So while cleaning up stuff I leave lying around the house recently, my old lady my lovely wife, the Middle-Aged Woman, came across an antique Father's Day card that the Boy (at the time of the card's creation not yet twelve years old) made for me.
Ah, yes! There's nothing quite like the lechery of an eleven-year-old...
I find the old card on my desk the other morning - where she's left it to pique my interest. And when she sees me, the first words out of her mouth are:
"So, did you see that Father's Day card I found? 'Cause if you're not going to blog about it, I AM."
[Don't worry - if you click on the picture, you can see it nice and big.]
Right - like she doesn't have enough time and material to blog about her own stuff without ripping me off!
So I promised myself that I wouldn't do any blogging until all my employees year-end reviews are done (which they are not). But threatened with the treacherous wench's this blackmail, I have relented momentarily.
Let's hope nothing else good blog-worthy happens until my reviews are done.
[I am reposting this in honor of The Boy's 18th (this past Sunday) and The Girl's 20th (today) birthdays. I haven't figured out any better way to say it since June - so sue me.]
Yesterday was The Boy's graduation party. I took the day off on Friday to relax and work on party preparation; so my son and I were home together for most of the day. In the early part of the afternoon, we had a conversation (OK, it's true - I did most of the talking) and I told The Boy this:
When I was growing up - a teenager like The Boy is now, and even earlier - I wanted to be rich and famous. I figured that I would be an actor, an author, a singer/songwriter - or at least a disc jockey (I assumed ascending to that low rung of the celebrity ladder would be the worst I could do!). I would make my way in the world with my creativity - and people would know my name.
But I also wanted marriage and a family. I didn't think of these desires for fame and starting a family as being at cross purposes - but, of course, they are. And as I matured, it became an easy decision to set aside my dreams of glory in order to give my best to the reality of my wife and children. I didn't view it as a sacrifice. Just a decision - that what was most important in my life was the people I loved, the people around me - not the opportunity to be loved anonymously by the thousands (or the millions) I would never know.
Out of that decision, of course, many more arose. Some out of practical necessity, others of opportunity, others of convenience or habit. How could I best provide for my family? What sort of work could I do that would suit my personal preferences while being lucrative enough, stable enough to plan for the future. Who would hire me? How could I best ensure a steady stream of income for myself and my family?
And in this process, I began to learn my lines as husband and father, I composed emails rather than songs, wrote project plans instead of story outlines, did my DJ-ing by creating mix tapes rather than spinning records during the afternoon drive-time shift. These were not sacrifices - I made decisions based on what was most important to me.
The reward for my decisions is greater, I believe, than any film I might have made, or book that I might have written, or album that I might have released. My children are my masterpieces.
They are bright and beautiful and loving. They're not perfect - they're still works in progress - but they are good. And even God herself, when She created the world, didn't claim much more than that.
When I compare myself at seventeen to my son, he seems quite young. Much younger than I was at that age. I think my children have been blessed to be able BE KIDS for longer than seems the norm these days. And I'm grateful for that. I told The Boy that he might not appreciate that fact now - but later in life, he may better understand and appreciate it.
I wanted my son (and my daughter) to know all that. The Boy's graduation from high school is like a sign post on The Highway; my children's lives have moved into a new construction zone. Most (if not all) of the basic work is complete. The road has been paved, the cement is nearly dry. There may be occasional lane closures from time to time for repair - but my work on the project is all but over.
Oh, I may be able to offer a suggestion on where to place the street lights - or establishing the speed limit...if I'm asked. But I'll try not to feel badly if I'm not consulted. I know there will be times when my input will not be desired - or needed. If I've done my work well, they won't need me much anyway - and they'll know when they do - and they won't be afraid to ask.
Anyway, that's what I shared with The Boy on Friday. Where the road goes from here is mostly up to him. I told my son that I didn't think he ought to do (or not do) things in his life to make his parents proud of him. Making a parent proud seems to me to be an undue burden to place on a child. I told him he should find out what makes him happy, what will allow him to be self-sufficient, how he can be a responsible member of the community in which he lives - and do those things.
That would be more than enough, I think, to make any parent proud. Don't you?
- I don't get why I'm having what amounts to a writer's block whenever I sit down to write a post here lately. I don't seem to have any problem writing in general - I just seem to have a problem writing what's on my mind.
- Maybe it's time for me to work on that post idea I've had lying around for awhile - tentatively titled "The limitations of transparency" - about the decisions we all make concerning how much we want to reveal of ourselves. Not just on blogs, in life! And do the boundaries we establish make us dishonest in our dealings with other people? When does choosing not reveal something about yourself become dishonesty? (I get a few more good ideas together on that one and I'll have a new "Meaning Of Life" post...)
- This weekend, I edited down about the first half-hour of what I expect to be a great new instructional video on Chi Sao demonstrated by my good friend and teacher, Sibok Rocco Ambrose. If you live in the metropolitan Detroit area and are interested in the finest training in self-defense and martial arts around, for yourself or your children, you need to check out Ambrose Academy.
- Later this month, The Girl and The Boy will celebrate their 20th and 18th birthdays, respectively. Good God, I am old.
- So Pamela (from the dayton time) emails me today. She started reading Life of Pi on Friday - and finished the d*mn book in a day. Who the h*ll has time to read a whole 400-page book in ONE DAY? Doesn't she realize the kind of pressure that puts on me?!?! (Pamela, it's just a joke, sweetie. I don't want to cause trouble again just because I don't know how to write stuff so that it's funny...)
- I don't feel old.
- Did I mention that it's really cool when your kids get older and they're not home all the time and you don't have to wait until they're asleep to have sex?
- I'm not advocating that anyone has to wait until their kids are asleep to have sex (but that is pretty much how the Middle-Aged Woman rolls, if you know what mean). But when one of the parties whose cooperation is essential in these pursuits generally has difficulty staying up much beyond 9 pm... I'm just sayin' - absence makes the heart grow fonder.
- Other things may grow as well.
- Have you ever noticed how underused the word "engorged" is?
- Since becoming a freelance writer, the Middle-Aged Woman has been making a lunch for me to take to work every day and preparing many fine evening meals. Tonight, she had a little mishap with some pork chops (I'm not a big pork chop fan anyway - she likes them though) - and so I had to leap into the breach and salvage dinner tonight. And, though I don't like to brag, I think it's fair to say - that I buy make a mean Crispy Strip**.
Bon appétit!
Take care.
PS: Did I mention that you are supposed to visit Keely at the Un-Mom immediately.
If not sooner.
* Apologies to Sir Walter Scott. ** "Crispy Strip" is a registered trademark of Kentucky Fried Chicken.
The Middle-Aged Woman and I arrived home from Petoskey, MI on Friday night after a wonderful week there with Leslie and Larry - celebrating Independence Day, golfing, eating, talking, shopping. Mostly relaxing. MAW took the pictures - so check her blog for the visuals.
Today, I return to work and the normal routine, well-rested and ready-to-go. As soon as I'm done typing, I'm going to get in some exercise time to start the work week right. But first, a few random updates from the weekend.
- It was great to get back to martial arts class on Saturday morning. It felt good just to sweat (profusely), to see good friends I had missed, and have a leisurely lunch afterward.
- The opening performance of the Macbeth farce at the Motor City Youth Theater Saturday night was nerve-racking (for me - because I had missed the last week of rehearsal) but turned out well. Two good friends came for the show and were able to hang out afterward and visit with the MAW and me. It was nice.
- The weather was so nice Sunday, I asked The Boy if he wanted to go golfing. Although we golfed at the Twilight rate (which allows you to play as many holes as you want while the sun still shines), he wanted to stop after 11 holes. A surprise - but I don't think he was having fun (despite parring the last hole).
- Watched Vicky Christina Barcelona last night. It has its moments - but the whole thing doesn't really go anywhere, does it?
I plan to return to regular posting now that vacation time is over. Hope I've got something interesting to say.
Here's some stuff I found in my Franklin Planner from 1996. To provide some content (which, of course, should be unnecessary for a bunch of random sh*t - but I'm going to do it anyway):
The Middle-Aged Woman and I had been married for ten years.
The Girl was 6 years old; The Boy, 4 - he started pre-school on January 9
I had worked for the Internal Revenue Service for nearly 13 years - and didn't know that I would be changing jobs before the end of the year.
That's enough d*mn context...
Jan. 4:
MAW put The Boy is his room for misbehaving. Entering his room to serve penance, he yelled out, trying to summon venom in his high-pitched four-year-old voice, the worst epithet he could muster -
"YA BIG BUTT!!"
and slammed the bedroom door. [We still laugh regularly about that incident.]
Jan. 11:
I figure there are two kinds of talkative people: the kind where a quieter person thinks "I wish I had said that" - and the kind where a quieter person thinks "I wish he'd SHUT UP!"
You want to be the former.
March 10:
If something is "good" only because it is new, then it will likely only be good while it is new.
March 26:
If a person is not willing to do something, then it doesn't much matter whether they are able to do that thing. You must be willing to act.
May 9:
A candidate for "The Biggest Lie You Can Tell Yourself"- Nothing I do will make a difference, will make things better.
June 5: (Editor's note - I titled this one, "Useless Thought")
All of the reasons a woman can give for not having sex boil down to the same reason - she didn't want to.
July 7:
Today, The Boy road his bike without training wheels for the first time. It finally shamed The Girl into trying.
August 13:
While donating blood today, the volunteers told me that my blood is so "clean", it can be given to infants during surgery.
Sept. 6: (Editor's note - I titled this one, "A Warning")
You don't have to "try to be" what you ARE.
[For example: "I wasn't trying to be [insert quality here]." Mean, silly, good ]
What you ARE always becomes APPARENT.
Oct. 29: Eleven days after his fifth birthday, The Boy ran into the corner of a half-wall in the hallway of our house. Before he could become aware of the damage done to himself, I got a towel on The Boy's head to hide, if not stop, the bleeding. I sternly instructed The Girl to not give any impression to The Boy how badly he might be hurt* and we were off to the Emergency Room. The Boy ended up needing 4 stitches to close up the wound in his scalp. When he hair is cut short, you can still see the scar. Both The Girl and The Boy acquitted themselves admirably in this episode.
Nov. 29: My last day working for the Internal Revenue Service.
Dec. 2: My first day working for Perot Systems (my current employer)
Dec. 22:
"Daddy, why are you naked?" - a question posed by the The Girl at 7:55 am on Sunday morning. (Editor's note: I wish I could provide some context here - but I got nothing. Maybe she walked in on the MAW and me...)
PS: And since we're talking about nudity - and I've previously mentioned my statistical tracking of sexual activity in my Franklin Planner during certain periods of my marriage - I noticed a DRAMATIC increase in activity around the time of my career change. Hey - maybe I've been going about this all WRONG...
Hope you found this "Blast from the Past" interesting.
The day actually began on the way home from Music Night - the Middle-Aged Woman and I didn't get home until about 1 AM. Once home, I finished writing my Father's Day post about/to my Dad. Then I went to bed for a while.
Before leaving for church this morning, I remoted to my Dad's computer (I use the tool available at www.logmein.com) and left him an initial Father's Day greeting (which directed him to check out my blog post). I went to church alone (as usual), got my car washed afterward and headed home. At home, I recorded the audio accompaniment to Sunday's post.
[From the Editor: I must disgress for a moment here to ask some questions concerning THE AUDIO PORTION OF OUR PROGRAM - Does anybody listen to the posts? Or all you all just reading them? If you do like to listen to the posts, do you listen as you read - or primarily do only one or the other?
Did anyone not realize that I provide spoken versions of most posts? [The tool from Box.net that loads at the top of the page allows you to click on the MP3 filenames to listen.] Now that you know, do you think that you'll bother to listen?
I beg you - please let me know whether you find the audio posts cool or useless. They are enough work that - I need to know whether people feel they add something to the site - so I can summon the energy to keep making them available. And now, we return you to your regularly scheduled rant...]
At this point, it was around 2 PM and, having skipped breakfast, I was getting hungry. Snoplum had recently gotten out of the shower and asked if I could wait for her to finish getting beautiful (which she already was completely - but I told her I'd wait anyway). She chose that moment to present me with a few Father's Day gifts:
Thomas Keneally's Searching for Schindler (a memoir from 2007), the 20th Anniversary DVD of Terry Gilliam's The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (this and The Fisher King are my favorite Gilliam films), and the 20th Anniversary DVD of The Times of Harvey Milk (which won the Oscar for Best Documentary Feature in 1984; Gus Van Sant's latest film, Milk, with Sean Penn owes a great debt to this earlier documentary film). Did I mention that my wife has extremely good taste (and knows how to easily access my Wish List at Amazon).
She also gave me a wonderful Father's Day kiss - at which point I may have mentioned that I had a little something for her as well. This part of the day is a little fuzzy for me now; I must have blacked out due to lack of blood flow to the brain. Anyway, one thing lead to another, and the next thing I remember, I was getting dressed so we could get some lunch. The MAW and I had a fine meal at Panera and I called my Dad to wish him a Happy Father's Day when we returned home.
The kids got home later in the afternoon (The Girl, from work; The Boy, from visiting a friend) and presented me with a great card and some additional loot (golf balls and tees - which will come in handy beginning next week). We all went to dinner together and then saw the latest Pixar film, Up (which is very much worth seeing). We even picked up some donuts on the way home as a Father's Day dessert. It had been a while since we had spent that much time all together - and enjoyed each other's company with no bits of bickering or human drama.
It was really nice. I'll take another day just like that one anytime.
If I didn't know any better, I would think that my father was never a child. To the best of my recollection, I've never seen a picture of my father as a child. I do have a photo of my Dad dancing with my mother around 1960 - before they were married. My Dad was 16 at the time the picture was taken - but he's turned away from the camera. So I didn't include the photo below.
I have been told that the picture to the right was taken on my father's birthday in 1963 - so this shows my Dad a little over four months before my birth. He was 19 - but with that baby-face, I think he looks even younger.
At this point in his life, my Dad was trying different jobs (working in a factory briefly, running a pizza parlor) trying to acquire the means for he and my mom to live independently. You see, I am the oldest child in my family. My parents were married in November and I was born in June (not prematurely) - you do the math.
My father and I have never discussed how the unplanned nature of my arrival on earth affected his young life - but it must have been difficult at the time.
The next two pictures were taken about 10 years apart. At left, my Dad is pictured with my sister, Wendy (the older of my two sisters) circa 1968. On the right, my Dad is pictured in the late 70's - at the time, he was still younger than I am now. Both of pictures were cropped from larger family photos - and when I look at them, I remember that by late 1970, my Mom and Dad had four children. My Dad was 26; the same age I was when the Middle-Aged Woman and I had our first child.
By the time of the later photograph, my Dad was working for Montgomery Ward, a company that he would serve for 25 years before leaving to pursue other lucrative opportunities (getting out before Wards went belly up). My Dad worked his way up from salesman, to department manager, store manager, and regional manager. And he did quite a bit of travelling for business as his responsibilities at Wards increased.
In the early 80's, while I was living on-campus at the University of Detroit, the rest of my family moved to the Chicago area where Wards was headquartered. After leaving Wards, my Dad moved to Maryland, then Ohio as the result of job changes. Earlier this year, he retired - and I am looking forward to seeing him more frequently and getting in more rounds of golf with my Dad than in times past.
The last picture I will include today is from about 10 years ago. The MAW, my Dad, and I took The Girl and The Boy to a cider mill to see the animals, drink apple cider, and eat a donut or two. It was pretty darn cold that day - but we all had a fine time.
My Dad is a gentle soul. Although he can clearly be difficult to live with (he and my mother separated in the late 80's - around the time The Girl was born; but did not divorce for another ten years!) - my experience of my Dad is that he is a warm, easy-going and articulate fellow.
For years, my father smoked too much and weighed too much. He still does. I don't harp on him about it anymore - because I don't expect him to change. But I hope he will prove me wrong. The point is: I long ago accepted the fact that, given his habits, my Dad could die of a massive heart attack at almost any time. So I don't pass up an opportunity to hug or kiss my Dad and tell him I love him.
Writing all this down is one way of doing that long-distance. But I'll give him a call too. Just so I can say:
Yesterday was The Boy's graduation party. I took the day off on Friday to relax and work on party preparation; so my son and I were home together for most of the day. In the early part of the afternoon, we had a conversation (OK, it's true - I did most of the talking) and I told The Boy this:
When I was growing up - a teenager like The Boy is now, and even earlier - I wanted to be rich and famous. I figured that I would be an actor, an author, a singer/songwriter - or at least a disc jockey (I assumed ascending to that low rung of the celebrity ladder would be the worst I could do!). I would make my way in the world with my creativity - and people would know my name.
But I also wanted marriage and a family. I didn't think of these desires for fame and starting a family as being at cross purposes - but, of course, they are. And as I matured, it became an easy decision to set aside my dreams of glory in order to give my best to the reality of my wife and children. I didn't view it as a sacrifice. Just a decision - that what was most important in my life was the people I loved, the people around me - not the opportunity to be loved anonymously by the thousands (or the millions) I would never know.
Out of that decision, of course, many more arose. Some out of practical necessity, others of opportunity, others of convenience or habit. How could I best provide for my family? What sort of work could I do that would suit my personal preferences while being lucrative enough, stable enough to plan for the future. Who would hire me? How could I best ensure a steady stream of income for myself and my family?
And in this process, I began to learn my lines as husband and father, I composed emails rather than songs, wrote project plans instead of story outlines, did my DJ-ing by creating mix tapes* rather than spinning records during the afternoon drive-time shift. These were not sacrifices - I made decisions based on what was most important to me.
The reward for my decisions is greater, I believe, than any film I might have made, or book that I might have written, or album that I might have released. My children are my masterpieces.
They are bright and beautiful and loving. They're not perfect - they're still works in progress - but they are good. And even God herself, when She created the world, didn't claim much more than that.**
When I compare myself at seventeen to my son, he seems quite young. Much younger than I was at that age. I think my children have been blessed to be able BE KIDS for longer than seems the norm these days. And I'm grateful for that. I told The Boy that he might not appreciate that fact now - but later in life, he may better understand and appreciate it.
I wanted my son (and my daughter) to know all that. The Boy's graduation from high school is like a sign post on The Highway; my children's lives have moved into a new construction zone. Most (if not all) of the basic work is complete. The road has been paved, the cement is nearly dry. There may be occasional lane closures from time to time for repair - but my work on the project is all but over.
Oh, I may be able to offer a suggestion on where to place the street lights - or establishing the speed limit...if I'm asked. But I'll try not to feel badly if I'm not consulted. I know there will be times when my input will not be desired - or needed. If I've done my work well, they won't need me much anyway - and they'll know when they do - and they won't be afraid to ask.
Anyway, that's what I shared with The Boy on Friday. Where the road goes from here is mostly up to him. I told my son that I didn't think he ought to do (or not do) things in his life to make his parents proud of him. Making a parent proud seems to me to be an undue burden to place on a child. I told him he should find out what makes him happy, what will allow him to be self-sufficient, how he can be a responsible member of the community in which he lives - and do those things.
That would be more than enough, I think, to make any parent proud. Don't you?
Take care.
* I think this is a term commonly used by people who create collections of songs by various artists for their own listening pleasure (Think Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets or John Cusack in High Fidelity). But it's not a term I normally use. I just call them "collections". ** Genesis 1:31
I even love my teenage daughter There's no accounting for it Apparently I don't care how I'm treated My love is unconditional or something
Thesis:
The only time to say "I love you" is when you mean it. The best time to say "I love you" is now. You can love completely without complete understanding.*
Object lesson:
This evening, my son graduated from high school. He did not do so with any particular academic distinction - but there were no bribes involved either. As The Boy himself put it, the primary emotion he felt upon graduation was - relief.
My son did not enjoy high school. He is hardly alone in this. He thought it was long and boring. He's glad it's over.
By contrast, I sometimes feel like the only person in the universe that liked high school. Hell, I loved it. When I graduated high school, I felt like a king. So it's hard for me to understand how The Boy feels.
The ceremony itself left a lot to be desired. I'm not going to say much about it - 'cause I think the Middle-Aged Woman has a post planned around that topic. Let's just say: the conditions were not what one might have imagined for such a grand and auspicious occasion. The Boy did his part to make things difficult as well - avoiding photographs as much as possible - as well as all eye-contact or recognition of applauding family and friends. ("The sun was in my eyes", he later claimed.)
Afterward, Snoplum and I took The Boy and his BFF, Joey, out for dinner at a favorite pizzeria. While the Red Wings were busy accepting a can of whoop-ass delivered by the Pittsburgh Penguins in the second period tonight, Joey and The Boy happily sent text messages non-stop until Mom and I pointed out that a little human interaction might be good for the boys. Joey dutifully put his phone away and tried to maintain a conversation regarding the search for a job. The Boy kept texting away - until the MAW and I busted him for the 57th time.
When it was pointed out to The Boy that he might want to devote more attention to the people he was with (at least, physically) - he said, "Well, I'm texting them - so I don't have to be with them." He didn't understand why we thought he was being inconsiderate. I didn't understand why he felt the need to pay more attention to people who weren't with him than to those who were seated around him.
I fear that all this makes the evening sound unpleasant. It wasn't. A forty-something married couple and two freshly high-school-graduated boys shared a meal together. There were no epiphanies, no emotional breakthroughs. We spent time together, uneventful - but nice.
Conclusion:
I'm proud of my son - but not because of his high school achievements. I know my son is a good boy - but I also know that he's lazy with a capital "L". I don't understand my son - but I'm not quick to claim an understanding of anyone.**
Once the meal was over, my son was anxious to be off with Joey. They agreed to spend the night at our house (they're in the basement watching a movie as I type this) but The Boy asked if they could leave while we waited to pay the bill. No problem.
I reached across the table and shook my son's hand. "Congratulations, son. I love you." "Thanks. I love you too, Dad."
Take care.
* from Norman Maclean's A River Runs Through It ** As the MAW would readily point out, I'm not like other people.
RED WINGS PLAYOFF UPDATE: The Stanley Cup Finals - Detroit vs. Pittsburgh The Wings lost to the Penguins Thursday night by a score of 4-2. Detroit and Pittsburgh are tied 2 - 2 in the best of seven series.
Last fall, I was sitting alone in a small diner on a main thoroughfare near our home finishing up a post-choir-practice dinner (and contemplating dessert), when my cell phone rang. A rather breathless and agitated Ms. Part Cloudy (my daughter, The Girl) was on the other end.
"Dad. are you OK?" I performed a quick inventory.
"Yeah, I'm fine. What's going on?"
"Have you talked to (Brother)*? I tried to call him on his cell phone and he's not answering."
She and I both knew that this was not exactly unusual behavior, so I wasn't quite sure why it seemed to be a source of irritation on this particular evening.
"No - but I'll try to call him."
"Mom says he's supposed to be over at Joey or Tony's house**. If he doesn't answer, you need to go over and find him. And don't travel on Telegraph Road!" This ultimatum ended the conversation as she hung up.
My first thought was: I guess I'm not gonna get any dessert.
My second thought was: It's gonna be hard to avoid traveling on Telegraph Road - since this here restaurant is located on Telegraph Road - and there's no legal way for a vehicle to exit the parking lot of this restaurant without going on to that road. What with me not having perfected transporter technology yet.
The third thought was: Why the hell can't I travel on Telegraph Road?
In deliberate disobedience to my daughter, I left the restaurant and headed off to find The Boy. Within a few minutes, I had confirmed that he was safe and sound at Joey's house. I phoned The Girl to pass along this update. It was a brief conversation.
"OK, I'll tell Mom - but you better get home right away. Mom got a call from someone saying that they had kidnapped you! And the police are coming to the house."
When I shared with The Boy the news that I had been kidnapped, it made his night. He thought it was so funny, he had to go and tell his buds before we headed home. If all my material went over as well with the general populace as the story of my kidnapping did with teenage boys that night, I'd take this show on the road and kick Ron White's ass!
The Boy and I arrived home to some highly-agitated females (whom we proceeded to piss off with our devil-may-care attitude). What for us had been a hoot (since we both clearly knew we had not been kidnapped), had involved at least a few fearful minutes for The Girls until it became clear that the kidnapping threat was b*llsh*t.
The story from the Middle-Aged Woman's perspective was not too much different than portrayed in the flash fiction piece, except that - I did not arrive home during her conversation with my would-be kidnappers. Rather she was able to ascertain my safety by having The Girl phone me - and I subsequently verified they had not kidnapped my son either.
The cops did arrive at the house a few minutes later - but they were not too interested that we had obtained the phone number where the prank call had originated. They asked questions like: Do either of your kids do drugs? Or hang out with people who do drugs? (Apparently, drug-usage and prank kidnapping calls have been strongly linked in recent studies.)
The story kind of peters out at this point. I was in the doghouse again for a while because I had made light of the situation. There was no rash of prank calls in the wake of this incident. Life went back to (more or less) normal.
AND NOW: THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR (or actually, just one of you)!
The winner of the World According to Styro Contest is...Sprite's Keeper! (Hurray!)
Although she did not correctly identify any of the stuff I made up in the story (admittedly difficult since it was mostly true - at least in the spirit of what actually occurred), she was the only one to enter the contest. And since we all know that the people who rule the world are the people who show up...SHE RULES!
What is equally cool: She has never read The World According to Garpand so I'm really looking forward to hear what she thinks of the book. If she's willing, I may even propose some "He Read / She Read" posting to give some male/female, first-time reader/rereader feedback on the novel.
Anyway, that's the news from Lake Wobegon for today. That and - the Wings won the first game of the Western Conference finals. And I washed every piece of soiled clothing in the house. And...oh, you get the idea.
Take care.
* My son, whom I refer to as "The Boy" ** Two of The Boy's best buds. They live almost next door to one another, less than a mile from our home as the crow flies. Or the pterodactyl for that matter.
RED WINGS PLAYOFF UPDATE: Detroit vs. Chicago The Wings defeated the Blackhawks Sunday afternoon, 5-2, to take a 1-0 lead in the best of seven series
If John Donne was right and "no man is an island, entire of itself"**, then we can't - or, at least, shouldn't - deal with the meaning of life in a vacuum. Although our previous discussion on happiness and the Meaning of Life was simplified by narrowing in on the expectations of the individual - on what makes me happy - we know that real life is a little more complicated.
Most of us choose to live in the company of others - understanding that to maintain a relationship will involve compromise. Only the most unreasonable people expect to maintain good relations with those around them and still be able to do whatever they want, whenever they want to. It is generally accepted, as part of the unspoken contract of a friendship, that each party cares about the happiness of the other - and is willing (if not always eager) to facilitate that happiness. In our closest relationships, we may even put the needs and desires of the other person(s) ahead of our own - as some do with their children, or their spouse, their immediate family or very close friends.
Where I come from, it's called love - when you put the good of someone else before your own desires.
But love or not - having other people around does complicate the equation. And it's amazing to me how it can impact even the simplest things. For example: Where to eat dinner? How difficult can that be, right? Oh, sure - if it was a larger group, ten people, maybe even two couples having dinner together, you might understand a little haggling, it might take some discussion. But if you have two people. And both of them are hungry. And one of them is willing to eat anywhere (except Arbys***). Then it should be pretty easy to settle on a location.
Unless My Son is involved. In which case, he will not be able to make a decision on where to eat until the top of my head pops off. The conversation begins with my son sprawled on his bed at 7:30 pm. I had to stay late at the office and I'm starving.
"Jim, do you want to get something to eat? If you do, get up right now."
"Uuuuuhh, yeah. I'm coming." I wait while he drags himself out of bed. I'd like him to pick up the pace - but I'm holding my tongue because I know that riding him will only slow down the process.
"Where do you want to eat, Jim?"
"Uuuuuhh, I'm not sure." He only likes to eat at about 3.5 different places (since he knows I won't go with him to Arbys - and he knows I don't want to bother bringing fast food back to the house) - so this really shouldn't take long.
"Well, you need to get sure pretty quickly - or I'll pick." He's pretty sure I will pick a place he'd rather not go (since I like more than 3.5 restaurants) - and he's right. This is called "motivation".
Soon we're in the car. He's had plenty of time to eliminate 2.5 places from consideration and give me the name of the one where he wants to eat but...
"Jim, where do you want to eat? Tell me or I will start driving to a place I'd like to eat."
"Well, I thought of a place...but...I'm not sure...you'd think it's OK"
"Jim - just tell me."
"How about Arbys?"
"No." I keep my voice flat - but I'm starting to get frustrated. I'm starting to sense where this headed.
"Well...couldn't we just get a pizza and take it home?"
"No - but I'll give you some money and you can take your car and go buy a pizza if you want."
"No..." That would require effort on his part. Now I'm getting pretty p*ssed off.
"Jim, I'm heading for KFC." I have picked a place I know he would rather not go. This is called "Forcing the issue".
"Can we go to Taco Bell?"
"That's fine." But why the hell do we have to do this dance EVERY SINGLE TIME!!!!!
Clearly, every decision doesn't have to be this agonizing (since The Boy will not be involved) - but, in the overall scheme of things, where to have dinner should be an easy question. When you get to more important stuff like:
Should I move in with you?
Do you want to get married?
When will we start a family?
I just got a great job offer in another city - should I take it?
Boxers or briefs?
things can get really dicey.
Most of us choose to live in the company of others. And while this doesn't necessarily make life easier - and can sometimes complicate the quest for happiness (for all parties concerned) - it also has the potential to make life immeasurably richer.
To paraphrase those Mastercard commercials:
A late dinner at KFC by yourself - $9
A late dinner at Taco Bell with your 17-year-old Son, who's still not embarassed to be seen with you in public, even if he can't make up his mind to save his life - Priceless
Take care.
* Sorry Mr. Steinbeck. The latin motto in the title is taken from Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove. There's an explanation here. ** In fact, there is probably no wisdom from previous centuries that the march of time has proven more true than this one. As technology shrinks the world, I believe we become ever more interconnected and dependent on one another. And though there is clearly a dichotomy in the impact of technology on relationships (as we develop new ways for our electronic personas to interact, do our physical selves become more isolated?) - it would seem that the general inclination of humankind is still to reach out to one another. Crap! I could probably milk a whole 'nother post out of this... *** Their food is OK - but it is too d*mn expensive for a fast food joint
Where I work, the office closes down on the afternoon of Good Friday. I haven't exactly been feeling 100% since about Tuesday morning, so I arranged with my boss to take off the entire day and get some extra rest. I did sleep in and loaf around a good portion of the day - but taking the day off doesn't necessarily have the result you might expect when you're a supervisor. That, combined with my damnable inclination toward productivity, combined to wreak havok on a day that should been filled with sleep and devoid of expectation.
It started this wasy: Sometime during the last 24 hours, I learned that Jackson Browne would be performing at a local venue on July 27th - and that tickets would go on-sale at 10 am this morning. So, right away, I start formulating goals and expectations. I'm gonna coordinate with friends who I think will want to see the show and get us some good seats. It took three phone calls, three emails, one Internet snafu, plus one hundred and eighty-five American dollars to get me four tickets to the show. I normally would be pleased with such an industrious start to the day - but the bitter taste of "coulda-shoulda" was in my mouth. The aforementioned "Internet snafu" left me with four seats in Row W - instead of the ones in Row K that I was intially offered by Mr. TicketMaster. I got over it - but, in some ways, the theme for the day was set: It's not going to be everything you hoped for.
I started to make some updates in my accounting software and paid some bills on-line (I'm two months behind in balancing accounts and I need to get caught up this weekend). After a while, I was thinking that I should stop fooling around on the computer and get in some quality time on the tread mill. Then I started to get hungry. I decided I didn't want to eat until after 3 pm - and I didn't want to work out on an empty stomach when I wasn't feeling my best - so I took a shower.*
When I got out of the shower, The Boy (often referred to as 17-year-old Boy by MAW) asked if I would give him money to go golfing with his BFF this afternoon. Having seen his latest report card earlier in the day, I was not so inclined** (although later I did spring for him to have a late lunch/early dinner with his bud). And a few minutes later I started getting pages on my BlackBerry which, eventually, metamorphasized into phone calls regarding a network outage affecting our company's spam filtering service. That outage had cut off our flow of email to and from the Internet. (Good Lord! Is anyone still reading or listening to this drivel?! I'm not sure I'm even interested - and I lived it!)
OK - so here's the point: I took the day off work - but didn't escape work. Both my "real job" (the stuff I get paid to do) and my self-imposed to-do list (balance the check book, exercise, work on my blog, etc) were nagging at me most of the day.
The moral to the story? It wasn't my boss I needed to ask for time off - I needed to give myself permission. As Ron White would say: "That's a handy piece of information to have, right there."
Take care.
*Which may end up being the highlight of my day. **The most disappointing thing is: I know he's just not trying very hard in some classes.
