"I" is for Impostor

I've been sitting on a few articles for quite a while. Some, I think, are important and others, well, I just want to put them out there, eventually. Sometimes I get a little sign that says, “It's time.”

When the notification popped up in my feed that Cendrine's interview with me had been published, I decided it was time to wrap up this one. It's about my Vocal profile photo.

That's not me.

Well, it's me, but only on the inside. That exterior has faded slowly away and was gradually replaced by an old guy. And considering the alternative, I'm glad. Even with less hair and everything that's left turned white. A bit more breadth to the nose. A little wirier texture in the beard. I'll take it, and wear it proudly – trust me, I've earned it.

So why hide behind this old profile photo? I'm not hiding. I think there are enough recent photos of me out there, although I've always hated being on that side of the lens. Connect with me on social media and you'll find them soon enough. Meanwhile, the one at the top of the interview article is much closer.

So why the apparent subterfuge? Part of the answer is in the profile photo. If you can look look closely enough, you'll see a tiny, gold pin attached to the crown of my hat. You might have to view my profile page to see it, because the V+ icon covers it elsewhere. That pin is important, and so is the photo.

Some of you may know that, about a hundred years ago, I ran an IRC channel. For those who don't know, that stands for “Internet Relay Chat.” It's how we communicated with other people all over the world in real time, prior to Myspace, Facebook and so on. Imagine Discord with no embellishments and you'll have a pretty good idea.

I won't go into how all of that evolved or how I was convinced to create my channel, or the software we used, or any of that, because it isn't important to the story. If you're curious, ask me and I'll talk your ear off about it. My “nick”, a.k.a. IRC ID was DocCee, pronounced, “doc-see,” representing my actual nickname and my last initial.

Fun fact: That “nick” often made other IRC'ers think I was a dachshund owner, and while I'm not opposed to weenie dogs, I did get tired of explaining that I couldn't answer questions about them. Nevertheless, the handle has stayed attached and I still use it for some email addresses and the like.

Back to the story. I named the channel ~almost_normal, and before I knew it, it was full of people, from everywhere, in a wide range of ages. I recruited some of those people as admins and moderators. One of those admins, a cocky, young guy, taught me how to write Perl code, and I created my own channel bot. (That cocky kid went on to work “on the hill” in D.C. as an anti-hacker hacker.)

Another of my admins was a woman in New Zealand. She was never willing to discuss her age, although she made it clear that she was a happily married woman, so she'd rather not be “chatted up.” She quickly earned the title of “IRC Goddess,” a good-natured jab at her very proper demeanor, which was, of course, partly due to the British influence in NZ.

One of the features of IRC was the ability to open direct, private chats with groups or individuals and I always had one open for my admins. They all had access to my bot's commands and carte blanche to kick, ban, silence, etc. in order to keep the channel a fun and friendly place. I got to know those people well.

This would probably be a good time to mention that I was married to my second ex-wife, Janie at the time. The lady from NZ's name is Pam, but she's not MY Pam. This isn't one of “those” stories. Janie participated in the chats, and knew all of the channel members.

So, back to the story. We got to know “Linzi,” as our Goddess had dubbed herself, well and thoroughly enjoyed our chats with her. She was quite a few years older than us, her name was Pam, and she lived with her husband in a cozy cottage in the town of Dundedin. She was a professional photographer and her work was amazing. She also wanted a website and to learn how to build and maintain it herself. I had been building websites for some time and had recently started my own hosting service.

I taught her to write basic HTML, optimize images, etc. and gave her a free account on my hosting server with a .nz domain. She sent me beautiful photos of New Zealand and talked her NZ Photographer's group on Yahoo Messenger into letting me join. I was suddenly entering friendly, themed photo competitions twice a month, with incredible photographers who tore my photos apart each time, as critiquing the images was part of point of the competition. I absolutely loved it and grew as a photographer and as a person. I was bowled over when after months of learning, I won a competition, and my Kiwi friends were praising me as if I had been one of their own all along.

I got to know her husband, John, via relayed conversations, as he had no interest in any of “that internet stuff.” He was a government-employed lifeguard and like most of the working men in Dunedin, enjoyed a pint with his friends in the local pub a few times a week. He and Pam loved to travel, especially to “The States” and were planning a trip to Los Angeles. Pam talked him into a week-long side trip to Casper, Wyoming, to meet us.

Janie and I had a full basement apartment with its own kitchen and bath, so there was no need for them to worry about lodging. I have never had such wonderful house guests. Pam insisted on preparing a traditional leg of lamb for one dinner, complete with mint sauce and roast parsnips. We reciprocated with Janie's chicken and dumplings and my grilled burgers, smoked sausage and steaks.

John got to sample some of Wyoming's finest microbrewed beers, which was one of the highlights of the visit for everyone. Beer in NZ pubs was 3.2 percent alcohol max, which meant you could still walk home after a few pints. Microbrews in Wyoming ranged from 6 to 12 percent alcohol. John slept well that night.

During that week, Pam offered to take a photo for my Yahoo profile, and as it happened, we lived right across the street from the oldest and largest park in Casper. She mentioned that I needed to have something from NZ in the photo and presented me with a little gold kiwi pin that promptly went on my hat. We crossed the street, and my profile photo was the result.

The “fee” for that photo was a promise to reciprocate with a visit to New Zealand. As a celebrated photographer, Pam had access to all the castles and other tourist attractions. John could get us onto the private beaches. Pam's dad had been a fly fishing guide, so she knew all the “good spots.” They had a guest room. It was the perfect vacation.

Or it would have been. As I'm sure many readers have already guessed, it never happened.

Life happened. I'm not going to go into all the gory details, because this is already a long read. Here are the key events: Janie and I separated and divorced. MY Pam came into my life. John became ill and was eventually diagnosed with a rare lung disease that would lead to his slow, painful demise. Soon after, Pam (Linzi) would involuntarily become a ward of the state and be moved from her home to an apartment in a complex. She became disabled, and after hip surgery, would go home with a state-assigned caregiver. She developed an infection from the surgery. Her mental and physical state declined quickly. I received notification of her passing from her family.

All of this occurred over a period of several years. During that time, the invitation to visit became a plea and that eventually became a lost cause. Regardless of the reasons, which were valid enough, based on air fares, time constraints, and our own various issues, I don't see myself ever getting over the guilt.

So, am I using that profile photo on all of my social media out of guilt? Not exactly. I've kept it there as a reminder of a simple, hard truth: It's never too late – until it is. It's my motivational mantra. It's a major factor in the decision to – finally – return to Wyoming next year, come hell or high water. I'd like to say that it's the reason Pam and I will be visiting New Zealand, but I can't, yet.

Now that those of you have stuck with me this far know why it's there, it's time to say I'll probably be retiring this profile photo soon, at least on Vocal. I know that Pam would understand that, although that photo is cherished, it feels somewhat spurious to use it here, and I just made a statement about being authentic in the interview.

I still wear the hat when I'm fishing. It has shrunk from too many dunks, deliberate and otherwise, in a multitude of waters. The band weathered and broke long ago and my wife crocheted me a new one. The kiwi pin is safely tucked away at home to prevent its loss.

It's time to start representing myself as the old codger on the outside, who sometimes writes as the guy in that photo, or many of the far younger Danas, Docs, Dales and “Nanky-Poos” (Don't ask.) on the inside. The old guy that hopes to leave something of value with the only medium left, before it's too late.

As always, thanks for reading! If you'd like to delve into more, you'll find all of my past rambings on Vocal on my profile: