#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

Life is a Smith

Does iron wrought, in furnaces hot,

     In withering heat, complain?

In life we're ore, and forged before,

     The victories can explain.

#344

I mentioned Michael wears shorts outside even when it's colder than Everest, or, my favorite: colder than a well digger's ass. I mentioned that telling him to dress warm is like talking to a brick wall. I mentioned, "To be a parent is to bore your kids with unsolicited info." And then, because life is ironic, poetic, sympathetic, unsympathetic, and so many lovely and contrary things, the kids become parents and the cycle repeats. It's like in the inharmony we find harmony – now I sound like Alan Watts – in the human cycles that have repeated since the beginning of time. Or the beginning of humanity, at least, which is something like 200,000 years ago? Although, 'civilization' – whatever that means – is only a tenth that old or less? What our parents say chaffs, if only just a little (as in my case; my parents are pretty cool). And isn't this the genesis of progress? "No son, we use spears to kill mammoths," while the kids are thinking, wouldn't it be better to like shoot the arrow from a distance? Who imbued our children with the instinct to resist, change, sometimes do the opposite. Indeed, by definition, progress always comes from the next generation. Right? The following from the book I'm reading inspired me to riff on it:

"He recalled with perfect clarity the irrelevance of old men's maxims to him when he was young. Rain against an umbrella, a young man all but sworn to the task of keeping dry. Archy was not so young anymore, and Mr. Jones had been raining down the pointless counsel on him for a good long time. No more able to restrain himself than a heavy-bellied cloud."
     — Michael Chabon, Telegraph Avenue
 
The performing arts are awesome. Concerts, recitals, ballet and dance, musicals, anything on stage. They're important. I'm always impressed and entertained. When I was Megan's age, my parents took me to Camelot at the Chicago Theater. Richard Harris was King Arthur. Not bad for a first Broadway show. My mom wanted the experience for me, and I'm grateful. I saw Cats in London, Les Miserables twice, a few others; Book of Mormon most recently until last night... Jeanette took me to Saturday Night Fever. Disco, baby, disco! It was fantastic. The energy, music, dance; I walked out high as a kite. Yeah, it's not just fun, it's important. I need to get M 'n' m to more shows.

I complained about the media...

... and labeled it a bit of a monster I fear more – as negatively impactful to M 'n' m and our collective future – than even politics. In doing so, it felt like saying I feared the mouse more than the elephant. And then the prescience of that analogy hit me – I don't mean to sound arrogant, by the way, as I think and write very simply, I'm afraid, and only stumble onto anything meaningful by accident – but isn't it the mouse that causes the elephant to stampede and crush everything? In four decades of living, I've sensed and observed political swings, seemingly calamitous, irreparable, scary at the time (to one side or the other), and in fairly short order they lose energy and stall, and then we have a counter-swing. It's a comforting pendulum to me. Maybe someday the pivot point will break, and our so-called pendulum will devastatingly fly away and not come back ... but I have yet to see it. The media, on the other hand, has metamorphosed into something unable to check its own over-tentacled power – as, theoretically, the different branches of government do for each other. (An ingenious construction, by the way; many thanks to our founding fathers.) In a discussion between Tim Ferriss and Krista Tippett, two minds I've learned much from, this was said, and it highlights a primary problem:

When (interviewers) are going for revelation, it's often in the form of making their questions sound tough; it's about how they sound and how they present, and we actually reward and laud interviewers who push their subjects into corners and embarrass them, who put people on the defensive, and then they strike out, and then that creates the conversation we talk about. I think that rarely accomplishes anything aside from something entertaining, something that demeans both sides of the conversation and demeans us by enjoying it. — Krista Tippett

Brilliantly explained, but true and sad. What is the media, the press, if not a kind of official interviewer and fact-gatherer for society, whose work we rapaciously consume and believe? Or we used to believe it anyway; polls show fewer people than ever – less than a third – trust the media "to report the news fully, accurately and fairly." I wish network news was news again, not entertainment, and certainly not a self-important 24-hour pursuit of further divisiveness, intolerance, and conflict in a world that has enough of those things already. 'Bad news' has its place and importance. But creating it crosses the line for me. The news itself is now the news, and it's not useful, meaningful, or truthful; it's just bad bullshit.

"Well you better get up to speed, dude."

A boy called Nick joined Megan for ice cream. Then the boy called Nick invited Megan to jump on a trampoline, at the boy called Nick's house. Then the boy called Nick joined Megan for a walk with Tyrion (Megan's dog at her Mom's who, thankfully, is enormous but, unthankfully, couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag, and therefore, we'll assume, isn't adequately trained to ensure space and appropriateness and to exact viciousness in response to any violation thereof. I asked Michael about it. He said, "Nick who?" I said, "The boy called Nick who is hanging out with your sister." Michael said, "Why do you keep calling him 'the boy called Nick.'" I said, "Answer the question." He said, "Sorry, I don't know any boy-called-Nicks. I don't know anything about it." I said, "Well you better get up to speed, dude."

"Love blinds even the clearest eye." — The Huntsman: Winter's War

"Wise men say, only fools rush in..." — Elvis Presley

"'Oh, I wasn't thinking,' Stranahan said. 'Love isn't about thinking. You should know that.'" — Skinny Dip by Carl Hiaasen

It's fun to joke about, but I don't plan on worrying too much about Megan and boys, or enlisting Michael as a spy.

"From infancy on, we are all spies; the shame is not this but that the secrets to be discovered are so paltry and so few." — John Updike

Although, maybe I should worry? I suppose I do and always will. I read the following quote and knew instantly John le Carre doesn't have a daughter. Seconds later, Wikipedia confirmed it for me. He has four sons. "Most people like to read about intrigue and spies. I hope to provide a metaphor for the average reader's daily life. Most of us are in a slightly conspiratorial relationship with our employer and perhaps in our marriage." Employer, spouse, but no mention of kids/daughters? Dead giveaway.

I've heard some brilliant people claim...

... Rainer Maria Rilke is one of their favorite poets. His work is especially powerful, lyrical, luminous, they say.

I really love this one, from his Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

“God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.”

#343

Would I be Captain Obvious to say that people seem peevish lately about politics, the President, the media, conservatives / liberals, Republicans / Democrats, accusations, lies, the horror! IT'S WORSE THAN EVER! Or is it? What would people from Kent State in 1970 say? Or people who marched with Dr. King in 1963. Are things worse? The same? My hunch is they're better, but I've been embarrassingly naive before. I don't live in Aleppo either. I'll admit humanity isn't running low on flaws. I'm afraid we'll always, in some circumstances, treat and govern ourselves poorly. And we keep growing. Over seven billion people now, maybe 10 billion by 2050. What does that do to the world? We'll see. I predict progress, but setbacks too, swings and shiftings; it's never as bad as we think, or as good. The apocalypse will suck, but.... Ah, kidding. In fact, here's a simplification or distillation of how I truly feel, pure, untwistable, ultimately optimistic: I feel lucky to be alive now versus any era previously. I say this considering the safety, well-being, and experiences of M 'n' m and everyone I've shared life with.

So I'm optimistic, even though people and institutions can still be grossly and destructively possessive, greedy, negligent, e.g. ongoing wars, North Korea, starving children, the financial crisis of 2008. Humanity isn't running low on flaws. Will history repeat itself? All the bad things? I hope not, and in the meantime, I root for the good guys, and there are a lot of 'em. We know, in our hearts, who they are; we know what's right; we're just slow or back-and-forth arriving at it. There are good people everywhere; it's always been this way and always will be. That is inspiring.

So what's left to complain about? Lately, for me, it's one of institutions mentioned above, one that has modernized and spread, but also splintered and veered toward a ridiculousness that might, ironically, save us from it, save us from taking it seriously. The media. More Captain Obvious: Humans like to be entertained, informed, and warned. It's evolutionary. We assume the worst and almost crave it in shocking headlines. And news outlets are happy to provide and profit. When I was M 'n' m's age, I thpught the media was a tone-setter and truth-keeper for society. It's never been that exactly, but it isn't now for sure. It's entertainment, propaganda, overdriven by emotion and opinion, incendiary, defamatory, divisive, scary, heavy on commentary, light on facts. I'm afraid they're all paparazzi now, even the anchors; break the story, get the shot, no matter who you trample, tarnish, violate; truth is an afterthought. I hope M 'n' m are wary of how they consume news. These days it feels like 'pick your poison.' They'll probably 'pick' Instagram instead of the networks I'm referring to.

"Thank God the cable-news punditry and the online peanut gallery were on the job 25 hours a day to put vital developments, no matter how trivial, into warped perspective and make matters worse." 
     – James Wolcott

"If you don't read the newspaper, you're uninformed. If you do read the newspaper, you're misinformed.... We live in a society now where it's just first, who cares, just get (the news) out there, we don't care who it hurts, we don't care who it destroys, we don't care if it's true, just say it, sell it. Anything you practice, you'll get good at, including BS." 
    – Denzel Washington

To me, happiness. And storytelling, profundity, history, human nature, love, wit, art, books.

#342

Michael wore my jeans today. They're snug on his legs, loose at the waist; he doesn't have bird legs like me, popsicle sticks, wine glass stems. The first time he does a squat lift, he'll do more than I ever could. My max, sadly, was something around body weight. This is embarrassing if you've ever been in a gym and seen a barbell, packed with 45 lb plates, bending over a guy's shoulders, as he sinks into a full seated squat, then rises, shakily, grunting and driving until he's standing again. The squat is an exercise for real men (and women). I was more of a 'curls for the girls' kinda guy.

Michael's pants are all at his mother's. It's a challenge for M 'n' m I've mentioned before: children of divorced, custody-sharing parents have two homes, two closets, two dressers; it applies to desks, books, school supplies, shoe and coat racks, sports stuff, music stuff, devices and chargers, you get it. It's a pain in the ass I never had to deal with as a kid, and I'm grateful. Whenever I pick up Michael in the evening, he's in shorts, even in Siberia weather. Whiteout snow, you spit and it freezes before it hits the ground, he doesn't care. I explain to him, sure, the car is warm, but what if we're in an accident? What if we have to exit the vehicle, and stand and wait for authorities, or help other people? My words mean nothing because he's never had a 'surprise' like this. But life is full of surprises. I'll never forget the times I've been unexpectedly scared and freezing. Michael hasn't had any moments like this apparently. I'm afraid we all do, eventually, and we learn. My grandfather was wise; he said, "Those who won't listen, must feel."

As for jokes about 'who wears the pants' when it comes to M 'n' m and me, that's easy: Megan.

Megan runs the show. She tries to anyway. Michael and I are alternately scornful, instructive, or dismissive when she is surly and bossy. I just made it sound like we're all horrible. Well, Megan loves her brother dearly, and I love Megan, and I love Michael too, and the sun still rises and sets and I think we're doing okay. For now.

"If—"

by Nobel Prize winner Rudyard Kipling, written in 1895, my favorite recitation – you can find it on YouTube – was performed by Dennis Hopper on The Johnny Cash show

If you can keep your head when all about you

 Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make a heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
  And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

These images don't apply anymore...

... They don't fit. Michael's days of being little are over. Megan is the tallest girl on her basketball team. And yet, pics like this will always work in my mind and memory – cheesily, granted – and I hope they do for my parents, and all parents, forever.

#341

A word on religion. Which feels okay since politics is the real jukebox-kicker right now. Don't mention politics, don't mention politics, don't mention.... I'm warning myself, even though I have no desire. But religion, by comparison, seems very tame right now. Religion? Pffft, borrr-ing. And this is for M 'n' m anyway; to be a parent is to bore your kids with unsolicited info, even your views on religion and spirituality. I think spirituality is important. And fascinating. And healthy; why shouldn't we think about the big picture, the possibilities, the reasons, structures, rituals, feelings? I'm a believer, usually. Usually? Yeah, like Liam Neeson who inspired me today; I just read about him; I have doubtful days (although fewer than he does). Neeson is Irish; he witnessed the 'Troubles,' an ethno-nationalist conflict, they say, not a religious war, although one side was Catholic and the other Protestant. Wars are often religious. And so I struggle, I'm conflicted, when I hear 'God is love' and 'turn the other cheek.' And yet, I'm not afraid of ambiguity, and I do believe that God's ways are not man's ways (paraphrasing the Bible, Isaiah 55) and the fact that Jesus is known for this statement of facing violence with nonviolence... I suppose it's one of many reasons I'm attracted to him and his teaching; it is so radical and not typically human, inclusion and compassion for strangers, outcasts, even enemies. I find Buddhism interesting and inspiring, and Native American belief systems. They are 'religions' inspired by people who wanted to heal, teach, advocate gratitude and personal peace, and alleviate suffering. Sounds good to me. I don't know enough about Hinduism and Islam to comment, but they are certainly big; I've never lived in their cultures and geographies, although I have friends who practice them and I ask questions (respectfully, rarely). Back to Neeson and doubt: he lost his wife suddenly and tragically in a skiing accident. "These days he's not sure he believes in God," an interviewer says of him in Men's Journal. But, from Neeson himself: "I admire people with true faith, like my mother, who's 90 and gets annoyed if she can't walk to Mass Sunday morning. 'Mom, you're 90! It's OK! God will forgive you.'" I agree. I admire the deeply devoted also, the seemingly doubt-impervious; they become faithful and strong people. Several folks in my family never miss weekly services (although who really knows the depth of their faith and reasons for adherence). Regarding doubt and its causes, my grandfather comes to mind. He was a draftee in WWII, where he witnessed – his words now, from a letter – "my buddies getting killed everyday right alongside of me." His unit also liberated Mauthausen-Gusen concentration camp. I can't imagine what he saw, heard, smelled, felt, experienced. Pictures are only pictures. So he lost his appetite for church after the war and I think this is utterly understandable. And yet he was a philosopher, according to his oldest son. Did he still believe in a higher power, a greater force that created and moves the universe; and only found lacking man's attempt to interpret and institutionalize faith, and man's ugly propensity to proselytize and judge? Who knows. And if God is, is God loving or indifferent? I hope M 'n' m have an open, discerning mind, and a faithful, loving heart. And if those things aren't in constant harmony and agreement, and instead M 'n' m have moments of discomfort, doubt, and confusion about spirituality, I guess they'll be like me. I tell myself it's okay if the creator of something like our universe is beyond my comprehension. I don't fully understand physics either, black holes and space-time and shit. I got a B- in Physics 221 at Iowa State. It was effing hard.

Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair. 
     ― G.K. Chesterton

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness. 
     ― Dalai Lama

When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel bad. That's my religion. Abraham Lincoln
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/abrahamlin106095.html

When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel bad. That's my religion.
     ― Abraham Lincoln

Thomas, one of the twelve, wasn't with them when Jesus came. The others kept telling him, "We've seen the Lord!" But Thomas said, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands, and put my finger in the wounds, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe." 
     ― John 20:24-25

I still say a church steeple with a lightning rod on top shows a lack of confidence. 
     ― Doug McLeod 

If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses. 
     ― Lenny Bruce

In reality, there are as many religions as there are individuals.
     ― Gandhi

And the peace of God, which transcends/surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.  
     ― Philippians 4:7

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.
     ― John 13:34-35

I like to wonder: What if God loves us as much as we love our children? As much as I love M 'n' m? This is a very, very powerful thought, idea, proposition to me, and it makes me think of the lyrics below. Love songs, I get it, but I think of M 'n' m, and others I love:

I'm so in love with you
You'll never take that away
And if I said it a hundred times before
Expect a thousand more
You'll never take that away
     ―Blue October, Calling You

My song is love
My song is love, unknown
But I'm on fire for you, clearly
You don't have to be alone
You don't have to be on your own
     ― Coldplay, A Message

Meg-Pie saw these at Starbucks...

... but I didn't buy her one. I can't afford it. Drinks, okay, but snacks and drinks both? Not at Starbucks; not if M 'n' m want help paying for college.

#340

I think it's important that M 'n' m understand something, a simple concept, but easy to dismiss, easy to ignore. I ignore it sometimes; I forget. We don't see and applaud it like we do outcomes, awards, trophies, the knockout, the finish line. We celebrate victory and celebrity. And I suppose that makes sense. We don't have parades for hard work by itself; not many headlines, posters, championship belts just for effort (although CrossFit and other endurance and strength events come close). So yeah, this 'important something' – as I have so stirringly and ingeniously described it :) – is just really, really hard work. That's it. But it's essential for greatness. And – more importantly, if you can believe it – it leads to fulfillment and self-respect, which, at times, are elusive in life (I've suffered periods without them, at least, chasing, grasping, floundering; but I shouldn't speak for anyone else) ... Man, I'm on a roll! SERMON ALERT! ...

Bluto: ... Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
Otter: Germans?
Boon: Forget it, he's rolling.

So – you could've skipped the first paragraph – what I'm trying to say is:

I think it's important that M 'n' m understand that behind every Lebron, DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence, Zuckerberg, Rihanna, whoever impresses us, is a TON of hard work. These people work very, very hard. Hugh Jackman hits the weight room at 4 AM – or some ungodly hour – when filming. Stephen Curry makes hundreds of shots a day. Kobe Bryant routinely came to practice early. Like three hours early. Elon Musk works 100-hour weeks when he has important projects, and he has a lot of important projects. By all accounts, the others I mentioned have unrelenting, tireless, powerful work ethics. I don't mean to plagiarize Gladwell and the ten-thousand-hours camp. I just want M 'n' m to know that superstars work like dogs. They work like dogs, and they suffer countless moments of discomfort, struggle, defeat, drills, repetition, tedium, terror, pressure, and grueling physical challenge. They lose games, bomb auditions, make mistakes, fall, fail, but they earn their place at the top with hours, days, months, years, and decades of getting better, and staying better. They have physical gifts, sure, but we all do; we all have strengths, skills, some piece of ourselves we can push to the highest levels of achievement if we put in the work. Okay, I'm done. What a preachy, eager-beaver, go-get-'em burst of pulpit-pounding today! It's for the kids :) Get out there and kick ass, kids! And remember: hard work is its own reward! (Although, I have trouble mocking any of this, because I know my best days are the busy, grinding, uphill ones that take guts and send me to bed pleasantly exhausted. Maybe I'll have a day like that today.)

According to his teammates, Michael Jordan had a legendary work ethic. The Manning brothers (Peyton an Eli) subjected themselves to extra practice at 4:30 or 5 in the morning, in high school. Aaron Rodgers would show up every morning in his coach's office before class to study offensive and defensive schemes. And Kobe Bryant... whether he was a jerk or not, I don't know, but he was a great basketball player...

"Even more than his prodigious scoring output and crowd-pleasing style, Bryant's most defining trait would come to be a work ethic that seemingly had no off switch." – Dan McCarney, NBA.com

"He was always in the facility by himself, working out in the gym or practicing on the court. He was always the first one to show up. I don't know when he slept. He would call me at 1 or 2 in the morning to go over something and then be at the gym by 5 a.m." – Ronny Turiaf, former teammate of Bryant

"He's in a full sweat 10 minutes before we're supposed to meet and be ready to go. That's when I realized 5:30 a.m. meant 4:45 a.m. with Kobe." – Rasheed Hazzard, former Lakers scout

"I heard one time in a workout that he practiced a shot for an hour. The same shot. For one hour. And it wasn’t like a three-pointer, it was a little shot in the mid-range area. Do you know how tedious that is? Do you know how locked in you have to be to do one shot for an hour? To trick your mind that way? That’s unbelievable." – Jamal Crawford, NBA player, speaking of Bryant

"What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I counted them." – Kobe Bryant, after he told reporters he went spot to spot until he made 400 shots that morning, and they asked how he knew it was 400

"There's a choice that we have to make as people, as individuals. If you want to be great at something, there's a choice you have to make. We all can be masters at our craft, but you have to make a choice." – Kobe Bryant

Megan updated her message on Michael's whiteboard

It's generally some form of adoration like this. Michael's lucky.

#339

Megan's laundry was a pain in the butt today. Everything was inside-out and impossibly twisted; every sock was in a ball, every undie knotted in pantlegs (I assume because they're removed together). I do more unfolding than folding. And I do a lot of folding. Megan helps, but not much. Someday soon, she won't need me for this stuff. I grumble, sure, but when that day comes, I won't be thrilled.

I learned that baldness in Native Americans is rare. I've been touting my Native-American-ness for years now; I think I'm one-sixteenth. Or maybe less. Clearly not enough to dodge alopecia.

We assume our kids can fix simple things. Tighten a screw, patch a hole in the wall, do a little painting. What could go wrong? Well... tools get lost, materials are broken and wasted, paint get spilled and tracked through the house. Murphy's law. That Murphy was a fuckin' genius. It's kind of inspiring actually, the creativity with which things get screwed up. Wow, I would've never thought to do it that way (thereby guaranteeing disaster). We all mess things up when we're kids. We lack experience and attention to detail. So now, as parents, the way I see it: we have no choice but to let our kids do and learn. Start simple, start cheap, be safe, have insurance, hold your breath, pray....

Megan had a basketball game yesterday and wanted to go early – a full hour! – to shoot around. Oh my God, if Meg becomes a gym rat... I will love her even more... which, of course, is impossible; pretty sure the needle swings to max when they're born and never moves. We might think it does, dipping, bouncing, like the needles in Papa's old marantz receiver, but it doesn't move; it's pegged, pinned, permanent. Even Darth Vader's needle wasn't moved by the Emperor and the Dark Side. And everything in life is analogous to something in Star Wars. Duh.

#338

I noticed if I set things on the stairs that belong to the kids – like shoes, books, shit that needs to be put away – it will sit there until the end of the world.

M 'n' m applied for passports. I didn't get one until I was 20; I'm happy they're way ahead. I heard only 36% of Americans have valid passports. I hope that number climbs. I hope it's always easier, cheaper, safer for the next generation to go abroad. I want M 'n' m to see 50 countries. When I was Megan's age, my parents toured Asia (with my Dad's employer). I was impressed. But it was another decade before I left America myself, excluding Niagara Falls, which makes me think of The Breakfast Club and Brian's lie to Bender, "She lives in Canada. I met her at Niagara Falls; you wouldn't know her." ... "Well, in addition to the number of girls in the Niagara Falls area..."

Let's examine, for a minute, the hug. According to family lore, my great-grandma Dora was a bigtime hugger; you couldn't enter or exit her house without one, without a big embrace. They don't make 'em like Grandma Dora anymore; I remember a tenderness, but there was a toughness too; she lost a young son to drowning for one thing; I can't imagine how that affects a mother. And now I suddenly understand why she hugged so much. Wow, writing gives me perspective. Anyway, predictably, Dora's daughter and granddaughter became leading huggers themselves, distinguished and exceptional, which brings us to the grandson, me. I hug M 'n' m a lot. And I'm hardly alone; people in sports, for example, get busy hugging and back-slapping each other all the time. Awesome. Hug it up! Michael's not the most enthusiastic hugger, but he accepts one when I'm proud of him, or happy Iowa State won, or excited there's a new GOT episode. Megan is different. If I outstretch my arms in invitation, she expresses annoyance. I feign hurt. She sighs. Too bad, gimme a hug! I love you! Of course, when she wants money, or help, or permission to do something, well then, different story, she's all about it....

#337

I listened to an interview of Connor McGregor this morning. When asked, "At what age did you realize you were good at fighting?" he said, "I'm Irish, we're all good at fighting." Naturally, this made me think of... Megan. Does her stubbornness, her combativeness, come from her Irish ancestry? (Along with, maybe, her charm?) She likes a melee, especially with me. She can come out swingin'. Only with words, of course. Although, maybe I should put boxing gloves on her and headgear on myself. I'd prefer this to the verbal shots, jabs, complaints.

Meg-Pie was the first at our house to finish Christmas shopping. She made a big list (a Google doc, actually, which they use in school now; what cavemen we were for using loose leaf paper). Then we hit Target, and what was left, ordered online. She quickly had 20 gifts, wrapped and ready. I asked her to wrap some presents for me and she did it cheerfully. I said, "What have you done with Megan?" No, I didn't; I said thank you. Meg has an unselfish, practical streak, and a powerful organizing instinct (not reflected in the rubbish and rubble comprising her room, most days, but still). She's a bit of an artist also, and studios aren't spotless. She's painting on canvas now. It's cool. I really love the shit out of my daughter. Ooh, that's maybe too much, not right, gross... but reminiscent of the days she was small enough to fit on a changing table; that was a cute little Megan.

I read an article about how dads should have a "stern but encouraging paternal hand." Slick writing. Which is my way of deflecting. "Stern" is not a strength. I'm so not stern that this article reminded me of Bronson Alcott, father of the famous Louisa May. (You'll see why I remember him in a second.) Bronson sought to reform schools about 200 years ago. Perhaps his most controversial idea was to have students punish teachers. Yeah. A guilty student, having committed some error or offense, would punish the teacher, who was also to blame for allowing the failure to occur. Or something. A misbehaving child would strike the teacher's hand, for example. Think back to your school days now.... It was supposed to illicit shame in the student. Regardless, I don't wish to disparage Bronson Alcott. He had a special daughter for one thing. He was an abolitionist, an activist for women's rights, and a philosophic, progressive thinker who sought to awaken both the minds and souls of young people. Right on.

#336

Michael shaved. No shit. First time. You turn around one day and they're big. And hairy.

Oh, the ups and downs of parenting.... It's painful when M 'n' m exhibit issues I can see, especially in hindsight, may come from my biology and chemistry, my heredity in other words – oversensitivity, insecurity, anxiety, social unskillfulness, no need to list them all – which compounds my frustration in trying to help them. For example: Megan needs to be more aggressive in sports. She's gifted with athleticism. She needs to care less about appearances, and more about playing with intensity, competing, staying focused. If I sound crazy – there's that synonym for 'parent' again – rest assured I'm not too tough on Meg. Many of you know this. My point, and the part that puts a little zing in the heartache, is that I was the same way, and even today struggle with competitiveness and intensity. Expecting Megan to change overnight is ludicrous. Expecting her to change at all perhaps....

My favorite scene in the movie Forrest Gump is when Jenny shows Forrest a little boy...

Jenny: His name's Forrest.
Forrest: Like me.
J: I named him after his daddy.
F: He got a daddy named Forrest, too?
J: You're his daddy, Forrest.

And then the touching part, Forrest knows what his shortcomings are; his expression changes; he's instantly worried about the obvious...

Forrest: He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen but is he smart or is he...?
Jenny: He's very smart, Forrest. He's one of the smartest in his class.

Some of our flaws flow downstream, so to speak, but not all. This is good. And maybe it would be good if parenting was more like... the army?

Drill Sergeant: Gump! What is your sole purpose in this army?
Forrest Gump: To do whatever you tell me, Drill Sergeant!
DS: God damn it, Gump! You're a god damn genius! This is the most outstanding answer I have ever heard. You must have a goddamn I.Q. of 160. You are goddamn gifted, Private Gump.
F: [narrates] Now for some reason I fit in the army like one of them round pegs. It's not really hard. You just make your bed real neat and remember to stand up straight and always answer every question with "Yes, Drill Sergeant."
DS: ...Is that clear?
F: Yes, Drill Sergeant!