professionals moving us toward a medical solution for my UFG.

That solution was surgical. I had a team of surgeons, one to focus on the outer cranium parts of my UFG and a neurosurgeon to focus on the UFG origin story on the lining of my brain. Luckily, since UFG had been such a colonizer, I had no real “traditional” symptoms of a brain tumor. No headaches or no compromised brain functions. I had an unsightly bump that kind of gave me a sore jaw and swollen pressure on the right side of my face, but all that’s not too bad considering the cause.

I entered Kaiser’s Kramer Medical Center in Anaheim on June 17 to get it taken out. It was a several step process. External UFG gentrified my cheek and jaw. He was close to a cluster of blood vessels and incompatible with our goal of minimizing bleeding and the prospect of a transfusion. So step one was going up my main artery like an angioplasty in order to inject some dye in those vessels and give them a little embolism. This would make them more visible (and hence more avoidable) while also making them less bloody when they were cut.

Phase two was extraction. My neurosurgeon’s plan (he is a pretty amazing guy, the kind you’d expect to do such a job) was to saw into my skull and remove UFG from my brain lining. That’s where UFG started. He was like a tail along my right lobe heading through a patch of skull that ended in my temporal muscle. The plan was to remove the “tail” and, to be safe, cut away about 2cm of brain lining surrounding it. That would also entail removing the patch of skull UFG passed through since, in passage, it became tumorized, too. The plan was to replace the patch of skull with titanium.

When Dr. Amazing got in there he learned that UFG had been more cranially aggressive than originally thought. First, a 2cm lining removal took us too close to a vital (life or death) artery near where the lobes meet, so he kept a conservative distance to make sure I stayed alive (yeah!!) which also may have left some UFG at the cellular level. UFG also turned out to be doing more than resting on my lining. He was also squatting on my brain. He was an easy removal but still, fucker was living rent free on my brain.

The other part of extraction was lead by my head/neck surgeon, a 30 year veteran of the meningioma game. His plan was to cut in to my head, pull down my face like a John Woo movie, and remove UFG from my temporal muscle and cheek area. We expected the UFG already colonized my temporal muscle and so its removal there was to be expected. He’d rebuild the destroyed and colonized muscle with titanium mesh so it would balance cosmetically with my left temple. The MRI suggested it was well beneath the cheek bone too, so the plan was to remove that sliver of bone temporarily to safely extract UFG and then rebolt the cheek bone into my skull.

When he got in there he learned UFG had been pretty aggressive there too. It had eaten up my temporal muscle and did much the same to my cheek bone. So a minor plan alteration was called for and the kind doctor replaced my cheek bone with titanium instead of reinserting the tumorized bone.

A week ago, all this happened. I came out of surgery alive and with a pretty good prognosis. They said the best case scenario for me would be about 3-5 days in the hospital and then about 1-2 months of rest and recovery to let the trauma of surgery return my swollen face back to normal. Sure enough, I came home three days after surgery. I have a series of follow-up appointments that will inform where we go from here in terms of treatment but, the most important thing I have is the love and concern and friendship of a grip of people, all of whom have helped my recovery with kind notes, plants and flowers, food, and consistent thoughts. The best part has been feeling——on a daily basis——how this is more than an individual act of healing and, instead, a nurturing group process.

So thanks. I thank you if you’re one of those people who care about me and who’s shared that caring in any kind of way. I thank you for the road ahead, too, one that’s going to take time and lots more of the love I’m using now over the weeks and months ahead. I feel lucky to have you in my life and the feeling is 100% mutual.

Take care.

R.I.P. James Ingram

I was so sad to hear the news today of the untimely passing of James Ingram. He was a respected voice in my household and one of our favorite R&B singers.

In the Sandoval house, we learned about James Ingram when the musical world did——as a signature voice on Quincy Jones’ 1981 album The Dude. That I knew that both sides of that album as well as I knew Thriller, which was released the next year and also produced by Jones, says a lot about the musical mix I grew up with. We listened to pop and rock (well, I did), but we also listened to the music my folks played——oldies, R&B, jazz, and soul——a lot of sounds that morphed into “adult contemporary” over the years.

James Ingram was a master of the R&B love song. He had a voice of passion and range. He was a real talent and a true artist. Maybe the nicest thing I can say is that even after all these years (I probably haven’t played a James Ingram song in decades) I still know the words to all my favorites he sang. He was that much a part of the soundtrack of my youth.

Here are my favorites. None are surprises or “deep cuts.” They are probably his biggest hits, but they’re all gems.

Just Once (1981)
Definitely my favorite James Ingram song, from The Dude.

One Hundred Ways (1981)
Another hit from Jones’ 1981 album, a classic love song in the adult R&B style.

Baby, Come to Me (1982)
His first hit duet with Patti Austin.

Yah Mo Be There (1983)
From Ingram’s debut solo album, sung with Michael McDonald.

I Don’t Have the Heart (1990)
His last “big” hit, this one was on the repeat tape of this one office job I had.

R.I.P. James Ingram.

Excelsior!

“You were the first creator whose voice I knew before I’d ever actually heard it. You dreamed up some of my favorite modern myths and created characters that instilled in me a moral barometer, teaching me right from wrong and showing me it’s always better to be a hero instead of a villain. Your characters represented us: yes, they had extraordinary, unbelievable abilities, but they were also reflections of a world we knew, where a Spider-Man is really just a boy who wants to help.” (Kevin Smith)

“He was a powerhouse of energy and enthusiasm, and his death ends an era when giants walked the Earth and made up new kinds of stories.” (Neil Gaiman)

“Thank you Stan Lee for making people who feel different realize they are special.” (Seth Rogan)

There’s a lot more out there, and together they say it better than any one of us could.

All I can say is that I owe a lot to Stan Lee. I found my corner of the universe early in life. It was a space shared by Darth Vader, the Hulk, and Spider-man. I didn’t buy my first Spider-man comic until 1983 (The Amazing Spider-man #239) but I had already fallen in love with his magic through TV——cartoons and Electric Company and made-for-TV movies. It’s a love I still have.

When I heard he passed the first thing I thought is it’s a such a gift to live to be 95. And then I thought it’s even a greater gift to spend those years giving joy and creativity and acceptance and wonder to so many. After spending the day reading so many people’s thoughts, I can’t help thinking what an amazing thing it is to live to see your impact and receive your due accolades and——even at that advanced age——still leave at the peak of other’s regard for you.

Stan Lee helped create the modern comic book art form and carried it all (and us) from the margins right into the mainstream. That’s some kind of life. One that’s going to outlive us all.

World Series (again)

This blog isn’t much of a reflection of what’s going on in my life, or for that matter what’s important to me. These days it’s mostly a space to write about music once a week. And while music is important to me, there are other things that occupy most of my daily life——namely, my family and my job.

And then there’s baseball. From April to October I watch a lot of Dodger baseball. When I can’t watch, I listen on the radio or follow along on my phone. It’s a rare Dodgers’ game that goes by where I haven’t participated in at least an inning or two of it.

Baseball is one of those things that balances out the bad stuff in life. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about (read about, talk about, learn about, teach about) the current war against Latinx migrants and families. Not a day goes by that I’m not equally involved in the consequences of a racist, sexist, homophobic, and transphobic regime ruling this country.  Baseball is my relief from those horrid reminders of the shortcomings of the human species. It’s my escape and my positive connection to those same flawed humans, my community of fellow fans.

I know it’s “just” baseball. That said, it never fails to amaze me how much a bunch of grown men playing a kid’s game can affect me, both positively and negatively. It’s also an excuse for me to work on perspective. After all, if winning the World Series is the goal of every team every year, 29 of us are going to come up short.  It’s been 30 years since we’ve won a series.  We’re getting good at perspective.

So you learn to appreciate the steps along the way.  I love a good game.  I love it when the Dodgers win.  I love it when the players I like turn in amazing days at their jobs.  I enjoy talking about baseball with other Dodgers’ fans.   At the end of the day, it’s the little things.

Of course, I care about the big things, too.  I often say baseball is one of those sports where, at the end of the season, you get to see who the best teams are.  We play 162 games.  I think the teams sitting on top of each division and each league at the end of that road have something to be proud of.  They’re the best.  I’m fortunate that the team I love has won the Western Division for six years running.  It’s a great achievement, one that I can use to console myself since being the best is different than being successful during the playoffs.

Playoff baseball is a different beast than the regular season. The best team doesn’t always win. It’s not about being the best——it’s about being the best on the field that day.  Sure, better teams have an advantage.  But it’s way more complicated than that.

The Dodgers are about to play in their 20th World Series competition in their storied history. Our very first was in 1916 against the Boston Red Sox. (At that time we were the Brooklyn Robins.) We lost that one, as we did the next six we played in. The Brooklyn Dodgers would lose 7 World Series before winning their first and only title in 1955. The next year they’d get there again, but lose. That’s a 1-8 record.
(Six of those losses were against one team——the New York Yankees. So was their only victory.  Perspective.)

We’ve won five World Series since moving to Los Angeles. We’ve been in the Series another 5 times and lost. That’s a 5-5 record for us. Not bad. And I know I’m lucky to have a team that’s made it to the big show for two years running. We’re back-to-back National League Champions. That’s nothing to sneeze at. Of course, I still want the Dodgers to win it all.

Last year I was confident but also pretty realistic. Houston was playing at their best for much of the playoffs and they had momentum. The Dodgers were a better team, but even with their massive winning streak and killer winning percentage for a chunk of the season, they were still a tricky bunch. After all, this was a team that went on a 1-16 losing streak. Needless to say, I was hopeful they’d win game 7 last year but I was emotionally prepared if they did not. Perspective.

This year is different. The Dodgers are not as good a team as Boston. Boston is better by almost any measure that matters. And while the Dodgers have some degree of last year’s weaknesses, they are a much more seasoned group of guys. Perspective matters there, too. And then there’s our offense, which only matters when it does, and it often does.

Over the next week, I’m going to be really happy and really stressed and really sad, just not all at the same time or in the same measure. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the achievements——the sixth in a row Western Division title and the back-to-back National League titles. Whatever happens, I’m lucky to be a fan of one of the last two teams playing ball right now. And I’m prepared for whatever may come.

Especially if that’s a World Series title.

Happy New (Academic) Year!

Today is the start of the 2018-19 academic year at Pomona College!

This year is the start of my 17th year as a full-time professor.  It’s the start of my 23rd year in the world of college teaching (I started teaching at the college level as a TA at UC Berkeley).  Overall, this is my 29th year in higher education.

The kid that began his undergraduate career back in 1990 would have been pretty pleased to know that someday he’d be writing the above paragraph.  Not many days go by that I don’t think and feel how lucky I am to be in my line of work.  I get to learn new things on a daily basis.  I get to write and read.  And I get to spend time connecting young people to their own journeys of discovery.

I’m a lucky guy.

I’m looking forward to this semester.  I’ll teach my “Intro to Chicanx/Latinx Studies” class, my greatest pleasure and the reason I do what I do.  I’ll also teach my “Latinx in the 20th Century” seminar, where we get to go more into depth.  As if that wasn’t enough, in a little more than two weeks, the play I wrote based on my oral histories with Chicano Vietnam vets will hit the stage.  It’ll be a busy start but I got nothing to complain about.

So happy new academic year from me to you!