Archives for July 2012

The In Between Place

July 30, 2012 by Jack Steiner 37 Comments

I made them cry, not him or her but them. You can tell me it wasnâ€™t my fault or that it is not my responsibility but I wonâ€™t accept it.

That is because I was the one who made the telephone calls. I was the one who called our friends and told them you were dead.

Some of them screamed and some of sniffled in silence but I heard their voices and we shared the pain of your loss.

Today is your birthday or should I say it would have been. I donâ€™t have a clue what you would have done for this one or where you would be living.

Maybe you would be married and maybe you would be a father. It is a relatively easy guess to make and probably not far off of the mark.

Instead of writing to you and wondering if somewhere you can hear, see, feel or read this I would call you and make some crack about how old you are. Youâ€™d give me some sort of sarcastic response and Iâ€™d tell you about my family.

It wouldnâ€™t be the first time. I have visited your grave and sat next to you. I have told you about your funeral and how very blue the skies were. It was hot that day and not just because we were wearing black suits.

Nor was it because we buried you.

That has always been important to me. We buried you because you were loved by your friends. We buried you because it was among the last kindness we could bestow directly upon you.

Every year I remember the moment when I saw your motherâ€™s face while I was shoveling dirt on your casket. It was horrifying then and as a father it is only made worse.

Yet there is a piece of me that smiles because I know you would have done the same for me and because I know your parents appreciated it. I know that in this moment of utter horror they knew that people who cared about you were doing our best to help.

We would have done more. We wanted to. Had we known earlier we could have helped carry the load. You knew more than us. You knew this was coming sooner but didnâ€™t say.

Perhaps it was your choice, but we would have listened. We would have shared more with you during a time when we could both communicate.

Life is pretty good now. It has its challenges but that is to be expected. I keep tabs with your siblings and your parents. They are good too.

I donâ€™t regret having had to make those calls or having been a part of the merry men of grave digging. Shit happens and we deal with it.

You are gone but not forgotten. You helped change more lives than you know and that is a legacy to be proud of.

Happy Birthday old friend, Iâ€™ll see you again.

Â Linked To YeahWrite.

To Be Remembered

July 30, 2012 by Jack Steiner 2 Comments

“Oh, Baby, it’s cryin’ time, Oh, Baby, I got to fly.
Got to try to find a way, Got to try to get away,
‘Cause you know I gotta get away from you, Babe.”
Four Sticks– Led Zeppelin

Midnight fast approaches and I am back at the computer wrestling to find the words that tell the stories I want to tell and to paint the pictures I want you to see. The music speaks to me and I wonder if maybe the universe is sending me a message.

It is fueling my fire and fanning the flames that burn in Â my belly. I know this much is true: I want to write something that will be remembered. I want to write words that touch people and change lives.

Not sure if I have ever shared that before or if I have even been aware of it until now. Maybe I was afraid to say so, maybe I just didn’t know. Either way it makes no difference because I have said he words out loud and placed them here where they will bear witness to the promises I have made, those I have kept and those I haven’t.

The question I am mulling over in my mind is who do I want to remember me and why. Is is my ego and ambition large enough to go for broke. Will I shoot the moon and try to touch as many lives as possible or am I focused on just a few.

There is a story here that has already touched many. It has been discovered by some who think they know something more about it. It has been found by someone who thinks they play a central role in it but I will not confirm nor deny.

It is not because I am being coy, clever or adversarial but because I don’t think of things in those terms. I am still telling, sifting and sorting and am unwilling to commit to one place, moment or person.

“I had to escape , the city was sticky and cruel
Maybe I should have called you first
But I was dying to get to you

I was dreaming while I drove
The long straight road ahead
Uh-huh, yeah”
I Drove All Night– Roy Orbison

I have noticed that my best writing is often centered around my ability to tap into raw emotion and I am not pleased by this. It doesn’t always work this way but it happens more frequently than I like.

My ability to string words together is a gift and I don’t want that based upon anger, joy or sorrow. I want to call it upon it and have it answer regardless of time, place or situation. It is part of why I practice writing. I want to improve. I want to become better.

The goalÂ at the end of the rainbow is to write the work that I mentioned earlier but in the interim I want to take joy in the journey. I talk to my children about this frequently- live now. Enjoy this moment. Things change. People grow. People move. People die.

Pay attention and be in the moment.

Questions

I want to know Are you living the life you expected to liveÂ and if not are you happy? If you aren’t happy what are you doing about it? It is tied into another discussion I have with my children. We talk about how this last year was rough and filled with changes.

We talk about how some of them were good and some were bad. I want them to remember that when things go to hell we are charged with adapting and adjusting. Some of the most frustrating moments of my life are tied into this time but I never stopped moving. I never stopped trying to change it up and I think I am on my way, but only time will tell.

The point isn’t to portray myself as a hero. It is merely to say that we have to be our own advocates. When we want things to happen we need to do what we can with what we have to make it happen.

I haven’t failed orÂ succeeded. I am somewhere in between. But most nights I go to bed knowing that I have done my best and that is enough…for now.

To Be Remembered

The way to be remembered is take a chance and to seize the opportunities that come. But I already shared you with the desire, my desire to write that book and to tell that story.

I wonder if you can feel the energy that comes flying out of me and flowing through my fingertips. I wonder if it translates or if you are sitting there rolling your eyes because I sound like a hopped up, over zealous fool.

Ultimately it doesn’t really matter because I only know how to do this as me. Some of you will like me and some of you won’t. That is just how it goes.

This is part of Just Write #46. It is an exercise in free writing that I strongly urge you to consider participating in.

Ask Your Father- It Is Just Like Riding A Bicycle

July 30, 2012 by Jack Steiner 10 Comments

The rules of the blog are pretty simple. Tell a story. Make sure it has a beginning, a middle and an end. Have fun telling it or at least try to.

Sunday afternoon is a day that I will remember because it is the day I fixed my failure as a father. I know, some of you are utterly shocked that the guy who calls himself the Original Dad Blogger has failed at anything parenting related but it is true.

I have. I did. I fixed it, or at least I fixed one thing.

I taught my children how to ride a bike.

They Finally Learned How

My children have owned bicycles for years but until Sunday afternoon neither had been able to ride without training wheels. Â It made me a little bit crazier than I normally am.

I started riding a bike at 7 and never stopped. I rode my bike everywhere. That bike represented freedom and I couldn’t get enough of it. I can remember the day I learned how to ride and a million days that came afterwards.

When my oldest was born I walked with him in my arms and told him that one day I would teach him how to ride his bike and we would ride together. Yet the little man made it all the way to 11.5 without knowing how to do it.

It felt like a failure on my part. It felt like I didn’t follow through on a promise and it bothered me, but at the same time it wasn’t entirely my fault.

A Different World

My children have grown up Â in a different world than the one I did. Â I started walking to school when I was six years-old. They haven’t ever done this. In large part it is because we lived too far away for them to walk so they were driven there.

Most of their classmates were driven to school as well. The neighborhood isn’t filled with kids walking to and from school like my childhood home was.

Our old house was in a neighborhood where children didn’t play outdoors. It wasn’t because it was unsafe it was because almost no one went to the local public school. They all went to private or magnet schools.

After school was done they all were driven to soccer or baseball practice. Or maybe mom took them to piano/karate/art lessons…by car.

In my day (old man that I am) we would finish our homework as quickly as possible and then ride our bikes to the park and 7-11. We were outside as much as possible. Being indoors often felt like punishment.

Freedom was outside.

They Didn’t Care To Learn

My kids didn’t care about their bikes. They didn’t see them as being tools they could use for freedom. They didn’t see their friends riding bikes so they didn’t care about learning. It was something they said they would do one day.

I didn’t push. I thought about it, but I didn’t.

Periodically I would see kids riding or hear stories about kids I knew who were riding and I would feel like I had failed the kids in this area. I decided that I had to fix it.

My children fooled me. I wanted to fix it but before I came up with any sort of plan they decided they wanted to learn.

We spent several hours outside and they figured it out. I couldn’t have been prouder of them.

I took my bike out and rode around the neighborhood with them and discovered I don’t ride very often, My legs are sore.

This aging thing sucks. I play basketball every week. I exercise frequently and yet my freaking legs hurt.

What happened to the boy who could ride all day. Don’t answer that because I know.

Epilogue

I am not just proud of them but excited. Don’t tell the kiddies but I just found another way to keep them from sitting on their butts. I love the video games. I play them too. Give me the Wii and I’ll beat you in bowling, but the exercise is too important to mess around with.

Frankly it is too important for both them and for me. Now we can do it together. The bike means freedom. I can’t wait to ride with them again.

Proper Etiquette For Commenting On A Blog

July 28, 2012 by Jack Steiner 13 Comments

listen to â€˜Proper Etiquette For Commenting On A Blogâ€™ on Audioboo

If you aren’t able or unwilling to listen to the audio post here is a short summary of the discussion.

I received an email from someone who said that they are going to stop commenting on my blog because I don’t comment on their blog. I don’t believe that comments are currency or that you should use comments as proof that someone read your post.

When I look at my stats I see the majority of my readers do not comment on my posts. In years past that used to really concern me and I wondered if I was doing something wrong.

After much thought and discussion with other bloggers I have decided the lack of a comment is not indicative of approval or disapproval of a post. Sometimes people don’t comment because they are shy, someone else has already said what they would or because they feel they have nothing more to add.

Comments can provide validation but they shouldn’t be why we blog. They aren’t currency and or proof of a quality post. The best comments advance the conversation and add value.

It is rude to write someone and complain about them not commenting. It is not unlike telling a friend they can’t cook after you have accepted a dinner invitation at their home.

The Olympics and NBC

We also talked about The Olympics and my frustration with the tape delay. It is always fun to get the results of the day at 8 AM my time and then know I have to wait until 8 PM to actually watch them. You would think that NBC might have learned something after the last Olympics, but they apparently haven’t.

Livefyre 3

Overall I have been happy with LF but there are a few bugs that are making it a bit rougher than I would like. I am not happy that some people have trouble commenting or that certain posts have duplicate comments scattered throughout them.

LF is free and they provide great customer service which is always praiseworthy. It is even more noticeable because LF is free.

There is your quick summary. Got any thoughts, ideas or feelings to share? Please do so in the comments.

Follow Your Heart- The Olympic Edition

July 28, 2012 by Jack Steiner 12 Comments

The Olympics always hold my attention. I love the games. I love the stories about the athletes and I love watching them perform.

I have great respect for the people who have devoted themselves to becoming the best in the world at a particular event. There is something beautiful about it all. Without a doubt I would give quite a bit to be able to say that I competed in the Olympics.

That would be something special. That would be a story to tell and I do love a good story. I love the tales that take me away and make me feel like I am a participant in a great adventure.

Friday night I watched the Opening Ceremonies and was struck by something as the athletes marched in. Almost all of them looked like babies to me. I don’t know what the average age is but I bet it is somewhere in the early twenties which would make me around twice their age.

There are definitely exceptions to that. Bob Costas mentioned that one of the athletes from Andorra is 61 and has been competing since 1976. Maybe there is still hope for me. 😉

Follow Your Heart

Midway through the march into the stadium I wondered how many of the athletes are in it because they are following their heart. I wondered if some of them are doing this because it is all they know how to do. I expect that it is not the case for quite a few, but certainly there are a bunch that are “professionals.”

What happens to them when they can’t do it anymore. What happens when they have to change focus and walk a different path.

I suppose that you can attribute that to where I find myself standing in my own life. Not long ago I spent long hours questioning what it was I have been doing and where it is I want to be going. I sat up on multiple nights and tried to provide some clarity for what I want to do with myself.

The point was to figure out a destination and then put together a path to get there. It seemed like a good combination of logic, heart and intuition. Â So that is what I have been working on, following my heart.

Words That Move Me

Take a look at this excerpt from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Essay on Self Reliance:

“There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. “

“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.”

I love that. I can read that over and over and find meaning in it.

Munich

It is 40 years since terrorists murdered 11 Israeli athletes at the Munich games. The IOC refused to provide a minute of silence in their memory. It is shameful. I was quite pleased to hear Bob Costas talk about this during the entrance of the athletes into the stadium.

This time of year always makes me think about a bunch of different things. Â Some of those are covered below. If you read them you’ll notice there are some similarities between them but ultimately they are different.

She Wants A Telephone

My daughter is working hard to convince me to buy her a cellphone but it is not going to happen. I told her that 8 year-old girls don’t need a phone and that if she wants to call her friends she can use the land line, but she was less than pleased with that response.

She loves soccer so I told her if she works hard she might have a shot at playing in the Olympics one day. She asked me how hard it would be to make that happen and I said ‘hard.’ No need or reason to lie about it.

Just before bedtime I mentioned it again and said that if she wanted to do it I would do my best to help her but she needed to figure out if she wanted to do it to follow her heart or because it sounded good.

It is bedtime here. Going to sleep with ideas about opportunities and possibilities. Going to sleep knowing that I am doing what I can to follow my dreams. That feels pretty good.

Some Stains Don’t Wash Away

July 27, 2012 by Jack Steiner 21 Comments

More than twenty years later I am lying in the dark holding the phone in my hand listening to your voice- wondering how you found my number and why you called.

My heart is pounding and my mouth is dry. I feel like my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

I am in trouble and I need your help. They’re back.

And then the other memories hit me like a torrent of water and I remember why I had to walk away from the woman I planned to marry.

Twenty-five years ago the boys and I graduated from college and decided to travel around the world.

We started in London and gradually made our way through Europe and hopscotched around a couple of continents flipping between Asia and Africa.

The plan was to follow our hearts and go wherever they took us, regardless of whether it made sense. Logic was for school and since we were out of school we ignored it. Took a freighter one direction and then hopped on a plane in the reverse two days later.

Time was meaningless and so was money.

That was because of my friend The Duke. His real name was Chadwick, but he preferred to be called Chad.

It is a tossup as to whether he hated being called The Duke more than he disliked being called Chadwick.

The Duke came from old money. He grew up on a monstrous estate and lived a life out of a movie. His graduation gift was control of a trust worth in excess of $100 million.

So money wasn’t a problem and neither was time. The only real problem we had was that we were young dumb and stupid,

Took a trip to city in Thailand called Phuket only because it looked to us like it was pronounced Fuck It.

Our time in Fuck It was punctuated with lots of moments that should have gotten us arrested. Somehow the members of the great fraternity of young, dumb, and stupid managed to avoid those particular problems.

Things didn’t get crazy until we were in Paris. It had to be Paris. I didn’t like the city, didn’t want to be there and would have happily skipped it.

But Young, Dumb and Stupid was overruled by the power of the penis. Yep, young horny men met girls and got dumber, or maybe I should spell it dumberer because it was really bad.

I still have the letter that started it all. A handwritten note with flowing cursive letters and heart dotted Is sent by the girl who Chadwick swore would be his.

If the jerk hadn’t been thinking with his dick he might still be here to help me figure out what to do now.

This letter is a stain that I want to wash away, but I can’t. I had just begun to believe that maybe it was over but now I see I was wrong.

++++

This was a prompt for Write On Edge. A stand-alone scene, fiction or memoir, in 500 words or less, involving a handwritten letter. It is fiction.

The In Between Place