Day 300: Nature Calls

Today, my little girl told me she wants to be an animal cop when she grows up. That's not surprising considering the house she is growing up in. We do have two dogs, two cats, a bearded dragon, rats, and who knows what else crawling around here. But already at just four years old, this kid had a knack for being around animals. She just has the touch. She gets it from her mom. If she really does grow up to do something with animals, I'd be thrilled. I'd like her to devote her time to something she loves and something that would benefit from that love. But equally as important is that she'd be good at it. She's caring and loving and she sees things from a moral and ethical perspective, which I find remarkable given her age. Given all things to do over, I'd like a chance to take the same path as I have a feeling she's going to take. But no matter what she does, I have a feeling it's going to be special. I'm sure every parent feels the same way. The way it should be.

Day 299: Happy 18th; An Adult Is Born

 Today is my daughter’s birthday. What an eventful, wonderful, supercharged 18 years it has been, too. But as of today, I have two children that are 18 years old or older, and that’s a strange reality for me—something that’s hard to grasp. Seems like it was only yesterday that I was helping them get dressed for school. Tying their shoes. Cutting their meat. Pouring their milk and then cleaning it up when they spilt it. Seems like it was yesterday we piled in that old Gold van on the way to school, wrapped in blankets because the heater didn’t work. Seems like yesterday we were heading to the park, climbing the ladder, swinging high, and stopping at the gas station to get some candy on the way home. Seems like yesterday we were building tents in the basement for all-night movie marathons. Like yesterday when were rolling around on the floor wrestling and playing hide-n-seek. Snuggling on the couch watching cartoons. Seems like it wasn’t that long ago that my kids were coming home from grade school, getting their afternoon snack, and heading out the door with seemingly everything OK in their worlds. Then junior high crept in, followed by high school, and here we are.

Life passes at the same rate for everyone. But there are those days, like this one, that deserve a little extra contemplating to be done, that require a little more remembrance to be performed. On these days, life seems to travel at a pace that’s unfair and impossible to keep up with. I’d like to have some of those 18 years back again. I’d like to change a few things. Rearrange a few things. Take a left instead of right. I’d like to offer better advice than I did on a few occasions. I’d like a chance to ease some of the burdens I could have. Reduce the stress and tension I didn’t know existed then but do now. I’d like to go back and open more doors. Knock down a few more walls. Help blaze some paths. I’d like to go back and listen more often and more intently. See more. Learn more. I’d like the gift of hindsight, knowing that what I considered to be pressing matters back really weren’t. I’d like to have given my kids less possessions and more laughs. But that’s not possible.

As strange as it seems to have kids of “legal age,” I don’t think I’ll ever think in that way. I guess I’ve considered them to be grown up for some time now, whether I always liked that or not. Usually, I try not to put too much emphasis on age. It doesn’t take too long, for example, to size someone up and know if he or she is mature and world-wise. You don’t need to spend months with someone to know if he or she is introspective, if she’s enlightened and rich with creativity. Conversely, you don’t need eons to figure out if someone is pessimistic, shortsighted, narrow-minded, lacking insight and depth. You just know. Generally, I don’t try to equate those traits to someone’s age, although there’s no denying that acquiring many of those characteristics does tend to take weathering some years and overcoming a significant obstacle or two. I can testify that my children, like a lot of kids today, have overcome their share, probably before they should have had to. Such is today’s society.

As grown as they are and as grown as they consider themselves to be, I still see children, and not in a sense that they aren’t capable, aren’t wily, aren’t wise and durable. I see children because in some ways, I want to. In other ways, I see children because in many respects I’ll always feel the need to provide and counsel and guide, even if those are things that aren’t wanted or asked for as much as once upon a time.

All that said, having had the privilege and gift to be able to watch someone grow over 18 years, and having had the privilege and gift of having had something to do with that growth, are two life-altering, soul-building experiences that can’t be understated. This is glorious day. It’s an achievement. It’s a testament. I don’t know if every parent who has ever had a child turn 18 has felt the same, but I’ll cherish this day for what has happened before it and what will happen from here on out. And I’ll cherish the reality that 18 years from now, nothing will have altered the way I feel today. If anything, the gratitude I have for being a parent will have only further expanded.

Day 298: Sleepless Nights

For the last 10 or so years, I go through periods of surviving many sleepless nights in a row. To be accurate, I sleep like a cozy little baby for the first two hours after my head hits the pillow. The next four or five hours, however, are hit and miss. Usually miss. Despite zombie-walking my way through the daylight hours and being every so slightly irritable (ha), I do find staring at the ceiling for prolonged periods during the night oddly satisfying. I get my greatest thinking done during those stretches. I've plotted great projects and escapades, as well. I only wish I'd carried out even a tenth of them. Still, the process of even dreaming them up has always been aces. 

This week I've been contemplating on a nightly basis all the books I'd wish I had written by now. You should know that if I had actually put pen to paper, they would have been stellar and you would have been entertained. You should also know all the songs that are floating in my head are hits and would have made their way to your heart and soul. The vacations I've taken during my insomnia-induced minutes have also been absolutely magnificent. The mountains I climbed, the oceans I swam in, the temples I knelt in, the churches I bowed my head in, the theaters I clapped in . . . yeah, they were amazing. 

Not sleeping isn't a preferable state of being, but it isn't so bad, either. The key is accepting that you can't force sleep. It will come when it wants to. I've come to believe that there is a reason I'm not snoring the hours away. Something or someone wants me awake, and they want that for a reason. There must be issues I need to work out. Matters I need to tend to. What time is better than when the rest of the world is quiet, tucked away in their own bubbles, and I'm free to explore in solitude? 

Day 297: The Night Jason Voorhees Took Me Down

I’ve had some excellent Halloweens in my life. Of course, watching your kids trick and treat when they’re youngsters is beyond awesome, and there are few things that can beat that, but long before I had kids and long before we hit the night in search of candy, there were many incredible Halloweens that had nothing to do with being a parent. A lot of those nights would involve copious amounts of alcohol and various forms of debauchery, but a lot of them didn’t. Many were memorable for reasons that had nothing to do with howling at the moon, as it were.

Take the Halloween that I was in second grade, for example. Back in the day, kids were allowed to take their costumes to school, and better, in my school we paraded around the top floors of the school so the junior high kids could check us out (and ridicule us). That particular year I had a boss Frankenstein costume that I was majorly stoked about. Green and purple and wicked with black scars on the mask, that costume was bad-ass, and I couldn’t wait to show it off. Problem was that somewhere around mid-morning, I started to feel sick. I was determined to gut it out, though, because besides the Halloween parade, my school had Halloween parties, and that meant food and fun. But damn if I didn’t start to feel so poorly that I was sent off to the school nurse and then later packing my Frankenstein goods and headed home for the day. Depression set in, and it would only get worse. Not to get too graphic here, but what my seven-year-old brain had taken for a severe stomach ache turned out to be nothing that a trip to the bathroom wouldn't end up solving, if you know what I mean. Five minutes later, I was back in top form. My friends at school didn’t see me as Frank, but I still scored candy that night.

When I think of Halloween, though, I think about that damn bastard Jason Voorhees. On Halloween night the year I was 14 and in ninth grade, that ghoul-faced clown scared me so badly, the feeling went out of my legs. Literally. Prior to that little happening, though, the entire rest of the night was glorious. In addition to sharing my first kiss with my then girlfriend, my best friend and I tormented the mean streets of Ashland. Well, not really, but we thought we were. What freedom we had then. No worries of creeps doing us in. Nothing to watch over our backs for. Just fun. 

Eventually, that night we would make our way back to my house for a brief pit stop, during which I sat down near the television, which just so happened to be playing “Friday The 13^th” on HBO. Having never seen the flick before, I never saw what was coming. Sitting on the floor, legs crossed in full-on Yoga style, I watched Mr. Voorhees meet his apparent end. Only, the little crapper wasn’t done for. When he suddenly made his presence once again by popping out of the lake in that now infamous final shot, my legs locked in what was a massive cramping. The pain was unlike any I had ever endured, and I yelped and screamed as if I were walking on fire. It seemingly took hours before I could straighten my sticks out. 

To this day, even seeing a poster, commercial, or passing glimpse of that mute screwface makes my legs hurt. But it also makes me think of Halloween and how much fun those days so long ago were. What a different time. What a great time to grow up. 

  

Day 296: Say It Before It's Too Late

Today, a friend said something to me that was about as positive and reinforcing and meaningful as anything that anyone has said to me in recent memory. More or less, he simply said "thanks for being a good friend." 

I don't know about you, but that's not a real common occurrence in my life. I'd like to think that's not because I'm a crappy friend but more due to it just being difficult for a lot of people to let one another know how they feel. That includes me. 

By default, I'm not vulnerable and open in that way. I understand the reasons why, but it doesn't mean I like it or even necessarily accept it. It typically takes something fairly monumental for me open up like that. Well, unless I have a few pops in me, and then it gets pretty easy. But that's unfortunate because I shouldn't need to be liquored up to hand out an "atta boy" more often. 

When questioned what brought my friend's sudden and unsolicited outpouring of gratitude about, he said because he was reminded that essentially, we sometimes think we've been gifted with more time than we actually have left to spend. In other words, say those things you should be saying anyway before it's too late. 

So, with that in mind: 

• Family, I love you all and appreciate you always. 
• Friends, ditto. Many of you helped shape me, and I don't mind saying I don't think you did too shabby in most regards. (In others, I still have much to learn from you.)
• Mentors, thanks for setting me straight and showing me the light. 
• Teachers, thanks for helping me read, write, and reason. Among the three most important gifts that I've received. 
• Coaches, thanks for toughening up my skin and kicking me in the ass when I needed it. I can take criticism when it's deserved, and you're largely the reason why.  
• Reverend, thanks for helping guide me spiritually, morally, and ethically. 
• Enemies, thanks for showing me what's truly important and truly insignificant. 
• Doubters, thanks for inspiring me to become more than I would have been. 
• The obnoxious and self-centered, thanks for showing me how not to act. 
• Myself, thanks for not giving up. 

Thanks for the reminder, D. 

Day 295: Lance Armstrong

I feel sorry for Lance Armstrong. Somewhere along the line he obviously got enamored with the idea the winning at all costs was worth the risks. Unfortunately for him, and most others, too, the risks usually catch up to you at some point, especially when the risks attract all kind of attention to yourself. 

Who knows whey people do the things they do. Why they don't look far enough out into the future and see that taking shortcuts probably isn't going to cut it in the end, I'm not sure. I've been guilty of it enough times myself, you'd think I know the answer to that question myself.

What I do know is that everyone takes shortcuts at some point. It's inevitable. At some point, the situation or matters or time or whatever factors are at work become so overwhelming, we take the easy way out, sometimes just so that we can live to fight another day. Guys like Lance Armstrong are different. Guys like Roger Clemmens are different. Barry Bonds. Mark McGwire. Women like Marion Jones. They see glory that for some reason they must grab, no matter if that glory is tainted in the end. 

Maybe Lance Armstrong looked around and saw everyone else was doping and thought, if I don't do it, I'll get left behind. I tend to think he went the other direction. He seems like a dominate sort to me, like most athletes are. I think he took the initiative and lead the charge, thinking he could probably cover his tracks or get others to do it for him. Whatever the case, he's taking a fall from grace now, as he rightfully should, but unlike some people I've heard in the past week, I don't take a lot of satisfaction in that. I don't enjoy in watching a guy who obviously grew comfortable lying to himself and others now tumbling down the mountain. I feel sorry that he never realized his true potential. He never gave himself the chance to see what he could conquer truly. 

The fact is, if Armstrong would have come clean a lot sooner on up the road, he wouldn't be getting dealt one crappy hand after another right now. We would have forgive him and probably even praised him for stepping up and using honestly as his strength. My question is will anyone pay attention to anything other than the fall? Will they learn from his mistakes. Will they reason that obtaining glory really is worth the effort unless you do it the right way? That if you take shortcuts, you not seeing all the sights? You're not fully engaging. I hope so. That's the real lesson here, no that someone got what he deserved. As with most occurrences that are negative, there's something positive to be gained. 

Day 294: My Running Playlist

I wonder sometimes what running would have been like way back in high school if I would have been able to listen to music while I ran. All those runs out to that church and beyond in the country or out along the Guard Camp Road probably would have been a hell of a lot more enjoyable with some tunage in my ears. Back then, I either sang or talked to myself to help  the time pass. 

Today, I pretty much count on my headphones and iPhone to help me survive during a run, and survive is excellently what I try to do. I'm far from an accomplished runner, and I need all the help I can get. The few times that I've run without my audio companions were miserable for the most part, probably because all I could hear was the disgusting amount of panting for breath I was doing. 

When it comes to what I listen to exactly, most runs I just press Shuffle before I head out and call it good. Some days, though, I rely on a good ole' playlist to get me through. Usually I reserve playing the playlist on a run when I need to take a strategic course of attack, like when I know I'm going to (attempt) to run longer than normal and am going to need the added motivation. Today was such a day. 

I actually put a lot of thought into making playlists. I always have going back to the two-deck tape cassette days. Loved the playlist, and I haven't found a situation that can't benefit from a group of songs painstakingly culled together by someone who cares about such things. It's probably why one of my top five movies is "High Fidelity." I was the cat back in the day who carefully crafted mixed tapes. Put the right songs in the right places, created the right ebb and flow when they were needed, matched the song to the given atmosphere or environment, and did it with finesse and passion. Or at least I liked to fancy myself as being able to. 

Nearly as much as making playlists, I like seeing the songs other people put on their's. I've wasted a fairly shocking amount of time throughout the years doing just that. 

I've made several playlists specifically for running, but I have one that's my go-to. It's the one I pull out when desperate times call for desperate measures, which is pretty much always. So with that, for the curious, here's what the top 10 consists of, but honestly there's plenty more where this came from: 

1. "Battery," Metallica -- This starts things off with a surge, and I need it, because it's in those first two or so minutes that I really want to quit running before I really get started. This gives me the thrust not to. Mucho energy right off the bat to set the tone. Favorite lyric: "Pounding out aggression / Turns into obsession / Cannot kill the battery" Spot on, James. Spot on. 

2. "Bloody Mother Fuckin Asshole," Martha Wainwright--This song's lyrics make me think (and believe) that no one is going to do a damn thing for you unless you do for yourself first, so get off your arse and start doing it. Favorite lyric, "You say my time here has been some sort of joke/That I've been messing around/Some sort of incubating period/ For when I really come around."  

3. "Remedy," The Black Crowes--By now, my head, lungs, and legs are starting to hurt a little bit, but worse, my mind is starting to get pissed at me for putting my body through this. This song helps me remember that this running stuff is supposed to be fun. Seeing the Crowes live is about as much fun as a person can have in my book. So putting two and two together isn't too difficult as the Robinson brothers start coming through my earbuds. Favorite lyric, "If I come on like a dream?/Would you let me show you what I mean?"

4. "God Made Me Funky," The Headhunters--This is just one of my all-time favorite songs, and truthfully, I'd listen to it any time of day or night no matter the scenario. When I'm running, though, I need a little God in my life, and this is the source. Favorite lyric, "He says God can give you anything you want. Anything you want." 

5. "Who Are You," The Who--Typically, by the time this song comes on, I'm just about through climbing a fairly big hill not far from our house. Around about the time Roger Daltry is asking me, Who the fuck are you?" I like to be able to answer him, "I'm the sonofabitch that just climbed that hill." Favorite lyric, "11 hours in the tin pan, God there has to be another way." 

6. "The Walls Came Down," The Call--I can't even guess the number of times I've stuck a song by The Call on a mixed tape. This band was a huge, huge part of my formative years, and for good reason--they kicked ass. The band's "I Don't Wanna" is just about my favorite song ever, but I love this one nearly as much, and when I'm running, it makes me forget how flipping old I am. Songs are magical in how they can transport you to another time and place. I've come to count on it. Favorite lyric, "I don't think there are any Russians / And there ain't no Yanks/ Just corporate criminals / Playin' with tanks." 

7. "Walk," Pantera -- If you've heard the song, you know why this one is on the list. It's a fighting song. It's a song for calling suckers out, including myself. Favorite lyrics, "Is there no standard anymore? What it takes, who I am, where I've been / Belong." Sometimes, a man has to look himself in the eye and call his own bluff. That's why I like this song.

8. "Ms. Jackson" and "B.O.B.", OutKast--Right about now I'm entering my hip-hop phase of the run. I don't know why, but hip-hop gives me fuel. These two songs make me think about other things than running, which I desperately need because when I start to  obsess about something, like how tired I am, I'm done for. "Ms. Jackson" makes me think about my kids and my wife and I all in the car on some long car ride singing this together or the times when my older girls were younger and we danced like fools. "B.O.B." is just one of the best constructed hip-hop songs ever made, and it's electric. Favorite lyric, ""You can plan a pretty picnic, but you can't predict the weather, Ms. Jackson." 

9. "Made You Look," Nas--I love the ferocity of this track. The swagger. The confidence. It definitely translates when you're concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Step after step. Beat after beat. Favorite lyric, "This ain't rappin, this is street-hop. Now get off your ass like your seat's hot." 

10. "Gravel Pit," The Wu Tang Clan --Another song that's just among my favorite ever. It also has the grooviest, tightest bass lines. If you can't dance to this song, you just can't dance, so quit trying. When I'm running, this just makes me smile, and that's never a bad thing when you're struggling. On a couple of occasions when I've been running and this song is playing, I've passed an elderly man or lady out getting their exercise. It's makes me laugh when I think about stopping just long enough to hand them an earbud and get in on Method Man, the RZA, Old Dirty Bastard, and the rest of the Clan. Favorite lyric, "Remember what Old Dirty said, 'I'll fuck your ass up!'"