The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for March 2011

Forgotten Treasures

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You might look at the picture below and think that it is representative of a garage in desperate need of cleaning. You might roll your eyes and wonder why it isn’t better organized or maybe you won’t think any of these things. In the end your thoughts about that garage aren’t as important as mine, because what I see is different.

Pieces of Many Lives

What I see are pieces of many lives. There are more than a thousand forgotten treasures contained in that garage. Some of them are in boxes and some are on shelves. There are tools that are stained with the proverbial blood, sweat and tears of those who bent them to their will. There are toys that were once held by tiny fingers and placed in the baby R&D zone known as a the human mouth. If they could talk they might tell you about how for a while they were the favorite toy. They might tell you that something bright, shiny and sparkly made for hours of play.

There is a dresser on the left that has belonged to more than one boy who shares the same last name as I. I know only a few of their stories but mine, I know them all. When I was 3.5 I found a way to climb into the second drawer and then managed to close it. For a while I stayed safe in my new cocoon until I realized that I couldn’t get out. For a short while I called out for mom expecting that she would know immediately where to find me. After all moms are all knowing and it was incomprehensible that she wouldn’t find me…eventually.

That same dresser used to mock me. It was so tall and I was so very short. For years I couldn’t reach into the top two drawers. I marked time by measuring my growth against it. The nine year-old boy I once was was positively gleeful when he realized that he didn’t need a chair to reach into those drawers. The preteen was even more pleased when he could look down upon the top of it. It marked another place that he could secure his private things from the prying eyes of younger sisters who refused to listen to his commands not to go into his room.

Those pesky little girls would wait until he left and then sneak in so that they could see what it was that he was hiding. Somewhere that preteen smiles as he thinks about how he used to tape some things to the back of the dresser. Some items were left on top where it served as a decoy but the important stuff remained hidden. Tucked away from sight are the weights. They are stacked in front of some shelving near the dresser. If steel could speak they would tell stories of hopes and dreams. They would speak of countless hours of service in happiness, sadness and anger.

Clinkety clanking their way through the years they offer another connection from the past to the present. They watched a skinny boy turn himself into a hard body. In the silence I can still hear them speak to me, encouraging and or goading me to do another set. They are still used now but not with the same frequency as they once were. Life has gotten in the way of the daily regimen. Where hours were once available now there are brief moments. A body that is approaching middle age swings the bars back and forth, lifts them up and down. Dumbbells are pumped and sweat drips- the adrenalin high is the same as it ever was but it is harder to get the same results.

Somewhere in the back of the garage are old suits that ask why they no longer fit. Those weights made sure that the jacket looked good. Wide shoulders, tapered waist, a perfect V. And now the jackets point accusing fingers. From the chest up all looks the same, but the middle has filled out and the jackets ask why. The pants say don’t bother to try, you will only look like a stuffed sausage.

Old pictures attest to the truth of what once was and what no longer is. The high school senior smiles at the camera. It is almost summer and he is wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. The boy is tan and his muscles ripple when he moves. He has abs that are well defined, no need to flex to show them off because they stand out on their own. His hair is short but that is because he is a swimmer. If he were to let it grow it would cover all of the top of his head, not just part of it.

There are so many other stories that can be told. So many other forgotten treasures that beg to walk under sunny blue skies again. Bikes, trikes and toys cry out for attention. Garden tools ask to be used and old books throw flirtatious glances in my direction.

Some of the past has to go away now. Some of it will be given away. Some of it will be divided up. Some will stick around and sail off into the future where they will continue to bear witness to future adventures of life. All of it a reminder that you life never stops moving…

 

Donuts

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Perception is a funny thing. Some of you will look at that photo and find yourself transported back in time. Maybe you’ll remember a quiet moment spent with your father in a donut shop. I know, because for the first twenty something years of my life that is what I would have seen.

More specifically I would have remembered a quiet Sunday morning with my dad. It is springtime, the snow has finally melted and the sun has graced us all again with his bright, beautiful presence. Dad and I have just finished a long hike and have decided to celebrate with donuts and coffee. I park the car in front of the Dunkin Donuts on Passamore Boulevard and we walk in.

Passamore holds a special place in my heart. It is a busy street that has a ton of shops and lots of traffic, both pedestrian and vehicles. For years mom refused to let me walk down Passamore by myself. I remember begging her to let me do it. It is on the way to school and lots of kids walk it. Those of us who don’t are called babies, but none of this bothers mom. She says to remember the line about sticks and stones, tells me that one day I’ll be old enough.

Eventually the day comes and I rejoice. I am eleven years old and I walk to school via Passamore. Dad gives me a dollar to celebrate with and I use it on an Apple Fritter in the same Dunkin Donuts that we are sitting in. This is a happy place or it was then. These days it holds a different place in my heart, one that is far darker than before.

Dad and I order two cups of coffee, his small, mine large. He tells me that one day my metabolism won’t work quite so efficiently and that my body might not appreciate all that caffeine I am injecting into it. I laugh and tell him that “I hope I die before I get old.”  He nods his head. I don’t know if gets the reference, music isn’t his thing. For a few minutes we talk about my new job and I tell him that I miss having vacations. He laughs and tells me that I better get used to it, college is over. We talk about this and that and he mentions that he wants to take mom on a trip to Europe, says that as soon as my sisters are out of the house they’ll start traveling.

I nod my head and excuse myself to hit the john. Dad makes a crack about me aging before his eyes, not even a full cup of Joe and I am running to the bathroom. I am only in there a minute but it is one that will haunt me forever. When I come back out I see a man pointing a gun at dad. Stringy hair, dirty jacket and torn cargo pants with a gun. His back is to me. Dad never looks away from the man, but I know he knows I am there.

Dad is seated and I am worried about what might happen. I can’t stand still.  Two quick steps and I’m airborne. I slam into him and we hit the ground.

Twenty some years later I’m seated in the same Dunkin Donuts, except this time I am in uniform. The kid I am training is in the same john I was in the day of. One day I might tell him why donuts make me cranky, but not today. He hasn’t earned the right to know. One moment in time changed everything for me and nothing will ever be the same.

Yes, another prompt for The Red Dress Club.  This week’s prompt is simple: write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, inspired by the delicious shot. Word limit is 600.

 

Simple, Yet Powerful

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Lab Puppy "Nala"

The puppy jumped on top of my daughter and started nipping at her arms and legs. It was playful and the intent wasn’t to hurt or to harm. If she were older and not overtired she would have understood this. But she is just short of seven and was exhausted. The tears came quickly and I knew that it was time to drop the groceries and rescue her.

Before I could place them on the floor her older brother had raced over and pulled the dog off of her. The same boy who has been known to tease and torment his little sister was acting as her guardian angel. I watched him pull the dog away and place his body between the two. With one hand he fended off the pup and the other he took her hand.

Alternating between shouting at the dog and speaking softly to his sister he handled the situation beautifully. There is a reason why he is her biggest hero. He may not always like or appreciate it, but in that moment he was the hero. It was love. It was compassion and it was beautiful. They are not different from any other siblings. They fight and when they do it can be war, but they also look out for each other.

I watched for a moment longer and then I swooped in and gently picked her up from the couch. The puppy jumped up on my legs once, but a sharp glare stopped that. My son asked how he could learn to do that as well. Rocking back and forth I stroked my daughter’s hair and explained that the difference in size sometimes is all it takes.

Moments later I heard her begin to snore softly, head on my shoulder and for a moment I remembered the baby she was once was. It reminds me of a ship sailing off to sea. For a very short time it is large and with each moment that passes it becomes smaller until you can no longer see it. It has already happened with her brother. I can’t make out the baby he once was, not in his face or body. He is all boy now and that is good.

I am not really sure that I can do it with her anymore either. Neither one of them are too heavy for me to carry. I can’t imagine a day when they’ll weigh more than I can lift. But that is not really the problem. The issue is length. Their legs and arms dangle every which way. I am not really sure about the last time I had to carry him into the house. I think that I might have had to several months ago. He had been sick. What I remember is feeling his shoes kick my legs, below the knees I should add.

All I know for certain is that on this one day my heart swelled with pride as I watched my son protect his little sister. It was a simple yet powerful reminder that these children of mine have developed a bond that exists outside of their relationships with everyone else. That is simply priceless.

Triberr

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I recently got involved with Triberr and thus far have been very pleased with it. It has been a very useful tool for expanding my reach and for being exposed to some people who are quite interesting.  The link I provided and the video below provide a brief explanation about what it is. Thus far I have been impressed with the results not just because of the increase in traffic, although that has been nice.

Rather what I have appreciated the most is exactly what I wrote about above, the exposure to people that I think are quite interesting. Could I have met them another way? Sure, the blogosphere is a big place and I am always encountering people that I find to be quite interesting. But to do it in a way that is mutually beneficial such as this has been quite nice.

I am very curious to see where this leads.

Dad’s Dilemma- The Private School Paradox

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Sometimes the hardest part of being a father is making decisions with my head and not my heart. I look at these children of mine and I melt. Don’t suppose that it is any different from most parents. Fact is biology is probably responsible for some of these feelings because if they didn’t make you melt you’d kill them. It is the only explanation that I can come up with for my still being here. I was the boy who climbed on the stove, wandered off in stores, threw eggs and stuffed raisins up my little sister’s nose. Say, did I mention that said little sister is turning forty in a few weeks.

She doesn’t read the blog but just in case she does I need to mention again that she is turning forty. Little sister, did I tell you how hard it is to turn forty. Hee hee, she may not read this but somewhere she is rolling her eyes. A big brother never stops being a a big brother, just ask my niece and nephews. Oldest nephew has learned to his chagrin not to imitate me because his mom can’t ground me.

Been staring at spreadsheets, rolling dice and asking the Magic 8 ball for more advice. It is time to make a decision about the 2011-12 school year. Is this the year that we pull the kids out of private school and insert them into public or do I find a way to get them through another year…again.

I never intended for them to go to private school. A decade ago we moved into what was supposed to be a starter home. It was going to be a brief two year stay followed by a move into a larger home in a neighborhood with a good school. Except people plan and G-d laughs. As I have blogged about a number of times we got hit by the triumvirate of challenges: recession, 9/11 and housing prices that skyrocketed. Instead of moving we stayed and enrolled the kids in a fantastic school, albeit a private one.

The education has been outstanding. They have taken my children and done everything that I could have asked. I have been blessed to watch them grow and prosper. They have made great friends and have fallen in love with learning. But the price that we paid has been severe. I have taken a beating so that they could do this. Some of the blows couldn’t have been anticipated. No one could have predicted that the country would be in such dire economic conditions. But compassion and understanding don’t pay the bills so I have done what I had to do to make things work.

In many ways this experience reminds me of my basketball game. A number of years ago I belonged to a local gym where I played ball several times a week. Most of time I played with guys who were far more talented than I am. At first they didn’t like playing with me because they felt like I took away from the game. There was some truth to that as offensively I couldn’t play at the same level as they could. But I figured out very quickly that I could use effort, size and strength to my advantage.

I went after every rebound with unbridled ferocity. I wanted that ball in my hands because that gave me some control over my fate. I worked hard on defense to become the guy who you didn’t want guarding you because I would make you crazy. I figured out whose head I could get into. If I knew that I could aggravate you I would piss you off and talk the entire time. While you were pissed off I took advantage of your lack of focus.

The point is I used my head and tried to figure out how to make the most of the resources I had on hand. Years later I still play a similar game. I say similar because my almost 42 year-old body doesn’t give me the same effort as it did in my twenties and thirties. It is hard to accept and I am fighting it. Time and pounding take their toll. Slowly I am adjusting my game again. If I play like I used I can run one night and then I spend several days recovering. But if I adjust I can play and be effective multiple nights.

More importantly it helps to minimize the wear and tear upon my body. It is smart because adapting will allow me to play for years to come. So now when I play I work on some new moves and try to do things that provide the foundation for the future.

And that my friends brings me back to the children and school. I am looking at the future. I have a Bar Mitzvah coming in a few years and plenty of expenses to come long before that. I know that I can get them through one more year of school, but I am not sure that provides the foundation for the future that I need. Unless something changes this is going to be it.

It is going to suck to tell them that this is it, but sometimes fathers have to think with their heads and not their hearts.