markie d: : "Love is All You Need" Someone tell the Wolf Pack

Monday, July 1, 2013

"Love is All You Need" Someone tell the Wolf Pack

If you have been keeping up with this Blog and have followed the tumultuous life of little Markie D, you might be able to make the connection that the craziness at his house was a microcosm for what was taking place in the historical-cultural narrative in 60's Americana.

Long time values that had been in place for generations were under assault, the British invasion was in full swing, protest were breaking out on campuses across the nation, riots were taking place and my generation was being taught through music to question authority even though this message was couched in words like love and peace.

It's easy.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.

Lennon/McCartney

It's easy.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need. - See more at: http://www.allspirit.co.uk/allyouneed.html#sthash.lu2JCOEm.dpuf

It was ironic that this new definition of love knew nothing of true love and that this new generation who put flowers and peace signs on VW's, used violent means to protest the war in Viet Nam (i.e. they engaged in the same practices they were philosophically opposed to).

"Love"

In the words of Inigo Montoya "I do not think that word means, what you think it means."

Love might come easy, yet requires a great deal of sacrifice and commitment. I didn't like the "conflict" in Viet Nam any more than anyone else did. I didn't like the fact that one of my brothers was in boot camp and another one was being deployed.

But I did know that these peace-seeking...hippy "pontificators of love" knew even less about love than I did...and I knew very little. My house was the symbol of the new America at this time, while the Lennons across the street represented a bygone era that was quickly slipping away.

To sing songs about love while hurting everyone around you, just didn't make sense to me. There was nothing about this new brand of love that I understood. I did not hear the word growing up in my house and desperately wanted to know. I also figured that in my quest for love, that there were others who were just as insecure about their place in the world as I was.

On the outside I exuded confidence and was funny, but on the inside I felt hollow and empty like a Zombie. I was what people today would call "an-at-risk" child. I was vulnerable and a good candidate to be taken advantage of...but because I was either "special" because of Chewbacca's "Templates" or because of the times the oxygen supply was cut off from my brain...it might have been either my brain damage or the hand of God that must have been present in my life to mitigate the terrible consequences of my low self worth.

In our house it was total anarchy, except for Wednesday and Thursday mornings when the Master Sergeant showed up.

In Venice they created a brand new law - just for the Dahlins. It was the new institution of "Street Cleaning Day." Except for a couple houses on our block that did not have driveways, everyone on our street parked in their own driveways. Everyone that is, except for the Dahlins. Besides my mom and dad, four of the older boys were of driving age already; that's like six cars. BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE! Tony, the oldest, was like a mad scientist when it came to cars or more like Dr. Frankenstein. A genius gear-head who stole the 427 big-block motor out of my dad's company car. Karl was in love with old cars and would piece a couple of them together...taking a liver out of one and an arm from another and stitching it on to another one. We had cars, lots and lots of cars... and some of them ran! Race cars, trucks, antiques and a scout bus that competed for the limited space in our driveway leaving partial abominations that littered both sides of the street.

The poor, poor, poor, normal Lennons ! I don't know if it was their complaints (because we were bringing the value of homes down on our street) or it is was the old grouch next door - it didn't matter; new laws were put into place. What that meant for the poor, poor, poor Dahlins, is that every Wednesday and every Thursday morning, dad sounded the bugle as if trying to raise the dead so we could push the cacophony of broken down cars and trash sarcophagi from one side of the street to the other...

Before I describe one of those terrible mornings... rude awakings... awful thumps to the head...when broom sticks crash on the ceiling, at a time of near crashes and Wolf Pack antics, allow me to post some pictures of the Dahlin cars throughout the years. This would make a great video - until then here are a couple pictures to wet your appetite until NEXT TIME When I attempt to describe an event that couldn't be topped by fiction even if Stephan Spielberg tried with all his money and all his might.

Vans

Station Wagons

Boats, vans, Volvo's , Big trucks, Small trucks

Broken Down trucks

Dream cars

more cars

Small cars

Nice cars

Not so nice cars

Cars on the lawn

and of course People and cars

Until Next Time...
Know that True Love is out there...maybe not in Dahlin's driveway or on their front lawn, but that you are indeed - passionately and relentlessly perused by the Greatest Love in the Universe.

2 comments:

mamahobbsJuly 1, 2013 at 4:49 PM
Awww yes the houses with the cars always were the subject of frustration in the neighborhood... My dad was a mechanic and my older brother loved to race cars... So parking on the lawn was a given.. I of course wasn't aware of the neighbors feelings... Yes love is all we need.... get to the true love part!!!!! Jonsey xx
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No Other Family Like Ours - seriously

WHAT OTHER FAMILY IN THE WORLD let all of the monkeys out of the Zoo, been pranked by the sitting President of the United States in a rouge encounter, chased in cities, chased out of cities and chased down by the cops. Who in their right mind voluntarily electrocute themselves just for fun and dared to electrify the nuns around the corner—who neither volunteered nor had fun? WHAT OTHER FAMILY has had more broken bones, pulled more pranks, have had a plethora of runaway rattlesnakes and other large reptiles terrorize their neighborhood. WHAT OTHER FAMILY grew Mexican Tomato plants that never grew tomatoes and had leaky boats that refuse to float or Escaped death more times? Who had cars on blocks, trucks as trash barges and flowerbeds sprouting rusted bikes, mislaid sparkplugs and abandoned carburetors instead of flowers? Meet the DAHLINS

And to think we survived and came out normal—well, mostly.

The Truimph of Overcoming

I use the word dysfunction with deliberate intention and with great respect in serving the main point of this blog. In the wild ramblings of a kid I ruminate on the idea that my family was not just dysfunctional but was the “most dysfunctional family” on the planet—that’s the set up.

As I look to the other “normal” plain-wrap families next door and across the street that had tidy yards and flowerbeds believing that the grass is greener on the other side (well the grass was greener), it shouldn’t shock anyone to realize that there is dysfunction in all of us—often times masked by tidy lawns and clean exteriors. Along with joy, success and adventure, life is filled with disappointment, failure, pain, and betrayal from those who have let us down. This is what it means to be human. I admit that I faced some disappointment in trying to fit in and longed for acceptance as the youngest boy of our wolf pack, but in large part I can honestly say that I had more fun and more adventure, in what I would call a happy childhood—despite the numerous broken bones. Yet, I would be remiss if I did not brag a bit and say, “Yeah, but...Look at all the great stories.”

Though, I dig deep into the mind and explore the full range of emotions of this young kid who felt detached, wondered about his existence, about his place in the family and his connection to the universe—He came out okay.

The older Markie D loves his brothers and sisters and holds no grudges.

Markie D has found this elusive connection to the universe and is well adjusted—and yes, still a little bit crazy. He has been married for 34 years to an amazing artist, Kerry, and has four incredibly gifted and talented adult children.

Oh, BTW… He mows his lawn, parks a car in the garage and has flowers in the flowerbeds and desires boats that float and less adventure in every outing and more "plain-wrap."

May you find your connection to the universe that brings healing, wholeness, forgiveness and a sense of hope as you look to your future.

Not too long ago on a pale blue dot, third from the sun, people and events converged in the space/time continuum that would forever change the course of history. The setting is a huge Victorian home that slightly leaned on its crumbling foundation, groaning under the weight of unruly kids and hoards of junk. In the era of Ozzie and Harriet and Father’s Knows Best, I was born into a family dysfunction of epic proportions. This decrepit masterpiece in Venice would rival the Addams Family’s house, and the cast of characters would prove to be more incredible and wacky than The Munsters. The big problem was that I was the seventh born, the youngest boy and the runt of the litter.

To have 10 in a family in our catholic neighborhood was underachieving. To compete with the larger families, my mom gladly took in strays. The official-nonofficial count was more in the neighborhood of 14 ―mostly boys and all older than me.

All sibling rivalry and mischief flowed downhill and ended up on my platter, whether I had any say in the matter or not. For fun, we held on to the live wires that were left hanging out of a wall from a unfinished remodel. We were the only family I knew who voluntarily electrocuted themselves with 110 volt household current, and are the only family in the history of the world to single-handedly let all of the monkeys out of the LA zoo. We got chased out of cities; pursued by the Highway Patrol; and sought after by the entire Needles California Police force. Wherever we went, we made a spectacular splash which usually ended up on the front page of the local newspaper.

After being buried in pits, caged, hunted, left behind and electrocuted, I somehow managed to survive my childhood but felt numb, disconnected and alone although part of a big family. In college while searching for acceptance and connection, I experienced an event that would alter the course of my life. I graduated from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in Communications. I coached water polo and swimming at Saint Monica’s my High School Alma Mater and enjoyed major success in investment real estate. After a financial crisis, I committed myself to serving in ministry, working with Youth and Family, as an associate pastor of a large church in Southern California. I graduated with a Masters at the top of my class from Azusa Pacific Graduate School of Theology and was ordained a licensed Pastor.

I am married to an avid artist and have four children: three boys and a girl who takes after her mother’s creativity.

Currently, I am a senior Pastor of a church in Roseville, CA, and adjunct Professor of Biblical Studies at a Bible college, and live in Sacramento with my wife and daughter.

markie d:

'72 swim team

Monday, July 1, 2013

"Love is All You Need" Someone tell the Wolf Pack

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