Golden Slumbers

Once there was a way, To get back homeward. Once there was a way, To get back home. Sleep pretty darling, Do not cry. And I will sing a lullabye.

Those John Lennon lyrics ring so true and the following describes our journey.

I took the kids to the beach yesterday. It was the first time I had since leaving their mother. Observing them in this environment and under the current set of circumstances is an amazing experience. The lesson I learned is really not so deep and not so introspective; I forgot how interesting it is to be a kid.

Let’s start with my son. Sure, we bought the five dollar spongy football. What fascinated him more than its aerodynamics was the amount of water it can absorb and hold. Also, his discovery that the tide will bring it back to shore if it is dropped in the waves. My gift from this was his statement saying, “I see how the water moves this football, and it must have been horrible watching the waves move houses in Japan.” It was at this moment that I knew that he gets it. Maybe not all of it, but he gets it. As an adult, I forget the magic in realizing the moment when the dots connect and the world jigsaw puzzle pieces begin to fit together.

After the football play, he embarked on a shell hunt. There were not many shells washing up that day. But, for an hour he watched the waterline, carefully seeing what the white retreating foam would uncover. He would see the wave recede and run to the spot of imperfection in the wet sand to discover its cause. The innocent process of shell collection is a fascinating one to watch through the eyes of an engaged 9 year old boy.

What made this especially interesting was when he returned to our spot on the beach with his treasure. I was surprised to see that of the twenty or so shells in his cup, none of them were complete or especially beautiful or interesting. I asked him why he wanted to keep them. His response was a lesson in tolerance. He said he wanted these because “nobody else would want them and they would never be collected.”

I have to believe this depth of reasoning is being fueled by the dynamics of my divorce. I can interpret his display as both compassion as well as fear. However, the message is clear that he needs trust and protection right now. I am convinced that what happens in the next few months will shape his entire life. I need to respect my role in this.

My daughter brings a completely different set of beach going behaviors. Unlike my son, she never wants to be alone. Her ability to meet and make new friends in literally minutes is outstanding. I think what I especially love about this is that she never, and I mean never either knows or remembers their name. I watched her play for two hours with a little girl and boy whom will forever be remembered as those “two kids on the beach.” What I learned is that you really don’t need all of the details to know that you like someone.

An odd behavior, again a divorce byproduct, is that she constantly asks two questions. The first, “Is that person homeless?” She is so worried about people and I am sure that she is really mostly worried about herself. Her world is so unstable right now. Her sure footing comes from comparing herself to others.

The second question she asks often is “Is this a true story?” She asks this all of the time. She had come across the horrific images of the recent earthquake and asked if it were true. She will see a dead animal on the side of the road and ask if they are really dead. I believe she is testing the permanency of her broken family and simply wondering if this too shall pass. As a dad, I need to make sure she understands that this is a true story.

So, I do tend to gush a bit much over these kids, but you know what? Too bad! I know that we three are in this together and we are starting to smile a lot more lately. It is not always paradise, but it is always fascinating.

Our journey has only just begun.

a not so Hallmark Thank you

There have been way too many times in my life that I have fallen back on the irreverent words of the Grateful Dead, “What a long strange trip it’s been.” The mere recanting of these words not only demonstrates a moment of personal inventory, but also acknowledges one’s own faults and mortality. The process of divorce begs for validation of life’s journey and the rationalization that it is truly a long and strange trip.

I am mostly happy and sometimes sad to be coming to the end of this section of my trip. Eleven years of marriage produced many handfuls of incidental smiles but even the broadest, most ear to ear grin will eventually relax to an unassuming expression. What does not fade are the byproducts of such years, namely my children. So, that by itself makes it ok.

Another odd result of this life’s difficult section is the fateful blessings of friendships formed and reformed. I have amassed more love in 4 months from virtual ghosts of my past than the eleven years of the marriage which I thought was worth the troubles. I hear the paraphrased words of Anne Frank resonating when I confidently say that in spite of everything, people are basically good.
What would compel someone to fly 1100 miles just to be there while the dust settled during the starting days of the vicious post nuptial process? Why would someone, in spite of their own health and personal issues constantly seek conversation and support at all hours of the night? And why am I constantly reminded to not shut down, become reclusive and reach out with no fear of judgment, just nurturing chat?
I am not sure of any of those answers. What I am sure of is it all came when I needed it most and I am pretty damn fortunate. Someone once told me that I cannot count on people, especially those who live far away and have not been close to me throughout my life. That person was very wrong. Maybe I am naïve, but it has been those people that has given me the will and reminded me of the personal power I hold and for that I am thankful.

I am bad at asking for help and worse at saying thank you. I am an incurable cynic that has been humbled in the most profound way. So, I say to my FRIENDS, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Whether we continue our bonds in the years to come I do not know, but the mark you have left on me is deeper and brighter than a new tattoo.

Thank you and know that you are loved the way that you have loved.

Lean

For 20 years I rose early every day
Dressed for success, made my mark in any way
Came troubled times and the job, it let me go
Out of work, family to feed, give me a wall to lean on

The man said it is something I can easily do
My house will be my future
But the payments were higher than I can afford
Out of my house, the bank took it, and there was nothing I could do.
Give me a wall to lean on.

On main street, on your street in my town and yours
You see me, as I disappear into the bricks and the paint
I’m the guy with my knees bent, a blanket around me to stay warm
My day is a search for a wall to lean on.

What matters most is different for all
For some it is a coat, gloves or what’s left of your lunch
Shelter is just a memory from a life once had
Today, a goal to live is all I have.
Give me a wall to lean on.

Some dreams you wake up from
You wonder how you got here
It could never happen to me
Said the man who has the wall to lean on.

-unknown

I quit

I recently needed a quotation so I did what any new millennium resourcer and researcher would do, I googled it. “Quit Quotations” I typed. I received back many pages of examples of “not giving up”. There were a few on “persistence”. One even started out with “Don’t ever, ever, ever quit”.

That is not what I wanted. I wanted a quote on quitting. Webster defines quitting as: “released from obligation, charge, or penalty”. Yes! That's what I want..."release from Obligation".

I wanted some famous person somewhere to profoundly make a memorable statement saying “quitting” is ok. Someone like JFK; “Ask not what your country can do for you, quit asking us any questions.” Someone like Martin Luther King; “I had a dream, and I will quit telling hoards of people what it was”. There was nothing.

What a shame that even google is programmed into believing that quitting is unquotable when there are in fact many great reasons to quit. We just don’t seem to want to be quoted about the human condition of quitting. Maybe there is fear that we may appear weak.

After further digging I found other words that kind of mean the same thing. Words like concede, withdraw, forfeit and a few others. But I wanted “Quit”.
I have quit a few things in life. I quit four jobs that I can remember, but we call that “resign”. I quit the cross country running team in 8th grade in favor a cigarette smoking. I quit my first marriage for all of the wrong reasons, but that was called “divorce”. I quit smoking, and while I called that “quitting smoking”, it is now called “smoking cessation”. The stigma attached to quitting is really apparent everywhere. There must be a time where it is best to just quit…no fancy words, just quit.

I am faced with one of those times. My situation, it involved a lot of opportunities for quitting at various check points along the way. None of those opportunities were acted upon. She could have gotten help the first time she realized that drugs were a problem. But she didn’t. She could have quit the second time she realized that drugs were even a bigger problem. But she didn’t. She could have quit the third time that she realized the drugs were a problem. She claims she will, but I doubt it.

I could have quit at any of these times on her. But I didn’t. Instead, I stuck with it, persevered, forged ahead, just like google told me to do.

Since I didn’t quit, I am now reaping what I have sowed. Sinced she didn't quit I am now reaping what she has sowed. The kids had no choice, but counted on me to make it for them.

Quitting has a very special power when used at the right time. Quitting is the acceptance of a situation and simply letting go. It is acknowledging the power of personal choice. It is the ability to decide to continue, or not to continue. Quitting is ownership.

I admire with awe of the quitters of the world. Those who ended their bad marriage, well done. If you quit a job you despised without having another lined up, sweet! If you quit anything to protect your ethics and morals, cool.

I am going to quit. It is the right thing to do. I am ok with it.

Google needs to know that they need a new search result.

A piece of me

I heard a song today that I hadn’t heard in a long time. Maybe you know it. It is called “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens. And, like many songs that form the soundtrack of my life, it got me to thinking mostly about my newly discovered old friends from the Facebook world of social networking.

It is so interesting to me how many of my friends update constantly about their children. I am no exception. I love to read the updates. I know when they win or lose a sporting event, when they are ill, when they achieve educational greatness and when they are just smiling for the camera in one of the many posted pictures.
We flash their victories on the pages of statuses as if to validate ourselves. That is not a bad thing, as it is a validation in its purest form. After all, who would have known what a night of passion years prior would produce. The results, all too often, are breath taking.

We can now so easily create a virtual scrapbook in a way like we never have been able before, and it is wonderful. The doting and fawning is so politely tolerated by the throngs of friends we choose to involve in our daily updates. As mundane as these moments are, they are received and then responded with clicks of the “like” voting button at rates that would impress even the most seasoned politicians.

Now we have created a world where we celebrate even the smallest victories by our smallest citizens. I like it. I know when there is a baseball game, first tooth, hospital visit, good report card, school performance, accident, and the many other reasons to inform. The awesome force of social networking replaces the Hallmark card with a real time account of daily happenings.

The pictures are also great. I find myself too often staring at a child’s photo and wonder how such a beautiful child could come from the amazingly plain individuals I have known all of these years. I also admit I have fallen victim to the conspiracy theory that it is not possible for such a beautiful child to be the genetic makeup of his alleged parents and look for clues as to whom the father actually must be.
What is ominously absent from these pages is the spouses. Sure, they get the obligatory picture from the last family vacation, but they do not make the editors cut of daily inclusion. It is all about the kids.

So, I am listening to the “Father and Son” song and I get it. Stevens wrote,

“It's not time to make a change,
Just relax, take it easy.
You're still young, that's your fault,
There's so much you have to know.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy.”

And it is all about the children. Those who chose the path of no kids, update me on your pet, plants, house, whatever. “Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy”.

Swine

I am thankful I am a blogger because I believe I have just unlocked a huge worldwide mystery and am so fortunate to have a place to share my amazing discovery. Here is how it happened.

I was having a quiet night at home after a hard day’s work. I settled into a little “So you think you can Dance” and thought, why I am watching “So you think you can Dance?” This is when it happened. As if divine intervention, A chick fil-a commercial came on. You know the commercial…there is cow with poor spelling skills messaging the viewer to “Eat more Chicken”. I thought, there must have been some form of advertising back in the day of the authoring of the Bible.

I suspect the advertisement was “Eat more Mutton”. And, do you know who was behind this advertisement? It was the pigs.

It is my contention that the pigs, somewhere around year 23 AD launched a huge Middle Eastern advertisement campaign that effectively would remove them from most future menus. Here is how it must have happened.

They formed a union to disseminate information across the pig community. They knew that to successfully change the worlds eating habits, they would need to alter their perceived image. The orders came down to roll their bodies in any available filth and mud if the gaze of a human were doth upon them. (This is how even pigs had spoken back then). They were building a reputation of being dirty. People laughed at the pigs. One young girl was once heard to say, “Dirty pig funny, me laugh at pig”. The folks new that all they needed to do was wash the pig before cooking up their sweet succulent meat. This angered the pigs.

Next, through the swine network, they were told to eat anything. Literally, to eat anything. And they did. It was this that was the start of the curly tailed fellas fall from culinary biblical grace. This shift in reputation pleased the pigs greatly. For the first time, the pigs had hope for a brighter future.

Next, they emphasized their split hoof appendage. Even the pigs were not sure why this would be seen a bad thing, but they held out their footed hoof like a badge of honor is if it were the most grotesque abnormality. It worked.

It started slowly. First, the town’s folk addressed the pigs differently. People would be heard saying to the children “Isaac and Esther, stay away from that filthy split hoofed pig!” They were now referred to as “swine”. One could dine on a pig, but whom, I ask you, would dine on swine? The Swine farmers never saw it coming. It was nearly immediate that the pig buyers stopped coming around. Why didn’t Joe, Pete, Paul, Luke and their other 7 friends with that Mary girl come around a buy their weekly pig? Where was Moses? He was always good for a pig or two a week. What about the Pilot’s? They love pig.

They all stopped coming. They realized what was happening. The era of piglet propaganda had taken hold. Pigs were now swine and swine was now bad. The Pigs had achieved their goal. But still, the pigs were not satisfied. They needed more protection. They needed to be published.

There were no paparazzi back in the day. There weren’t any cameras. The cave drawing clan was long gone. Sure there were artists. But how do you draw a persuasion. They needed to be mentioned.

The pigs had heard of a book that was being written. This book was a record of all of the things that had been going on during this time. They knew of a fella, Jesus that was saying all kinds of stuff that was being quoted and written into this book. They knew the Moses family and they were saying some great stuff too that was being written into the competitions book. They needed to do the unthinkable. They needed to get into the book, all books.

One day, it happened. The culmination of one of the best animal born campaigns ever attempted. The Pigs code word for this covert operation was “D14:8”. Only the pigs knew what it was. It turned out that a female pig, living amongst the people, imbedded, acting like one of them, worked her way all the way to the guy writing the book.

And there it was. D14:8 was actually Deuteronomy 14:8. They got their mention. Years later it would be compared to the time Jerry Seinfeld appeared on Johnny Carson….a game changing, career making event. Deuteronomy 14:8 said…and I quote…”And the swine, because it divideth the hoof, yet cheweth not the cud, it is unclean unto you: ye shall not eat of their flesh, nor touch their dead carcass.”
Success! It was a huge victory. Everyone was reading this book. And there it was. Plain as, almost, English. Even the dumbest pigs figured it out. The most important rule book ever written said…no more eating pig. Well, it really said swine, but most pigs giggled when they referred to themselves as swine, so they normally say pig.

So goes the story of the greatest food based propaganda ever perpetrated by a split hoof species. More than 2000 years later it still works. And now the Chick-fil-a cows are ripping a page write out of history. If they succeed, what will the fish think? Could they be next? What if tomatoes, cucumbers, asparagus get organized…what then?

We need to break this pattern. Jew… go eat a ham sandwich. Muslims have some bacon. We have been fooled. And a word of warning to you potatoes, before you get any cute ideas….in the immortal words of George W. Bush…”Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, and we won’t get fooled again”…and I mean it.

Where should I look?

I accept the fact we live in an imperfect world. For so many things we have a model how they should be. I think we all do. It can be little things like… which side the hinges are on a refrigerator door, the fact that a car window, for supposed safety reasons, does not roll all the way down, or a myriad of other things that are imperfect.

But, I am not talking about what we build, but the things that catch your eye on a person. I admit that I am not perfect, in fact far from it. I don’t know anyone who is, although there are those who come close. As my closest friends would tell you, I am unjustly and too quick to form an opinion about somebody based on their teeth. This is the direction I am going here. I, all too often, am not able to isolate the obvious physical imperfections of people during an encounter.

Typically, when I have a conversation with someone I maintain eye contact. It is not possible to look at both eyes without staring at the bridge of their nose, so I usually pick their left eye. I know a guy whose eyes seem to work independently. His left eye wonders around like an iguana. I am drawn to this eye expecting it to settle in a direction which, if I follow the line, will provide me information like an Ouija board. I find that I am so focused on his eye that I have very poor listening skills when he speaks to me. It has even gotten to the point where I have caught myself drawn to his all-knowing eye that I lose track of time.

There was another guy I knew that when you got into a conversation with him, his nose would slowly turn red. It became almost a mission to keep the chat going far longer than it should just to see what crimson hue it would take. It was an incredible nose. Although I have spoken with this individual many times, I cannot tell you one topic we discussed, but I can tell you the date and the weather of his most red day.

In elementary school I had a teacher who had an odd odor wafting from her. However, that was not the most distracting thing about her. What consumed my attention was that her ill-fitting bra created, according to the mind of a 5th grader, a seemingly third breast. This woman tried to teach me math skills, but I could not absorb her lesson and contemplate her tri-mammary at the same time.

Regarding teeth, I become hypnotized by people with a large gap between their two upper front teeth..the Laura Hutton Look. They could be giving me the winning lottery numbers for tomorrows drawing, but I can only wonder: 1) what type and size of food would get caught in such a large gap and 2) How far can they squirt water.
I am not noticing of scars unless they alter the normal growth of facial hair. For example, I know a woman whose horizontal scar has caused her to have an upper and lower line of eyebrow hair on her right side. I wonder if it in anyway confuses the person who does the waxing or her plucking pattern. Bald men have a spray to cover a bald spots, would this work on her brow? I do not know.

If I see someone missing a front tooth in adulthood, I blame their parents for not instilling good dental hygiene habits. People with excessive nose or ear hair should be fined. Any man or woman who purposely grows a renegade mole hair must come from a lower social class.

Being so fast to conclusively judge is a neurosis unto itself. I accept that. I do not expect anything written here to have a great impact of change, but for Pete’s sake, pluck that mole hair.