Watching the video of Renee Good’s murder is essential viewing in America today. It’s a prerequisite if you deign to defend ICE. And, if you don’t defend ICE, congratulations! You have a conscience.
I have many thoughts about the tragedy, the political implications, the hypocrisy of our “leaders,” and about how I would absolutely love to throw snowballs at ICE agents, but today, I have one reaction. It’s a reaction I have had since the footage dropped. What would an autistic person do in the situation Good found herself in? The answer is easy, they would have likely done the same exact thing. They would have attempted to drive away, turning away from the officer, just like Good did.
You see, anxiety often goes hand in hand with autism. An autistic person can go from calm to high strung faster than any of us neurotypicals. They often do not navigate social situations very smoothly, especially situations that would be already stressful to a neurotypical human. Good found herself in such a situation and I found myself imagining my daughter in the same situation, even though she is only 11 years old. But I was picturing her off somewhere, years from now, living on her own, driving through a neighborhood like Good’s when she becomes entangled in some gestapo ICE-led shakedown. With loud commands coming at her from every direction telling her to stop, telling her to move along, and telling her to back up, she would almost certainly flee from the confusion, the chaos, and the noise. And, what would she get for it? Well, you know how this ends in Trump’s America.
Renee Good’s reaction to the chaos is my daughter’s reaction, simply an attempt to get away from it all. It was harmless to the ICE officer, but DHS (like you can trust anything they say) reports that the officer had internal bleeding from this interaction. Dutifully, Fox News has the report, in their constant attempt to paint Good as a terrorist and J6ers as patriots.
I just keep thinking about how the current situation in Minneapolis and wherever ICE invades next is at the boiling point, absolutely primed for another event like we have already seen. If ICE approaches everyone as if they are guilty, then of course they will encounter more people who run away, drive away, and get away any way possible. Those people who run first from ICE just might have an extra dose of anxiety in them, a few more drops of confusion in social situations, but no ill intent, no hatred. Just kindness.
Good’s voice, seconds before her murder, is full of kindness, “That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.” No derangement. No madness. No anger. Just patience and peace.
The following is an incomplete list of events I forgot to add to our real estate listing last spring when we sold our Denver house and bounced way north to our new landing spot, Fort Collins.
Halloween 2016…maybe – Hooligans decide to throw a large block through the glass rear dear of a neighbor’s house. I remember speaking to a DPD officer that night about a security system, asking him, is it worth having one? Does it work? He bluntly said, No. These people out here who are going to actually break into a home do not stop at a security system. They know what to do. They are fast and a siren isn’t going to change that. I took that to heart. We didn’t have one at the time (never did), although we still had the ADT sign in the front yard and the stickers in the window from the previous owner. We left those there. Note: Every other neighbor had a security system.
Kids watch the truck involved in a crime get towed away after three months on
Late Summer 2020 – This is when things really pick up. People are bored. We’ve spent a lot of time indoors. They made us wear masks! (Cry more!) People needed to get out and do some major crime as evidenced by the moderate-sized moving truck that appears in front of the house. It is illegally parked, but at least on the far side of the street. In December of 2020, it is finally moved after I called the police, sheriff, and my city councilwoman. I did examine the truck at some point. It was empty and unlocked. The steering column had been torn up so the truck could be hot-wired, just like in the movies! Cool!
One night I woke up to some talking outside my bedroom window. I looked outside and spotted a man with a sign standing at the bottom of the stairs to our front door. He kept talking for a while and I kept watching from the window, but after thirty minutes or so he started walking up our stairs. That’s when I got a bit worried and made my way downstairs. Right before I made it to the front door he very violently tried to open it. We were fine, it was locked, but I yelled at him that he needed to stop and leave the property. The police were called and they showed up in 15 minutes. This incident did motivate me to get a Nest doorbell.
My Nest doorbell was awesome! It worked way better than the Ring doorbell and accompanying app that we have at our Fort Collins house. One of the first things our Nest doorbell caught was a man crouching on our front patio. It looked like he was trying to hide behind the planter and large pine tree that was on the NE corner of the front yard.
Initially, the neighbor’s car was shoved up onto their yard. The police put it back on the street.
During the warm, but not the warmest months, we slept with our window open, facing the front of the street, and our busy corner of Denver. We heard and saw a lot of interesting things from that window, but nothing louder than a car speeding at approximately 60mph from the east, crossing Dayton, and slamming into a parked car two houses west of us. The first car that was hit wound up in the neighbor’s yard. The other cars hit got stacked up on one another. I was at the window in a split second to see police already approaching the crash scene with lights off and guns drawn. I found out later, they were responding to a robbery at a weed shop about a mile east of us in Aurora. This was a car chase that ended in front of our house! The perp threw a gun into my neighbor’s front yard and was able to evade police.
Neighbor’s car that took the brunt of the 60mph impact.
Around this same time, a stolen car was crashed into the apartment complex in front of the house. It didn’t go through the fence, it went under it, the fence swinging upward like an old school garage door, letting the stolen vehicle neatly crash into a parking spot. The perp ran. The perp got away.
Stolen car. Driver ran away, north on Dayton.
Late one morning, a car sped down Dayton, crashing into multiple parked cars and came to a stop in the middle of the road. The owner of one vehicle came out of the apartment buildings along Dayton and began yelling at the driver, You hit my car! You hit my car! The driver of the car was standing next to his broken ride and didn’t say anything. After a long moment, he ran. The car, broken as it was, stayed there for another 12 hours before someone decided to report it. Snitches get stitches in this neighborhood. It was almost certainly a stolen car. The perp, as far as I know, got away.
A driver decides to do a u-turn in front of the house. Street not wide enough? Ah, that’s okay, I’ll just run over your new tree.
Look kids, a murder scene. I didn’t know at the time. I probably wouldn’t have walked them over there.
Most alarming was the time I noticed about a dozen cop cars three houses west of the house. They were Aurora police, which means they followed criminal activity from east of Dayton into my neighborhood, which is in the City of Denver. I went to take a look by myself and then took the kids over there. There was no sign of an ongoing threat, but just to make sure I asked an officer and he said, there’s nothing to worry about. Well, great. Time for a photo op. I found out later that night that someone had been shot on the corner three houses west of us. He was in his car. And, after being shot, he was driven eastward into Aurora a couple blocks and died. It was truly tragic. This murder remains unsolved. Since it took place, there’s a small memorial to the victim. I cleaned it up a few times before we moved away.
There was that one time we were having a nice family dinner and I was beginning to move around, do some dishes, and clean up, when I noticed a red 4Runner park right in front of the house. The two guys in the front arranged lines of coke on a pocket mirror, snorted them, and drove off. Sorry, no picture! They were so fast!
Last, but not least because this couple was fighting for years, we have this nice image of a lady on top of a moving car. She was on the phone and also yelling at the driver. I took several videos of this fight and others, certain I would catch something of interest to the police if anything seriously bad happened. Luckily, no such video exists, but these people would fight in front of our house, mostly at night, on and off for about two years. Their dialogue, much of it recorded by yours truly, can not be repeated here.
Fast forward a few months and we are spending the first night at our new house in Fort Collins. The home has a huge covered deck out back where we were enjoying the remnants of our drinks. I was thinking of the corner we left behind, the very urban setting. It’s not like we moved to the country, there are about 170,000 people living in FoCo, but still, I told Kate, “It feels like we are camping.”
If you know me, you know that I love movies and, to complement that love of movies, I listen to and also love The Big Picture, the esteemed podcast from The Ringer with hosts Sean Fennessey and Amanda Dobbins. I do not miss an episode and, on occasion, I even listen to them discuss a movie that I have not seen. In fact, that frequently happens because getting to the theater is hard. I really have to carve out time, arrange for someone to watch the kids, and then, hope that what I want to see has not left theaters during the weeks it took me to secure said viewing time.
I was listening to such an episode (one in which the hosts discuss a movie I haven’t seen) in October, when Sean interviewed the writer and director of If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, Mary Bronstein. To help out, here’s the one sentence synopsis from IMDB, “While trying to manage her own life and career, a woman on the verge of a breakdown must cope with her daughter’s illness, an absent husband, a missing person, and an unusual relationship with her therapist.” The connection I feel to this movie (I still haven’t seen it!) and its writer/director is that Bronstein’s daughter had a serious illness and Bronstein played caregiver for a long, hard time. Okay, let’s go to the interview.
Right out of the blocks, Sean asks, “Do you remember the exact day you began writing it?”
Bronstein gives a long, eloquent answer, but one thing she says hits me so hard, some truth that I had felt before I listened to this pod, but a truth that was really good to hear someone else utter, especially an artist. Bronstein answers that she had a “sense of existential dread that I couldn’t put my finger on and, at first, I thought it was because the situation I was in, like, will she get better? What will happen? Then I realized it wasn’t that at all. It was the feeling that I felt like I was disappearing, because everything, every part of my being was put into taking care of her and making sure that she was gonna get better and we could get back to New York and get back to normal. But then I realized, oh wait, she is gonna get better and we are going to go back to New York and our home and it is going to go back to…normal. But like what then? What then? Because I’ve been in this state now for so long…in this caretaking role for so long it’s been my whole life, what then? What’s gonna happen?…In a very literal sense I felt myself disappearing, my being, my self, and I started writing…in that state.”
That’s the quote. And if you’ve been a caretaker for someone before, especially of a child with some disease, disorder, or illness, you know that regardless of the severity of that disease, it can be all consuming and it can completely suffocate the will you have to do anything else with your time, if you’re lucky enough to have any time leftover.
Although I didn’t realize it then, my time as a caretaker started nearly 12 years ago when my daughter was born at 26 weeks. She had, at times, a very rough NICU stay that lasted 109 days. After discharge, we were back at the hospital several times a week for appointments. That lasted months. Years later, we still had a lot of appointments, assessments, and scares. Then after teachers expressed concern, more assessments, a diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level 1, and new, ASD-focused, home therapy for years. Then another diagnosis, this time of ADHD, a common dance partner of ASD. Then individualized education program (IEP) meetings. Then 504 (not quite as accommodating as an IEP) meetings. Then more worry. Then back to an IEP.
All that time, much of my interests were pushed aside, as happens to any present parent, and I let worry for my daughter and her future absolutely break down hope I had for myself, belief that I would get to do anything else. I felt myself disappearing. There were fits and starts with writing, but I have gone years without it. Actually, the only thing that I have consistently practiced for the last 12 years, outside of managing the house and taking care of the kids, is running. That’s the one thing I have held fast to. I guess that’s why it became an obsession of mine, which if you don’t know, we haven’t spent much time together in the last decade. But trust me, if you stick around here for any length now, you’ll know.
Anyway, back to myself disappearing, dissolving into worry and insignificance. I started to hear a voice, my voice, and it has been urging me to make sure this part of me, the one that has always loved the written word, both reading and writing it, to make sure that part does not die like all the other parts. To save that part, that’s the end game, if you will. What will come of it? I am not sure, nor do I want to dwell on that either. I know it’s a big part of me and one worth saving, one that makes me a better person in my other roles of husband, dad, and son. But you’re still gonna get running posts and don’t forget movies. I love movies.
“Sometimes fear does not subside and one must choose to do it afraid.” – Elisabeth Elliot, poet.
That is how I feel about writing these days, months, and years since I have not put pen to paper and fingers to keys. I have waited for the fear to subside. As you can tell, it has been a long wait and it would have been longer. But for what? I do not know.
Even stupider, I have waited for ideas to come to me without first sitting down at the desk.
And worst of all, I thought I would eventually convince myself, by taking a long break from writing, that I am indeed not bad at it. That most definitely did not happen. I think I have tired of the waiting. Tired of telling myself, writing, well, that is something I will do when life calms down. I think I have known for a while now that it will not.
Furthermore, my voice will not come to me if I do not share it. So, I will share it, but as Elliot reminds me, I must choose to share it afraid. For now, I have to lie to myself to get my butt in chair. (Thank you, Anne Lamott). You have something worth sharing. People will connect to the story of you and your family. I can build a following if I do this. I do not suck at writing. I will get better, even become good at this. Doing this will improve other areas of your life. These are some of the lies I tell myself. And to some degree, I recognize that some of them are not lies at this point. I guess the evolution that has taken place in my head is that it is better to convince myself of these lies than to go on believing much worse ones that I have spent a decade or longer believing, such as:
You are not unique.
You are alone.
This experience of being a stay at home dad, raising an autistic daughter and a neurotypical son is not unique enough to share.
I am not good at writing.
This will never make me a dime.
After spending 12 years as a dad and caregiver, no one will ever hire me again.
I am old and washed up.
If my own sister once told me this blog is ridiculous, then I should not try anymore.
I should not share because that one cousin called into question my whole education (a BA in English and an MA in International Studies) and approach to life all because I dared to support the COVID-19 vaccines. I should be fearful of pissing off people like him.
Yes, these are all things I have convinced myself of over the years as my writing became rarer, as blank journals stacked up, as keys stopped clacking. But no more. I will believe the first set of lies that, even if they do not come true, at least I will be a better person for having lived like they are truths.
The fear bit, well, I do believe the more I do this the more it will dissolve away. But I must be prepared for it to always be there and to always put pen to paper alongside a well of dread.
“The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” – George Orwell, 1984
In the aftermath of ICE murdering a woman in Minneapolis today, this quote from Orwell’s classic filled up social media feeds, and rightfully so. Like many people, I have seen all the presently available videos of this incident multiple times. From every angle, the woman driving the car, Renee Nicole Good, 37, steers her Honda Pilot away from the officer (a stretch to call him that), to the right, to be precise. If she had decided to weaponize her car, like Kristi Noem and POTUS, implied she had, she would have swerved left or, at any point yesterday, attempted to drive over an officer.
Multiple outlets have taken ICE and POTUS at their word, reporting that the ICE officer who fired a shot into Good’s head was injured during the incident. I keep looking at the video, trying to figure out where this poor guy was injured. It looks like it could have been a hand dinged by the quarter panel or side mirror or a foot run over as she turned away from him. Either way, it is impossible to imagine a scenario in which this agent feared for his life or thought that a kill shot was necessary.
When I hear about an officer involved shooting, I actually give the officer the benefit of the doubt, waiting for a video of the incident to be released. What you frequently see in those videos is a person running at police (sometimes with a weapon, sometimes without), or they’re reaching into their car after being told to present their hands, or they’re reaching into a coat pocket or some other area where a weapon could be stored, or they’re resisting arrest by wrestling with an officer. More often than not, the person in question is doing something that, in the far reaches of an officer’s imagination or perspective, can be interpreted as life-threatening or dangerous. I’m trying to let my imagination run wild here, but I’m failing, I did not see that in Minneapolis. I see an officer clear enough of the car to have both hands on the gun and fire through the windshield once and into the driver’s side window another time. I see a potential injury no worse than getting hit point blank with a Nerf dart from one of my son’s toys. After all, the officer who murdered Good, felt fine enough to jog down to Good’s car, after she had crashed, to “check” on her.
This incident, and the administration’s attempt at telling you that your own eyes and ears are lying to you, comes right in the wake of them telling you that something you watched on live television on January 6, 2021, was a peaceful demonstration and perfectly okay to do, apparently. I mean, check out this official White House site about January 6, 2021. It’s absolutely bonkers. Orwell himself would be floored by the propaganda.
I leave you with another Orwell quote, highlighting the difficulty of facing obvious truths and facts in the face of government and political subterfuge:
“To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.”
Here is a shorter summary of just some of what this family did in 2025!
January – Love a good run on the first day of the year. A clean slate. Everything back to zero. All things feel new, even though a lot of them aren’t. London turned 11 and made her own Barbie cake! I did not do dry January!
February – I turned 42. We entered the air fryer game. Should have done that sooner. I rented a storage unit for decluttering our house and prepping it for going on the market. My mom and I get drinks at Traveling Mercies, an excellent bar at Stanley Marketplace. Girls trip to Omaha. Guys trip to Steamboat. Guys win.
March – March 6th, the house is listed. The sight of the sign puts a pit in my stomach. London completes her last ABA session. It’s the right time, I think. But at the same time, I feel scared of what life will look like without any of those sessions. The obligatory Great Wolf Lodge trip is scratched off the list. Camden had never been. We did it once for him and won’t go back.
April – The house goes under contract. Meanwhile, we look all over SE Aurora and Centennial, even Parker, for homes, but go under contract only once, breaking contract the next day. We offer $5k over asking on one house and lose to an offer $50k over asking. I take pictures of our pristine house before serious packing up begins. I get tremendously sad about that.
June – London finished elementary school. We moved from one rental in Denver to my parents’ house in Fort Collins, where, surprise, we started looking at homes, hoping to find and close on one by the end of summer. The day before we leave for a California road trip our parked cars are slammed into by a 16-yr-old driver out at 12:30am for “snacks.” My car is later totaled. The minivan is good and we drove it the next day. It was 107 degrees in Las Vegas when we arrived and I valeted the minivan next to Lambos and Ferraris at Mandalay Bay, not joking. There were lots of pools at the hotel, but with people packed into them like sardines. The night walk along the strip was memorable and worth doing one time, but we passed on the $16 coffee in our hotel room, the minimum $150 spend per diner at the steakhouse, and Camden laughed at the thong-clad dancers strolling the street who asked him if he wanted a photo with them.
July – On to LA, which was much cooler and enjoyable. Stayed with good friends. Swam in their pool, not packed with people. Went on to Oceanside and met Kate’s family there. We did it, we went to Disneyland for the day. A team of cast members had to stuff me into Space Mountain so I could join the rest of the family on the rollercoaster. I was taller than the Chewbacca in the Star Wars area and London got to meet Rapunzel. London was overjoyed. We grilled Cardiff Crack, the best. Back in Fort Collins, we took possession of our new home on Kate’s birthday, but didn’t spend the night for a few more nights. We attended the wedding of good friends in Monument.
August – Unpacking really got under way. The kids started school August 13th and 14th, insanely early. Their first 7 days of school were half days because it was so hot and not every school here has AC. They are attending schools I went to while I lived in Fort Collins from 1991-1999. Casa Bonita and Water World trip with the best people. The Casa really is a fun place! London starts cross country. So proud of her!
September – After I rent a U-Haul in Denver and load up all our things from the storage unit and unload all the things at the house, all of our belongings are under one roof for the first time since February. Both cars in the garage on September 25th. A big day. We meet more neighbors here in less than two months than we did in over ten years at our last house. People in FoCo are more open to talking. They’re friendlier than your average Denverite. The USAF Thunderbirds put on a show here and practice right over the house a couple times.
October – We took a much-needed mountain weekend trip with my parents at the YMCA of the Rockies. The weather and views were perfect. My kids love the outdoors and the mountains. My parents played a role in that and I am forever thankful for it. Camden turned 8! We threw one of those big birthday parties with pizza, cake, snacks, and games. That’s not much fun at all, but Camden loved it!
November – A late fall trip to Steamboat, where it is in the 50s. I swim outdoors. I dig out our Christmas decorations from a crawlspace, which is primarily filled with Christmas decorations. I run my first Turkey Trot in Fort Collins. It’s a big race and I am happy with my time. We see the northern lights for the first time in all of our lives.
December – I always love this month. Christmas decorations and lights are up before the month starts. London and Camden both have Christmas concerts. London still wants to visit with Santa at the Gardens on Spring Creek. We attend several excellent Christmas parties and get some time in Denver on a 60 degree day. There’s an early Christmas celebration with my parents before we travel to Omaha for a week. Omaha is mild. I manage to get in 22 miles of running while we are there. We go to Top Golf, the only place I enjoy golf. My father-in-law turns 70. We party like he’s 30. We tell the kids we are going to London this summer. They freak. We come back to Fort Collins and ring in 2026 with dear friends, good drinks, homemade pizzas (one of which I dropped on the kitchen floor), and the kids stay up until midnight for the first time. We all sleep in, sort of, like just to 7:30. That’s late for us.
How do you sum up a year? I have in the past, written blog posts under the title “The Year in Review,” or something along those lines. I started writing such a thing a couple days ago and I finished today, but it’s too long. I post the whole review and not many people are going to make it to the end. I’ll boil that down to the bones and post that later. But for now, I’ll leave you with my thoughts on May 2025. It was a big year for my family and May was the hardest, busiest, and most emotional month in a year of busy and emotional months.
May 2025 In Review
We sold our house on 5th Avenue this month. The buyers, inexplicably, wanted us to take apart a floating deck we built in between our house and our neighbor’s house to the west. My parents and Kate’s dad were there to help dismantle the deck. We enjoyed our small, but perfect backyard on that wonderful spring evening. We found a home to live in for a few weeks until the kids finish school. It’s in the same neighborhood, within walking distance of our beloved 5th Ave house.
The PODS arrived May 13th, 3 of them. They’re filled on the 14th, to the ceiling. The next day they are taken away and the house is cleaned for eleven hours, luckily, not by me. I take videos of the empty house and record voice memos of what I remember from every room, hallway, closet, and door, crying or fighting back tears in each one.
My last moment in the house is the morning we close. The kids are at school. Kate is at work. I touch the walls in the living room. I pat them. I run my hands across their textured surface. I hug them. I say goodbye to the house like an old friend, a friend of eleven years, eleven of the toughest, eleven of the best. I laugh at myself as I speak to the house and whisper into its walls, telling it to be as nice to the next family as it was to ours, telling it to be a good friend to them.
From the front door, I take one last look about ten times. The house is open concept and has a relatively small first floor so with a glance I see the dining room, kitchen, and living room. I could have stood there for the rest of the day cycling through memories from every corner of those rooms, but it was time to close that door one last time.
At the bottom of the stairs, standing on the sidewalk, I felt so lonely, like I had truly lost a friend. I called Kate and let all the emotions out. I had a mix of feelings: gratitude for this structure I just stepped out of for the last time, a sense of mourning our Denver lives, and a greater sense of fear, not knowing where we would live next, and second-guessing our decision to move at all.
But the day did not allow for much contemplation. I had to unpack and continue our sort of move-in at the temporary house. I had elementary field days to attend. I had a half marathon to run in Steamboat Springs. (Note to self: never train for a race and move at the same time ever again.)
I am grateful for the busyness of the days following our 5th Ave close. They did not allow for me to further mourn or worry about what was next. We just had to continue life as usual in Denver, just with a different place to come back to at the end of those hectic days.
the FoCo dad 