Accidental Time Travel is a thing.
I Am Here is one of the phrases awakened humans use between themselves. Back before all this new knowledge, the pass phrase was “a friend of Bill W.”
The phrase serves as a simple reminder to both ourselves and our angels (that’s me at the moment) about alignment in time. When you are reading this, you are in alignment with my time. I cannot resist joining a human reader anytime my words are being ingested: eyes, ears, or both, no difference.
What this means. Books are similar to time machines. In writing this to you, to the universe, back in 2026, I am bound by my human place in time. Writing provides the possible thread between us. All the threads are like that, possibilities for connection. Most of us, us humans, can’t hear alternative colors. For most humans, their experience of reality is limited to their viewport. The human experience of their soul, energy, individual, whatever we think we are as humans, individuals, ego, memory ocean, timeline as this individual.
Me. That is John Oakley McElhenney, writer. Born Nov. 27, 1962 soon after 2 pm. My mom marked the time, because she was racing with one of her best friends. I arrived first. The girl, second place, would become classmates and friends in 2nd and 3rd grade. My mom was proud of me for winning, even from the earliest possible time. I would learn to abide this force in the world. Mom happy = good. Mom sad = bad.
The bad = sad equation would not be understood in my life until I was older.
I know a lot more about my mom’s depression than I do about my father’s. In a similar way, I know a lot about my own bipolar diagnosis than my father’s non-diagnosis. They didn’t even have a name for it. I tried on “manic depression” for a while when I was in the hospital.
I call it emotional variability. Most artists that you can think of suffered or suffer from down periods. It’s part of why we create art in the first place. To express some existential joy or sadness. To share our vulnerability with others. To bravely put our hearts on our sleeves. I do that a lot. You’ll see. Even as an angel, I have mood swings. More about that later.
I am too much in my emotions. Many humans are the opposite. Suppressing any emotional response by all means necessary. My dad was a suppressor. Alcohol was his drug of choice, RX of choice. Doctors truly make their own worst patients. Their family’s care is often neglected too, deferred to the wisdom and guidance of “the doctor.”
My father’s father was also a doctor. The Green Acres kind of doctor. “Doctor T J McElhenney.’ People in Austin still tell me, “Your grand father birthed both my kids. They’re now in their sixties.”
Yep, that was my grandfather McElhenney. The good country doctor.
His son was “Doctor T R McElhenney” was my dad. R was for Rudd. I don’t know much about that the Rudds. I wonder if I’m related some where to the number one tennis player in the world right now, Rude. Probably not, but… Back to the point, sorry.
Grandear, my dad’s dad, was a generous man with a hearty laugh and cheerful voice. He accepted chickens, Christmas tamales, and yard work in trade for his pediatric customers. My dad, joined his dad’s family practice. He needed a specialty. Lucky for me, he struck the lottery and specialized in pediatric allergy. In Austin, Texas!!
My sister once gave my dad a graphic sweatshirt that said, “Yay pollen!”
Yay pollen.
My father did quite well under his father’s wing. Both practices grew. They expanded the practice and took over the small building next door. Six exam rooms a side. An exotic fish tank and dark tile floors that smelled of potions and spiders.
My dad’s office was a magical and somewhat haunted place. Probably still is.
return to index | this is a chapter of a novel** in progress:
2025 – 2026 JOHN MCELHENNEY | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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