Ego

Isn't the Ego a strange partner? So fragile, so forgetful, so needy, so selfish. It motivates us to accomplish many things we wouldn't attempt with out him by our sides, yet he's also the one the holds us back from accomplishing more.

Over the last couple of years I've become a lot more aware of my ego. Oh, I always knew it was there. When you're constantly feeding something that has an inccaiable appetite, you can't deny it exist. An appetite so huge it requires others to help us feed it too. Yes, we all have to go few rounds with it to keep it under control but I don't think we ever snuggle up to and get to know it until someone kicks the living shit out of it.

The funny thing is, most egos won't respond fully to just anyone stomping on it. No, it has to be someone for whom we've turned the security system off. Someone we've left the door open for, expecting them to fatten it up.

Three years ago The Wife went into, what can only be described as a mid-life crisis. Ten years home with the kids had taken it's toll. It wasn't hard to recognize she was drowning in her own life. A life she asked for, a life I worked hard to provide for her. We both saw and reaped the benefits of her choice. Still, too much of a good thing isn't always good. So when she informed me about an interest in a band from her youth, I was only to willing to support her. She was reluctant. She claimed going to see them was silly, selfish even. I didn't see it that way, she deserved it, earned it and really need something that was a bit silly in her life, that was hers alone.

My ego was benefiting from it too. I got to be the hero husband that watched the kids while she went to the concerts. When she discovered other fans online I dove in and bought her a laptop. My ego got a thrill out of watching her face light up, knowing I was responsible for helping her find some happiness.

Then one day my ego noticed it wasn't the center of The Wife's attention anymore. I noticed my kid's weren't either. Something was wrong. The wife was spending all of her time with her new groupy online friends. She was shedding our life like a snake sheds its skin. Still, my ego was to big to feel threatened. Seriously, how could anything be more important to my wife than the man who works 60 hours a week to provide the life she wanted? The father of her children. The man that supporter her through the toughest times in her life.

Even when my, close to forty year old, wife went out of town with a bunch of twenty something year old females I didn't see the harm. Only when I noticed an open facebook page and the lack of contact did I realize what my partner, ego, had been pointing out for some time. The wife was in her own world. A new world that didn't include me.

Looking back I'm sure I could have handled it better. I'm still not sure how, but turning the situation over to my ego probably wasn't the best decision. Of course my ego demanded The Wife stop all her childishness and refocus on our family, with me perticulalry in mind. This only made her more determined to do the opposite.

Before it was over she had met the band in person. Been groped by one member and shared her desire to do more with all her groupy friends. She had created multiple fake accounts to hide her activities. She hid in our closet texting the other groupies about every movement the band made every time she could sneak away.

Telling her I was not happy didn't affect her. She had clearly chosen her love of this band, and her new online groupy friends over me and my ego. Never had my ego been told by someone it counted on that it didn't matter. It took a long time for me to accept that was in fact reality and not just my ego throwing a fit for being pushed to the back of the line. Many ultimatums were given, all agreed to, only to discover more secrets and deceit later.

Finally, when I could take no more, which was months longer than my ego could take, I called it quits. I called a lawyer, started making other living arrangements and tried to come to terms with not being an everyday fixture in my children's lives. Despite my ego demanding I stay and fight for it's importance my will was gone. But, then it happened. The same week I was going to tell her I couldn't take being second fiddle to a band and a bunch of groupies that had never lifted a finger to do anything for her in her life The Wife changed her tune.

Suddenly, the Old Wife was back. She gave up following the band. She stopped texting the groupies. She started feeding my ego like she never had before. It was as if over night she had woken up from a trance. Mr. Ego was overjoyed. Me on the other hand couldn't follow the logic. What had changed? Why now? She didn't know I was anymore serious about leaving this time than the last. I couldn't get it out of my head, or let it go.

After months of her treating me like the "king" my ego knew I was, I couldn't take it anymore. I should have been happy but I wasn't. Finally, I threatened to contact her groupy friends to find out the truth. Before I did she spilled the beans. Seems her groupy friends dropped her. They all turned on each other. One was actually crazy. She had pretended to date one of the band members. She even went so far as sending emails to The Wife pretending to be members of the band. For over a year The Wife thought she had the private email addresses and the attention of the band members.  What finally ended it was when one of the groupies discovered The Wife had been sexting her boyfriend, behind her back of course. Complete with inappropriate pictures. All I can say is I'm glad these people live 3000 miles away or I would have a lot of other questions.

So months later The Wife has gone back to work and loves her new job. She continues to feed my ego everyday, not just hamburger either but prime rib. She claims she, "lost her mind" and can't believe she almost lost the most important person to ever enter her life, me. But the ego is still hurt, knowing I was chosen only when no other choice was left available to her. Knowing that these, lying, fake, crazy people, who had never done a thing for The Wife, had so easily became more important to my wife than I was. Knowing nothing I did put a stop to it.

So me and my bruised ego are limping along. Me, happy to still have my family and my wife's attention back and my ego now knowing what it feels like to have the shit stomped out of it.

emotionless

The other night as I walked in the door from work I couldn't help but noticing my six year old little girl had a band-aid on her chin. The band-aid was even more prevalent than her two missing front teeth that make me laugh every time I see her.

When I asked her what happened, she shrugged. Not unusual for a girl that sticks on band-aids, daily, for no reason. Then my eight year old son volunteered that they had bumped chins. When I asked how, they both couldn't seem to tell me. Furthermore his lip was scraped, not his chin. Upon further investigation we learned that Abby had talked Ethan into trying out Mommy's razor. Then she tried it herself even after she seeing Ethan cut himself. They then agreed to lie about their injuries.

Upon realizing they had been caught, and punishment would be severe, my son went to pieces. He's very sensitive, so this wasn't a surprise. As I was trying to calm him down without letting off the hook, I looked at my daughter to see her reaction. To be honest what I saw bothered me.

She didn't seem upset at all. Instead she seemed to be studying my son's reaction and how we were dealing with it. Not because she was worried about her brother either. It was almost like she was trying to figure out where she went wrong and got caught. She didn't care that she cut her chin, she didn't care we were upset and mad, she didn't care that we were punishing her. She showed no emotions at all.

After I calmed her brother down, I asked her why she wasn't upset. She just shrugged her shoulders. I then tried to explain the seriousness of what she had done. No response. Finally, with nothing left in my parenting arsenal to use, I dismissed her to her room. Only then did I see a little emotion. A very slight, almost undetectable grin crept across her lips. Frankly, it freaked me out a little bit. 

My oldest has always been head strong like Abby but, like his little brother, wears his emotions on his sleeves. Push him enough and you'll soon find out where his head is. Abby seems to have too much control over her emotions. That's a new one for me and I'm not sure where it's going to take us but I have a feeling it's not going to be a fun place.

Watching from the sidelines...

Just as memories start to lose some color, just as the bad dreams become the exception instead of the norm, just when a few days pass without thinking about the past, life sends me another reminder to bring the past screaming back to the present.

Last Thursday, just like before, I headed out of town early in the morning on the way to an auction. My dad was tagging along because he always enjoyed the auctions. After a hour on the road he closed his eyes as I settled into another three hours of driving, and thinking. I hate these drives but there is no avoiding them. With a cup of coffee in my hand, resting on my leg, I'm cruising at 75 mph. I pass a Cadillac that looks like the one I'm driving and just like the one I drove a few years ago. A few miles later the night goes from clear to puffs of fog. Thick then clear, then thick. Half a mile in I'm slowing down because visibility is getting worse. But, this isn't fog, it's smoke. I see the tail lights of a truck about a mile ahead. As long as I can see that far I'm good. Then another puff of thick smoke. It takes less than a second to pass through it but when I do the truck is right in font of me, stopped in the middle of the highway. "Oh my God!" I can hear myself yelling and I slam on the brakes. I swerve and slide sideways into the emergency lane. We just miss the back of the tanker trailer the truck is pulling. Looking in my mirror I see the other Cadillac coming. I pull into the grass to give him room to squeeze between us. But it doesn't... it never turns or brakes. I have a front row seat as it runs into the back of the trailer, 10 feet from me, at about 60 to 70 mph. It hits it so straight that the car recoils backwards and up 6 to 10 feet in the air and lands on the highway. All is quiet.

I wait a second to make sure the traffic coming up behind us knows we are stopped. Then I run to what is left of the car. Two people inside. Both dead. No noise, no movement. I look around for the truck driver but he is still in his truck. His truck is unharmed. I call 911. I check the car again. No movement, no sound... still no driver of the truck. FUCK! Why isn't he back here yet? I run past the trailer up to the truck. It's been 5 to 10 minutes and he's just getting out of the truck. He stumbles. He mumbles something. He looks like he just woke up or something. He does not go to check on the car that hit him. Instead he gets on his cell phone. "I'm okay, someone ran into the back of me", he casually says. Does he not get it? Your truck is parked in the middle of a major highway. They are dead. Dead.

I walk back to the side of the road and watch as the state patrol casually walk around. The paramedics make a few attempts to check the driver. Then they hang the white sheets over the car. The smoke gets thicker. My 72 year old father walks up to me, as I look at the crushed car, that use to be identical to ours. "That could have been us" he says. I start shaking because I don't know why it isn't us. Later I learn the fire department had to use thermal imaging to find us in the smoke.

As the hours passed everything felt horribly familiar, except this time I was watching from the sidelines. I tried to muster-up some sympathy for the driver of the truck, as I know what lays ahead of him, but I couldn't. I tried not to judge him but I did. From my view point, the second the car hit his trailer he started the process of protecting himself and his company. I know that's part of it but could he not check on the people in the car? How could he not?

Before we were allowed to go I already noticed inconstancies in his story. I had already talked to his company's lawyer on his cell phone. People were covering their asses and the bodies were still warm, still wedged in the car. I gave the police my statement. Keeping only to the facts and leaving my opinions out of it. That's fair, right? Right? But what about the dead people? I know things. I saw things that don't add up. The law suits will start to fly soon. I'm all to familiar with that part of it too.

So the story will go. A man, and his father, got up early March 17, 2011 to travel out of town. At 5:30 am they ran into smoke covering the road. Because of this smoke, a truck had stopped in the middle of the road. They never saw the truck and slammed their Cadillac into the back of the trailer. They were killed on impact.

What won't be told is the phone call to their loved ones that will forever change their lives. What won't be mentioned is the what the driver of the truck will go through to come to terms with his role in what happened. What may never come to light is what really happened that morning. What will never be known is why it wasn't me.

The local news report

Looking Through the Mirror

We enrolled my ten year old in soccer this year. It had been three years since he last played so I wasn't sure how he would do. At the u12 level things are a lot different than u8. It became obvious that Jacob had a lot to learn. It also became obvious, painfully at times, that he is nothing like me when it comes to sports.

Sure we share a lot of the same traits. He not fast, but quick. He has good foot skills combined with the ability to teach his body new techniques pretty fast. He isn't the biggest kid but doesn't seem to notice. Still, we are worlds apart when it comes to playing sports. The boy doesn't seem to have a competitive bone in his body.

His team, and especially his coach suck. Jacob, not the worst kid by far, sat the bench the most. He didn't seem to mind so I kept quiet as his team kept losing game after game. After getting beat 16 to nothing in their fist game I asked him if he was ok? He said he was and he was. And so it went with the rest of the season, they got beat, he had fun and he didn't seem to mind. IT DROVE ME NUTS!

So the last game of the year as I watched him play I was mentally making a list of things I saw him doing wrong. I was contemplating how to tell him without sounding like one of "those" parents. As his team was walking back to the bench, just before I opened my mouth, I saw the coach pull his son to the side and very aggressively tell him how bad he was playing. The kid assured his dad, his coach, that he was doing his best, to no avail. The kid finally just looked at the ground and quietly headed to the bench.

By this time I looked up and Jacob looked at me through the chain link fence, smiling.

"It's tied zero to zero," he said. "How am I doing?"

I paused and looked over at the coaches son sitting as far away from his dad as he could get.

"Your doing great," I said. "I'm very proud of you."

I was too because he had managed to teach me something about sports I always had a hard time remembering. It's suppose to be fun. He had a coach to point out his mistakes he just wanted his dad to enjoy watching him. A harder role to play than I ever imagined.

They ended up winning the game. Walking to the car with my arm around my son's shoulder I asked if he was happy to finally win a game? He said he was but, "I was wondering," he said "can I sit in the front seat of your car on the way home?" and just like that soccer season was behind us, just like it should be.

No Patrick Allowed!

Abby, my five year old, has been getting in a lot of trouble recently for messing up her bedroom beyond belief.

The other day we found this picture she drew taped to her bedroom door. When we asked her why, she told us that it was because Patrick, of Sponge Bob fame, had been sneaking into her room and messing it up. Now he isn't allowed in her room anymore. She seemed pretty serious about it too.

So for the next few weeks we gave her a break about cleaning her room because of her awesome picture of Patrick, her creativeness and on the slight chance Patrick really was the guilty party. Turns out he wasn't.

Oops

Last week on my monthly business trip I stopped at a place for breakfast just outside of Atlanta. Since I had already been on the road for 3 hours I thought the bathroom would be a good idea. I followed a rather large man that was heading to the bathroom too, which is a bit of a put-off as I've never been a big fan of a crowded, small, public bathroom. To make matters worse, I noticed the driver I brought with me on the trip following close behind with the same goal in mind. When we entered the restroom the man in front of me took the first stall and the far stall was already occupied. I know this because I pulled on the door. So I took the middle stall leaving the driver waiting. When I came out the driver was gone. I washed my hands, checked my hair and proceeded to my table. That's where the driver informed me that one of my worst fears had just come true.

"You do know we were in the women's bathroom don't you?"

Apparently the guy we followed in wasn't a guy at all but rather a large Pat type woman. I guess that's why I didn't check, then double check the sign on the door... as I always always do. Going in the wrong door has been a long time fear of mine. It isn't always a clear choice either, I'm an Hombre, Right? Of course, and the little picture of the man next to hombre always confirms this. I've also been a Dude, Cowboy, Guy, Gent, Boy, Romeo, and Micky... in 42 years I've never gotten this wrong. Until now. So there I sat at my table, flush with heat, waiting for a woman to point me, the bathroom pervert, out to the manager or her husband. I thought about how casually I had wondered around in the bathroom, the conversation I had with the driver after we entered and the sound urine makes as it drops three feet into water. Surely a foreign sound in a Women's restroom. But no pointing, staring or looking ever occurred. One of my biggest fears realized and the whole thing was very uneventful.

Now I'm wondering if I shouldn't try to tackle some of my other "biggest" fears? Though, somehow I don't think waking up in the middle of the night with a stranger standing next to my bed holding a knife would ever be uneventful. Of course I could be wrong, I have been before.

The Answers Are All Around Us

Every morning I give my six year old son his medicine. This morning, as I looked at his face, an incredible sadness came over me. It's not unusual reaction, as I often feel sad when I think about his future. He's such a sweet kid but I know his Aspergers will prevent him from experiencing a normal life.

But what is a normal life really? And are those who pursue this normal life any happier than those who can't? I take comfort in the fact that maybe he will find more joy in the path that lays ahead of him than that which lays ahead of most. I mean most normal people don't seem all that happy in their normal life to me. Still, it breaks my heart that he doesn't even have the choice of which path to travel down. And it breaks my heart further to know I am powerless to help make his path as clear as the well worn "normal" path that this world calls Main Street, which happens to be my street.

So this morning, as these thoughts were running through my head again, I waited for my son to get his drink ready that helps his medician go down easier. I was brought back to to the present by his little voice.

"Aw man, I got the ugly red cup!" he said

A little aggravated and with little thought I replied, "it doesn't matter what the cup looks like, it's what we put in the cup that matters." And just like that it hit me. It's not going to matter what his life looks like to me or anyone else. In the end his life will be the collection of experiences he is able to put together. It will seem as normal to him as anyones life seems to them. His life will not and can not be defined by the boundaries, accomplishments and goals I have set for mine or even those of his siblings. His life will be... his.

I watched as he grimaced at the taste of the medicine followed by a few sips from the ugly red cup. He sat the cup down and ran off to find his brother. I peek into the ugly red cup, sure enough the stuff he hadn't drank looked a lot like the stuff I drink, bet it taste the same too. God I love that little boy.

Reality, a nice place to visit

As I was sitting in my chair,

I knew the bottom wasn't there,

Nor legs nor back, but I just sat,

Ignoring little things like that.

~Hughes Mearns

She told me she is the happiest she has ever been, that letting God guide her life allowed her to be the person she always wanted to be. "I no longer acted with my ego but now with my heart," she confessed. She had proof too, in the form of a letter announcing her appointment to the board of directors of a children's shelter she has been working with through her company. The letter was now framed and proudly displayed on her office wall for all to see. Furthermore, the pride and gleam in her eye was unmistakable as she told me her company's CEO emailed all 400 hundred employees to let them know she was the very model of philanthropy her company promoted. I was happy for her.

She told me that she had never felt closer to her children as I sat in her beautiful home that showed no evidence that children lived there at all. Not an easy feat with a 7 and 9 year old.

She told me that her new path allowed her to let go of judgments of others. Then she proceeded to tell me if I would just open my mind and heart to God I could get to the place where she was at. I wondered where she thought I was.

My sister recently asked me to come to her town, alone, so that we could talk. She wanted to discuss her religious and spiritual awakening. She wanted me to buy into what she said she wasn't selling very badly. But I couldn't, I can't. See, I'm more into reality and perception these days. I told her that too, not in a condescending way but to let her know I wasn't ready to travel her path. I explained my reality has been too real for me these past years to be able to look beyond it.

She said she had forgiven us all. For what I wasn't sure, so I asked. The list was long and eye opening. Mom, for her negative attitude towards her. Our brother's lack of interest in the birth of her children. The men of the house for not clearing our plates when she had to clean the kitchen. Dad for the few times he spanked her and us for laughing when he did. My parents for letting her friends pick on her. Dad for all the nightmares she had remembering the spankings my brother and me often received. Her ex husband for not being man enough to be her husband. The list went on and on...

Of course I realize that no matter how trivial these events seem to me they were traumatic and real to my sister. I didn't want to disregard her feelings but at the same time I was having a hard time relating to her pain knowing she was raised as close to a princess as I had ever known anyone to be. I was having an even harder time understanding why these events that happened, mostly, over 25 years ago were still issues to her today. So much of an issue that she said she almost cut us all out of her life a few years ago.

During the long drive home and since, I've been bothered by our conversations. My brain has been struggling with her version of reality versus mine. She says she's happy. She says she has only positive thoughts. She says she doesn't judge people anymore. I can clearly see she believes all of this, and therefore if she thinks she's happy then she IS happy, right? So does it matter that the things she professes to feel are the opposite of what she's projecting? Her happiness appears as loneliness, her positive thinking comes off as controlling, her none judgement seems condescending... But that's my reality, in her's she's perfectly happy. I guess that's where I need to let her be... and to be honest, it is a nicer place to visit than it use to be.

Romancing Alone

"The engines roared. The boat broke the grip the tide and the dock had conspired to keep them bound to land, to their mundane life. They headed across the river that danced with the last glimmering rays of light the sun could manage to shoot over the horizon. They could see the silhouette of the bridge and the old city coming into view. Sitting at the back of the boat, he placed his arm around her shoulder and gently stroked the curls in her long brown hair. It had been awhile since he had felt this close and this at peace with her. Slowly she turned to him. He turned his head slightly to meet the gaze of her big blue eyes. He noticed that they hadn't changed in over twenty years of loving her. She carefully moved her lips near his ears and yelled, "DAMN! THE ENGINES SURE ARE LOUD RIGHT HERE! WE SHOULD HAVE SAT SOMEWHERE ELSE!"

Had my wife read this paragraph in one her romance novels I'm quite sure she would have found it somewhat romantic, save the last line of course. Living it however, she failed to appreciate any romantic qualities the situation seem to present at all.

This past weekend I took The Wife downtown for some much needed "us" time. I booked us a room at a nice hotel overlooking the river. I tried to be as romantic as I know how but seemed to miss the mark more times than not. We had a great time, a fabulous time to tell the truth. God knows we needed it. Still, the weekend left me wondering if the romance so many women seem to be seeking isn't right under their noses more times than they recognize? Or is it some unobtainable action that can only reach it's true potential in the bleached white pages of a romance novel? And if that is the case, do we men really stand a chance of turning fiction into reality? I wonder...

Looking Through a Fool's Eyes

Jen's comment on my last post, made me realize I haven't posted in awhile. The truth is I'm painfully aware that I haven't posted anything in some time. In fact, I've been thinking about this blog a lot recently. A few things have happened in my life that I would love to blog about but I'm not sure how to do that and be fair to the people involved.

Over the past few months I have had to deal with situations and emotions that until this point in my life have been rather foreign to me. Maybe that's why they had such an effect on me. I assumed I was immune to certain aspects of life... unfortunately, I now realize I am not.

After all is said and done the main question I'm left with is this - why do we let things go on when we know they aren't right? And if we simply played them out to their logical conclusion we would know that acting like we don't know, even when we do, won't save us from the inevitable outcome. Is it laziness? Is it denial? Is it hoping something will come along and magically change the situation? Or is it, as I fear it is, simple desperation.

Being made to feel like a fool is a horrible feeling. But realizing you played the fool is worse. I knew... I'm the king of knowing. I always, always, always try to see situations from the other's point of view. Yet, I could not force myself to conclude what was so damn obvious. We ALL have a part of us we don't show to everyone. Sometimes that part of us never sees the light of day but on occasion, we find a place, a person or situation where we feel this part fits. We let it out... and it can feel sooo good.

So look around and think about the people you know. What is their secret part? Are they letting it out? If so, what ramifications will this part, the part you don't know but you do know exist, have on your life? The evidence is all around us, an odd behavior, a distant feeling or slight grin where none should be. We know it's something, then tell ourselves it is nothing because if we do that, it is nothing... until one day that nothing has grown so big and so obvious ignoring it becomes more painful than living with it. What then? Or I should say, what now?

Caught, NOT looking

The other night at the gym, my partner mentioned a bodybuilder he saw on TV. I thought one of the signed photos, hanging on the wall in the gym, was of the guy he mentioned. So I walked to the front of the gym to look. The problem was I couldn't make out the name on the photo. Looking up, I squinted, turned my head, tried looking at it from every angle to get a good look. I spent a few minutes trying but I never could make it out.

When I finally gave up and turned around I noticed a guy across the gym staring at me. I mean really staring at me. I knew the guy but not that well. I took a few more steps and checked, yep, still staring. By the time I made it back to my partner I realized why he was staring. See, he had just competed in a local bodybuilding contest last month. He did well for his first contest so the gym honored him by putting his picture on the wall last week, with all the famous bodybuilders. The picture of him, posing in only a banana hammock, (this kind, not this) was hanging right next to the picture I was ogling, for so long.

I can only imagine what he was thinking as I appeared to be looking at his photo from every possible angle. Now every time I see him in the gym he gives me this awkward look. I want to approach him and say something like, "hey, um... do you know who's picture that is hanging on the wall right NEXT to yours? Because I was looking at that one, not yours, the other day." But I know I would just be digging a deeper hole.

Of course my partners thinks the situation is hilarious. It's not. Well, if it happened to them it would be, but it didn't. What kind of luck does it take to be not looking at a guy's photo at the exact moment he is in the gym paying attention to who's looking at his photo??? Which again, for the record, I wasn't. grrrr!

What's a second worth?

I watched the movie "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" last night. Not a great movie but good. It made me think a bit. There was one scene though that made me shed a few tears. Odd how or experiences make us see things that might go unnoticed to others.

I've played a similar scene out a million times in my head before I ever saw this film. Strangely, I took comfort in knowing that the writer had thought about it too. How different our lives might be if just two or three seconds where added or subtracted at any given time? How an insignificant incident can set us on a path of destruction, enjoyment or enlightenment.

After the movie I went up stairs where the wife had gone to bed hours before. I gave her a little kiss as she slept. Then I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. A sleep I haven't known in years. And I dreamed, I dreamed a gloriously happy dream. The first good dream I've had in a very long time.

Gassed, Passed and Last

About a month ago one of my gym partners asked my other partner and me to run in a 5k charity event. An odd thing to do because none of us run... at all.

Still, it was local, for a good cause and he sounded like he wanted to do it. What the hell, we both said yes. I mean it was only a little over three miles and we we're three fit guys. I think you can all see where this is going.

The event was being hosted by JCB, a heavy equipment manufacturer, based in the UK. The event was being held on their grounds, a 1000 acre plot. They have a big pond in front of their place that someone had the bright idea to have us run around to start the race. I was excited about this until I realized there was no path to run on. By the time we made it around the pond my back was already feeling it from all the uneven ground and jarring.

The funny thing was that I thought I was doing well. That all changed when I came across a sign that read "one mile". That sign broke my spirit. I honestly thought I had ran more than half of the race already. My partners were still chugging along. The heat was absurd. It felt like we were running in the desert. Luckily one of my partners brought his step daughter and she had to start walking right after the sign. Whew! If I had known her I would had volunteered to stay with her. I ran with my other partner for another mile. Then my pride would carry me no more. When I suggested we take a break "and let our other partner catch up" the one still with me was way to fast to agree.

I still wasn't feeling to bad about it all until at two and a half miles a little old lady, that very much resembled Dr. Ruth, passed us and left us eating her dust. I had a chance to catch her at the finish line but I didn't think elbowing a little old lady out of the way to beat her was going to go over to well, especially with everyone watching. Besides, she had earned the right to finish in front of me. She had earned my respect. The whole thing was very embarrassing. Next time - if there is a next time - I will do a little training first. Then Dr. Ruth will go down, oh yes she will.

Melted Hearts follow up

The night after my little girl melted my heart by asking me to be her prince, she once again found me in the kitchen. (Why am I spending so much time in the kitchen?) I had my back turned to her as I heard her start to talk.

Daddy? Can we play kill?

I turned around to see her standing with a play sniper rifle around her neck and a gun in hand for me to use. What a contrast to the princess outfit. I had to laugh.

Sure, I'll play with you but let's not call it "kill".

There was a silence as I thought of what to call it but all I could think about was her standing there with the guns. I took one and she ran off yelling bang, bang, bang.



Yep, that's Daddy's little girl too.

Melted Hearts

I came home from work the other night to find my daughter dressed up in a princess costume. She twirled around the kitchen showing it to me.

"Abby, you sure make a pretty princess."

"I not a princess daddy. I Snow White." *grin*

"Oh... you're a pretty Snow White."

"Daddy? Will you be my prince?"

"Of course I will."

And we can live in a castle?

Where else would Snow White live?

"I love you daddy."

She ran over and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as my heart was melting all over the floor.

Our First Birth

I've been wanting to blog about my experience about when my first child was born for awhile now. Though I know I'll never forget it, I still want to get it down in writing.



I should have known when the doctor told the wife to fake contractions to get admitted to the hospital, that was only taking women in actual labor, it wasn't going to be a normal delivery. She was a crazy hormonal pregnant lady by this point. She had push mowed our lawn the day before trying to bring about labor. She walked up to the hospital counter, started moaning and faking labor pains, just as our doctor had told her she would have to do. She was admitted and the doctor started the procedures to induce labor. Only problem was that after nine hours of labor the baby wouldn't move. And, despite two epidurals The Wife was asking me to cut off her right leg because of the pain. Oddly enough she would wait until the doctor had left the room to make this request. As a matter of fact, she almost always waited until we were alone to complain about everything. As soon as the doctor would enter the room the cussing and complaining would stop. She would also deny she said anything when I repeated these complaints to the doctor and nurses.

Also, if your wife is in labor it's a good idea NOT to eat a McFish sandwich from McDonald's then stand beside her breathing, in any direction. Just trust me on this one.

So after nine hours the doctor comes to me and ask if it would be alright with me if The Wife had a c-section. WTF? He then explained that some men frown upon their wife not giving birth naturally. Again, WTF? After the shock of this conversation wore off I said, "well, you're the doctor, I just want what's best for my wife and baby soooooo... we'll just go with what you think." See I don't like seeing my wife in pain and I'M NOT QUALIFIED TO MAKE THAT CALL!

Problem was, the operating room was taken. This turned out to be a blessing, for me, not so much for The Wife, because it pushed us past 12 midnight which meant my son and I now share a birthday. Not much to tell about the c-section. The wife was given some heavy duty drugs at some point and I had to wear a bunch of paper and stuff. I will warn, if a funny doctor ask you to peek over the curtain during a c-section, decline. Seeing your newborn's head hanging out your wife's belly may be hilarious to the doctor but not so much for a soon to be dad who recently had a McFish sandwich.

After the birth they pushed my wife into recovery. Then as I sat down for the first time in hours an older lady, not much bigger than a hobbit, limped in with my newborn son and handed him to me. Her only comment, "you need to feed your baby." Then she limped away. Scared to death I tried to wake my morphine drugged wife so we, she, could breast feed the baby. No luck. I then tried to accomplish this feat by holding my son up to my comatose wife's breast but again, no luck. I was scared to death.

The rest of the stay was a blur. We never slept. The nurses came in the room every three hours to have us feed our son. Our son screamed all night. For some reason, despite being in a maternity ward we felt obligated not to disturb others who's kids were screaming as well. When The Wife was finally cleared for release we were a mess and couldn't wait to be let out of hell.

One of the things that added to our frustrations I still find a bit interesting if not odd. We had always been told the second we saw our baby there would be a special bond. That when a women holds her child for the first time there is a connection like no other. I watched The Wife cry for hours in the hospital because our son wouldn't breast feed and she didn't feel that instant connection. At one point, through tear filled eyes, she said, "I'm not feeling what I'm suppose to, I can't do this." Maybe it was us or maybe it's just a myth but the pressure to feel that feeling instantly was tremendous. Not feeling it right away made us question our abilities to be good parents. It did happen before we left the hospital, just not like we had been led to believe it would. Some insignificant need that The Wife provided for our son triggered it for her. And , as they say, the rest is history.

The Seed from the Sower

RIP

On February 21, 2009

"The Sower," Dr. Michael Guido, passed away.

When I was growing up we only had cartoons on Sunday mornings. Michael Guido always had a 60 second commercial called "The Seed from the Sower" on during my once a week cartoon fest. A little religious but the little stories he told caught my attention, even at a young age. They made me think about right and wrong as well as others.

So even though I referred to your segments as the "The Seed from the Sewer" when you interrupted my Sunday morning cartoons, I'll always remember you and your message fondly as a positive part of my Sunday morning childhood experience.

The Day The Music Died

50 Years ago today....

On a cold winter's night a small private plane took off from Clear Lake, Iowa bound for Fargo, N.D. It never made its destination. When that plane crashed, it claimed the lives of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, J.P. "Big Bopper" Richardson and the pilot, Roger Peterson. Three of Rock and Roll's most promising performers were gone.

The Day The Music Died

Rest In Peace

Alone, Wet and Happy

The first thought that came to mind when I learned about our past cruise was scuba diving. Not only had I not been diving in a long time, Belize is a great place to dive. That's what I had heard anyway. Since The Wife isn't big on diving and someone had to watch the children she let me go as my Christmas gift. Sweet gal that one.

When the time came I was excited but I found myself in unfamiliar territory. I rarely do anything by myself. I had signed up to go with a group of people who were just learning to dive because it had been awhile since I had been. Safety first on with the things that can kill you I say.

Being by myself and already trained to dive I was allowed to sit back and observe all the different people negotiate their fears of something new. I watched as insecure people poured as much negativity onto the situation as they could to justify their poor performance, ruining the experience for themselves as well as the people with them. I saw macho men get humbled by fear. I saw people hand over their lives, literally, to strangers and trusted them completely. People are an odd bunch under stress.

I also found it amusing that when the 15 beginners found out that I, a total stranger, was a certified diver they took comfort in it. Despite the fact that five well qualified instructors, all dive masters, were telling them what to do, they would come to me for assurance that the information being given was the truth. In the end, three of the people in the class chose not to dive, though they were all capable.

After I descended into the ocean I watched as my class mates struggled to grasp the concept of neutral buoyancy. A task they mastered in a much shorter time than I initially did when I was learning. I watched the dive masters fuss over them for awhile then I turned over to enjoy the spectacular reef below me. The visibility was about a 100 feet, the colors and the fish were spectacular.

When I returned to the boat I watched and listened as my fellow divers couldn't contain the experience they had just witnessed. They all went on and on about what they had just seen and done. Divers high I call it. It was obvious the three that stayed on the boat regretted it deeply. All vowed to give it another shot the next chance they got.

Being there alone I was able to take in everything around me without any distractions. Belize is a unusual but fantastic memory I'll cherish for a long time. Oh, and the diving was awesome too.

Me, The Crew and Natalya Too

Being the people watcher I am, the cruise was an excellent place to observe all types of people interacting with each other in unusual and sometimes unfamiliar settings. Most was what you would expect, people having fun, drinking, partying and trying to live the high life. One thing I couldn't get past, that most of my fellow passengers didn't seem to notice was the crew. The ship we were on had crew members from over 60 different countries. These are hard working people who are committed to their job. Rarely, do you not get more than you expect and most of the time with a big smile.

Each crew member had a name tag that stated their name, their job title and the country they were from. It didn't take long for me to get into the habit of looking at their tag. Our head waiter, Natalya, one of the a few female head waiters on the ship, was from Ukraine. She was fantastic at her job. She seemed to enjoy waiting on us and took an immediate liking to my children. Still, there seemed to be a sadness in her eyes, even when her face was covered by her smile.

For some reason I spent a lot of time on the cruise thinking, and yes worrying about the crew, including Natalya. They made such an effort to make us feel like we were the first people that ever went on a cruise, instead of just another group they had to serve this particular week. As I paid more attention, when the crew thought they were out of sight, I noticed their faces relaxed and it was obvious these were not the eternally happy people they wanted to project. How could they be really? Spending months away from home and family, serving people who only cared where and when they would get their next meal or drink or something. What a life. Of course working the ship had to be a better opportunity than the place they had left which made me appreciate their situation that much more.

The more I thought about them and watched them the more I wanted to talk to them. When I was able to, I made a point to talk them about them, their situation and their lives. Amazingly the fake smiles faded away and real people emerged, with real smiles. Simple five minute conversations about them changed the way they treated us. Yes, they were being paid to look after us but they were people too and they had value beyond bringing me my things and make my life cushy.

On the second night at sea all the servers had to dance around the tables they waited on. It was scripted but cute. Natalya asked my five year old to join her. Amazingly he did and he was captivated by her for the rest of the cruise. She seemed to enjoy his affection too but I had to wonder, was it an act? Either way she had made my little boy happy so I was grateful but I was left wondering. When I got the chance I talked to her. She had spent the last 10 years of her life working on cruise ships. Seven or eight month stretches with only four or five weeks at home. She also told me the next week was her last. She was ready to go home for good.

The next morning, much to my surprise I saw Natalya in the lower dinning room busing tables. It shocked me because I assumed that a head waiter would be above "that kind of work". Seeing her at work that early also made me wonder just how many hours she was putting in each day. A few minutes later she showed up at my table with my son in tow. Seems he had seen her and wondered off to talk to her. We were all laughing and talking then she looked down at my empty plates and reached to get them. Stupidly I told her, "you don't have to do that." She gave me an odd look. I was embarrassed because I realized she did have to do it, it was her job.

On the last stop of the cruise, Nassau, as we passed through customs going into the country, we heard a person yelling out my sons name. She was making a lot of effort to catch up with us through a crowd of people. It was Natalya. She looked different with her hair down wearing her blue jeans. Maybe I read too much into the gesture but this was a sign I was looking for. She didn't have to chase us down. We never saw her, nor would we have. She must have wanted to speak to us. She leaned down and talked to the kids, then asked us our plans. She gave us some advise on where to go and what we should do. I let her know I was happy to see her finally not working. I thought about asking her to join us for lunch but I didn't want her to feel she had to spend her time off with her customers. Though a small part of me still wishes I had asked.

After our last dinner I thanked Natalya for her service with the customary tip. I also gave her some pictures I had printed of her dancing with my son. Not because I thought she wanted a memory of my son but because I wanted her to see what we saw. We saw her as a person. A person that brought joy to the people she encountered, as did most of the crew. She added value to people's lives beyond the service she was paid to do. Maybe she knew this already. Maybe she didn't care. She might of even gone back to her cabin and thrown the pictures in the trash but for some reason I don't think she did. It really doesn't matter. What matters is she knows that we know and that knowledge is hers to do with as she pleases. But I do hope it pleases her as much as it did my son... and me.