#350

I mentioned Michael watches Saturday Night Live skits on his device. By the way, this was my device:

And this:

But my point isn't to lampoon the seemingly Flintstone-era Walkman or Atari or Apple IIe. My point is to go on record with a momentous avouchment, one surely to endure, be proven indubitable following some distant-future deconstruction – with technology that makes the shit we have today look Flinstone-era by the way; that always happens let's not forget – so as to answer, with scientific rigor, which ironically means by folks more left-brained than right-, what to me is a very fun but slippery question: why is this so fucking funny?! The Debbie Downer at Disney skit is THE funniest SNL piece of all time. There, I said it. And a thousand SNL seasons from now this will be as true as it is today.

#349

I ate sardines from a tin yesterday. Michael would've eaten them too, but he was eating swordfish on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. M 'n' m are on spring break and it 'isn't my year' as those of us engaged in divorced, joint-custody parenting must enumerate to clarify. M 'n' m have called or texted me from the Bahamas, the Dominican, and St. Thomas so far. Their first time outside the continental US; I'm excited for them. I can't wait to see their travel-widened and -wisened eyes when they return; and I said take lots of pics please. Regarding sardines and swordfish, I'm applauding Michael's palate; he tries everything. He enjoys every kind of fish and seafood, raw (oysters, sushi, poke) or otherwise; game meats and birds like pheasant, Thai noodles, soups, curries; Indian buffets; good ramen (restaurant prepared, I mean, with any number or unusual things in it); Vietnamese pho; sauerkraut, strudel, schnitzel, vinegar and cooked cabbage; kimchi, bibimbap, japchae, and Korean dishes; Greek food, eggplant, lamb, olives, feta; anything with lots of onions; wild morel mushrooms; hot Chicago-style giardiniera; teppanyaki and teriyaki; Middle Eastern fare; and, of course, anything from the Chinese, Mexican, and Italian places we patronize. He even eats my cooking. I read Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. I don't wish that broad of an experience for Michael – Mr. Bourdain recounts some racy stuff, and still pursues uncharted culinary territory it seems – but something of a similar enterprising and open spirit.

The depth and everlastingness of my love for Iowa State basketball leaves me pretty vulnerable this time of year. It's a possessive, obsessive love like the kind I have for M 'n' m. I am especially possessed, so to speak, during conference tournament week and March Madness. I'm joking but only a little; I want badly for the Cyclones to do well; how will I handle M 'n' m in high-stakes competition? I guess I'll be fine if I can pace, turn away, turn back again, and so on. It's stressful, dude. Iowa State won the Big 12 tourney, but were ousted playing for the Sweet 16. Overall, a good season. My blood pressure is normal again; I can enjoy Spring. I was pretty lousy at watching the Cubs in the field during the World Series, also. When they batted? No problem. But when pitching and on D? Different story. One pitch left over the plate, one mistake, can put you in a hole. Then maybe you hope for a rain delay and, for sure, a comeback. It's a little like life around a diamond. 

I'm thinking of giving Michael some mandatory reading assignments. The first? Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke. The second? Either Meditations or The Emperors Handbook by Marcus Aurelius. The list is long. If I can get distract him from SNL skits on YouTube....

#348

We still have an issue I mentioned before: the kids wear something for five minutes, then toss it in the hamper. No! The clean hoodie you wore downstairs for breakfast? Not dirty! The t-shirt that covered you from bedroom to shower. No! Underthings are different; I get that; one day, tops. Those are the rules. Period. No mountains of dirty clothes! Maybe if I did laundry more often... but I'm not on trial here, YOU ARE, M 'n' m! I set a good example: it's shameful how many reps I get from jeans and sweaters. Sweaters = years.

Meg was wonderfully unwarlike this morning. She was pleasant. It was unusual. Eerie, in fact. A movie title popped into my head: Invasion of the Body Snatchers. It's a 1956 film I've never seen, but in desperate search of explanation... and from there, repetition! Repeating positive results, an engineering problem, for which my training and career should be suited...

This weekend, Megan told her friend, "My dad says yes to everything." Again, something popped into my head. This time, not a cute movie title. More like an air raid siren; in 1940 the Luffwaffe bombed London in one stretch 56 out of 57 days and nights. Lots of loud sirens, bad things. The Blitzkrieg. I do NOT say yes to everything. I am, however, open to creative ideas and activities my kids propose. I felt complimented. And I felt un-complimented. Dads should be feared; isn't that time-tested wisdom? Proverbs 13:24 and all that. M 'n' m are good kids. Good grades, good friends; no behavior issues at school. Good developing minds, hearts, and energies. Could Megan be more polite? Uh, yeah. (But I exaggerate her crabbiness; what else am I supposed to write about?) Could Michael be more proactive about responsibilities at home? Sure. I'm hesitating now; be careful what you document; maybe this paragraph will disappear. M 'n' m certainly aren't stifled by rigidity and authority in my company. Is this the best approach? Time will tell.

I still haven't seen Logan, the movie. Wolverine is the best superhero. Come on, everyone has a favorite. When I was little, it was the Hulk; I had the Underoos; I had the doll, I mean action figure. Hugh Jackman does a perfect Wolverine, conflicted, protective, dangerous. Jackman is 48. I like the oldest ballplayers now too, veterans and journeymen. Michael is an Iron Man guy. (Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes ain't bad either.) Meg loves Guardians of the Galaxy. Chris Pratt's pretty great as Star-Lord, but for her it's Groot and the racoon.

Well on my planet, there's a legend about people like you. It's called Footloose. And in it, a great hero, named Kevin Bacon, teaches an entire city full of people with sticks up their butts that dancing is the greatest thing there is.

     — Star-Lord

You just wanna suck the joy out of everything!
     — Rocket Racoon

I am Groot.
     — Groot

Quit smiling you idiot, we're supposed to be professionals.
     — Rocket Racoon 

I come from a planet of outlaws: Billie the Kid, Bonnie and Clyde, John Stamos...
     — Star-Lord

Dance-off, bro. Me and you.
     — Star-Lord

No one talks to my friends like that.
     — Drax

This is what life looks like, people who love you, a home, you should take a minute and feel it.
     — Professor X to Logan

A perfect description of what I am...

... when putting down and rearranging words here: a 'sublime fool.' And what I wish (within the bounds of reason and personal responsibility, of course) for M 'n' m: regular moments of creative sublimity. Whether they're artists, cellists, gardeners, chefs, ballplayers, basket-weavers – even if the output sucks, and I know what that's like – I hope they find and love the process, and I hope they do so in many creative forms and outlets, professionally, personally, in every way possible.

"If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories – science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world."

     — Ray Bradbury

I enjoy writing; skill be damned, the sublimity and flow of creating – even turning out shit – is as effectual as a drug. I wish M 'n' m habits and hobbies that put them here often, especially as adults, where their energy and focus go bulletproof, where little burdens and bindings fall away and time is imperceptible, where boredom, drudgery, depression are not just impossible, they're absurd. Because we're busy being foolish, crazy, and in love. 

Naturally, I find parallels between creative flow and parenthood. For every complexity and responsibility parenthood heaps upon us, other things seem to crystalize in a kind of symmetry and order; for every confusion and conflict added, others are obliterated.

Yes, I hope M 'n' m are creative 'for the next 20,000 days' (and then 20,000 more, you can check my math). Those around me do this well, some in fulfilling careers, some by other pursuits, and when I realize I'm preaching to the choir, I see it's my own vulnerability and weakness I'm worried about; I'm preaching to myself: stay active, creative, and in love with life. Amen.

"If your everyday life seems poor to you, do not accuse it; accuse yourself, tell yourself you are not poet enough to summon up its riches; since for the creator there is no poverty and no poor or unimportant place." 
     — Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

#347

Megan's digestive system is superb at breaking down fiber. I know this because of sounds and smells I won't attempt to describe here; my writing would badly underrepresent their shocking acoustic and olfactory effects. 

At the train station every morning there is a gentleman with a dog. The man's eyes are partially closed in a way that suggests visual impairment. And the dog is leashed and behaves in a way that suggests the same: the dog is the man's eyes. How lucky are those of us who can see. But here's the thing: the guy is always smiling; he's cheerful. It's preachy, proverb-y to say so, but I try to remember: in life we always have a choice. Even when we think we don't, we do. Easier said than done in storm and disaster, but we do. The choice? Our attitude. Our response. The first and last of our freedoms. Viktor Frankl said it better. I'm grateful for the guy at the train.

Last week at Meg's basketball practice, on the track above the courts, I noticed another man. He was moving, as my Grandpa Byard would say, like a turtle in a windstorm. No faster than the sun across the sky on a long, lazy afternoon. He shakily gripped a railing in one hand and a walker in the other, shuffling, clearly fighting back from illness or injury. He wasn't a middle-ager, but not a centenarian either. He was decked in a shiny new running suit and, I suspect, a pair of kickass tennies. As a member of the Greatest Generation, I doubt he was thinking exactly this, but something like: I'm gonna get healthy and mobile again and I don't give a fuck if I look ancient, fragile, as everyone races by me on the track, kicking high, gliding, bouncing; my skin and bones were young once too; I'm here to do my thing and get walking again. His choice. His attitude. A good one. Maybe not so easy to muster.

Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.

     — Viktor Frankl

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
     — Dylan Thomas

Mantras, again

Sell your cleverness and purchase bewilderment.
– Rumi
The intelligent want self-control, children want candy.
– Rumi
Free yourself from the tyranny of constant thought.
What you do defines you.
It's okay to live a life others don't understand.
Be a force for good.
Be anti-fragile.
Be comfortable being uncomfortable.
Discomfort is growth.
Keep making shots.
Keep moving. – Rambo
Just do it.
Push yourself.
Press on.
Be calm, be strong.
Train your will.
Life is an attitude. Have a good one.
You can measure a man by the opposition it takes to discourage him.
Pay no attention to the critics. Don’t even ignore them. – Samuel Goldwyn
The painting isn't done in the middle.
Pioneers take the most arrows.
There is nothing wrong with loving the crap out of everything. – Ryan Adams
My song is love. – Coldplay
Love is all around you. – Tesla
God's lookin’ out for us. – Marcus Luttrell
If it disappoints you, think of it less.
Brother, stand the pain, escape the poison of your impulses. – Rumi
Self-respect comes from hard work.
Do work, Son.
Finish it.
One more.
We gonna do this, or we just gonna talk about it?
There is no try. – Yoda
Satisfaction lies in effort.
How may I serve?
Sprinkle kindness, scatter joy.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
– Dylan Thomas
This mustn't register on an emotional level.
– Sherlock Holmes
My cup runs over. – Psalm 23
The only easy day was yesterday.
– Navy SEALs
If it doesn't suck, we don't do it.
– Navy SEALs
There is no tomorrow. – Apollo Creed
Confrontation's never been something we've had trouble with. – Rick TWD
We won't get weak, that's not in us anymore.
– Rick TWD
Your bad habits are in the hallway doing push-ups.
Relax Luther, it’s much worse than you think.
– Ethan Hunt
Every warrior hopes a good death will find him.
– One Stab
But Tristan refused to speak of her. – One Stab
The wind cannot defeat a tree with strong roots. – The Revenant
You're okay. Keep fighting. – Ronda Rousey
Comparisons are odious – Jack Kerouac
Traveling hopefully is better than arriving.
Love more, worry less.
I can do this all day. – Captain America
Oh hell Max, I been in tighter places than that.
– Grandpa Swede (after his Model T rolled and Max thought he'd been crushed and killed)
We carry our own. – Grandma Bev at Grandpa Swede's funeral
There is power in optimism.
There is power in ritual.
Make practice a practice.
Rust never rests.
Terror is a fine instructor.
Bet on him, if you like. – Herger the Joyous
Grow stronger. – Herger the Joyous
(I am not a warrior!) Very soon, you will be.
– Herger the Joyous
I’ve been through worse. – Wolverine
Life makes goats of us all. And heroes.
A smooth sea never made a skilled mariner
Does iron wrought, in furnaces hot, in withering heat, complain?
Which is the greater pleasure?
I am not an atheist. – Albert Einstein
Enjoy every minute of it, Hon.
I honor the power within me.
I only harbor healthy thoughts.
Within us is the power of self-repair.
But the dreamers of day are dangerous men.
Thank you for M 'n' m.
Thank you for ....
Great multitudes came to him, and he healed them all.

"Deep within man dwell slumbering powers; powers that would astonish him, that he never dreamed of possessing; forces that would revolutionize his life if aroused and put into action."
      ― Orison Swett Marden

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-control."
     ― 2 Timothy 1:7

"Iron is full of impurities that weaken it, but, through forging, it becomes steel. It is the same with human beings."
     ― Morihei Ueshiba

"In the midst of winter I found within me an invincible summer."
      ― Albert Camus

"Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness, and they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy, but they become legend."
     ― One Stab, Legends of the Fall

#346

Illinois law mandates that kids in our state are taught about the Holocaust and modern genocide. And so, on Monday, I found myself with Michael and his classmates at the Illinois Holocaust Museum & Education Center. I offered to chaperone, as I was eager to return after donating artifacts to the museum from M 'n' m's great-grandfather only a few months ago. Our Grandpa Swede, as we called him, was in the 11th Armored Division (of Patton's 3rd Army) which liberated Mauthausen Concentration Camp. He brought home 15 photographs. As you can imagine, they are images of atrocity. Two pictures are of German guards beaten to death, the rest are of emaciated bodies, some living, most dead; all of it because of human-to-human cruelty and brutality. Obviously, this left a mark on my grandma; in his thinking; in his heart. He survived frontline combat also, shellings, minefields, infantry fighting. I donated the photos and a letter that provides context. The curators were grateful. My Grandpa's letters were kept by his mother and passed to me by his wife (my grandma), and there is little I would grab before them if my house was burning down. So I returned to the museum with Michael. It's somber, sobering, very sad, but there's a purposeful spirit also, a message: 'look straight at it, study, remember, don't let it happen again' and never forget that even in the worst human madness, there is triumph; there were 'upstanders' and people who risked or sacrificed everything to do what is right.

I forgot that school buses are built without shocks or suspensions. Holy shit that's a bumpy ride. It's been decades since I had the pleasure. Reminded me of turbulent flights that would've banged my head on the ceiling if I wasn't buckled. Also reminded me of an old puzzlement... "No Standees Permitted?" That just isn't common language. We know what it means, but why not "No Standing?" Wouldn't "while the bus is in motion" be implied, or would smartass kids mock it, argue, who knows, maybe they'd crawl down the aisle? I was nagged and sleepless over this in the '80s; here I go again.

Michael said, "Remember when we were little, and you had to do the hardest Angry Birds levels for me and Megan?" Yes, I remember, I remember fondly, but I hope my legacy as a father includes some uses and importances of, you know, a more significant variety; the lessons I taught, the love and support provided, teams coached, holidays celebrated, bills paid, lousy meals prepared, and so on...

Basket

by Carl Sandburg

Speak, sir, and be wise.
Speak choosing your words, sir,
like an old woman over a bushel of apples.

I gave Megan cornbread for dinner last night

That's it. Nothing else. No apples. No carrot sticks, Go-Gurt, baked beans, cottage cheese (with pears or pineapple rings plopped in; I know all the fillers). Just a cornbread square. Not even a muffin. My worst offering ever. But she ate three pieces, almost half the pan, and survived, and had a great basketball practice afterwards. And I made the cornbread myself, from a box, something like four ingredients, gotta mix it, bake it, not burn it, pad it with butter, pair it with a glass of milk... shit, that's a fine meal.

 

Maybe Michael is standoffish to Megan sometimes because...

... we made him pose for pictures like this. Cheek-to-cheek is excessive I suppose. His smile looks about 50% forced, not holding steady, enthusiasm in the red and still plummeting, skin crawling, cheek burning, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!

 

An old photo of an old note

Megan spells 'think' correctly now, thankfully. Michael, however, still isn't sure how to handle Meg's undying adoration. He's nice to her, but only if he acknowledges her existence, which is too infrequent and then emotionally dry, negative, insufficient to demands. But Meg still adores him. Even more. Is she dismissive of me because I'm too attentive and nice? Bingo.

#345

Talk of eccentricities in people is always interesting. Talk of a lack of eccentricities is also interesting. Because they're in there somewhere. Quirks and sillinesses, odd preferences, hobbies; they love trapeze artistry or Kung Fu (see the movie Office Space!) or rare orchids, Russian dolls, breakdancing, pipe cleaner art, collecting geodes, whatever. No one is average in every interest. When you're a parent, you see what your kids gravitate to, eccentric or otherwise; it's the 'private' version of a person (in the early stages of development, no less). We also see unguarded bits of our parents, siblings, and others we're close to, their facade-less and natural selves. Regarding 'public personas,' we see those too; but it feels tricky for me with M 'n' m now; is their real self more with me or with friends? I catch glimpses of them speaking, acting, posturing around friends, when they might presume they're unmonitored until I turn a corner, climb the stairs, run into them somehow. In those moments they seem to be the same M 'n' m I know, and that's good. I don't spy but I don't stay away either. My uncle Kirby used to tell his kids, "Don't forget who you are." I like that. Is it more difficult in teenagerhood to be authentic? Maybe it's easier. We're youthful, energetic, emotionally novicelike and not sewn up; we've yet to bury forever the interests that others – or we, ourselves – throw dirt on. I will tell M 'n' m: If you like to paint, paint. Sing? Sing. Dance the samba, the mamba, tango, salsa, cha-cha, rumba, merengue? Uh, I'm sure there's a studio or club somewhere. I wish I could do a latin number. And if you like to write... okay, I'll keep writing. Earning a living is important, and it takes money to do things, but always remember what One Republic tells us: No more counting dollars, we'll be counting stars. (And that sounds nice but you'll still need to fly the nest, launch, get a job.)

Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard
Said no more counting dollars
We'll be counting stars
Yeah we'll be counting stars
... Old, but I'm not that old
Young, but I'm not that bold
And I don't think the world is sold
On just doing what we're told

... Everything that kills me makes me feel alive.
I feel the love and I feel it burn
Down this river every turn
Hope is a four-letter word,
Make that money watch it burn
... Everything that drowns me makes me wanna fly
... Said no more counting dollars, we'll be counting stars
     — One Republic, Counting Stars

You should write too, songs, stories, poems, lyrics, nonsense; it's all good. Thankfully, I've stirred up the habit in Papa Mike.

"We're comin' with the lyrics and we're comin' strong!"
     — Beastie Boys

"I had a short-lived but troublesome worry. What if writing comedy was a dead end because one day everything would have been done and we writers would just run out of stuff? I assuaged myself with my own homegrown homily: Comedy is a distortion of what is happening, and there will always be something happening. This problem solved, I grew more confident as a writer..."
     — Steve Martin

"I think it's terribly dangerous for an artist to fulfill other people's expectations. I think they generally produce their worst work when they do that. The other thing I would say is that if you feel safe in the area you're working in, you're not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel your capable of being in, go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don't feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you're just about in the right place to do something exciting.
     — David Bowie