It's been a long time since I posted anything on here. The overall busy-ness of the holidays and work and family have taken firm hold and left very little time for anything else.
But my wife called me this morning to tell me that she wanted to be our son Matty today. That he was SO excited for his Christmas party at preschool. He was singing "Jingle Bells" the whole way there and when he got out he told her "This is the happiest day of my life!"
Oh, to be four years old. Oh to be able to utter those words sincerely.
We're all rushing, all on our way to somewhere else, even Matty although thankfully he's too young to know it yet. Here's to singing "Jingle Bells" in the car on the happiest days of our lives.
It's something to strive for.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
34
Ten years. It's really been ten years. Ten years ago tomorrow is when my childhood really came to its end. Ten years ago, on November 1, 1999, I lost my boyhood hero.
Ten years ago tomorrow, I lost Walter Payton.
I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. I know there are thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of kids who grew up in the mid to late 70s and the 80s who spent Sunday afternoons watching him fight, scratch and claw for yardage for Bears teams ranging from pitiful to proud. I know I'm certainly not the only one who would sit on the living room floor and then run out into my backyard, football in hand, pretending to dodge imaginary Packers, Vikings and Lions, trying to emulate the moves of my hero.
The best there ever was, the best there ever will be...
I grew up with Walter Payton. A certified sports fanatic now, it was Payton who cemented me as such. At 9 years old in 1977, I came to live and die by the Bears, and Walter in particular. I remember vividly when he broke the single game rushing record with 275 yards against the Vikings in November 1977. The Sun-Times that week announced a special edition with a two-sided iron on so you could turn an ordinary t-shirt into your own Payton jersey. For those younger folks, we couldn't get authentic game jerseys in those days, and t-shirt iron-ons were a big deal. I remember begging my mother to make sure that dad didn't forget the paper that Tuesday and then relentlessly pestering her to drop everything and please, please, please put the iron-on on my t-shirt at that moment. I wore that t-shirt for years, until the decal was long since worn and the shirt itself was little more than tatters.
He was the best there was, and he was ours. We may not have won the Super Bowl, or even gone to the playoffs on a regular basis -- the Bears lost a lot more than they won when I was a kid -- but we had Walter. And unless there was just no way to avoid it, I watched EVERY game.
When the Bears won the Super Bowl in January of 1986, I was a high school senior. And it was a feeling of euphoria because the team had won, but also because Walter got that Lombardi Trophy. he got the championship he deserved. I honestly don't know which made me happier.
Good and pure and powerful...
Beyond my dad, he was the only other person I would ever call my hero. Always was, still is.
He influenced my approach to a lot of things. To sports surely. I wanted to play the way Walter played, fighting for every inch, diving in the dirt, unafraid to take on even the biggest opponent. I was a runt, but I wasn't afraid to go against anybody. Walter wasn't, so neither was I.
But it extended beyond sports. I learned to give my all in whatever I was doing, and then, whatever the final outcome, whether it was success or failure, I could live with it.
He also keenly influenced my perspective on race. He was my hero, it really never occurred to me that he was black, or that I was white. Walter was good and pure and powerful. He was a Bear. And he was the best, no matter whether he was black, white, green or red. I remember a kid in the neighborhood teasing me about wearing a #34 jersey once, saying that he'd never wear a black guy's jersey. And I remember being angry and telling the kid that that was just about the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. He was my hero because of who he was and what he did. The color of his skin, never entered into my mind. And I decided THAT was the right way to be.
Beyond a boyhood hero...
When he retired in 1987, I was crushed. I was still a rabid Bears fan, but it changed a little. Even today, I never miss a game if I can help it. But there's a piece missing, always.
I was lucky enough to get to meet him twice. The first time, working an event for the Better Boys Foundation, I was tongue-tied, face to face with my idol. I somehow was able to spit out the words "thank you" as he signed a football for me. But the second time is something I'll remember the rest of my life.
My company was handling special events for Target stores and Walter was releasing a new highlight video called "Pure Payton." There was an autographing happening at one of the suburban stores and I couldn't volunteer quick enough to lead the event. One the day of, I summoned all of my professionalism as I greeted his car in front of the store and actually managed to speak and introduce myself and explain what we would be doing.
"OK, no problem, Dan. I'll just follow you." And then he poked me in the chest and smiled.
We did a brief session with the employees in an internal break room before taking him out on the floor. When it was time to head out to the floor, I told Walter it was time to go and assembled the security team to walk him out.
"You guys be the blockers, but follow Dan! He's the man with the plan!"
I lead the team out and many shoppers were stopped in their tracks waving and yelling to Walter. I was floating. And then...
I felt two arms around my neck and then a high pitched laugh.
"Here we go, we'll just ride Dan out!" And then he was on my back. Walter Payton, arms around my neck, jumped on my back and for a short spell, was riding piggyback on me as we went to the stage area.
I never got a photo, I have no visual proof. And you can call me a liar if you want. Doesn't matter, I KNOW it happened and I'll never forget it.
On November 1, 1999, Walter died. And I wept openly. I remember the phone calls to my house from friends and family members who knew that I had lost someone beyond just a boyhood hero, someone who was a big piece of who I was and who I am.
I loved Walter Payton. I miss him today in the same way I miss my grandfather who passed on in 1979. You may find fault with that or think that's silly or strange. And that would be your problem. Tomorrow, there'll be all sorts of tributes and memorials, much more eloquent than this rambling memory here. And I know that I'll cry a little more.
But I'll also smile as I watch the video and hear the recollections. Once again I'll be 9 years old, wearing my iron-on #34, watching Walter run and for a few fleeting moments, all will be right with the world.
Ten years ago tomorrow, I lost Walter Payton.
I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. I know there are thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of kids who grew up in the mid to late 70s and the 80s who spent Sunday afternoons watching him fight, scratch and claw for yardage for Bears teams ranging from pitiful to proud. I know I'm certainly not the only one who would sit on the living room floor and then run out into my backyard, football in hand, pretending to dodge imaginary Packers, Vikings and Lions, trying to emulate the moves of my hero.
The best there ever was, the best there ever will be...
I grew up with Walter Payton. A certified sports fanatic now, it was Payton who cemented me as such. At 9 years old in 1977, I came to live and die by the Bears, and Walter in particular. I remember vividly when he broke the single game rushing record with 275 yards against the Vikings in November 1977. The Sun-Times that week announced a special edition with a two-sided iron on so you could turn an ordinary t-shirt into your own Payton jersey. For those younger folks, we couldn't get authentic game jerseys in those days, and t-shirt iron-ons were a big deal. I remember begging my mother to make sure that dad didn't forget the paper that Tuesday and then relentlessly pestering her to drop everything and please, please, please put the iron-on on my t-shirt at that moment. I wore that t-shirt for years, until the decal was long since worn and the shirt itself was little more than tatters.
He was the best there was, and he was ours. We may not have won the Super Bowl, or even gone to the playoffs on a regular basis -- the Bears lost a lot more than they won when I was a kid -- but we had Walter. And unless there was just no way to avoid it, I watched EVERY game.
When the Bears won the Super Bowl in January of 1986, I was a high school senior. And it was a feeling of euphoria because the team had won, but also because Walter got that Lombardi Trophy. he got the championship he deserved. I honestly don't know which made me happier.
Good and pure and powerful...
Beyond my dad, he was the only other person I would ever call my hero. Always was, still is.
He influenced my approach to a lot of things. To sports surely. I wanted to play the way Walter played, fighting for every inch, diving in the dirt, unafraid to take on even the biggest opponent. I was a runt, but I wasn't afraid to go against anybody. Walter wasn't, so neither was I.
But it extended beyond sports. I learned to give my all in whatever I was doing, and then, whatever the final outcome, whether it was success or failure, I could live with it.
He also keenly influenced my perspective on race. He was my hero, it really never occurred to me that he was black, or that I was white. Walter was good and pure and powerful. He was a Bear. And he was the best, no matter whether he was black, white, green or red. I remember a kid in the neighborhood teasing me about wearing a #34 jersey once, saying that he'd never wear a black guy's jersey. And I remember being angry and telling the kid that that was just about the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. He was my hero because of who he was and what he did. The color of his skin, never entered into my mind. And I decided THAT was the right way to be.
Beyond a boyhood hero...
When he retired in 1987, I was crushed. I was still a rabid Bears fan, but it changed a little. Even today, I never miss a game if I can help it. But there's a piece missing, always.
I was lucky enough to get to meet him twice. The first time, working an event for the Better Boys Foundation, I was tongue-tied, face to face with my idol. I somehow was able to spit out the words "thank you" as he signed a football for me. But the second time is something I'll remember the rest of my life.
My company was handling special events for Target stores and Walter was releasing a new highlight video called "Pure Payton." There was an autographing happening at one of the suburban stores and I couldn't volunteer quick enough to lead the event. One the day of, I summoned all of my professionalism as I greeted his car in front of the store and actually managed to speak and introduce myself and explain what we would be doing.
"OK, no problem, Dan. I'll just follow you." And then he poked me in the chest and smiled.
We did a brief session with the employees in an internal break room before taking him out on the floor. When it was time to head out to the floor, I told Walter it was time to go and assembled the security team to walk him out.
"You guys be the blockers, but follow Dan! He's the man with the plan!"
I lead the team out and many shoppers were stopped in their tracks waving and yelling to Walter. I was floating. And then...
I felt two arms around my neck and then a high pitched laugh.
"Here we go, we'll just ride Dan out!" And then he was on my back. Walter Payton, arms around my neck, jumped on my back and for a short spell, was riding piggyback on me as we went to the stage area.
I never got a photo, I have no visual proof. And you can call me a liar if you want. Doesn't matter, I KNOW it happened and I'll never forget it.
On November 1, 1999, Walter died. And I wept openly. I remember the phone calls to my house from friends and family members who knew that I had lost someone beyond just a boyhood hero, someone who was a big piece of who I was and who I am.
I loved Walter Payton. I miss him today in the same way I miss my grandfather who passed on in 1979. You may find fault with that or think that's silly or strange. And that would be your problem. Tomorrow, there'll be all sorts of tributes and memorials, much more eloquent than this rambling memory here. And I know that I'll cry a little more.
But I'll also smile as I watch the video and hear the recollections. Once again I'll be 9 years old, wearing my iron-on #34, watching Walter run and for a few fleeting moments, all will be right with the world.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Happy Halloween!
Suckered you in. I hate Halloween, have since I was a kid. I know the kids love it, and that's fine. But Halloween for adults is another story. Because now that I'm grown up (at least in the chronological sense) I don't have to dress up. Or if I want to, I can do it any time I want.
A friend created a "I Hate Dressing Up for Halloween" group on Facebook and I was proud to be one of the first to join (Thanks Nick!).
So here's what I will NOT be dressing up as for Halloween:
A friend created a "I Hate Dressing Up for Halloween" group on Facebook and I was proud to be one of the first to join (Thanks Nick!).
So here's what I will NOT be dressing up as for Halloween:
Friday, October 2, 2009
Wow...
Just a follow-up to this morning's post.
I'm absolutely stunned Chicago lost in the first round. I had this sinking feeling, but I thought it was going to be a heartbreaker in the final round.
Yet another chapter in our familiar story. We get dressed up in our best, but someone else gets asked to dance. Instead of a party at Daley Plaza, it's stunned silence.
An unbelievable day. And naysayers, you got your way. So you can thump your chests until it's time to voice your opposition to some other visionary idea. Congratulations, y0u got what you wanted.
It sucks, it really sucks.
I'm absolutely stunned Chicago lost in the first round. I had this sinking feeling, but I thought it was going to be a heartbreaker in the final round.
Yet another chapter in our familiar story. We get dressed up in our best, but someone else gets asked to dance. Instead of a party at Daley Plaza, it's stunned silence.
An unbelievable day. And naysayers, you got your way. So you can thump your chests until it's time to voice your opposition to some other visionary idea. Congratulations, y0u got what you wanted.
It sucks, it really sucks.
An Olympian Set-Up???
I hope I'm wrong, I really do. I would like to see the Olympics in my hometown. I chalk the naysayers up to those folks who always have to be against everything. The folks who can find the one cloud on a clear and sunny day.
But I have a bad feeling about this vote in Copenhagen. I've heard all the reports and been actively following the web updates that say Chicago seems to have the edge, that it's down to us and Rio and there are a lot of questions about our South American neighbors ability to pull the Olympics off. All hopeful news.
And that's why I'm fearful. I'm a Chicago sports fan and I cannot shake the feeling that we're being set up for another epic Chicago sports letdown, another time where ultimate victory is pulled away from us at the very last minute -- like fumbling away the Super Bowl in the warm Florida rain, or being 5 outs from the World Series and watching the world unravel so quickly that we didn't know what to do, so we blamed the inconsequential fan with the headphones who reached for a foul ball, or countless other lamentable moments. Yes, the Bears won the Super Bowl and yes the Bulls won 6 titles. But all of that seems like a long, long time ago. Even the White Sox title seems longer than four years ago. And for every triumph, there seem to have been 100 indignities.
I'm hoping against hope that this isn't another big tease, that the party at Daley Plaza this afternoon is indeed a party and not a televised uncomfortable moment for all of us.
I hope I'm wrong, I really, really do. But I can't shake the feeling that we're being set up...again.
But I have a bad feeling about this vote in Copenhagen. I've heard all the reports and been actively following the web updates that say Chicago seems to have the edge, that it's down to us and Rio and there are a lot of questions about our South American neighbors ability to pull the Olympics off. All hopeful news.
And that's why I'm fearful. I'm a Chicago sports fan and I cannot shake the feeling that we're being set up for another epic Chicago sports letdown, another time where ultimate victory is pulled away from us at the very last minute -- like fumbling away the Super Bowl in the warm Florida rain, or being 5 outs from the World Series and watching the world unravel so quickly that we didn't know what to do, so we blamed the inconsequential fan with the headphones who reached for a foul ball, or countless other lamentable moments. Yes, the Bears won the Super Bowl and yes the Bulls won 6 titles. But all of that seems like a long, long time ago. Even the White Sox title seems longer than four years ago. And for every triumph, there seem to have been 100 indignities.
I'm hoping against hope that this isn't another big tease, that the party at Daley Plaza this afternoon is indeed a party and not a televised uncomfortable moment for all of us.
I hope I'm wrong, I really, really do. But I can't shake the feeling that we're being set up...again.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Liar, Liar...pants on fire
Let's get something straight here, once and for all. No one was a bigger liar than George W. Bush. Period. There were no WMDs. There can be no debate about semantics or language. They weren't there. That was a lie. And Americans died because of it (and still are).
Read the legislation. President Obama never lied. You're idiots. And you have every right to be idiots. Loud idiots. That's fine.
But you're still idiots.
Oh, and one more thing. The flag and patriotism and love of country? Yeah, they don't BELONG to you. They're all of ours. And I'm tired of you wrapping yourselves in MY flag and telling me that I'm unpatriotic or immoral because I don't agree with you. If I'm going to hell, well then I guess I'll see you there.
Again, you're idiots. Have a nice weekend. Go burn some books.
Read the legislation. President Obama never lied. You're idiots. And you have every right to be idiots. Loud idiots. That's fine.
But you're still idiots.
Oh, and one more thing. The flag and patriotism and love of country? Yeah, they don't BELONG to you. They're all of ours. And I'm tired of you wrapping yourselves in MY flag and telling me that I'm unpatriotic or immoral because I don't agree with you. If I'm going to hell, well then I guess I'll see you there.
Again, you're idiots. Have a nice weekend. Go burn some books.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
It's not racism. It's because you suck...
Hey, Milton! It's not racism. It has nothing to do with you being black, white, green or blue.
You suck. The team sucks. And we're tired of it. We're tired of false-promises, of free agents who walk around in a funk for half the season and finally start hitting the ball when the race is over. Who can't count to 3 but can count their $30 million.
Go ahead and pad your stats now that the games are meaningless. Maybe you'll convince another gullible GM to think that his organization can get you to play to your potential and be a valuable teammate. Fine with me, just as long as you go.
But it's not because of race, it's because you're all underachievers and we don't want to wait another 100 years.
You're not the only one. The window of opportunity for this team has slammed shut. Time to blow it all up and start over.
Big Z -- We're all really tired of the act. Grow up. To paraphrase Bull Durham, "You've got a million dollar arm and a five cent head." If you're ever going to realize the vast potential you have, you need to leave the coddling country club that is Wrigley Field and go somewhere where they'll make you work or ship your behind to Triple A. Enough. Bye.
Fukodome -- One of the largest disappointments ever. That great batting eye that Sports Illustrated featured early last year, where did that go? No power, low average, poor defense. But that contract? How do you say "laughing all the way to the bank" in Japanese?
Kevin Gregg -- this guy couldn't close a door...
Derrek Lee, Ted Lilly and Aramis Ramirez -- it's a shame, but we need prospects and you guys are tradable commodities. Besides, you're not going to win the Series here in the time left in your careers, so you'd be better off somewhere else.
Alfonso Soriano -- It only took a couple of years for us to finally figure out you cannot hit leadoff. And you're the worst leftfielder we've had since Dave Kingman. And that's saying something when you're patrolling the same patch of grass as guys like Steve Henderson and Glenallen Hill.
Keep Theriot, Fontenot and Soto, although Geo, maybe you could pass up seconds at the dinner table this off-season, OK? Keep Samardzija, but make up your damn minds on what role you want him to play.
I can’t help my allegiance to the team, they’re my team. But I really, REALLY despise all the rest of it -- Sammy Nation, Cubby Blue, Ronnie Woo-Woo, Bleacher Bums, Lovable Losers, Santo’s legs, “Let’s play two”, the ivy, baseball in sunshine, “who cares if the Cubs lose, we just love coming out to the ballpark,” all the crap. They come with so much goddamn baggage. I don’t even enjoy going to the ballpark anymore, because it’s a freaking circus. I won’t just swallow what they put out there, and that puts me in the minority. I guess I’m a Cub fan with a Southside Sox fan’s mentality. Hell, Sox fans don't go to the games even when their team's winning.
The last few years just have killed me. Five outs from the fucking World Series, and they blow it. 2004, best damn team they’ve had in my entire lifetime, the first time I could REALLY talk about them and a World Series with a straight face, and they piss the whole thing away bitching and moaning about Steve Stone and Chip Caray. Not to mention playing like complete jackasses the last week and a half of the season when they STILL could have made the playoffs if they could have just taken their head out of their asses. And the last two years? Swept out of the playoffs completely. Last year's team made the choke of 1969 seem like a hiccup.
Win me a pennant goddammit, I deserve it.
But I'm not a racist. I boo you because you didn't do what you were brought here to do - help win the World Series. Don't like it? Make you feel bad? Tough.
RIP (again) Cubs baseball for 2009. It wasn't fun and I'm glad it's over. Enjoy playing out the string and hopefully we won't see some of you at Wrigley Field next season.
You suck. The team sucks. And we're tired of it. We're tired of false-promises, of free agents who walk around in a funk for half the season and finally start hitting the ball when the race is over. Who can't count to 3 but can count their $30 million.
Go ahead and pad your stats now that the games are meaningless. Maybe you'll convince another gullible GM to think that his organization can get you to play to your potential and be a valuable teammate. Fine with me, just as long as you go.
But it's not because of race, it's because you're all underachievers and we don't want to wait another 100 years.
You're not the only one. The window of opportunity for this team has slammed shut. Time to blow it all up and start over.
Big Z -- We're all really tired of the act. Grow up. To paraphrase Bull Durham, "You've got a million dollar arm and a five cent head." If you're ever going to realize the vast potential you have, you need to leave the coddling country club that is Wrigley Field and go somewhere where they'll make you work or ship your behind to Triple A. Enough. Bye.
Fukodome -- One of the largest disappointments ever. That great batting eye that Sports Illustrated featured early last year, where did that go? No power, low average, poor defense. But that contract? How do you say "laughing all the way to the bank" in Japanese?
Kevin Gregg -- this guy couldn't close a door...
Derrek Lee, Ted Lilly and Aramis Ramirez -- it's a shame, but we need prospects and you guys are tradable commodities. Besides, you're not going to win the Series here in the time left in your careers, so you'd be better off somewhere else.
Alfonso Soriano -- It only took a couple of years for us to finally figure out you cannot hit leadoff. And you're the worst leftfielder we've had since Dave Kingman. And that's saying something when you're patrolling the same patch of grass as guys like Steve Henderson and Glenallen Hill.
Keep Theriot, Fontenot and Soto, although Geo, maybe you could pass up seconds at the dinner table this off-season, OK? Keep Samardzija, but make up your damn minds on what role you want him to play.
I can’t help my allegiance to the team, they’re my team. But I really, REALLY despise all the rest of it -- Sammy Nation, Cubby Blue, Ronnie Woo-Woo, Bleacher Bums, Lovable Losers, Santo’s legs, “Let’s play two”, the ivy, baseball in sunshine, “who cares if the Cubs lose, we just love coming out to the ballpark,” all the crap. They come with so much goddamn baggage. I don’t even enjoy going to the ballpark anymore, because it’s a freaking circus. I won’t just swallow what they put out there, and that puts me in the minority. I guess I’m a Cub fan with a Southside Sox fan’s mentality. Hell, Sox fans don't go to the games even when their team's winning.
The last few years just have killed me. Five outs from the fucking World Series, and they blow it. 2004, best damn team they’ve had in my entire lifetime, the first time I could REALLY talk about them and a World Series with a straight face, and they piss the whole thing away bitching and moaning about Steve Stone and Chip Caray. Not to mention playing like complete jackasses the last week and a half of the season when they STILL could have made the playoffs if they could have just taken their head out of their asses. And the last two years? Swept out of the playoffs completely. Last year's team made the choke of 1969 seem like a hiccup.
Win me a pennant goddammit, I deserve it.
But I'm not a racist. I boo you because you didn't do what you were brought here to do - help win the World Series. Don't like it? Make you feel bad? Tough.
RIP (again) Cubs baseball for 2009. It wasn't fun and I'm glad it's over. Enjoy playing out the string and hopefully we won't see some of you at Wrigley Field next season.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Tougher than I Thought...
My oldest, Mike, starts high school next Tuesday.
I'm having a much tougher time with this than I thought I would.
For the past few months, I've been giving his mom a ribbing about her not being ready for her "baby" to grow up and go to high school. I've been asking her if she needs me to stay home from work that day to supply her with tissues and support for her tears as Mike embarks on his high school years. And Jen's been a very good sport about it. Maybe because she knows me too well and knows that I've been, well, full of it.
I'm the one who's having the tough go of it.
Last night was freshman orientation for the students and parents. It was time to pick up his schedule, help him find his locker and take a walk around and find his classrooms before he starts next Tuesday. And I as struck that I was a lot more nervous than he seemed. He was cool and collected, like none of this is a very big deal at all. After all, with sports practices and other functions, he's been in the high school dozens and dozens of times, it's not like it's an unfamiliar place. And we live in a relatively small town. Most of the students in his freshman class are the same ones who were in middle school with him. There won't be that many new faces.
Still, I remember starting high school myself and I was scared to death. I went from public school to a parochial high school. Most of my friends were headed off to Alan B. Shepard HS as I boarded the bus for Marist HS. I knew about 5 or 6 guys who were going to my school. And, at that time, Marist was an all boys high school. So the experience was going to be very different than what I had been used to. And as I've written here before, I was kind of an outsider in HS. Never completely isolated on an island, but never really part of one specific group or another. For the most part, I was OK with that. But, it did make for a lonely existence sometimes. I would never look back like some others and say that my high school years were the best of my life.
So maybe I'm simply projecting my worry onto Mike, hoping that his high school years are more fulfilling than my own. But Mike is so much more confident and popular than I ever was. He's an excellent student. He's a really good athlete. And he has a wide circle of friends. He tends to get along with everyone and everyone tends to like him. He seems destined to have a wonderful high school experience.
I guess my worry is more that I know we've entered the home stretch. From the day he was born, his mother and I have worked hard to raise him to be the best person he could be. I did my best to raise him to be a man of virtue, respect, intelligence, compassion and honor. And I see him turning into just that person. I couldn't be more proud of him (can you tell). And that's what scares me.
Michael is my son. He's my first-born. He's brought more joy to my life than he could ever possibly understand. But he's more than my kid. He's my very best friend. He's the guy I watch sports with and talk Bears and Cubs and Blackhawks and Irish. He's the guy I go to Wal-Mart with at midnight to get our copy of Madden 10 for Xbox and then stay up all night playing with. When I'm down, he almost always finds a way to pick my spirits up. He's one of the best people I know.
And he's growing up. And in the next four years, he'll begin to grow away. He'll become his own man, with his own interests. And we'll do battle, as he begins to carve out a life of his own making, as he begins to test the boundaries of his own independence. We're going to knock heads because that's what fathers and sons do. He's going to try and break away while I attempt to hold onto him with all my might. And I will lose.
I know that Mike will become a man and we'll have a different and perhaps even deeper relationship. But right now, I don't want to let go of playing catch in the yard or video games or of just kissing him goodbye on the forehead as he sleeps as I leave for work every morning. I don't want to give my little boy away to the world, because I know the world, and it's going to be cold and mean to him. And I hate the world for that.
I guess, most of all, I don't want him to grow up, because I don't want to either.
There's a poem by General Douglas MacArthur that hangs on a plaque my father gave to me and I gave to Mike that hangs in his room and reads:
Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak; and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.
Build me a son whose wishes will not take the place of deeds; a son who will know Thee -- and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.
Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.
Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high, a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men, one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.
And after all these thing are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humour, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom and the meekness of true strength.
Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, "I have not lived in vain!"
Thank you for everything, Michael. And good luck, my son, as you begin the next part of your journey.
I'm having a much tougher time with this than I thought I would.
For the past few months, I've been giving his mom a ribbing about her not being ready for her "baby" to grow up and go to high school. I've been asking her if she needs me to stay home from work that day to supply her with tissues and support for her tears as Mike embarks on his high school years. And Jen's been a very good sport about it. Maybe because she knows me too well and knows that I've been, well, full of it.
I'm the one who's having the tough go of it.
Last night was freshman orientation for the students and parents. It was time to pick up his schedule, help him find his locker and take a walk around and find his classrooms before he starts next Tuesday. And I as struck that I was a lot more nervous than he seemed. He was cool and collected, like none of this is a very big deal at all. After all, with sports practices and other functions, he's been in the high school dozens and dozens of times, it's not like it's an unfamiliar place. And we live in a relatively small town. Most of the students in his freshman class are the same ones who were in middle school with him. There won't be that many new faces.
Still, I remember starting high school myself and I was scared to death. I went from public school to a parochial high school. Most of my friends were headed off to Alan B. Shepard HS as I boarded the bus for Marist HS. I knew about 5 or 6 guys who were going to my school. And, at that time, Marist was an all boys high school. So the experience was going to be very different than what I had been used to. And as I've written here before, I was kind of an outsider in HS. Never completely isolated on an island, but never really part of one specific group or another. For the most part, I was OK with that. But, it did make for a lonely existence sometimes. I would never look back like some others and say that my high school years were the best of my life.
So maybe I'm simply projecting my worry onto Mike, hoping that his high school years are more fulfilling than my own. But Mike is so much more confident and popular than I ever was. He's an excellent student. He's a really good athlete. And he has a wide circle of friends. He tends to get along with everyone and everyone tends to like him. He seems destined to have a wonderful high school experience.
I guess my worry is more that I know we've entered the home stretch. From the day he was born, his mother and I have worked hard to raise him to be the best person he could be. I did my best to raise him to be a man of virtue, respect, intelligence, compassion and honor. And I see him turning into just that person. I couldn't be more proud of him (can you tell). And that's what scares me.
Michael is my son. He's my first-born. He's brought more joy to my life than he could ever possibly understand. But he's more than my kid. He's my very best friend. He's the guy I watch sports with and talk Bears and Cubs and Blackhawks and Irish. He's the guy I go to Wal-Mart with at midnight to get our copy of Madden 10 for Xbox and then stay up all night playing with. When I'm down, he almost always finds a way to pick my spirits up. He's one of the best people I know.
And he's growing up. And in the next four years, he'll begin to grow away. He'll become his own man, with his own interests. And we'll do battle, as he begins to carve out a life of his own making, as he begins to test the boundaries of his own independence. We're going to knock heads because that's what fathers and sons do. He's going to try and break away while I attempt to hold onto him with all my might. And I will lose.
I know that Mike will become a man and we'll have a different and perhaps even deeper relationship. But right now, I don't want to let go of playing catch in the yard or video games or of just kissing him goodbye on the forehead as he sleeps as I leave for work every morning. I don't want to give my little boy away to the world, because I know the world, and it's going to be cold and mean to him. And I hate the world for that.
I guess, most of all, I don't want him to grow up, because I don't want to either.
There's a poem by General Douglas MacArthur that hangs on a plaque my father gave to me and I gave to Mike that hangs in his room and reads:
Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak; and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.
Build me a son whose wishes will not take the place of deeds; a son who will know Thee -- and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.
Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.
Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high, a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men, one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.
And after all these thing are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humour, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom and the meekness of true strength.
Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, "I have not lived in vain!"
Thank you for everything, Michael. And good luck, my son, as you begin the next part of your journey.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
A world without hope...
I had an interesting exchange with my younger brother last night on the health care reform issue. He voiced his opposition to Obama's plan and I, admittedly somewhat condescendingly, challenged whether he had reviewed the plan before forming an opinion about it. His response was that his opposition was based on a mistrust of government and their political motivations rather than their desire to actually do something for the common American. He referred to politics as "an insane man's game." (Gotta give it to him, I love the quote).
Well, I believe we need to do better than that. If you base a position solely on your cynicism then that unfortunately lumps you in then with so many others with a lack of mental fortitude to examine the problem and identify solutions, to LEAD. They take the easy way out. Be against something simply because the government's behind it, so it must be bad. Just poke holes but offer no solutions of their own. That's the "insane man's game." Incidentally, it's also the coward's.
There's no such thing as perfection as we all well know. But that doesn't mean you don't try, that you throw your hands in the air and just give up. You make compromises, and try to work together toward solutions. Do we do it especially well right now? No, I'll give you that. But the President is taking a leadership role, he's attempting to tackle a problem that has gone unchecked for far too long. And he's expending a lot of political capital to do it. It might cost him re-election. It's certainly gonna hit his approval ratings. But that's not important. It needs to be done and that's why he's trying. THAT'S real leadership and that's why I believe in him.
If we give up trying, we give up hope. And I don't want, nor do I want my kids, to live in a world without hope. Do you?
Well, I believe we need to do better than that. If you base a position solely on your cynicism then that unfortunately lumps you in then with so many others with a lack of mental fortitude to examine the problem and identify solutions, to LEAD. They take the easy way out. Be against something simply because the government's behind it, so it must be bad. Just poke holes but offer no solutions of their own. That's the "insane man's game." Incidentally, it's also the coward's.
There's no such thing as perfection as we all well know. But that doesn't mean you don't try, that you throw your hands in the air and just give up. You make compromises, and try to work together toward solutions. Do we do it especially well right now? No, I'll give you that. But the President is taking a leadership role, he's attempting to tackle a problem that has gone unchecked for far too long. And he's expending a lot of political capital to do it. It might cost him re-election. It's certainly gonna hit his approval ratings. But that's not important. It needs to be done and that's why he's trying. THAT'S real leadership and that's why I believe in him.
If we give up trying, we give up hope. And I don't want, nor do I want my kids, to live in a world without hope. Do you?
Friday, July 17, 2009
We just decided to go...
"That's one small step for man...one giant leap for mankind."
- Neil Armstrong
Forty years ago Monday night, man first walked on the moon. Unless you were alive to witness it, that sentence is one whose magnificence is somewhat lost on many as just another historical fact, just another piece of trivia or bullet point in a Wikipedia entry when you type in "Neil Armstrong."
So just consider it for a moment.
Man walked on the moon.
Human beings found a way to traverse the lifeless vacuum of space to our dusty celestial companion and return home again. For all the science fiction about space travel and whatnot, we actually did it. When you look up in the sky tonight, think about it. Look at the moon and think about the fact that Americans were actually there.
To me, when I consider America's greatest achievement in our 230-plus years, it's the night of June 20, 1969. Neil Armstrong's sojourn down the steps of the Eagle to the surface of the moon, the culmination of the work and sacrifice of thousands, was a truly -- without any hint of irony or cynicism -- unifying moment in the history of our planet. For a few fleeting moments in time, human beings the world over watched in wonder as one of their own stepped foot on a different world.
My favorite quote about the Apollo 11 landing comes from the movie Apollo 13, as Jim Lovell contemplates the achievement.
"We now live in a world where man has walked on the moon. It's not a miracle. We just decided to go."
And that sums it up. "We just decided to go." The dream realized when Armstrong and Aldrin descended those steps shows how we really can do ANYTHING that we set our minds to. No objective is beyond our grasp if we have the desire and drive to work together and sacrifice and face the challenges along the way. If we truly want it, we can do it. President Kennedy issued a challenge in 1961 to do something that at that moment in time, we were not capable of doing. The technology and know-how didn't even EXIST yet. But in nine years of collective effort, we did the impossible when our astronauts not only set foot on the moon, but more importantly, returned home and set foot again on the Earth.
Argue the political realities about the moon landing being a product of Cold War politics another time, that sure, we can go to the moon if all those resources are thrown behind it. It doesn't change the fact that we accomplished the feat. And because of it, no dream is beyond us.
And that's my most important point. That landing is an affirmation for me of American ingenuity, ambition, cooperation and spirit. It's one of the things I point out to my kids about our potential as a nation. War, poverty, education, health care, the failing economy -- none of it is indomitable if we decide it's not.
If we just decide to go...
- Neil Armstrong
Forty years ago Monday night, man first walked on the moon. Unless you were alive to witness it, that sentence is one whose magnificence is somewhat lost on many as just another historical fact, just another piece of trivia or bullet point in a Wikipedia entry when you type in "Neil Armstrong."
So just consider it for a moment.
Man walked on the moon.
Human beings found a way to traverse the lifeless vacuum of space to our dusty celestial companion and return home again. For all the science fiction about space travel and whatnot, we actually did it. When you look up in the sky tonight, think about it. Look at the moon and think about the fact that Americans were actually there.
To me, when I consider America's greatest achievement in our 230-plus years, it's the night of June 20, 1969. Neil Armstrong's sojourn down the steps of the Eagle to the surface of the moon, the culmination of the work and sacrifice of thousands, was a truly -- without any hint of irony or cynicism -- unifying moment in the history of our planet. For a few fleeting moments in time, human beings the world over watched in wonder as one of their own stepped foot on a different world.
My favorite quote about the Apollo 11 landing comes from the movie Apollo 13, as Jim Lovell contemplates the achievement.
"We now live in a world where man has walked on the moon. It's not a miracle. We just decided to go."
And that sums it up. "We just decided to go." The dream realized when Armstrong and Aldrin descended those steps shows how we really can do ANYTHING that we set our minds to. No objective is beyond our grasp if we have the desire and drive to work together and sacrifice and face the challenges along the way. If we truly want it, we can do it. President Kennedy issued a challenge in 1961 to do something that at that moment in time, we were not capable of doing. The technology and know-how didn't even EXIST yet. But in nine years of collective effort, we did the impossible when our astronauts not only set foot on the moon, but more importantly, returned home and set foot again on the Earth.
Argue the political realities about the moon landing being a product of Cold War politics another time, that sure, we can go to the moon if all those resources are thrown behind it. It doesn't change the fact that we accomplished the feat. And because of it, no dream is beyond us.
And that's my most important point. That landing is an affirmation for me of American ingenuity, ambition, cooperation and spirit. It's one of the things I point out to my kids about our potential as a nation. War, poverty, education, health care, the failing economy -- none of it is indomitable if we decide it's not.
If we just decide to go...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
A Higher Standard
I write this blog when I'm inspired by something. In this space I've written about my kids, my friends, and my passion for sports. Sometimes I'll go for a period of time between posts. And mainly it's because I write here when I have something I need to say.
This morning I was struck by a story on the news as I prepared for work. I'll leave the names out, but it was the story of the Chicago Police officer who assaulted a female bartender. He was convicted in part due to videotaped footage of the incident and yesterday, the case came to sentencing.
No jail time. None. The man -- a POLICE OFFICER -- struck a female bartender less than half his size because she wouldn't serve him any more alcohol. The incident was captured on videotape. And his punishment? Probation and community service.
This is a travesty. It's a travesty because it's a vulgar insult to every man and woman who wears a badge.
The judge was lenient because he had no previous record. He beat up another human being, he didn't steal a candy bar from the mini-mart or park in a no parking zone. And he wasn't defending himself from an attacker or protecting a loved one. He deserves no leniency.
He deserves no leniency because he's simply a bully. He assaulted a smaller and weaker person. Impressive. He deserves no leniency because a real man doesn't strike a woman. Now, call me sexist, but in the house I grew up in, that just wasn't allowed. Never.
But most of all, he deserves no leniency because he's a cop. If anything, he should be held to a higher standard. He's sworn to serve and protect. The Chicago Police Department put out a book not long ago called Courage, Integrity, Commitment and Community. It was a great piece on the men and women of CPD who put their lives on the line to make the city and everyone in it safer. And what this guy did and the measly sentence applied simply denigrates the men and women who wear that shield and do the job every day. It's an insult and the justice system owes them more than that.
There are good cops and bad cops, just like there are good and bad bus drivers or sales clerks or mechanics or teachers or doctors. The news gets filled with tales of cops gone wrong and we get very little of the day-to-day good work these officers do. And stories like this one don't help.
Police officers represent the best in us, put on the front line to protect against the worst in us. We should hold them to a higher standard, we should expect more because I'll guarantee you they do.
It takes courage and honor to wear the badge. Even in a travesty of justice, I hope we can all remember that.
And to this guy, enjoy your new career in the drive thru...
This morning I was struck by a story on the news as I prepared for work. I'll leave the names out, but it was the story of the Chicago Police officer who assaulted a female bartender. He was convicted in part due to videotaped footage of the incident and yesterday, the case came to sentencing.
No jail time. None. The man -- a POLICE OFFICER -- struck a female bartender less than half his size because she wouldn't serve him any more alcohol. The incident was captured on videotape. And his punishment? Probation and community service.
This is a travesty. It's a travesty because it's a vulgar insult to every man and woman who wears a badge.
The judge was lenient because he had no previous record. He beat up another human being, he didn't steal a candy bar from the mini-mart or park in a no parking zone. And he wasn't defending himself from an attacker or protecting a loved one. He deserves no leniency.
He deserves no leniency because he's simply a bully. He assaulted a smaller and weaker person. Impressive. He deserves no leniency because a real man doesn't strike a woman. Now, call me sexist, but in the house I grew up in, that just wasn't allowed. Never.
But most of all, he deserves no leniency because he's a cop. If anything, he should be held to a higher standard. He's sworn to serve and protect. The Chicago Police Department put out a book not long ago called Courage, Integrity, Commitment and Community. It was a great piece on the men and women of CPD who put their lives on the line to make the city and everyone in it safer. And what this guy did and the measly sentence applied simply denigrates the men and women who wear that shield and do the job every day. It's an insult and the justice system owes them more than that.
There are good cops and bad cops, just like there are good and bad bus drivers or sales clerks or mechanics or teachers or doctors. The news gets filled with tales of cops gone wrong and we get very little of the day-to-day good work these officers do. And stories like this one don't help.
Police officers represent the best in us, put on the front line to protect against the worst in us. We should hold them to a higher standard, we should expect more because I'll guarantee you they do.
It takes courage and honor to wear the badge. Even in a travesty of justice, I hope we can all remember that.
And to this guy, enjoy your new career in the drive thru...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Ride
A little composition inspired by conversation with friends about the path we're all on. Everybody's on one, but where is it taking you? That's a question we all have to find our own answers for...
The Ride
Everyone's on their way to someplace else
On a path of promises and problems
Some morning's you wake up
With questions about the road you're on
And the deals you made with yourself
That map you're looking at
Won't show you where you're going
You're worried you'll reach your destination
Without the benefit of really knowing
But it's all a part of the journey
To find out who you are inside
You can fight it or embrace it
But you're still gonna take the ride
None of us really know where we’re going
We choose a direction and we’re on our way
Sometimes we change our minds just based on the way the wind’s blowing
We just do what we can, taking it day by day
Taking it day by day
If it seems sometimes the scenery's going by
Faster than you can see it
And your life's part of a third-person story
And you're not sure you want to be in it
If you wake up to all this time gone by
And wonder where you were
The trip is as you planned it
But now you ain't so sure
If it seems at times all the choices you made
Are somehow coming back to haunt you
And to get through the day you gotta do
Some things you don’t really want to
If the price you pay for passion
Is more pain in an already broken heart
It’s OK if you gotta stop and pull over
And take a moment before it tears you apart
And none of us really know where we’re going
We’re pointed in a direction and we’re on our way
We’ve all got scars and secrets we aren’t showing
We do what we have to, taking it day by day
Taking it day by day
Everybody's racing
Falling behind, faster they go
Everybody's chasing
Elusive dreams they may never know
And maybe everybody's facing
Something they just can't let show
So you keep on riding
There's twists and there's turns
There's things you'll never see coming
And you might think sometimes it's too late
To change the course that you're running
It takes a leap of faith
You say a prayer and close your eyes
Turning the wheel, hitting the brakes
You’ll be OK
Stopping and starting again's all part of the ride
And none of us really know where we’re going
We choose a direction and we’re on our way
We’re chasing hopes and dreams without ever knowing
Where we’ll end up, just taking it day by day
Taking it day by day
The Ride
Everyone's on their way to someplace else
On a path of promises and problems
Some morning's you wake up
With questions about the road you're on
And the deals you made with yourself
That map you're looking at
Won't show you where you're going
You're worried you'll reach your destination
Without the benefit of really knowing
But it's all a part of the journey
To find out who you are inside
You can fight it or embrace it
But you're still gonna take the ride
None of us really know where we’re going
We choose a direction and we’re on our way
Sometimes we change our minds just based on the way the wind’s blowing
We just do what we can, taking it day by day
Taking it day by day
If it seems sometimes the scenery's going by
Faster than you can see it
And your life's part of a third-person story
And you're not sure you want to be in it
If you wake up to all this time gone by
And wonder where you were
The trip is as you planned it
But now you ain't so sure
If it seems at times all the choices you made
Are somehow coming back to haunt you
And to get through the day you gotta do
Some things you don’t really want to
If the price you pay for passion
Is more pain in an already broken heart
It’s OK if you gotta stop and pull over
And take a moment before it tears you apart
And none of us really know where we’re going
We’re pointed in a direction and we’re on our way
We’ve all got scars and secrets we aren’t showing
We do what we have to, taking it day by day
Taking it day by day
Everybody's racing
Falling behind, faster they go
Everybody's chasing
Elusive dreams they may never know
And maybe everybody's facing
Something they just can't let show
So you keep on riding
There's twists and there's turns
There's things you'll never see coming
And you might think sometimes it's too late
To change the course that you're running
It takes a leap of faith
You say a prayer and close your eyes
Turning the wheel, hitting the brakes
You’ll be OK
Stopping and starting again's all part of the ride
And none of us really know where we’re going
We choose a direction and we’re on our way
We’re chasing hopes and dreams without ever knowing
Where we’ll end up, just taking it day by day
Taking it day by day
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Best of Intentions
Last night, my son had his eighth grade graduation dance. They called it a "banquet," but I'm calling it what it was, a dance. There were 14 year old girls in dresses and heels that had them teetering and tottering on the edge of disaster. There were 14 year old boys in ill-fitting suits with ties awkwardly hung around their necks. There was a DJ and loud music played on an acoustically-challenged sound system with the bass turned all the way up. And there was dancing. Nothing that would win them points from Carrie Ann, Bruno or Len, but dancing nonetheless.
My son took a date, but he was lucky because about two weeks before the "banquet" they decided to put the brakes on the ritual of asking someone to the dance. Anyone who already had a date, fine. But there would be no more asking of girls by boys to this shindig. Evidently, the rumor and gossip and drama of junior high was just too much and the administration had had enough. For the good of all the students having a good time, they were putting an end to it.
This is a bad idea. I admire the administrators and teachers for wanting to spare kids' feelings and wanting everyone to enjoy themselves. I understand their intentions.
But they are not doing the kids any favors by eliminating the ritual of a boy summoning the nerve to ask a girl to the dance. Of him practicing the request over and over again for weeks, of his friends prodding him to just do it. Of the girls hoping to be asked, or in some cases, of them going through the same machinations in working the courage to ask one of the boys themselves (since he's just taking too long to ask on his own). Of the joy when she/he says "yes." And also of the hurt when that other person says "no."
In fact, it's the latter that's the more important lesson. Unfortunately, rejection is a part of life. Would that it were not that way, but it is. We all know it. We've all had our hearts broken at some point, be it at 14 or 21 or 30 or 50. And everytime it happens, whenever it happens, it hurts like nothing has ever hurt before. But eventually, you learn to get over it and find that new person who makes your heart jump when he or she walks in a room.
Disappointments are coming for every one of these kids. A team they'll get cut from, a party they won't be invited to, the college acceptance letter that doesn't come and the job interview that doesn't pan out. None of them will be easy, but you learn to deal with them because you have experience to fall back on. You know that things will get better, because you've been there before and it did then, so it will now.
Shielding kids from unnecessary pain and suffering is a good thing. Believe me, if I could figure out a way that my kids never had to experience any of it, I would. But it's impossible. And because it is, I know they need to experience it in the small doses now so they can better cope with potentially larger doses down the line.
In the end, pretending that it's not a dance or eliminating dates is not preparing the kids for anything. Sometimes, even the best of intentions are missplaced.
My son took a date, but he was lucky because about two weeks before the "banquet" they decided to put the brakes on the ritual of asking someone to the dance. Anyone who already had a date, fine. But there would be no more asking of girls by boys to this shindig. Evidently, the rumor and gossip and drama of junior high was just too much and the administration had had enough. For the good of all the students having a good time, they were putting an end to it.
This is a bad idea. I admire the administrators and teachers for wanting to spare kids' feelings and wanting everyone to enjoy themselves. I understand their intentions.
But they are not doing the kids any favors by eliminating the ritual of a boy summoning the nerve to ask a girl to the dance. Of him practicing the request over and over again for weeks, of his friends prodding him to just do it. Of the girls hoping to be asked, or in some cases, of them going through the same machinations in working the courage to ask one of the boys themselves (since he's just taking too long to ask on his own). Of the joy when she/he says "yes." And also of the hurt when that other person says "no."
In fact, it's the latter that's the more important lesson. Unfortunately, rejection is a part of life. Would that it were not that way, but it is. We all know it. We've all had our hearts broken at some point, be it at 14 or 21 or 30 or 50. And everytime it happens, whenever it happens, it hurts like nothing has ever hurt before. But eventually, you learn to get over it and find that new person who makes your heart jump when he or she walks in a room.
Disappointments are coming for every one of these kids. A team they'll get cut from, a party they won't be invited to, the college acceptance letter that doesn't come and the job interview that doesn't pan out. None of them will be easy, but you learn to deal with them because you have experience to fall back on. You know that things will get better, because you've been there before and it did then, so it will now.
Shielding kids from unnecessary pain and suffering is a good thing. Believe me, if I could figure out a way that my kids never had to experience any of it, I would. But it's impossible. And because it is, I know they need to experience it in the small doses now so they can better cope with potentially larger doses down the line.
In the end, pretending that it's not a dance or eliminating dates is not preparing the kids for anything. Sometimes, even the best of intentions are missplaced.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Perspective on Two Wheels
Sometimes something jumps up and gives a little bit of much needed perspective. Sometimes they're life-changing events -- a birth, a death, an accident, a departure. But they don't always have to be so dramatic.
Last week, I was on vacation at home. And I accomplished something that's more important than anything I've done in months.
I taught my daughter to ride a bike.
No, that's not life-altering for you, and frankly it's not for me either. I've done it before, and I've got a younger son, so I'll do it again.
But it was life-altering for her. It was a huge hurdle finally overcome. It was a truly magnificent accomplishment as far as Jessie was concerned. The mystery of balancing and propelling herself on those two wheels was finally revealed. And the look on her face was like a whole new world had opened up for her. I could see her mind working, planning excursions she couldn't take before, trips to places she couldn't go on her own, now suddenly all within her reach. And as I'm often inclined to do in these instances, my mind flashed forward to explorations beyond her bicycle, to reaches that will take her beyond home, that will lead her away from me to a place that's all her own. And inside, I cursed myself a little for taking those training wheels off.
But then she hugged me and thanked me for not letting her fall, for not letting her give up. And I realized that I had really done something wonderful that afternoon. And I was reminded again that it's part of my job as a father. That I'm responsible for letting her fail, and for then encouraging her that the only way to do it is to get up and do it again. For running alongside her as she teeters on the edge of disaster, there to catch her fall and pick her up and put her right back on that bike again.
I come back to work today and confront problems and issues large and small, with clients, with colleagues. There's still bills to pay with a bank account that's forever stretched to its limit. The basement still needs to be cleaned out and I still haven't figured out how to wire that damn ceiling fan. There's plenty on my list of things to do.
But today I feel accomplished and important. And perspective rides along with a 7 year old on two wheels with silver streamers flying from her handlebars.
Yeah, sometimes life IS good.
Last week, I was on vacation at home. And I accomplished something that's more important than anything I've done in months.
I taught my daughter to ride a bike.
No, that's not life-altering for you, and frankly it's not for me either. I've done it before, and I've got a younger son, so I'll do it again.
But it was life-altering for her. It was a huge hurdle finally overcome. It was a truly magnificent accomplishment as far as Jessie was concerned. The mystery of balancing and propelling herself on those two wheels was finally revealed. And the look on her face was like a whole new world had opened up for her. I could see her mind working, planning excursions she couldn't take before, trips to places she couldn't go on her own, now suddenly all within her reach. And as I'm often inclined to do in these instances, my mind flashed forward to explorations beyond her bicycle, to reaches that will take her beyond home, that will lead her away from me to a place that's all her own. And inside, I cursed myself a little for taking those training wheels off.
But then she hugged me and thanked me for not letting her fall, for not letting her give up. And I realized that I had really done something wonderful that afternoon. And I was reminded again that it's part of my job as a father. That I'm responsible for letting her fail, and for then encouraging her that the only way to do it is to get up and do it again. For running alongside her as she teeters on the edge of disaster, there to catch her fall and pick her up and put her right back on that bike again.
I come back to work today and confront problems and issues large and small, with clients, with colleagues. There's still bills to pay with a bank account that's forever stretched to its limit. The basement still needs to be cleaned out and I still haven't figured out how to wire that damn ceiling fan. There's plenty on my list of things to do.
But today I feel accomplished and important. And perspective rides along with a 7 year old on two wheels with silver streamers flying from her handlebars.
Yeah, sometimes life IS good.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Save that paper towel...
An upfront confession that I am a sports fanatic. And like so many, I place WAY too much importance on the outcome of games involving "my" teams -- particularly my big two -- the Chicago Bears and the Chicago Cubs.
I get too emotionally involved, yes I do. I spend an inordinate amount of time combing sports pages, reading magazines and surfing sports related websites. And lord knows, I spend A LOT of waking hours watching games on TV. I think the lone saving grace for my poor wife is that at least I'm not involved in the subculture of fantasy sports leagues. No question, we'd be divorced for sure if I was into that. But I have indoctrinated my sons into sports and my teams, she had no choice there.
Yesterday was a wonderful day when I heard the news -- my beloved Chicago Bears had executed the trade of the century and got a real, honest-to-goodness QUARTERBACK from the Denver Broncos. Jay Cutler is a Chicago Bear. I think I might have peed myself just a little bit at that moment. And again as I write this...
Being the sports idiot that I am, I couldn't wait to get in the car and switch on sports radio for the long, hour and a half commute home (more on that another time). And it was glorious, sharing the unbridled glee of my fellow idiots, all now anxiously counting down the days to Bourbonnais.
But I was reminded of a curious Chicago sports phenomenon. Yes, in the middle of all the joy, of all the platitudes thrown at the Bears, of all the reverie, there was the downer. The guys who felt compelled to call and say the Bears gave up too much, that Cutler's not that good, what about those draft picks, what about his attitude, who's the back-up, etc, etc...
I'm not going to debate all that, at least not here. But it reminded me of a great quote by Mike Royko I heard once. He was talking about Cub fans, but I think it could apply to all Chicago fans. He said that an optimist looks at a half glass of water and says, "it's half full." The pessimist looks at it and says, "it's half empty." But the Chicago fan, well the Chicago fan looks at that same glass of water and says, "when's it gonna spill?"
I love that quote because it captures our Chicago sports essence. We've had our collective hearts broken too many times. Hell, not just broken, ripped from our chests, thrown to the ground, stomped on and then handed back to us (see Chicago Cubs -- 2008, 2003, 1989, 1984, 1969; Blackhawks 1992, 1973, 1972 -- you get the picture). We don't believe in love and good fortune anymore. With any good, there's got to be tenfold bad to go with it.
Well, save that paper towel, this glass ain't spilling. Not for me, not this time. I'm going all in on this one. I'm embracing the giddiness, to hell with it. Sports are supposed to be about entertainment. They're supposed to be a diversion from the mundane existence we have to otherwise lead. Call me a homer, say I've drunk the Kool-Aid, I don't care. I still always believe my team's going to win, every game, every season. If you don't, I don't know why you watch. What fun is that?
So, I can't wait to watch the Hawks hoist the Cup, to see the Cubs finally win the Series and to watch Jay Cutler and my Chicago Bears grab the Lombardi Trophy next January (or February, still doesn't have the same ring to it). Who's with me? Party's at my house people, and you're all invited. But leave the pessimism at the door, there ain't going to be any room.
I get too emotionally involved, yes I do. I spend an inordinate amount of time combing sports pages, reading magazines and surfing sports related websites. And lord knows, I spend A LOT of waking hours watching games on TV. I think the lone saving grace for my poor wife is that at least I'm not involved in the subculture of fantasy sports leagues. No question, we'd be divorced for sure if I was into that. But I have indoctrinated my sons into sports and my teams, she had no choice there.
Yesterday was a wonderful day when I heard the news -- my beloved Chicago Bears had executed the trade of the century and got a real, honest-to-goodness QUARTERBACK from the Denver Broncos. Jay Cutler is a Chicago Bear. I think I might have peed myself just a little bit at that moment. And again as I write this...
Being the sports idiot that I am, I couldn't wait to get in the car and switch on sports radio for the long, hour and a half commute home (more on that another time). And it was glorious, sharing the unbridled glee of my fellow idiots, all now anxiously counting down the days to Bourbonnais.
But I was reminded of a curious Chicago sports phenomenon. Yes, in the middle of all the joy, of all the platitudes thrown at the Bears, of all the reverie, there was the downer. The guys who felt compelled to call and say the Bears gave up too much, that Cutler's not that good, what about those draft picks, what about his attitude, who's the back-up, etc, etc...
I'm not going to debate all that, at least not here. But it reminded me of a great quote by Mike Royko I heard once. He was talking about Cub fans, but I think it could apply to all Chicago fans. He said that an optimist looks at a half glass of water and says, "it's half full." The pessimist looks at it and says, "it's half empty." But the Chicago fan, well the Chicago fan looks at that same glass of water and says, "when's it gonna spill?"
I love that quote because it captures our Chicago sports essence. We've had our collective hearts broken too many times. Hell, not just broken, ripped from our chests, thrown to the ground, stomped on and then handed back to us (see Chicago Cubs -- 2008, 2003, 1989, 1984, 1969; Blackhawks 1992, 1973, 1972 -- you get the picture). We don't believe in love and good fortune anymore. With any good, there's got to be tenfold bad to go with it.
Well, save that paper towel, this glass ain't spilling. Not for me, not this time. I'm going all in on this one. I'm embracing the giddiness, to hell with it. Sports are supposed to be about entertainment. They're supposed to be a diversion from the mundane existence we have to otherwise lead. Call me a homer, say I've drunk the Kool-Aid, I don't care. I still always believe my team's going to win, every game, every season. If you don't, I don't know why you watch. What fun is that?
So, I can't wait to watch the Hawks hoist the Cup, to see the Cubs finally win the Series and to watch Jay Cutler and my Chicago Bears grab the Lombardi Trophy next January (or February, still doesn't have the same ring to it). Who's with me? Party's at my house people, and you're all invited. But leave the pessimism at the door, there ain't going to be any room.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
One Man
A little piece inspired by some of the best men I know...
On a cold November morning
One man gets up and rises from his bed
He takes his badge, gun and holster
Kisses his wife and children on the head
He takes his place in the daily battle
On city streets where blood gets shed
He sees young lives wasted, given up
So easily left for dead
When he tallies up the costs each day
He knows they aren’t getting ahead
But tomorrow he’ll be back
And he’s just one man
In a classroom at the blackboard
One man sharing the ability to think and teach
To captivate and inspire and let them know
The world they want is within their reach
Just like the one man trying to save lost souls
With just his power to pray and preach
They each know to some they’re getting through
And some they’ll never reach
But they’re still there
Even if they’re just one man
Tell it all to the factory man
Working hard both day and night
Because he knows just making ends meet
Is a minute-to-minute fight
And he’s got to do whatever he can
Regardless of wrong or right
While the wheel just keeps on spinning
And there’s no happy end for him in sight
But he does what he can do
Even if he’s just one man
One man seldom realizes
The power he commands
To love, to heal, to hope
To make a difference
To understand
To change the course he’s walking
He holds it all within his hands
It takes the courage and conviction
To get things started and make a stand
Sometimes it just takes one man
On a sunny summer day years ago
Back in Washington DC
One man stood and told us all
That in his heart he had a dream
All these years later
One man has the chance to bring it all to being
There’s a lot to do, it’s gonna take the cop,the factory man
The teacher and the priest
We just gotta share the weight
It’s gonna take more than one man
But it all still starts with one man...
On a cold November morning
One man gets up and rises from his bed
He takes his badge, gun and holster
Kisses his wife and children on the head
He takes his place in the daily battle
On city streets where blood gets shed
He sees young lives wasted, given up
So easily left for dead
When he tallies up the costs each day
He knows they aren’t getting ahead
But tomorrow he’ll be back
And he’s just one man
In a classroom at the blackboard
One man sharing the ability to think and teach
To captivate and inspire and let them know
The world they want is within their reach
Just like the one man trying to save lost souls
With just his power to pray and preach
They each know to some they’re getting through
And some they’ll never reach
But they’re still there
Even if they’re just one man
Tell it all to the factory man
Working hard both day and night
Because he knows just making ends meet
Is a minute-to-minute fight
And he’s got to do whatever he can
Regardless of wrong or right
While the wheel just keeps on spinning
And there’s no happy end for him in sight
But he does what he can do
Even if he’s just one man
One man seldom realizes
The power he commands
To love, to heal, to hope
To make a difference
To understand
To change the course he’s walking
He holds it all within his hands
It takes the courage and conviction
To get things started and make a stand
Sometimes it just takes one man
On a sunny summer day years ago
Back in Washington DC
One man stood and told us all
That in his heart he had a dream
All these years later
One man has the chance to bring it all to being
There’s a lot to do, it’s gonna take the cop,the factory man
The teacher and the priest
We just gotta share the weight
It’s gonna take more than one man
But it all still starts with one man...
Friday, March 20, 2009
A little self-righteousness
Last night, my wife is telling me about a woman who came into the library where she worked and needed some help with some books. No big deal, but in the midst of it, she launches into this whole diatribe about President Obama. She tells my wife, "I'm not an Obama supporter, and I don't know how anyone who is a true Christian could be."
So yet again, we have another so-called "true" christian who decides it's their job in sit in judgment of everyone and anyone who does not hold onto the same idea of right vs. wrong. And, as it always does, this incensed me. So here's a little self-righteousness of my own.
First off, let me go straight to the point here. If you are the "true" Christian you'd like to paint yourself to be, then simply go back to your Sunday school lessons to see where your comment is wrong-headed and offensive. It's simple -- only God can sit in judgment of man. If you're a TRUE believer, then you know that free will is one of the greatest gifts we've been given. And when judgment day comes, only God Himself will judge whether the choices made in this life were the right ones or wrong ones.
And while she didn't say it, I'm betting this woman's position was based upon a pro-life stance. OK, I'm making my own sweeping generalization there, but my own experience tells me that once she uttered the "true Christian" line, the pro life diatribe was coming next. Whether Obama is a good president or not hinges on that one issue and that one only for her.
That's as unenlightened as you can be. You CANNOT base your whole decision on abortion rights. That’s short-sighted and small-minded. And incidentally, it’s about being PRO-CHOICE, NOT PRO-ABORTION. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m personally against abortion. But I don’t think it’s a decision that the government should make for a woman. It’s one of the most, if not the most difficult decision any woman may be faced with. What gives me or anyone else the right to dictate to her in that moment? She should be free to make her own decision based on her own beliefs and moral compass. I’m every bit as much a Christian as any one of the fundamentalist, right wing, Bible toting elitists who feel they’re in a position to postulate as to what God wants her to do. But the last time I checked, the Big Man hasn’t put anything down in writing since Moses came down from the mountain. So, she needs to make her own peace with God on that decision. And the government should not be involved in it.
There are other issues we need to be concerned with — our economy is failing, prices are escalating, the quality of public education is deteriorating, our position of leadership in world affairs is gone and the gap between those who have and those do not grows wider every single day. We need a president who can and will address all of these problems, who cares about the legacy we leave our children. The privileged few can afford to focus on a single fundamentalist issue. They don’t have to worry about feeding their kids, paying their mortgage, saving for college or dodging gang warfare and drug dealers on their way home from a substandard public school or a minimum wage job. But they’re missing the point.
America is supposed to be about a fair chance for everybody. We’re supposed to care about helping those who have less, at home and overseas. We’re supposed to recognize that “nobody wins unless everybody wins.” Or to steal from another song, “them who got got out of town, and them who ain’t got left to drown” -- that isn’t good enough for America. And many Republicans, who like to wrap themselves in the flag and bask in American traditions and values, simply don’t get it. That the promise of our country was to be a shining light for the world, a place where everyone was welcome and where freedom wasn’t for the few, but for all. Instead, they’re good at putting up walls — around their communities, around our borders and in front of those who look different, speak different or would have the audacity to present a different idea or point of view.
You see the stakes in this game are higher than one issue. I worry every night about what the future holds for my kids. What opportunities are going to be there for them? Can they really still be anything they want to be?
The President has an unbelievable burden placed upon him. He's going to make some mistakes, he's going to need time to right a ship that's been rudderless for a long, long time.
I believe in President Obama because I think he embodies the idea that America is for ALL Americans. There isn’t a red America or blue America, or black America or white America. There's our America, and right now, it just isn’t good enough.
As for that lady, there's a lot of books I'd like to recommend to her. But since she's a "true" Christian, I'd recommend she start actually reading that one that she likes to present as her barometer, her truth. She might learn a few things about tolerance, acceptance, faith and love.
So yet again, we have another so-called "true" christian who decides it's their job in sit in judgment of everyone and anyone who does not hold onto the same idea of right vs. wrong. And, as it always does, this incensed me. So here's a little self-righteousness of my own.
First off, let me go straight to the point here. If you are the "true" Christian you'd like to paint yourself to be, then simply go back to your Sunday school lessons to see where your comment is wrong-headed and offensive. It's simple -- only God can sit in judgment of man. If you're a TRUE believer, then you know that free will is one of the greatest gifts we've been given. And when judgment day comes, only God Himself will judge whether the choices made in this life were the right ones or wrong ones.
And while she didn't say it, I'm betting this woman's position was based upon a pro-life stance. OK, I'm making my own sweeping generalization there, but my own experience tells me that once she uttered the "true Christian" line, the pro life diatribe was coming next. Whether Obama is a good president or not hinges on that one issue and that one only for her.
That's as unenlightened as you can be. You CANNOT base your whole decision on abortion rights. That’s short-sighted and small-minded. And incidentally, it’s about being PRO-CHOICE, NOT PRO-ABORTION. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m personally against abortion. But I don’t think it’s a decision that the government should make for a woman. It’s one of the most, if not the most difficult decision any woman may be faced with. What gives me or anyone else the right to dictate to her in that moment? She should be free to make her own decision based on her own beliefs and moral compass. I’m every bit as much a Christian as any one of the fundamentalist, right wing, Bible toting elitists who feel they’re in a position to postulate as to what God wants her to do. But the last time I checked, the Big Man hasn’t put anything down in writing since Moses came down from the mountain. So, she needs to make her own peace with God on that decision. And the government should not be involved in it.
There are other issues we need to be concerned with — our economy is failing, prices are escalating, the quality of public education is deteriorating, our position of leadership in world affairs is gone and the gap between those who have and those do not grows wider every single day. We need a president who can and will address all of these problems, who cares about the legacy we leave our children. The privileged few can afford to focus on a single fundamentalist issue. They don’t have to worry about feeding their kids, paying their mortgage, saving for college or dodging gang warfare and drug dealers on their way home from a substandard public school or a minimum wage job. But they’re missing the point.
America is supposed to be about a fair chance for everybody. We’re supposed to care about helping those who have less, at home and overseas. We’re supposed to recognize that “nobody wins unless everybody wins.” Or to steal from another song, “them who got got out of town, and them who ain’t got left to drown” -- that isn’t good enough for America. And many Republicans, who like to wrap themselves in the flag and bask in American traditions and values, simply don’t get it. That the promise of our country was to be a shining light for the world, a place where everyone was welcome and where freedom wasn’t for the few, but for all. Instead, they’re good at putting up walls — around their communities, around our borders and in front of those who look different, speak different or would have the audacity to present a different idea or point of view.
You see the stakes in this game are higher than one issue. I worry every night about what the future holds for my kids. What opportunities are going to be there for them? Can they really still be anything they want to be?
The President has an unbelievable burden placed upon him. He's going to make some mistakes, he's going to need time to right a ship that's been rudderless for a long, long time.
I believe in President Obama because I think he embodies the idea that America is for ALL Americans. There isn’t a red America or blue America, or black America or white America. There's our America, and right now, it just isn’t good enough.
As for that lady, there's a lot of books I'd like to recommend to her. But since she's a "true" Christian, I'd recommend she start actually reading that one that she likes to present as her barometer, her truth. She might learn a few things about tolerance, acceptance, faith and love.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Daily Show
If you missed the Daily Show with Jon Stewart on March 12, be sure to check it out online. In fact, run and do it NOW! Because what you'll witness is one of the great tv interviews of all time. Stewart did a wonderful job of not being overtly antagonistic, while staying tenacious with a guest who was overmatched -- Jim Cramer of CNBC's "Mad Money."
I just thought Jon did an absolutely spectacular job. He nailed it in terms of how I think so many of us feel about the mess on Wall Street. He captured our outrage that our investments, our 401(k)'s and pension programs financed the "adventure" these guys at Bear Stearns and everywhere else went on in their short-sighted, short-trading orgies. I loved it when he told Cramer that his problem with Cramer's "Mad Money" antics were that "this isn't a fucking game." Absolutely classic.
Stewart also captured something else in his work tonight that I found most important. It ws subtle, but oh so very important. Our worth is based on work, not on quick money schemes. Somewhere, somehow, it seems like a lot of Americans lost the idea of work and its intrinsic value, beyond just the wages paid for it.
My father was poor as a kid, never graduated high school and has worked his ass off since he was 7 years old. He always has believed in that oft-ridiculed but seriously never trite concept -- an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. I remember a lesson he taught me -- "you make money for the man, and if he's any kind of man, he'll make money for you."
That got lost somewhere along the way I think. For many entry-level folks before the bottom dropped out, there was often a sense of entitlement, a sense of hey that work's beneath me. No one wanted to pay dues. No one wanted to do the grunt work and make their reputation. And so you get a bunch of people who didn't know what the hell they were doing.
At the same time, we had owners and managers who lost sight of the value of the people doing the work. Oh, they talked a good game about how our people are our greatest asset, but when push came to shove, the people on the front lines were just numbers on a balance sheet. They'd say we were a family, but you don't shove Grandma outside when the bills get tight, do you? But they did.
I come from a union family. Union wages put food on our table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads. My father and his father before him preached the gospel of organized labor and the glory of being a union worker from my earliest days. And it took. Union men and women built this country. Our periods of greatest prosperity coincided with the heyday of union membership. The great American middle class did not just materialize -- it was paid for in blood (sometimes quite literally) by union men and women.
But even while everyone was thriving, the rich owner resented having to share the wealth. They resented having to sit and negotiate fair contracts. They resented their kids sharing schools with the kids of those they employed. The blue-bloods NEVER bought in and in the era of Republicanism that began with Nixon and really continued through Ford, Reagan and Bush I and II (with brief stops in the action for Carter and Clinton) they got their opportunity to start taking it back. And they made the most of it.
And what have they wrought? Look at the newspapers (or least those that are left) everyday and you'll see. We're in sad shape, with an economy resembling a Third World country. Mighty General Motors, symbol of American manufacturing might is teetering on the edge of disaster. And union membership is at its lowest point in 40 years.
My point? I don't know, maybe it's just a rant. But Stewart's comment about the value of work, and thus to me, the American worker, struck a chord. We have to get that back, we have to TAKE it back if we must. Because we can't be truly great again, and truly realize our promise and purpose, to provide freedom and opportunity for all, until we get back there.
I just thought Jon did an absolutely spectacular job. He nailed it in terms of how I think so many of us feel about the mess on Wall Street. He captured our outrage that our investments, our 401(k)'s and pension programs financed the "adventure" these guys at Bear Stearns and everywhere else went on in their short-sighted, short-trading orgies. I loved it when he told Cramer that his problem with Cramer's "Mad Money" antics were that "this isn't a fucking game." Absolutely classic.
Stewart also captured something else in his work tonight that I found most important. It ws subtle, but oh so very important. Our worth is based on work, not on quick money schemes. Somewhere, somehow, it seems like a lot of Americans lost the idea of work and its intrinsic value, beyond just the wages paid for it.
My father was poor as a kid, never graduated high school and has worked his ass off since he was 7 years old. He always has believed in that oft-ridiculed but seriously never trite concept -- an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. I remember a lesson he taught me -- "you make money for the man, and if he's any kind of man, he'll make money for you."
That got lost somewhere along the way I think. For many entry-level folks before the bottom dropped out, there was often a sense of entitlement, a sense of hey that work's beneath me. No one wanted to pay dues. No one wanted to do the grunt work and make their reputation. And so you get a bunch of people who didn't know what the hell they were doing.
At the same time, we had owners and managers who lost sight of the value of the people doing the work. Oh, they talked a good game about how our people are our greatest asset, but when push came to shove, the people on the front lines were just numbers on a balance sheet. They'd say we were a family, but you don't shove Grandma outside when the bills get tight, do you? But they did.
I come from a union family. Union wages put food on our table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads. My father and his father before him preached the gospel of organized labor and the glory of being a union worker from my earliest days. And it took. Union men and women built this country. Our periods of greatest prosperity coincided with the heyday of union membership. The great American middle class did not just materialize -- it was paid for in blood (sometimes quite literally) by union men and women.
But even while everyone was thriving, the rich owner resented having to share the wealth. They resented having to sit and negotiate fair contracts. They resented their kids sharing schools with the kids of those they employed. The blue-bloods NEVER bought in and in the era of Republicanism that began with Nixon and really continued through Ford, Reagan and Bush I and II (with brief stops in the action for Carter and Clinton) they got their opportunity to start taking it back. And they made the most of it.
And what have they wrought? Look at the newspapers (or least those that are left) everyday and you'll see. We're in sad shape, with an economy resembling a Third World country. Mighty General Motors, symbol of American manufacturing might is teetering on the edge of disaster. And union membership is at its lowest point in 40 years.
My point? I don't know, maybe it's just a rant. But Stewart's comment about the value of work, and thus to me, the American worker, struck a chord. We have to get that back, we have to TAKE it back if we must. Because we can't be truly great again, and truly realize our promise and purpose, to provide freedom and opportunity for all, until we get back there.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
25 Things About Me
So this little Facebook time-waster has taken off like you wouldn't believe. And it's really one of the few things that are actually interesting. I mean, I don't really care 'Which 80s Movie Defines You" or about planting electronic trees in a "Lil' Green patch." But people writing about themselves in this manner is interesting and often quite revealing. And that's what makes this social networking stuff actually worthwhile, when you actually get something out of it that gives you a better understanding of the person you're "talking" to. I mean, that's the purpose of human interaction and emotional expression, right?
Anyhow, for you non-Facebookers out there (what are there, like 4 of you left?) -- here's my "25 Things About Me" list, thanks to my sister-in-law who got me to actually do it. And remember, if you think it's pretentious, so is the whole concept of personal blogs anyway...
1. I'm actually quite quiet and shy, although I've gotten a lot better with it over the years. I still tend to not speak until spoken to and wait for people to make the first move. I guess sometimes I'm difficult to know.
2. All that said, I'm extremely loyal to my friends, maybe to a fault. If you're one of my friends, you're there for life.
3. I hate the cold. I honestly don't know why I stayed in the Chicago climate, as winter depresses the hell out of me every year. Give me the warmth and the water.
4. If I ever won the lottery, I'd never wear socks again. See number 3.
5. As an addendum to #4, I guess I'd wear socks to baseball practice, because if I won the lottery, I'd just coach baseball. It's just about my favorite thing, coaching the kids. There's nothing I find more rewarding.
6. My kids are my life. They're my greatest joy and my proudest achievement. At the end of the day, they're how I hope I left the world a better place than when I came in it.
7. Yes, I'm a Bruce Springsteen fanatic, and have seen him over 30 times, but I love all types of music. I'm pretty eclectic in my musical choices. I still think that the "Theme from Shaft" is one of my favorite pieces of music, just for the arrangement. I love the way the instruments are layered into that piece by piece. Isaac Hayes was a true genius. But "Thunder Road" is still the greatest song ever written. I literally still get goosebumps when the instrumental coda hits. It makes me feel ALIVE.
8. My life is the quest for the Ultimate Cheeseburger. The winner so far? Still the Abbey Pub right next to St. Norbert College in DePere, WI. I don't know if that place is even there anymore, but it's still the best I ever had.
9. I love to play guitar. I don't play well at all, but it's something I enjoy doing for myself. I wish I was better. And I wish I could sing.
10. I've owned 17 cars. My first one was a 1971 VW Bug that I got when I was 15.
11. I also love motorcycles. Never had one, but have always wanted one. I even have it picked out.
12. I drink Miller High Life because it tastes good. I like some of the other microbrews and stuff too, but I'm not a beer snob. But I like beer in a bottle, not a can.
13. My sports idol has always been, and will always be, Walter Payton. And it's absolutely true, I gave him a ride on my back once. My true hero though is my dad. He's always defined everything a man is supposed to be to me and he was all I wanted to be when I grew up. One of his friends once told me, "your father is one of the few truly good men I know." I aspire to have someone say that about me someday, I don't think you can do better than that.
14. I write as a cathartic exercise. It might be song lyrics, or short essays or even poetry. But it's my coping mechanism. Someday, maybe I'll publish it all.
15. Any house that I live in has to have a fireplace. That's non-negotiable.
16. I can name that Brady Bunch episode within the first 15 seconds...
17. I think my best physical feature is my chin. My worst? My hair.
18. Yes, I do impressions. And don't get me started, because I'll annoy the hell out of you. I think my Marlon Brando in The Godfather is my best...
19. I'm afraid of heights and I'm slightly claustrophobic.
20. I like to put the Christmas lights up right after Thanksgiving and they need to come down right after New Year's.
21. My favorite holiday is actually Independence Day.
22. My wife tells me that I'm actually a clothes hound. My closet is more full than hers. It's just that none of it's stylish, so no one would know. And I have a hard time getting rid of clothes.
23. I like to vacuum. I don't know why.
24. My favorite meal to eat out is breakfast.
25. I have a bottle of champagne waiting to be opened when the Cubs win the pennant. I've had it for over 20 years. It was on ice in October 2003, but alas, still unopened. It may be the vilest substance known to man when it finally happens, but it's going to taste sweet. And I'm going to open it someday. Someday.
Anyhow, for you non-Facebookers out there (what are there, like 4 of you left?) -- here's my "25 Things About Me" list, thanks to my sister-in-law who got me to actually do it. And remember, if you think it's pretentious, so is the whole concept of personal blogs anyway...
1. I'm actually quite quiet and shy, although I've gotten a lot better with it over the years. I still tend to not speak until spoken to and wait for people to make the first move. I guess sometimes I'm difficult to know.
2. All that said, I'm extremely loyal to my friends, maybe to a fault. If you're one of my friends, you're there for life.
3. I hate the cold. I honestly don't know why I stayed in the Chicago climate, as winter depresses the hell out of me every year. Give me the warmth and the water.
4. If I ever won the lottery, I'd never wear socks again. See number 3.
5. As an addendum to #4, I guess I'd wear socks to baseball practice, because if I won the lottery, I'd just coach baseball. It's just about my favorite thing, coaching the kids. There's nothing I find more rewarding.
6. My kids are my life. They're my greatest joy and my proudest achievement. At the end of the day, they're how I hope I left the world a better place than when I came in it.
7. Yes, I'm a Bruce Springsteen fanatic, and have seen him over 30 times, but I love all types of music. I'm pretty eclectic in my musical choices. I still think that the "Theme from Shaft" is one of my favorite pieces of music, just for the arrangement. I love the way the instruments are layered into that piece by piece. Isaac Hayes was a true genius. But "Thunder Road" is still the greatest song ever written. I literally still get goosebumps when the instrumental coda hits. It makes me feel ALIVE.
8. My life is the quest for the Ultimate Cheeseburger. The winner so far? Still the Abbey Pub right next to St. Norbert College in DePere, WI. I don't know if that place is even there anymore, but it's still the best I ever had.
9. I love to play guitar. I don't play well at all, but it's something I enjoy doing for myself. I wish I was better. And I wish I could sing.
10. I've owned 17 cars. My first one was a 1971 VW Bug that I got when I was 15.
11. I also love motorcycles. Never had one, but have always wanted one. I even have it picked out.
12. I drink Miller High Life because it tastes good. I like some of the other microbrews and stuff too, but I'm not a beer snob. But I like beer in a bottle, not a can.
13. My sports idol has always been, and will always be, Walter Payton. And it's absolutely true, I gave him a ride on my back once. My true hero though is my dad. He's always defined everything a man is supposed to be to me and he was all I wanted to be when I grew up. One of his friends once told me, "your father is one of the few truly good men I know." I aspire to have someone say that about me someday, I don't think you can do better than that.
14. I write as a cathartic exercise. It might be song lyrics, or short essays or even poetry. But it's my coping mechanism. Someday, maybe I'll publish it all.
15. Any house that I live in has to have a fireplace. That's non-negotiable.
16. I can name that Brady Bunch episode within the first 15 seconds...
17. I think my best physical feature is my chin. My worst? My hair.
18. Yes, I do impressions. And don't get me started, because I'll annoy the hell out of you. I think my Marlon Brando in The Godfather is my best...
19. I'm afraid of heights and I'm slightly claustrophobic.
20. I like to put the Christmas lights up right after Thanksgiving and they need to come down right after New Year's.
21. My favorite holiday is actually Independence Day.
22. My wife tells me that I'm actually a clothes hound. My closet is more full than hers. It's just that none of it's stylish, so no one would know. And I have a hard time getting rid of clothes.
23. I like to vacuum. I don't know why.
24. My favorite meal to eat out is breakfast.
25. I have a bottle of champagne waiting to be opened when the Cubs win the pennant. I've had it for over 20 years. It was on ice in October 2003, but alas, still unopened. It may be the vilest substance known to man when it finally happens, but it's going to taste sweet. And I'm going to open it someday. Someday.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
It's My Life, And I'll Do What I Want
Be forewarned -- there's no real point to this blog. if you're here looking for great wisdom, you're just going to find a middle aged guy spouting off like an ass. So you can turn back now, or for those of you who like that sort of thing, read on.
Last week was my 41st birthday. it was fairly non-eventful as birthdays go, I've kind of reached the point where I'm not reallly counting anymore. And that's a good thing, because 40 hit me like a ton of bricks. Come to think of it, 30 did too.
See, the thing is, I don't think of myself as 41. It even looks weird when I write it. I guess when I was in my 20s, I thought of guys in their 40s as people who had some things figured out, who were on a path and were much wiser and smarter. What I realized when I got here is that, in many ways, we're all still figuring things out. There are things we thought we knew that we've had to learn again. We still do dumb things, even though we know they're dumb. And we get some things right too, maybe on a higher percentage overall because of experience, and maybe still just by dumb luck.
But I've stopped thinking of my age as a number, which is what freaked me out about 30 and 40. I learned that number doesn't mean anything. And I'm not going for a "as young as you feel" thing. There are mornings when I feel every freakin' minute of those 41 years. No, it's more that I just feel that I'm me, who I am at the moment, and whether that makes me 25 or 30 or 40 doesn't make a difference.
Maybe the wisdom of years is finally teaching me to just do what I want to do. I'm less interested in what those outside my circle have to say.
About 14 years ago, in a moment of youthful stupidity and stubborness, I messed my back up pretty good. My wife and I lived in a third floor walk-up condo and our dryer went out. We got a good deal on a new one, but the catch was there was no delivery included. We got it home and no one was available to help move it upstairs. Being the impatient asshole I can be at times, I decided "fuck it, I'll carry it up myself." Yep, it was stupid, but I was young and invincible, you know. And I've been paying for it ever since.
It's much better now, but I still have problems with it from time to time. Last week, I hurt it in a freak accident while playing basketball. It's an over 30 league, so none of us are Michael Jordan (or LeBron James for the younger crowd). I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and BAM!! There goes my back.
So, I'm laid up and hobbling pretty good, but still doing what I need to do. And someone I know comes up to me and says "you know, it's probably time for you to give up some of the stuff you do."
This annoyed the hell out of me, for several reasons. Number one -- no one asked you. Number two, I wasn't out base-jumping or knife-throwing, I was playing basketball. And number three -- no one asked you!
This person wasn't the only one who said something similar. Another person I know around my birthday also made a good-natured comment about how you just have to give up certain things now that you're approaching (or have reached I guess) middle age.
Look, I've lived my life right down the center line almost always. I don't shirk my responsibilities, I do what needs to be done and take care of the people I need to take care of. My family and my friends know that they can count on me. When they need me, I'm there, no questions asked. And I also take decent care of myself, better than others, not as good as some. But I'm not about to start living life in a bubble just because I've reached a "certain age."
I'm 41. My life is still a wide expanse of possibilities and directions. That used to scare me. But now, I'm kinda finding I like it that way. And for those of you who find THAT scary, back off.
"Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone."
Dammit, I quoted Billy Joel again...
Last week was my 41st birthday. it was fairly non-eventful as birthdays go, I've kind of reached the point where I'm not reallly counting anymore. And that's a good thing, because 40 hit me like a ton of bricks. Come to think of it, 30 did too.
See, the thing is, I don't think of myself as 41. It even looks weird when I write it. I guess when I was in my 20s, I thought of guys in their 40s as people who had some things figured out, who were on a path and were much wiser and smarter. What I realized when I got here is that, in many ways, we're all still figuring things out. There are things we thought we knew that we've had to learn again. We still do dumb things, even though we know they're dumb. And we get some things right too, maybe on a higher percentage overall because of experience, and maybe still just by dumb luck.
But I've stopped thinking of my age as a number, which is what freaked me out about 30 and 40. I learned that number doesn't mean anything. And I'm not going for a "as young as you feel" thing. There are mornings when I feel every freakin' minute of those 41 years. No, it's more that I just feel that I'm me, who I am at the moment, and whether that makes me 25 or 30 or 40 doesn't make a difference.
Maybe the wisdom of years is finally teaching me to just do what I want to do. I'm less interested in what those outside my circle have to say.
About 14 years ago, in a moment of youthful stupidity and stubborness, I messed my back up pretty good. My wife and I lived in a third floor walk-up condo and our dryer went out. We got a good deal on a new one, but the catch was there was no delivery included. We got it home and no one was available to help move it upstairs. Being the impatient asshole I can be at times, I decided "fuck it, I'll carry it up myself." Yep, it was stupid, but I was young and invincible, you know. And I've been paying for it ever since.
It's much better now, but I still have problems with it from time to time. Last week, I hurt it in a freak accident while playing basketball. It's an over 30 league, so none of us are Michael Jordan (or LeBron James for the younger crowd). I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and BAM!! There goes my back.
So, I'm laid up and hobbling pretty good, but still doing what I need to do. And someone I know comes up to me and says "you know, it's probably time for you to give up some of the stuff you do."
This annoyed the hell out of me, for several reasons. Number one -- no one asked you. Number two, I wasn't out base-jumping or knife-throwing, I was playing basketball. And number three -- no one asked you!
This person wasn't the only one who said something similar. Another person I know around my birthday also made a good-natured comment about how you just have to give up certain things now that you're approaching (or have reached I guess) middle age.
Look, I've lived my life right down the center line almost always. I don't shirk my responsibilities, I do what needs to be done and take care of the people I need to take care of. My family and my friends know that they can count on me. When they need me, I'm there, no questions asked. And I also take decent care of myself, better than others, not as good as some. But I'm not about to start living life in a bubble just because I've reached a "certain age."
I'm 41. My life is still a wide expanse of possibilities and directions. That used to scare me. But now, I'm kinda finding I like it that way. And for those of you who find THAT scary, back off.
"Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone."
Dammit, I quoted Billy Joel again...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Why It Still Matters
I wrote this about a year ago, and a couple of people who read it then asked me to re-post it here, so wow, I've already got a "Best of" segment...
I was at a wedding last night and a couple of folks who know me made a big deal out of it being “Springsteen-Eve” for me, leading into two concerts here in Chicago tonight and Monday night. They needled me about being this “level-headed” guy who had this secret side that he keeps under wraps. And someone asked me, “ Is he even any good any more?”
That actually got me thinking. I’ve always believed in the power of music to express and reflect your emotions, even the ones you hide from everyone else. The best artists are the ones who can bring this out time and time again, and can cross the range from head-banging rage against oppression and frustration to out of your seat dancing with joy and reckless abandon to introspective watching the rain hit the windowsill and not wanting to move because you think the pain and heartache would just knock you to your knees.
When I first saw Bruce Springsteen, it was 1985 and I was there with 72,000 other screaming kids in Soldier Field. Everything was different then, bigger. Bruce was 35, and at the height of mega-stardom. I was 17 and the world was a wide expanse, full of infinite possibilities if only I could harness the power to go after them. “Thunder Road” was my favorite, my theme song. I hadn’t yet met my Mary, whose dress would sway as the screen door slammed, but I knew that I was “pullin’ outta here to win.” At 17 everything seemed so huge, but at the same time, so possible.
Over the years, this music is always what I come back to when I need something to hold onto when the winds of change are about to blow me over. When I feel so totally goddamned alone that I think I might just disappear. There are the small turns of phrase that capture moments and emotions so completely that I am still awestruck. In “Brilliant Disguise” when the singer ponders the questions and the mysteries of the relationship with the woman in his life, he sings that last line, “God have mercy on the man/Who doubts what he’s sure of.” To me, that may be the greatest lyric ever written. Oh man, I’ve been there, and that phrasing captures the complex, tangled emotions of that situation better than any self help book or guest on Oprah, Ellen or Regis ever could. When I look at my kids and am fearful and ashamed of the state of the world I’ve brought them into, “Souls of the Departed” plays in my head. “At night as I tuck my own son in bed/All I can think of is what if it would’ve been him instead/I wanna build me a wall so high nothing can tear it down/Right here on my own piece of dirty ground.” Damn straight, I don’t want anything to ever touch or hurt them. As completely unrealistic and unattainable as that is.
On his new CD, he’s still doing it. And I’m still finding it rings true. I listen to “Long Walk Home” on the new album and think I could have written it. Well, OK, if I actually had the talent to write it and, more importantly, the courage to let anyone see it or hear it. And the old songs still do it too. When I realize that certain dreams just aren’t going to come true and it’s time to let them go, even though I cannot bear the thought of doing so, it’s in “The River.” “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true/Or is it something worse?” But even when the walls are closing in, there's still hope -- "For the ones who had a notion/A notion deep inside/That it ain't no sin/To be glad you're alive."
“Is he still any good?” That’s a matter of opinion as always, I suppose. All I know is this. We’re both older now. 40 is peeking around the corner at me and as much as I try to run from it as fast as I can and re-capture younger “Glory Days,” I know that it’s going to catch me, like it or not. Born to Run? Maybe, but no one can run forever, and certainly not alone. This music can still lead me to the places that I’m afraid to go, to the places I need to go and places I want to go. Sometimes it’s joyful, or thoughtful or even political, and sometimes it’s just plain painful. But it’s always honest and helps me to continue to learn who I was, who I am, and perhaps who I will yet be. And I guess that’s what life is about.
I’m still trying to figure it all out. So maybe I pulled out of that town, but didn’t win yet. So what? I’ve always got company and a map on the journey down Thunder Road. Even when I can’t talk to anyone else, the music still talks to me. And that’s why it still matters.
I was at a wedding last night and a couple of folks who know me made a big deal out of it being “Springsteen-Eve” for me, leading into two concerts here in Chicago tonight and Monday night. They needled me about being this “level-headed” guy who had this secret side that he keeps under wraps. And someone asked me, “ Is he even any good any more?”
That actually got me thinking. I’ve always believed in the power of music to express and reflect your emotions, even the ones you hide from everyone else. The best artists are the ones who can bring this out time and time again, and can cross the range from head-banging rage against oppression and frustration to out of your seat dancing with joy and reckless abandon to introspective watching the rain hit the windowsill and not wanting to move because you think the pain and heartache would just knock you to your knees.
When I first saw Bruce Springsteen, it was 1985 and I was there with 72,000 other screaming kids in Soldier Field. Everything was different then, bigger. Bruce was 35, and at the height of mega-stardom. I was 17 and the world was a wide expanse, full of infinite possibilities if only I could harness the power to go after them. “Thunder Road” was my favorite, my theme song. I hadn’t yet met my Mary, whose dress would sway as the screen door slammed, but I knew that I was “pullin’ outta here to win.” At 17 everything seemed so huge, but at the same time, so possible.
Over the years, this music is always what I come back to when I need something to hold onto when the winds of change are about to blow me over. When I feel so totally goddamned alone that I think I might just disappear. There are the small turns of phrase that capture moments and emotions so completely that I am still awestruck. In “Brilliant Disguise” when the singer ponders the questions and the mysteries of the relationship with the woman in his life, he sings that last line, “God have mercy on the man/Who doubts what he’s sure of.” To me, that may be the greatest lyric ever written. Oh man, I’ve been there, and that phrasing captures the complex, tangled emotions of that situation better than any self help book or guest on Oprah, Ellen or Regis ever could. When I look at my kids and am fearful and ashamed of the state of the world I’ve brought them into, “Souls of the Departed” plays in my head. “At night as I tuck my own son in bed/All I can think of is what if it would’ve been him instead/I wanna build me a wall so high nothing can tear it down/Right here on my own piece of dirty ground.” Damn straight, I don’t want anything to ever touch or hurt them. As completely unrealistic and unattainable as that is.
On his new CD, he’s still doing it. And I’m still finding it rings true. I listen to “Long Walk Home” on the new album and think I could have written it. Well, OK, if I actually had the talent to write it and, more importantly, the courage to let anyone see it or hear it. And the old songs still do it too. When I realize that certain dreams just aren’t going to come true and it’s time to let them go, even though I cannot bear the thought of doing so, it’s in “The River.” “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true/Or is it something worse?” But even when the walls are closing in, there's still hope -- "For the ones who had a notion/A notion deep inside/That it ain't no sin/To be glad you're alive."
“Is he still any good?” That’s a matter of opinion as always, I suppose. All I know is this. We’re both older now. 40 is peeking around the corner at me and as much as I try to run from it as fast as I can and re-capture younger “Glory Days,” I know that it’s going to catch me, like it or not. Born to Run? Maybe, but no one can run forever, and certainly not alone. This music can still lead me to the places that I’m afraid to go, to the places I need to go and places I want to go. Sometimes it’s joyful, or thoughtful or even political, and sometimes it’s just plain painful. But it’s always honest and helps me to continue to learn who I was, who I am, and perhaps who I will yet be. And I guess that’s what life is about.
I’m still trying to figure it all out. So maybe I pulled out of that town, but didn’t win yet. So what? I’ve always got company and a map on the journey down Thunder Road. Even when I can’t talk to anyone else, the music still talks to me. And that’s why it still matters.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Just say it
"So many faces in and out of my life
Some will last, some will just be now and then
Life is a series of hello's and goodbye's
I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again"
OK, yes, I just quoted Billy Joel, which may not be the coolest thing in the world to do, but it was appropriate.
Last week, the place I work had to lay off a number of people. Yeah, I know -- join the club. In these dismal economic times, pretty much everyone has had to endure some sort of pain associated with layoffs. It might be your husband or wife, your significant other, a friend, whatever. What figure did the President use last night? Something like 3.5 million jobs gone in 2008? Chances are, whoever you are, you got hit somehow.
It’s never easy. Obviously it’s hardest on the people who lose their jobs. But it’s also painful for those left behind. Hopefully, you’re lucky enough to work in a place where the people you work beside every day are more than just colleagues – they’re friends. They’re people you care about. And when it happens, you go through a grieving process. You feel sad, lonely. Maybe you feel guilt that you got spared. You feel frightened that you could be next. And maybe, like me, you wallow in all of it for days – angry at everyone and everything. But eventually you come to the day when you have to pick yourself back up and move on.
So that’s where I am today. And layoffs aren’t really what I want to talk about anyway. What this whole experience has brought me to is the fact that people move in and out of your life all the time. Sometimes it’s by design, other times it’s just happenstance. But rest assured, there’s someone who plays a big part in your life today who isn’t going to be there at some point in the future.
Yeah, depressing. But my completely self-indulgent advice (and isn’t that the wonderful part about blogs – they ARE completely self-indulgent platforms for you to spout off whatever you feel like) is that because this is an absolute truth, there’s something you’ve got to do about it. And that’s tell the people that you care about the way that you feel about them. If you’ve got something to say, don’t just carry it around inside you. Talk to them, call them on the phone, write them a letter, send them an e-mail. But say it, because when they’re gone, carrying it inside is a death sentence. It’ll tear you up. It may not be easy to do for a whole host of reasons, but do it. It’ll free you. And it’ll make it easier to face whatever comes next.
And then get on with it. Or in the words of the immortal Jimmy Buffett:
"Yesterday's over my shoulder
But I can't look back for too long
There's just too much to see
Waiting in front of me
And I know that I just can't go wrong"
Some will last, some will just be now and then
Life is a series of hello's and goodbye's
I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again"
OK, yes, I just quoted Billy Joel, which may not be the coolest thing in the world to do, but it was appropriate.
Last week, the place I work had to lay off a number of people. Yeah, I know -- join the club. In these dismal economic times, pretty much everyone has had to endure some sort of pain associated with layoffs. It might be your husband or wife, your significant other, a friend, whatever. What figure did the President use last night? Something like 3.5 million jobs gone in 2008? Chances are, whoever you are, you got hit somehow.
It’s never easy. Obviously it’s hardest on the people who lose their jobs. But it’s also painful for those left behind. Hopefully, you’re lucky enough to work in a place where the people you work beside every day are more than just colleagues – they’re friends. They’re people you care about. And when it happens, you go through a grieving process. You feel sad, lonely. Maybe you feel guilt that you got spared. You feel frightened that you could be next. And maybe, like me, you wallow in all of it for days – angry at everyone and everything. But eventually you come to the day when you have to pick yourself back up and move on.
So that’s where I am today. And layoffs aren’t really what I want to talk about anyway. What this whole experience has brought me to is the fact that people move in and out of your life all the time. Sometimes it’s by design, other times it’s just happenstance. But rest assured, there’s someone who plays a big part in your life today who isn’t going to be there at some point in the future.
Yeah, depressing. But my completely self-indulgent advice (and isn’t that the wonderful part about blogs – they ARE completely self-indulgent platforms for you to spout off whatever you feel like) is that because this is an absolute truth, there’s something you’ve got to do about it. And that’s tell the people that you care about the way that you feel about them. If you’ve got something to say, don’t just carry it around inside you. Talk to them, call them on the phone, write them a letter, send them an e-mail. But say it, because when they’re gone, carrying it inside is a death sentence. It’ll tear you up. It may not be easy to do for a whole host of reasons, but do it. It’ll free you. And it’ll make it easier to face whatever comes next.
And then get on with it. Or in the words of the immortal Jimmy Buffett:
"Yesterday's over my shoulder
But I can't look back for too long
There's just too much to see
Waiting in front of me
And I know that I just can't go wrong"
Friday, January 30, 2009
Listen Up
Here's ten songs I'm listening to today, In no particular order, with no particular connection. And sharing them for no particular reason, other than I felt like it. That's what's great about blogs, you don't have to have a reason.
1. Naked -- The BoDeans
2. Lord, I'm Discouraged -- The Hold Steady
3. No Roses, No More -- Lucero
4. I Got A Name -- Jim Croce
5. Baby, Now That I've Found You -- The Foundations
6. Love Has No Pride -- Bonnie Raitt
7. Surprise, Surprise -- Bruce Springsteen
8. Save The Last Dance for Me -- The Drifters
9. Great Expectations -- The Gaslight Anthem
10. Tangled Up Puppet - Terry Klausner
An explanation on the last one. That's a Harry Chapin song that's always made me think of my daughter, Maggie. She's hit the so-called "tween" years and has been on my mind a lot lately. I wasn't an 11 year old girl, so it's hard for me to know what she's feeling and thinking sometimes. I rely on her mother for that. But it doesn't make it any easier. The song is about a young woman coming of age and a father who feels like he missed it, trying to recapture the fleeting moments of her youth before it fades into the sunset.
I don't know why, but I've always felt like that's me with Maggie. Her life has been a blur to me. I still see her at 3 years old with pigtails, sucking her thumb with her faithful stuffed rabbit, Bun-Bun, perched on top of her head, hiding under a table when there were too many people around. Now she goes to Miley Cyrus and Jonas Brothers concerts and school dances. She's not a little girl anymore, and I often find myself wanting to yell out, "Wait! I'm not ready yet. Let her be little just a while longer."
Anyway, the song reminds me of her, particularly the line "I have watched you take shape, from a jumble of parts; And find the grace and form, of a fine work of art." That's my Maggie.
Listen up and enjoy. If you don't find something you like, I'll buy you gum.
Good things.
1. Naked -- The BoDeans
2. Lord, I'm Discouraged -- The Hold Steady
3. No Roses, No More -- Lucero
4. I Got A Name -- Jim Croce
5. Baby, Now That I've Found You -- The Foundations
6. Love Has No Pride -- Bonnie Raitt
7. Surprise, Surprise -- Bruce Springsteen
8. Save The Last Dance for Me -- The Drifters
9. Great Expectations -- The Gaslight Anthem
10. Tangled Up Puppet - Terry Klausner
An explanation on the last one. That's a Harry Chapin song that's always made me think of my daughter, Maggie. She's hit the so-called "tween" years and has been on my mind a lot lately. I wasn't an 11 year old girl, so it's hard for me to know what she's feeling and thinking sometimes. I rely on her mother for that. But it doesn't make it any easier. The song is about a young woman coming of age and a father who feels like he missed it, trying to recapture the fleeting moments of her youth before it fades into the sunset.
I don't know why, but I've always felt like that's me with Maggie. Her life has been a blur to me. I still see her at 3 years old with pigtails, sucking her thumb with her faithful stuffed rabbit, Bun-Bun, perched on top of her head, hiding under a table when there were too many people around. Now she goes to Miley Cyrus and Jonas Brothers concerts and school dances. She's not a little girl anymore, and I often find myself wanting to yell out, "Wait! I'm not ready yet. Let her be little just a while longer."
Anyway, the song reminds me of her, particularly the line "I have watched you take shape, from a jumble of parts; And find the grace and form, of a fine work of art." That's my Maggie.
Listen up and enjoy. If you don't find something you like, I'll buy you gum.
Good things.
Friday, January 23, 2009
No One Grows Up
“No one matures anymore. They stay jackasses all their lives.”
She’s Having A Baby
I came to a sweeping realization last night as I sat in the bleachers watching my son’s middle school basketball game. No one ever grows up really. The same clique-ish and sophomoric behavior that characterized us as high schoolers still manifests itself in us as adults. Or as Corey Flood so eloquently summarized in Say Anything, cautioning Lloyd Dobler to stay away from valedictorian Diane Court, “Brains stay with brains. The bomb could go off and their mutant genes would form the same cliques.”
Yeah, that’s true. I wish that it weren’t, but it is. I’ve noticed it recently in the parents of other kids on the team, who actually form their little sub-groups that one cannot penetrate. The parents of a group of boys on one of the traveling baseball teams have formed one and like to make a spectacle of themselves at ballgames and school functions. They’re the “popular kids” complete with inside jokes and stories carefully told loudly enough so that all within earshot know that they’re not part of the group. My wife seethes at them. I just think they’re funny and sad.
As you might guess, I was a bit of an outsider in high school. I didn’t particularly fit in with any one group. I wasn’t ostracized by any means, but I was never fully accepted into one particular clique or another. I was smart enough to be in classes with the so-called “brains,” but I didn’t eschew girls, sports, music, cars or uh, girls according to the stereotype. I was a pretty good athlete, but basically good enough to be the last guy cut from every team I went out for. So I wasn’t the complete jock. The stoner guys liked me because I helped them with their homework (Kevin Connelly would never have passed religion class if it weren’t for me) and I wouldn’t rat them out. But the strongest thing I’d touch was a warm beer huddled by the railroad tracks in Gale Moore Park, so they weren’t my crowd either. Even my own smaller circle of friends didn’t know how to take me sometimes.
But I was OK with all that. It kind of gave me the freedom to flit from one group to another, and see a little bit what they were all about. I was more accepting of some of their less attractive attributes because I also saw their better sides too. But I was filled with the hope that one day, we’d be beyond the petty group mentality. Yeah, I was wrong about that one.
And the sophomoric behavior? Well, let me tell you, especially those of you without kids, that the stereotypes you hear about parents at their kids’ sporting events is 100 percent true and accurate. They’re rude. They’re obnoxious. And most disturbing to a sports guy like me, they’re clueless, but loud. How can you feel comfortable shouting at a referee or coach, when you have no idea what you’re talking about?
Last night I’m sitting not too far from a grandfather who is screaming, SCREAMING at our coach about substitutions. This is MIDDLE school mind you. And this guy is going off on the coach, who’s really a 24 year old English teacher. But what really kills me, is John Wooden here doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. At one point he’s carrying on as to why one of our kids is standing still on offense. And I want to yell back at him, easy there Bobby Knight, that’s called a pick and it’s about as basic basketball as you can get. And the “clickers” are nodding in assent with him, in between offering applause and encouragement only for their kids. Because acknowledging the accomplishments of another kid might mean you’d actually have occasion to speak to someone outside your group. Expansion of horizons is not something easily accomplished in the suburbs.
So that’s what got me to here. No one really grows up. The same fears and experiences you had in childhood, shape you as an adult. Fear of whatever, be it loneliness or abandonment or just not fitting forms your color palette as an adult, just like it did when you were 9 or 12 or 15 years old. So you seek that pack mentality, that safety in numbers feeling that allows you to hide those insecurities in the context of a group. And maybe that’s not so bad, but it’s no less discouraging.
“Demented and sad…but social.” Jeez, even The Breakfast Club contained life’s truths? No wonder we don’t grow up.
She’s Having A Baby
I came to a sweeping realization last night as I sat in the bleachers watching my son’s middle school basketball game. No one ever grows up really. The same clique-ish and sophomoric behavior that characterized us as high schoolers still manifests itself in us as adults. Or as Corey Flood so eloquently summarized in Say Anything, cautioning Lloyd Dobler to stay away from valedictorian Diane Court, “Brains stay with brains. The bomb could go off and their mutant genes would form the same cliques.”
Yeah, that’s true. I wish that it weren’t, but it is. I’ve noticed it recently in the parents of other kids on the team, who actually form their little sub-groups that one cannot penetrate. The parents of a group of boys on one of the traveling baseball teams have formed one and like to make a spectacle of themselves at ballgames and school functions. They’re the “popular kids” complete with inside jokes and stories carefully told loudly enough so that all within earshot know that they’re not part of the group. My wife seethes at them. I just think they’re funny and sad.
As you might guess, I was a bit of an outsider in high school. I didn’t particularly fit in with any one group. I wasn’t ostracized by any means, but I was never fully accepted into one particular clique or another. I was smart enough to be in classes with the so-called “brains,” but I didn’t eschew girls, sports, music, cars or uh, girls according to the stereotype. I was a pretty good athlete, but basically good enough to be the last guy cut from every team I went out for. So I wasn’t the complete jock. The stoner guys liked me because I helped them with their homework (Kevin Connelly would never have passed religion class if it weren’t for me) and I wouldn’t rat them out. But the strongest thing I’d touch was a warm beer huddled by the railroad tracks in Gale Moore Park, so they weren’t my crowd either. Even my own smaller circle of friends didn’t know how to take me sometimes.
But I was OK with all that. It kind of gave me the freedom to flit from one group to another, and see a little bit what they were all about. I was more accepting of some of their less attractive attributes because I also saw their better sides too. But I was filled with the hope that one day, we’d be beyond the petty group mentality. Yeah, I was wrong about that one.
And the sophomoric behavior? Well, let me tell you, especially those of you without kids, that the stereotypes you hear about parents at their kids’ sporting events is 100 percent true and accurate. They’re rude. They’re obnoxious. And most disturbing to a sports guy like me, they’re clueless, but loud. How can you feel comfortable shouting at a referee or coach, when you have no idea what you’re talking about?
Last night I’m sitting not too far from a grandfather who is screaming, SCREAMING at our coach about substitutions. This is MIDDLE school mind you. And this guy is going off on the coach, who’s really a 24 year old English teacher. But what really kills me, is John Wooden here doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. At one point he’s carrying on as to why one of our kids is standing still on offense. And I want to yell back at him, easy there Bobby Knight, that’s called a pick and it’s about as basic basketball as you can get. And the “clickers” are nodding in assent with him, in between offering applause and encouragement only for their kids. Because acknowledging the accomplishments of another kid might mean you’d actually have occasion to speak to someone outside your group. Expansion of horizons is not something easily accomplished in the suburbs.
So that’s what got me to here. No one really grows up. The same fears and experiences you had in childhood, shape you as an adult. Fear of whatever, be it loneliness or abandonment or just not fitting forms your color palette as an adult, just like it did when you were 9 or 12 or 15 years old. So you seek that pack mentality, that safety in numbers feeling that allows you to hide those insecurities in the context of a group. And maybe that’s not so bad, but it’s no less discouraging.
“Demented and sad…but social.” Jeez, even The Breakfast Club contained life’s truths? No wonder we don’t grow up.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A great night
Yesterday was indeed a remarkable day. I said to someone yesterday that I felt like it was “Hello America, today is the first day of the rest of your life.” We still have so many miles to go, and yes, we heard it over and over again, but I really felt truly proud to be an American again yesterday. And I feel like we have one of our own in the White House, someone who understands our problems and has a plan for how to deal with them. I haven’t felt that way about the inhabitant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in a long, long time.
And I was so proud of my kids who were so interested in it, interested in what he had to say and what it means. Although to a certain extent I think that maybe they still don’t COMPLETELY understand the significance of Obama being the first African American president. Maybe that’s a good thing. I had this discussion with my oldest son, Mike, last night. He said he gets it, but doesn’t know why Obama’s race should be a big deal. “You’re supposed to vote for the person you think is best, right Dad?” Yes Mike, but unfortunately, you still have a lot of people that don’t think of things that way. We got into a long discussion about Dr. King, Rosa Parks and the marches in Selma and other places. We talked about Brown vs. Board of Education and the whole misguided idea of “separate but equal.”Medgar Evers wife was on TV and he asked about that. We talked about the fact that poverty and oppression still exist in America, and the fact that they still do should be distasteful to us all. That it’s ALL of our problem, even if we don’t feel its effects directly. That we have great problems and we ALL need to step forward to help fix them. HE got that from Obama’s speech, I didn’t need to explain it to him.
I don’t think I’ve ever had that long of a discussion about race and civil rights and American history with him before. Obama’s election is doing that I’m sure in households across the country. That’s a great thing.
There was one more moment. He talked about his friends Aerrius, Aaron and Trey and how, while he understands that they’re black, he just doesn’t ever think about that. “They’re just my friends.” I said that’s what Dr. King meant when a he talked about a world where children are judged not by the color of their skin, but the content of their character. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of him.
It was a great night. Sorry. It was a great reminder to me that, maybe in spite of myself, I’ve made a contribution to the world already. I raised a smart, compassionate and aware kid. And we’re going to need those kids in the future, a lot of them.
So, last night reaffirmed a lot of things, not the least of which was a little faith that I might have lost in myself over time. And I am leaving a legacy to the world. Maybe one of those 4 kids of mine will change the world in the future. Maybe they’ll fix it.
And Obama’s inauguration helped remind me of it. But that moment with my son was one I know I'll treasure the rest of my life.
And I was so proud of my kids who were so interested in it, interested in what he had to say and what it means. Although to a certain extent I think that maybe they still don’t COMPLETELY understand the significance of Obama being the first African American president. Maybe that’s a good thing. I had this discussion with my oldest son, Mike, last night. He said he gets it, but doesn’t know why Obama’s race should be a big deal. “You’re supposed to vote for the person you think is best, right Dad?” Yes Mike, but unfortunately, you still have a lot of people that don’t think of things that way. We got into a long discussion about Dr. King, Rosa Parks and the marches in Selma and other places. We talked about Brown vs. Board of Education and the whole misguided idea of “separate but equal.”Medgar Evers wife was on TV and he asked about that. We talked about the fact that poverty and oppression still exist in America, and the fact that they still do should be distasteful to us all. That it’s ALL of our problem, even if we don’t feel its effects directly. That we have great problems and we ALL need to step forward to help fix them. HE got that from Obama’s speech, I didn’t need to explain it to him.
I don’t think I’ve ever had that long of a discussion about race and civil rights and American history with him before. Obama’s election is doing that I’m sure in households across the country. That’s a great thing.
There was one more moment. He talked about his friends Aerrius, Aaron and Trey and how, while he understands that they’re black, he just doesn’t ever think about that. “They’re just my friends.” I said that’s what Dr. King meant when a he talked about a world where children are judged not by the color of their skin, but the content of their character. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of him.
It was a great night. Sorry. It was a great reminder to me that, maybe in spite of myself, I’ve made a contribution to the world already. I raised a smart, compassionate and aware kid. And we’re going to need those kids in the future, a lot of them.
So, last night reaffirmed a lot of things, not the least of which was a little faith that I might have lost in myself over time. And I am leaving a legacy to the world. Maybe one of those 4 kids of mine will change the world in the future. Maybe they’ll fix it.
And Obama’s inauguration helped remind me of it. But that moment with my son was one I know I'll treasure the rest of my life.
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