Day 174: My Time Is Weird

Earlier today I hunted monsters in my backyard with my 4-year old. Tonight I'm about to watch my high schooler play basketball. Somewhere in between is a place where I try to exist. It's hard some days. There's so few minutes to call my own, and those available are seldom many together. But I wouldn't change a thing. My life is unique to me, and I thrive on that fact.

Day 173: Last Day On The Job

Saying goodbye to someone you’ve worked with for many years is weird. On one hand, you’re thrilled and elated for the new adventures they’re about to embark on. You’re excited for the experiences you know that are about to come. On the other hand, you’re saddened that you no longer will be able to forge those kinds of experiences together. You will no longer share common ground on a daily basis. You will no longer share a common relationship that is creating something together.

I could go on all day about jobs and work and making a living, but the fact is that for many people, the work environment is a major part of their lives. When someone you’ve spent many years with leaves it, there’s a void created.

Today, two such voids were created where I work. Both cases involved people I’ve known for many years. It was bittersweet watching them go. I also found myself a bit envious. Come Monday morning, they’ll be experiencing life with a freshness and vision that I won’t possess. I can’t help but wonder how that must feel. I imagine they’re a bit frightened or unsure about leaving the security of familiar surroundings for settings less natural to them. But I also imagine that their adrenaline will be flowing with just a little more pep and pace than mine.

More than anything, when someone I respect and like leaves the place where you work, it makes me wonder what’s next. What will the new arrangement look and feel like? I’ve always been a sentimental person who fondly looks back on the past, but the older I get, the less I find myself doing so in this realm. The fact is that I’ve learned that people come and go. Nothing stops that. It happened at the first job I had out of college, and it has happened everywhere I’ve been since. They leave for different reasons, some good and some bad, but they leave. The workplace is just a microcosm of life in general; it’s constantly changing and evolving according to the people who occupy the work space. New people come in and help the environment evolve. I’ve found that the less I lament about “how things used to be” the less time I spend living in the past and the more time I spend looking at the possibilities and opportunities to come.

Working in the newspaper and magazine and print business in general is extremely conducive for consistent turnover. People move up the ladder. People move sideways. People move to the East Coast or West. People go out on their own and become freelancers. People leave the arena completely for something entirely new. But people go. Sometimes, it stings, but overall it’s positive. Life demands it to be.

Day 172: The Pretty People At The Pool

Who are these pretty adult people laying poolside each day as I run by the apartment complex they live in over my lunch hour while getting a workout in? Good lord, it’s hard not to envy them, just lying there on those comfy looking lawn chairs, all oiled up and soaking in the rays. Man, what I wouldn’t give on some of those noontime runs to be able to just scale the fence, hop in that crystal-clear blue water for a few minutes, and then get out and resign myself into laying in one of those chairs for the next couple hours.

I’ve never given serious contemplation to having my own swimming pool, but if I had the means, it sure wouldn’t take much persuading for me to have one poured in my backyard. I could very easily see myself blissfully sitting poolside late into Sunday afternoons, leaving my chair only occasionally to flip the burgers on a nearby grill or refill my lemonade glass. I could easily see myself swimming laps late into July nights or just getting up from bed on those all-too frequent evenings when I can’t sleep and spend the hours in the far less appealing manner of staring at the bedroom ceiling. I don’t envy people who own their own swimming people exactly, but I sure wouldn’t mine trading places some days.

Back in the day, when I was a kid, swimming was the scene. No cable TV, no Internet, no video games, no whining allowed that there wasn’t anything to do. So you swam. And swimming was great. I could make the jaunt from my house to the city pool in about three or four minutes. Out the back door, I zipped through Uncle Gene’s backyard, up past the Amen’s, on along the edge of the Simpsons yard, and then all the way down the block to the Vandeman’s. There, I’d cut through their side yard, cross Kendall Drive, and sprint through another backyard to reach Wiggenhorn Park where the pool loomed. Barefoot and immune to pebbles and stickers and anything else sharp to my feet, I’d usually grab an apple or two from one of the trees along the way. I could make the trip even faster on my ole’ brown three-speed bike, though it didn’t have brakes and could prove a major hazard when coming to a stop.

These days, it seems every public pool has a skyscraper slide that the kids wait 5, 10, 15 minutes in line to go down for a ride that takes less than five seconds to finish. We had a high diving board and low diving board. I don’t remember the lines being excruciatingly long, although I do remember them being populated with a few of the same kind of knuckleheads I see today. Generally, though, the kids were cool, and I loved the fact that summer somehow made it possible for me to become better friends with kids I wasn’t as good of friends with during the school year.

I loved that pool—until I reached that age that seemingly every teenager does at some point, when swimming doesn’t seem cool anymore and the prospect of taking your shirt off in front of the opposite sex is more nerve racking than fun. Still, there was a time when my sister hit the pool every day at the opening whistle, went home for an hour to eat, and went back until the pool closed. I learned how to swim at that pool, but I arguably learned more valuable lessons from my friends out of the water.

I wonder how many of the “apartment swimmers” I see over my lunch hours actually do any swimming. I have a feeling they’re just fine tuning their tans. Whether they do swim or not, their existence sure looks tempting and appetizing through the chain link fence that separates us. What I wouldn’t give to feel that water and then lay down stomach first on the hot pavement afterward.  

Day 171: Watching The Wheels

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round, 
I really love to watch them roll. 
No longer riding on the merry-go-round.
I just had to let it go. 

I love those lyrics from John Lennon. They pretty much epitomize what I feel like doing about a 100 different times each day. If I had my way, all I'd ever do is watch the wheels go round and round.

I wish everyone had the same mentality, although nothing much would probably get done if they did. Still, if you can't sit back and pay attention to not paying attention once in awhile, I really believe you're missing out on the gift that is life. You're missing out on the gift that is observation, which might be the best means of learning there is.

Today, I took a seat in my garage and watched the rain spit from the sky. That was it. Just watched. Just listened. Didn't fuss or fret. Wasn't feeling thankful for the precipitation. Wasn't worrying about the chance of hail. Just watched and listened and took in the smells the falling drops were conjuring up around me. Didn't contemplate what was going to happen next or what had happened previously. And I'm all the better for having done it. I'm all the more advanced for having put absolutely no effort into anything for that 25 minutes or so. I couldn't be more pleased that I didn't utter a word during that time or worked up even one bead of sweat. I couldn't be more happy with myself that I didn't exert any force or make any demands or wish any wishes. I don't have the slightest regret or bit of guilt for all the things I could have been doing but didn't. I feel no remorse for having accomplished anything but by just sitting I accomplished everything.


Just sit. If it's good enough for the Buddha, it's good enough for me. 

A good friend told me not long ago of a particular experience he had just had in which he was completely in the zone. Completely in and of the moment. As he said, many times we find ourselves in a particular space for a particular reason. Maybe it's to attend a city council meeting or give a presentation or attend a sermon or attend a conference for work during which we're expected to walk away having learned something vital. But many times even though we're in the setting, we're really not. We're thinking thoughts and making plans or making counter plans. W'ere wondering if we're prepared. We're wondering if what we're wearing is OK. We're wondering if we're comprehending what's being said or if we're good enough to be in the company that we're presently keeping. We're doing everything but actively engaging in the moment, everything but taking each second as it presents itself and swallowing it with complete understanding and fulfillment. That's a tough thing to do for even a few minutes, let alone an extended period of time. But when it happens, if you let it happen, amazing ground can be covered.


Just sit. I absolutely just love to sit. 

Day 170: "Lighten up, Francis."

I’ve actually never been that fond of that overused quote from “Stripes,” but damned if Sgt. Hulka’s directive to Francis wasn’t fitting last night as I watched my daughter’s gymnastics class.

I use “class” very, very loosely here, because anytime you gather a bunch of three-, four-, and five-year olds together in one confined space, what you have is less of a classroom atmosphere and more of chaos. But the “chaos” in this situation was meant to be fun, as gymnastics and other activities merely meant to get kids out of the house and into motion is supposed to be. This isn’t panic inducing, stress creating, or tension filled chaos. But I swear to all that is sane, you would have never guessed by watching the psycho father I witnessed for an hour straight sitting at the opposite end of the gym from me.

Look, I’m 44. I’ve seen my share of overbearing, short-tempered fathers berating their kids for no good reason over the years. What was so concerning and troublesome about this monkey was how young he was. My best guess is he was in his mid-20s and certainly not yet into his thirties. His immaturity and lack of patience showed. Not once did he crack a smile. Not once did he commend his daughter. Not once did he look excited to be there, although he certainly looked to have spent considerable time in his closet picking out just the right yuppie-ish clothes meant to make an impression. He certainly spent more than a few minutes on his perfectly kept hair, and he certainly took his sweet time picking out the fashionable sunglasses sitting ever so neatly on the top of his head. What he didn’t take the time to do was remember we were supposed to be having fun here. This wasn’t a competition. How could it be? Not a single kid could pull off a damn summersault yet. Yet, he couldn’t quit criticizing and couldn’t start back patting.

Worse, the dummy not only made the daughter trying to spin and roll around and jump in the air miserable, he made the other daughter, probably three or younger, miserable by just daring to exist in his presence. Every time she stood up, he sat her down forcibly, despite the fact we were in a gym where at least another dozen kids were making noise and running around and at least a dozen other parents didn’t have a problem with that fact.

Damned if I couldn’t foresee these poor kids’ future, one I’m pretty sure will involve resenting the heavy hands by which their father ruled, and one that involves them sharing few if any of the important details of their life later on with him because they didn’t trust him, because he seemed incapable of showing any nurturing, and because I’m guessing he's  capable of showing even less compassion.

I realize it’s not fair to judge someone whom I’ve literally never spoken a word to and I am basing all my information on simple observations, but I have decent instincts, and they all told me something terribly sad: He just didn’t get it.

Having children is such a gift and such an opportunity to learn about yourself and life. Having little girls somehow only amplifies that. They look to you for protection. They don’t want to fear you. They don’t want to cower. They don’t to live under constant judgment. When I see fathers so young who don’t get this, I feel tremendous pain for their children. Time is so fleeting, and the opportunity daughters and sons have to look at their father as someone who isn’t constantly angry or frustrated or full of spite but instead as someone who is supportive and encouraging and a source of warmth is one they can’t redo. When I see a jackass blowing this because he’s more worried about how’s he being perceived than how he can make his child’s life more fulfilling and enriched, I want to scream.

Last night, I didn’t scream, but I did promise myself to take a longer look at what my job is as a father and how I can best do it and let go of the petty, inconsequential stuff in favor of holding dear what is really important and vital.

Day 169: The Fathers I Admire

I’m always amazed by people who look to celebrities or “feel good” authors or musicians or actors or politicians or whoever other person they so eagerly can put on a pedestal to draw guidance and leadership from. Some of those people may be worthy of your devotion. Many aren’t. All you really have to do is look over your shoulder or down the street or at the desk next to you or the seat across the aisle on the bus or plane and you can plenty of sources of wisdom and knowledge and inspiration to draw upon.

Take father’s day, for example. Up and down the block you live on, in the houses that make up your neighborhood, I guarantee you there are living inside fathers who have sacrificed their own gratification and personal gain and instant joy time and time again gladly and willingly so that their children would be happier and more fulfilled.

Look at the fathers sitting around you in the pews of your church, and I guarantee you’ll see plenty of fathers who have stayed up deep into many, many nights waiting for their child to make it home safe and sound so they could only then sleep peacefully themselves.

Walk into a grocery store on any given night and you’ll cross paths with single dads doing the shopping for their kids after a long day’s work, only to go home and cook them a meal, clean up after them, read them a book or two, and put them to bed, and then get up and do it all again the next morning without blinking an eye.

Look past everything you think that you know about your own father, and I guarantee you there are countless other facts that you aren’t aware of, such as the sacrifices that he’s made so that you could have something extra or the extra hours he put in or the personal items he sold so that you could benefit. I’ll guarantee he turned down opportunities because it accepting them wouldn’t have worked out in your favor and the gains for him couldn’t justify the sacrifices for you.

Look around you at the next sporting event that your own kid is playing at and then count the collective hours you father (and mother) gave away to you so you could participate in similar activities. Count the hours your father sat behind the wheel of an automobile in tense, stressful traffic getting you from point A to B or driving you down the road to a destination that he planned out and spent for expressly for you to enjoy.

Look through your family’s photograph albums and count how many of the events captured in those photos that your father was directly responsible for, whether he funded it, organized it, built it, repaired it, researched it, or envisioned it.

Count the number of meals you’ve partaken in during your life and estimate how many of them that your father directly had a hand in making possible. Consider how many nights in your lifetime you’ve spent peacefully in a dry, warm, secure house and count how many of those nights your dad was responsible for making a reality.

Consider all the qualities that you admire in your husband and sons and think about how many of them correspond with quality that your dad possesses.

Consider the respect you have for yourself and the treatment that you demand for yourself from others and contemplate in what ways your father may have helped instill such pride in yourself, may have told you that you deserved the best of treatment, and may have made you believe you didn’t have to settle for decency.

Think about the ways you treat people and how to what extent your father is responsible for your actions.

Think about everything you’ve accomplished in your life, all the milestones you’ve reached, all the goals conquered, all the obstacles knocked down, all the barriers climbed, and all the doubts you were able to put to rest because your father poured his energy and belief and determination into you.

Think about the periods of life when you felt most protected and most carefree and then think how much of that security your dad was responsible for.

I look around me on a daily basis, and I see fathers who set examples for their kids because they love them dearly. They work hard and long because they love their children dearly. They give of themselves and ask for little in return because they love them dearly. They make sure the doors are locked at night and the family pet is fed and watered because they love them dearly. They feel their children’s accomplishments and failures and losses and setbacks with the deepest of realism because they love them dearly. I look around me and I see fathers who make their children laugh, pick up them off the ground when they fall down, clean their wounds, teach them right from wrong, set expectations, teach tough lessons, and love unconditionally. Just everyday, common, run-of-the-mill men who ask for nothing in return. 

Day 168: Ribs & Potato Salad

Dad's ribs and mom's potato salad. That was my Sunday. Not a single complaint. Family around the table. Not a single complaint. Playing with my daughter. Hanging with my daughters. Not a single complaint. Homemade cards and expressions of love for dad. What's to complain about?