Dad Entry #192

I feel like my childhood has a soundtrack. I have early memories forever associated with songs. I assume this isn't rare. We can't undo the intertwining of melodies, memories, and emotions during such an impressionable time. We're new and we're sponges. I wonder what's on this soundtrack for M 'n' m? Which groups, singer/songwriters, performers? American Idol graduates? Crazy Disney- or Nickelodeon-created teen-megastars. Miley Cyrus (hope not), Katy Perry, Gaga, Pink, Timberlake, Bruno Mars, NeonTrees, OneRepublic, Mumford & Sons? Not bad, but let me tell ya.... I remember '80s music on the car radio. During the '80s. I hand-cranked backseat windows up and down to Journey, Air Supply, The Cars, Cindy Lauper, Pat Benatar, The Police, Boston, Foreigner, Survivor, Mr. Mister, and REO Speedwagon. Josie went on a vacation during my childhood, and that makes me feel special. (I didn't list The Outfield above because I can't name another song by them. And neither can you.) I owned 45s with tracks by Springsteen, Hall & Oats, Huey Lewis, and Twisted Sister. The iron mask on the record sleeve of my aunt Diane's Quiet Riot album freaked me out. What images will stick with Michael and Megan? Maybe I don't wanna know. And before '80s music, the record players at home and elsewhere gave me The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, James Taylor, Elton John, Credence Clearwater, The Byrds ("Turn, Turn, Turn"), Pure Prairie League ("Amie"), Steppenwolf ("Magic Carpet Ride"), Poco ("Crazy Love"), The Marshall Tucker Band ("Can't You See"), and my favorite, America. Do yourself a favor and listen to "Sister Golden Hair," "A Horse With No Name," and "Ventura Highway." My parents also had Kenny Rogers, Willie Nelson, and Neil Diamond records. There were others, but I remember these for sure. From my early years, my first decade. (I was a bit older when Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Guns N' Roses, INXS, and U2 showed up.) When I was a kid, genres were still being defined. Rap. Alternative. Hip-hop. Metal. Can M 'n' m make similar claims? I guess punk and techno keep evolving; and there's a kind of alternative country now. But cassettes, music videos, and MTV were born in my youth. It's hard to forget – for lots of reasons – Michael Jackson and "Thriller." Personal music devices arrived. The Walkman. My first cassette was New Addition, and I played the shit out of "Cool It Now." Then one day my dad brought home a curious new device. It was called a compact disc player. Dire Straits' "Money for Nothing" was our family's first CD. Followed by "The White Album" and the Stones' "Hot Rocks" two-CD set of chart-toppers. We were so cool. "But we saw the rise of MP3s, iTunes, Pandora, Bluetooth, and music in the cloud," my kids will say, when they're adults and we have this argument. Blah, blah, blah. Not even close.

Guest Post From Paul!

From Dan: A couple entries ago I put a few words down about Michael's namesake. The 'Michael' I'm referring to is my dad, although four young voices call him Papa Mike now, and with much affection and often; he is a VERY generous grandpa. It seems riffing about my dad stirred up some memories. My dad's friend Paul sent me the story below. It is perfectly and pointedly the kind of energy and counsel I want to project, share, and store here for my kids. And from someone much wiser than me. Which isn’t saying much.

From Paul: We were both 18 years old and without a clue. There we were, thrown into the huge campus of Iowa State University. I joined the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity because the local veterinarian told me I should. I had spent most of my life doing what people told me to do. Joining the fraternity did little to alleviate my insecurities. There were big macho football players, extremely smart guys in engineering, pre-med and architecture and guys from Ames high school that had lots of friends and knew the ‘happening’ spots on campus. I don’t remember the first time I met Mike and his friend Mike Carlix, his high school buddy from Bettendorf. Mike and I quickly became friends and spent most of our time together. Besides the crazy, fun and stupid adventures we had together there is one incident that sticks in my mind. There was one guy in our freshman class named Jones, I can’t remember his first name. His father was a hot-shot lawyer in Des Moines. He was a member of the tennis team, drove a Jaguar convertible and had lots of money. As with many guys in the fraternity, he intimidated the hell out of me. One day he made a derogatory comment about Mike’s last name during a pledge meeting. I could tell it pissed Mike off. Shortly after the meeting Mike asked me to come with him, he had something to do. We found Jones playing a pinball machine in the basement of the fraternity. Mike calmly, and much to my surprise, jumped down his throat letting him know what a jerk he thought he was and demanding an apology. I was trying so hard to fit in that I couldn’t imagine confronting a guy that had so much apparent wealth and influence. To my surprise Jones apologized and shrunk away like a dog with his tail between his legs. From then on Jones tried his best to stay clear of Mike and treated him with respect when they were together. What a life lesson! You didn’t have to try and fit in. You didn’t have to take crap from people. And it was OK to take risks. I have learned a great deal from Mike and consider him to be my closest friend through all these years. Thanks Mike….

Diana Taurasi? Part 3: Flowery Headband

Dad Entry #191

WARNING: overshare alert! You should skip this paragraph. I want you to skip it. Megan and I were in CVS last night after her basketball practice. I had a 20% off coupon and decided to buy some Rogaine. Yeah, all kinds of uncool activities going on here, androgenetic alopecia (sounds much better than male pattern baldness, doesn’t it?), coupon usage, late-night low-willpower shopping, my innocent daughter as witness to my vanity. Although, I will stand by coupon usage as totally NOT uncool. Single-fatherhood is a wallet-stinger. Anyway, I picked up a box of Rogaine and, unbeknownst to me, Megan read it. She said “Hair Regrowth Treatment?” I said, “What?” Megan said, “But you have so much hair already, Dad.” I was about to lavish her with “Thank you’s” but realized she meant all of me, including my arms, chest, face, etc. So I pointed to the spot where a yarmulke might rest on my head if I wore one. Megan understood instantly. I’ve never seen someone so suddenly overcome with pity. Her face and posture changed, she cringed and frowned, and with funeral-worthy sympathy and sorrow she said, “Oh, yeah, you do need that. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

As we walked away from the styling and 'regrowth' products, I mumbled, “I’m losing my hair because my testosterone is so high." I'm not sure those are related but it made me feel better. Am I still overdisclosing? Next, we stopped in the cosmetics area. Megan likes to look at fake nails. Then we skipped happily to the snacks aisle. We selected some things for school lunches and Dad’s midnight raids. I have a bottomless appetite for unhealthy crap every night around 11:00 PM. I eat very little or very healthy throughout the day otherwise. Then I undergo a Hyde-like conversion. Megan calls my new insatiable monster-self a leprechaun. (Apparently, 'leprechauns' terrorize their school classrooms the night before every St. Patrick's Day. Which probably confuses and scares the crap out of Megan.) So yeah, I hammer the school lunch goodies at night. If there's a crime scene in the morning, a crumb or a wrapper, Megan investigates. She grumbles when she confirms her chocolate chip granola bars have been thinned while she’s sleeping. I top those suckers with huge globs of peanut butter and inhale them in microseconds. I wash 'em down with milk. Then I unwrap the next one and repeat. It’s very satisfying.

Dad Entry #190

Megan can play basketball. She scores with ease, and surprises herself with her agility and athleticism. She can shake defenders, get to the basket, and create shots. She's a slasher (like her old man, before he got old). Megan's no Usain Bolt in a sprint, but she's got lateral quickness and good hands. Let's hope she has a killer instinct, too. If so, she didn't get it from me. She has a nice irrepressibility, that's for sure. If I can get her to be as crabby about losing as she is about lots of other things... well then, I think she'll spurn mediocrity and be very good.

Megan’s team lost another game on Saturday, though. My girls have a losing record now. If you want something to agonize over, just coach some kids. Works for me, at least. If the kids are great – and thankfully, every kid I’ve coached has been terrifically unrotten – the process is a marvelous inducer of a kind of brutal, whiplashing bipolarity. It’s a rollercoaster for me, anyway. VICTORY! Defeat. MANIA! Depression. Clarity! Confusion. High-flyin’ confidence! Soul-crushing doubt. The girls are smiling, frowning, laughing, crying. I’m a skilled second-guesser, but I suspect many of us are. How much potential have I left uncoaxed? Should I coach the girls to defend harder? Should I urge them to be more aggressive, even if they bump and collide and hurt each other? Blah, blah, blah. Thoughts like this are a broken record in my head. The kids are bright, energetic, eager, earnest, impressionable, and aware of their performance. I allow this to ratchet up my hopes for them, and for me as a coach, and for us as a team. Maybe I’m too wishful, too empathic, too sensitive. This, of course, is bullshit, and a poor and maybe-not-even-true excuse I overuse. No matter, because I am still coaching and plan to continue. I just want very badly for my players to improve, be comfortable, express themselves, enjoy, and WIN, GODDAMMIT!