06 Albatross

I've lived in Palouse Washington for 20 years now. Here's how I arrived here. When Ruth Ann and I separated in the Fall of 1988 (Logan, UT), I went to Salt Lake City in November under the guise of finding marketing work. But I didn't have the capacity and mostly it was a time of depression, some healing, and just waiting out a very hard, bitter winter. In May, I headed north toward the 10 acres of land Grandma Teare gave me when I was a teenager.

When I arrived in Idaho, I was homeless and broke and lived out of my wrecked van. I stored a bunch of my stuff in the cabin that Brad (my brother) and Joe Hebert built on the land when he was 18. Later, Brad admitted this squatting was an act of defiance to some degree like a dog marking his territory. It made it so I could never sell the land. When the cabin burned down in 199X, I finally sold it for various reasons. Mainly, it had become an albatross around my neck. Converting it to cash solved many problems.

05 Sweet Spot

Much of my life has been devoted on how to find shortcuts, workarounds, solve unsolvable puzzles, and basically “cheat” my way ahead of the herd. Like keeping costs low without looking cheap --a fine line to walk. Smart people always feel they are cheating since they don't do things the conventional way, therefore, it must be “cheating.” A mental trap. What seems obvious to the gifted is unnoticed by the ordinary. “Heightened awareness of possibilities” might be a better label.

Improvisation is an important part of my “cheating” process. You must do things differently and actually analyze what is the minimum necessary and what is not useful at all. Where is the “sweet spot?” What is the risk? “Stop doing a thing” is sometimes more important than doing the wrong thing over and over. I hate waste. 

Yet, I've been wasteful at times chasing manic butterflies. Lots of remorse about these failed experiments. Such is life. Fortunately, most people have forgiven me or forgotten the failure because I'm successful and grow more than I've lost. And, I don't preach failure as a good path. I change instead. This I think would be a form of wisdom. Learning from stupidity, I stay ahead of the game. But losses haunt me frequently. I fear losses. And when they happen, I personally torture myself for them more than anyone. Shall I blame my parents? No. I'm a grown man. This is obviously something I choose to do for some inbred compulsive reason: the drive to create.

04 Freedom

My first taste of freedom was in high school with “The Band.” This provided me money and I had a car and a girlfriend and a studio. I was also a zealous stake missionary (we were in the Wichita Kansas Stake.) This time period changed my life. I saw there was another life that was not the mainstream 8-to-5 workday like my father lived. He wanted me to become a scientist like him. And I might have made a good scientist but after tasting the band experience, I always wanted to recreate it. And, of course, never have. It was like a Disney fantasy that could never be duplicated in adult reality. There were some close moments but never the same feeling of being free, appreciated and in control.

Freedom to create and innovate have become some of my recognized core values. These are great motivators since I'm an idealist at heart.

03 Success vs. Fun

My parents could have both benefited from therapy. But that is their story, let's just say as the first born I caught the brunt of their illnesses and sicko behaviors. My mother can only be described as having an “emotionally incestuous relationship” with me from my birth. One that caused suffering most of my life. I'm still trying to shake her. In my teenage-years my father, confessed to me how jealous he was of me when I was an infant. And, all I ever did was be “born.” Too weird. It has come to light that my mother fawned over me and neglected my younger brother, Brad. He and I have discussed the “Invisible Second Son” syndrome and all the evidence is there. I am sad Brad suffered that. He blamed me for many years but eventually saw it was my father and mothers choice in the situation. My parents wanted to live some kind of vicarious “success” through my life and were coercive and critical. It was “real” fun.

02 Birthday Suit

I kept a journal for much of my life but discontinued after my divorce and instead wrote poetry and stories for about 3 years. When I married Terrie, I never took it back up. I suppose life became too busy and full again for pensive writing.

I've recognized I can't live on Earth forever and my health is not good. So I thought it time to leave some kind of message to my children and grandchildren. There are 8 children.

Nathan, Derek, Lilli, Tyler, Daniel, Brody, Karra, and Levi.

I was born on Friday the 13^th in Columbia, South Carolina in an Army hospital. My mom and dad stayed there just long enough for me to get born (weeks) and then headed out for Idaho by car. My Mom, Claudia Joy Patterson had married my Dad, Iwan Dale Teare about a year before that. Their first fight was on their wedding night. Their marriage was always bumpy at best and torment at worst. Dad was a scientist and Mom was dumb as a post. Or at least, she pretended that persona. I always thought she was brilliant at knowing exactly when to say the wrong thing to my dad at exactly the wrong time. He would go ballistic. Lots of argument and fighting. Both being emotional cripples (aka losers), they were psychologically abusive of each other and just a little warped --a true parasitic relationship. So I came by my weirdness genetically. It was August 1954, the year before the peak of the baby boom. Eisenhower was President and America was as prosperous and productive as could be.

01 Manxman

My father and the IRS call me, “Steven.” My name is Steven Mylrea Teare. My friends call me, “Steve.” But the title I like most is probably, “Dad” or “Grandad.”

Mylrea and Teare are Manx names from the Isle of Man. Mylrea was my Grandfather's first name and his mothers last name. My Great-grandfather Philip Teare immigrated to the United States and homesteaded in the Idaho panhandle on a farm between Moscow and Troy Idaho. That place is on Teare Road. It's gone now. But the Teare farm was owned by my Dad and his Sister Margret. They sold it last year (2011).

Phillip Teare died in Medical Lake Sanitarium. I suspect from exhaustion and mania. Perhaps I'll tell more of that story later. It's a sad one.

I'm 58 as of last August. It seems my life has been long (even too long) and full of adventure –to me anyway. Many trials and many struggles but also times of achievement, repentance, and joy.