Post #247

Megan is impressively tall and twiggy. She's a beanpole, in the parlance of my rural ancestors. It's very noticeable when she takes the field in her saggy-bottomed softball pants. I love baseball/softball trousers because they have back pockets. What other sport affords you this wardrobe luxury. Football pants? No. Basketball? Uh-uh. Sand volleyball? They don't even cover their butt cheeks. Anyway, as I was saying: Meg is tall and gangly, but even if she shoots up higher than the Eiffel Tower, or Ginormica – who she kind of fine-featuredly resembles, actually – she will always be diminutive next to her older brother. Michael is a big boy.

Michael went 3-for-3 with a walk in our first playoff game. I batted him 2nd (in the order) and he delivered, reaching base in every at-bat against tough postseason pitching. It's hard to describe how this makes me feel. Christmas comes to mind, as do the best parties and celebrations I've ever been a part of. Roaring, bouncing crowds. Buzzer-beaters. Clenched, pumping fists. Hands in the air, goosebumps, trophies, champagne. Maybe space travel as the epitome of extreme accomplishment. The admiration I feel when thinking of the great strengths and accomplishments of the forebears I share with my son. Do I sound cheesy? I hope so. To sound uncheesy would do this feeling no justice whatsover. Michael and his teammates played great and beat a higher seed. There is nothing better.

Michael earned the President's Award for Educational Excellence. A chip of the old block, I say. 

Post #246

The kids are in Gulf Shores, Alabama for a week. Without me. There's a scene in the movie Jurassic World where two brothers are discussing their parents' brewing divorce. The younger brother is in tears, appropriately and deeply upset. His older brother tells him to look on the bright side; divorce means they'll get two of everything, two Christmases, two birthdays, etc. Michael saw Jurassic World with two buddies as one of his 'two birthdays.' The movie is right. M 'n' m get more trips and vacations, also. It's a lousy trade-off for divorce, obviously. For me to suggest there are benefits and concessions, a silver lining, is somewhere between absurd and ridiculous. But it's our reality, and we're livin'. We're livin' pretty well, in fact. Anyway, what I intended to express here is how I miss M 'n' m when they're gone for long periods, days and weeks, for too many axis-spins as we race through space to our deaths, around a very big, four-billion-year-old star that you could fit a million Earths inside of if it was an empty sphere. The sun is very bright – despite being 93 million miles away – but it's always less bright when M 'n' m are off on some adventure without their old man. Awww. And did you know the sun is only average-sized for a star? Seriously. Consider, for a moment, the enormousness of it all. And you are part of it. I hope melodramatic nerdiness is still in vogue. (The Big Bang Theory? I've never seen it but it rates in the stratosphere, and Grandma and Papa were starstruck when they shared a restaurant with one of the show's actors recently in Manhattan.) My longest without M 'n' m is three weeks in China for work. I began to feel like I was 93 million miles away. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a soldier on deployment with babies, toddlers, or kids back home. Going weeks without holding and kissing M 'n' m is a little like being carsick; it creeps up and wet-blankets you with a shitty feeling in your gut and your skull, and it only goes away when the ride stops. The ride stops tomorrow for me. M 'n' m fly home.

Post #245

Michael has acne. Hopefully, he'll never know I announced it online. I had acne, too. I still do, in fact, but I'd say the war ended with armistice in my 20's, and the treaty is only broken now by guerrilla skirmishes or the solo fighter who just attacks my nose, for example. I wake up and there's a zit, a pimple; there is no charming word for it. Blemish? A little better but inadequate if it's Vesuvius and throbbing, and – like Michael will deal with soon – calling in reinforcements. Breakouts are never timely, and in youth the war is multi-front and the battlefields vast, raging over entire cheeks, temples, and forehead. My forehead is massive, and Michael is similarly blessed. We will marshal our allies for Michael, the various, over-marketed soaps, cleansers, washes, astringents, strips, swabs, cover-ups, and creams. It's really nothing to joke about. I even saw a dermatologist as a teenager. Some of my friends did the same. It's life, and what is life without uncomfortable humor. Ill-advised and documented. And the best joke of all... our family acne is not from steroids. I know, surprising; our killer physiques are natural. Papa Mike's first and foremost. Truthfully, Michael will settle into a sturdier build than is showcased in his paternal lineage (I'm visualizing at least four generations). No bird legs for Michael. Lucky guy. Maybe he'll escape the lovely follicle recession I'm enjoying, also. Otherwise, the family forehead only gets bigger, another fine feature he can thank his genetics for.

I decided to get Michael a cell phone. Now I pay 40-some bucks a month for a device that is often uncharged or switched off when I call it. It's an expensive paperweight. I said to Megan yesterday, "Please gently remind Michael to keep his phone on." Without hesitation, Megan said, "Do I have to be gentle?" We both laughed. When she's funny and smiley, I love her a little more than usual, which, of course, is impossible.

Post #244

Michael can be very quiet, and in these moments I assign to him a kind of noble bearing; in my mind, he is poised, stoic, brilliant. I wonder how far I am from the truth. According to experts, the male brain is fully developed by age 25. I'm guessing the 'experts' are male and flattering themselves. Even within the bounds of pure chemistry and biology (nevermind new findings on neuroplasticity), I'm still calling bullshit. A man's grey matter complete and developed? In retrospect, I was alarmingly immature, insecure, and ignorant at age 25. I'm taking the nickel if asked how I am at 39. I hope Michael is less of a late-bloomer than I am. I'm certain he's clever. Of course, I've found that the more I know, the more I know I don't know. That's a mind-bender, of course, especially for a scatterbrained worrier like me. I wonder what 'life lens' Michael looks through; I wonder how big of a picture he sees. Bigger is better to a point; then bigger becomes inimical. Distractions abound; thinking too much about eternity or injustice or ISIS is a surefire way to go crazy. Michael doesn't seem crazy; on the contrary, he seems self-possessed and outwardly calm (most of the time). Good for him. I hope it's not a happy accident; I hope he actively cultivates a constructive and optimistic mindset and internal dialogue. As they say, "It's worth a great fortune to look on the bright side of things." I love Michael. I think he knows with a solid certainty that he's deeply loved, supported, not alone. He knows that Grandma Barb is a huge advocate of his, a kind of guardian angel. He knows that others in his family love him just as much. He knows that the sun rises every day and even if hidden by clouds, it's still there. Megan is more uneasy about things; 'clouds' are more disruptive to her. Why? I wish I knew. I love Megan too, obviously, very, very powerfully. Maybe I should think about the female brain. Or not, if going crazy is a concern....

I'm reading the autobiography of Theodore Roosevelt. Of his grandmother, he says she "was distinctly overindulgent to us children, being quite unable to harden her heart towards us even when the occasion demanded it." I've never heard a better definition. I have amazing grandmas, and M 'n' m struck gold here, also. Grandmas are one of life's frostings; I can't overstate my gratitude for mine, and M 'n' m won't be able to either.