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 December 2012

The Search For Absolution

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A bartender at work in a pub in Jerusalem, Israel.
A bartender at work in a pub in Jerusalem, Israel. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am not  a priest or a rabbi but chances are good that just as many people look to me for absolution of their sins. Hell, probably more because I get the agnostics and the atheists too.

Don’t ask me to tell you when it started or how bartenders got a reputation for being the person you can spill your guts too because I don’t know and if I did it is probably not something I would talk about either. It would be like a magician telling you how he saws the girls in half- some things are trade secrets.

What I can tell you is a good bartender is more than someone who knows how to make the best Martini or the latest cocktail fad drink. A good bartender knows how to listen and when to speak. Sure, alcohol helps loosen the lips of the customers and makes it easier for them to tell us about whatever is on their minds, but that is not all.

They share with us because we don’t share what we hear and we don’t judge. We are like the Swiss bankers except our currency isn’t traded on Wall Street.

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I suppose it is only natural for you to ask why I am writing this book about the stories I know. I suppose that after the sort of introduction I gave you wonder how I can break the code of silence and share what is supposed to remain sealed and I would say you are right to ask.

The answer is simple: Some stories need to be told. Some need to be shared because that is how we learn and we grow. It is what people have always done and always will do: tell stories.

Stories are what we use to relate to each other. Stories are what make us feel and remember what we have lost, what we have gained and what we have. Sometimes stories are the things that break us apart and sometimes they are the magic wand that heals the damage and repairs the broken shards.

That is my story about why I am doing this and I am sticking to it. If it makes you feel good to think otherwise you are welcome to do so. Otherwise make yourself a cup of mint tea or whatever your favorite drink is and pull up a stool. I am just getting started and it would be my pleasure to take you on this tour.

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I can’t tell you when he first showed up at the bar but I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t there. I don’t mean for that to sound like he is the kind of bar rat that takes over a stool and never leaves because he is not.

This guy doesn’t show up every day and never has. Most of the time he comes in once or twice a week, orders a beer and sits in the corner watching the people come and go. He wears black and rarely speaks. You don’t have to be a shrink to see how he uses the black and the silence to blend in but you would have to be blind not to notice him.

He is of average height, with broad shoulders, big hands and hazel greenish eyes, but that is not why people notice him either.

Can’t really say what it is that gives him such presence, just know that I am not only one to notice. The best description I have is that he is “solid.” There is substance and depth there and I get the sense that those hands have been used for things other than holding hands, but I am just guessing about that.

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“She still loves me, but she holds onto her anger and to the past. She keeps me at arm’s length because she is afraid to do more than that.”

I have heard that same story a million times from a million different men and women. They all talk about the one who got away. Sometimes it is because of something they did and sometimes it has nothing to do with them. Doesn’t really matter because the tale is still the same one of loss and unrequited love.

But this one caught my ear because of who was speaking. He never said much of anything. Most of the time he would show up, order a beer and sit in that corner watching the people and thinking about whatever it is he thinks about.

“I tried to get her back. I tried to do it, but when she decided to walk she kept going and it didn’t matter what I said. It was devastating. I thought she was different. I thought i was different and I thought we were different.”

I was just as surprised by my reaction to his voice by my lack of surprise regarding his story. I wanted to know more and that threw me. After twenty years of this I rarely find myself truly interested in learning more.

Some of my customers might be surprised by that. They might tell you that I am the most caring person they know, that is not entirely true. A bartender has to be a good actor and a good listener. It is how we make our money.

“We got lost in a sea full of crap and got crazy. I didn’t give her the apology she wanted and she took that to mean that I didn’t care or that I didn’t understand. Meanwhile I got crazy because she didn’t accept that I was sincere or believe what I was saying. So we got angry and did things…”

Several moments passed and I realized he was giving me an opening so I asked him to share a bit more. He told me one of those stories about how the two of them had never loved anyone else the way they loved each other and explained what had happened or at least what he thought.

I nodded my head and listened to him tell me about how she broke his heart over and over and then asked him if it wasn’t fair to say he had done the same to her. That was the second surprise of that night.

A good bartender doesn’t take sides like that. My job was to listen, console and pour more booze, not ask him if she had been hurt too.

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“For a while I didn’t believe it. She was so hard and so cold about things it made me think she hadn’t really cared at all. Made me feel like a notch and made me question myself. Wasn’t used to that sort of thing. It is not because I am so hot or have so many women, it was just different.”

I snorted, they always think they are different. Everyone of them is certain they are different and for that matter they always say whomever they are pining for is different too. Usually it is punctuated by some curses about them, but they always say they are different.

“After a while things snapped back into place and I saw clearly again that she was hurting and I realized it was just a front. Realized that she was pretending to be tough and that she would say/do things to try to make me think she didn’t care. It was a control issue. So I took the collar off of my neck and started living again.”

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That pause lasted long enough for another couple of questions including one about what he meant about a collar.

“I was being figurative. I didn’t get a collar or tattoo, just carried a torch for a woman who kept pretending she wanted me to blow it out. When I realized she still loved me I took the collar off and started doing what I needed to do to get on with my life.”

I asked him if that meant he had given up on her and he laughed.

“Nah, I haven’t given up on things any more than she has. I just turned my focus in a different direction. She doesn’t want weak. She wants strong and I don’t like weak either. It is not who I am or who we were. We were solid together and maybe we will be again.”

He laughed and took a long drink.

“The last time I talked to her I told her I wanted to sleep with her and dared her to kiss me. I knew she wouldn’t.”

Sounds to me like you are scared but I don’t know if you are scared of it happening or not happening.

“Nah, I am not scared like you think I am. I am curious to see what would happen and if it would feel like I think it would. I suspect we would pick right up but be stronger than before. But it is not going to happen real easily, if at all.”

I couldn’t let that go so I asked why.

“She is a woman. She won’t come right out and say she wants to or admit any real interest. She’ll make me work for it and the whole time she’ll be watching to see what I do and how I do it because she’ll question herself. She can’t just sleep with me and pretend it doesn’t mean anything, but she’ll be concerned that I can. She’ll want to know that I don’t just want to get laid and she’ll want to know it is not something stupid between us.”

“In short it is a really complicated situation that should just be boiled down to our agreeing that the past is the past and the future is the future. What happened then doesn’t have to be ignored but it doesn’t have to be seen as a template for the future because that can be whatever we make it out to be.

I told him that the timing would be good for his moment. New Years Eve is in a couple of weeks.

“Yes it is and I hope she’ll think of me and wish I was the one she was kissing. I kind of suspect that to be the case, but I am not going to say or do more than that right now. Got my own stuff to deal with. Thanks for the drink, I’ll see you later.

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I watched as he walked out the door and wondered when he would be back, if he was coming back. After all this time I can’t tell you his name which I suppose proves I am not as good a bartender as I thought I was. Didn’t realize that I never used it, which is kind of bizarre because it feels like I must have.

It has been ten days since I last saw him, which in the grand scheme of things isn’t all that long a time. If I never hear from that guy again life will go on and there will be other stories to listen to and other people to talk to.

Still I have to admit  I am really curious. I hope he comes back because I sure would like to know what happens.

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Author’s Note: This originally appeared at my story blog but I am posting it here by special request. It is a work of fiction that I may or may not add to.

Big Balls & Bubble Wrap

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Air-bubble packing, popularly known by the bra...
Air-bubble packing, popularly known by the brand name Bubble Wrap (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yep, it is a huge picture of bubble wrap which isn’t nearly as fun as having a huge roll of bubble wrap to play with. But my friends that is ok because I assure you that if you close your eyes you can imagine yourself  popping an endless roll of bubble wrap.

That is the kind of fun you can’t find just anywhere, but I encourage you not to try doing so at the office because the grumpy guy three cubicles down from you will come yell at you. And when he does he will be infuriated because you will pretend to be deaf and yell “I can’t hear you over all of the bubbles that are popping” and then he will go looking for the boss and that lead to all sorts of other levity.

Big Balls

That is the title of a song by AC/DC.  When I was a wee lad the older boys in the neighborhood used to encourage us to go home and sing it to our mothers.

Some mothers didn’t appreciate their eight year-old boy singing that song, especially this part,

Some balls are held for charity
And some for fancy dress
But when they’re held for pleasure
They’re the balls that I like best
My balls are always bouncing
To the left and to the right
It’s my belief that my big balls
Should be held every night

Of course I wouldn’t know any of this from personal experience nor did my father have to explain to me that some songs have more than one meaning which is good because at 8 I was young, innocent and naive. Not really all that different from now.

Although the rules of the blog dictate that I reveal that two weeks ago I purchased that song on iTunes because part of being a grown up is the joy of being able to eat chocolate cake for breakfast and to sing any song you want, anywhere you go.

Of course when you sing any song you want you sometimes find out that your son isn’t out riding his bike any longer and is standing behind you laughing hysterically, but you won’t know if it is your singing or the song that made him laugh.

Technical Difficulties

Last week my beloved laptop went on strike and consequently he and I went to war. As the evil taskmaster Jack Legree I was forced to reformat my hard drive and have spent all sorts of time trying to restore and recover things that I thought I had saved.

Most of them have been found but there have been moments of irritation such as trying to fix iTunes. Some yokel at Apple decided to screw with things and now it doesn’t work the way I want it to and everyone knows the world revolves around me.

Ok that might be a fantasy but it is probably safer to share that here than some of the more colorful things floating around my head.

Survivor

The urn on Survivor reminded me of one that people might use to cremate a person. I can’t say I have much in the way of firsthand experience there because Jews don’t do much with cremation.

However I can tell you that my uncle was cremated and that at his funeral I made my middle little sister howl with laughter amidst her tears. That is because I asked her what would happen if I sneezed in Uncle Jimmy’s ashes and he flew every which way.

Uncle Jimmy would have laughed hard at that one. Too bad he is not around. It would have been nice for him to have met my kids and I would have liked to have spent more time with him as a grown up.

Three Weeks of Winter Break

The kids are on Winter Break now, three weeks of Winter Break. Yeah, you read that right- three freaking weeks and I am ready to cry.

Ok, that is an exaggeration- I am not. Given the past few days I love that I have this time with them but it was really freaking hard to get anything done today.

So I cut things short and went bike riding with them. They think it is pretty cool to see dad jump up and off of curbs, if they only knew what I used to do.

The World Needs More Laughter

Some of you might disagree, but the world needs more laughter. I understand some people might not be able to do it and that is ok.

But when you are as intense as I am you have to find ways to let go and vent. I do that through writing, through exercise and through copious amounts of laughter.

There is joy in the ears of those that choose to laugh and I hope we get to do so together.

 

 

I Would Have Made It Dad

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dsc_0154

“I Would Have Made It Dad.”

That line has haunted me for three days now. It was among the first things my son said to me after we spoke about Sandy Hook. It is part of what pushed me to write We Are Lucky because we are.

Flip through the pages and sort through the posts here and you’ll find plenty where I talk about being the bodyguard, the knight and the man who plays Secret Service agent. When the things that go bump in the night visit I am the one they ask to go check it out and I do so without question because it is part of being a father.

But fear of failure comes along with that and fear of the bad things that are outside of our control.

We talk to our children about what to do in case of fires, tornadoes and earthquakes because sometimes Mother Nature likes to remind us that she isn’t asleep. When I hear about people who lose their lives or homes because of natural disasters I feel badly, but I understand.

Natural disasters are..natural, at least in concept. We can debate whether man has created or contributed to some of these issues through global warming or building homes too close to the sea, but that is still something I understand.

School Shootings Are Beyond Me

School shootings are beyond me. I shouldn’t have to explain them nor be asked to, nor should anyone.

When I think about the look on my son’s face while he explained how close he sits to a door it hurts in a way I can’t quite explain. It is the kind of remark that would make those who know me smile because he sounds like me.

I am the guy who has the plan for all situations. Some of them are intentionally goofy, ask me how I would beat a gorilla in a fight and I can tell you. Ask me what would happen if I had to take on sharks and alligators and I can answer that too.

So part of me isn’t surprised to hear his answer because I would probably say something similar.

Yet I am infuriated and saddened to hear this because it should never come up in conversation.

Hope Outshines Horror

The thing is that when push comes to shove I firmly and unequivocally believe that hope outshines horror and that the world is filled with far more good than bad.

I recognize how naive this sounds and why some people won’t be able to buy into it. There are lots of reasons why you might not accept it but I think if you start to look at things you can find lots of reasons why you can.

Ultimately I am not here to convince you to believe as I do. All I can do is take care of my side of the street and do my best to raise good kids.

Life is what we make of it and much of that is contingent upon our attitudes about it.

We Are Lucky

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Bob Dylan is singing Knocking on Heaven’s Door and I am reading about Noah Pozner. He was six years-old, Jewish and had a twin sister. He is gone now.

Murdered for reasons we can’t understand.

My 8 year-old still hasn’t heard about what happened at Sandy Hook and I am grateful, but my almost 12 year-old knows. He doesn’t know many details but he knows enough.

Enough doesn’t describe the emails I have received and the anger/sadness in my Facebook feed. I just shake my head thinking about it.

Noah’s story isn’t any worse because he is Jewish or a twin but it resonates with me for obvious reasons. My youngest sisters are twins so I am very familiar with what that sort of relationship looks like and the massacre took place during the middle of Chanukah.

My heart really aches for all of the people but I take solace in the stories of all those who helped. Yeah, it is like that Mr. Rogers story that is going around but it works. It is reminder that the overwhelming majority of people are good.

I don’t think that banning guns will work but I don’t need to see people with automatics or assault rifles. Would like to see technology used so that guns can’t be fired without some sort of fingerprint ID system.
It is not a perfect solution, but maybe it will stop some of these things from happening. More than anything else I want to see us take a hard look at mental illness and try to find more ways to help people.

There are no good answers.

Last night was the final night of Chanukah. After the kids went to bed I spent a while staring at the lights and thinking.

Things have been hard, but we are lucky and I am grateful.

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This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

  • Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
  • Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post.
  • No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
  • Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
  • Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post (in the sidebar). .

What I Said To My Children About Tragedy

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Bubble Wrap Macro November 28, 20108

It is 2:30 on a Saturday afternoon and I am listening Mansions of The Lord and trying to come up with the right words to write.

The weight of what happened at Sandy Hook elementary is something that tugs at me and I am doing my best to figure out how to respond to it.

Some of my friends have said they aren’t going to talk about it with their children and have said they will turn off the television and the radio so that they aren’t exposed to the news.

I understand why they are doing it but that won’t work for me.

Bubble Wrapped Children

It doesn’t work because we can’t wrap our children in bubble wrap and shield them from the world. It won’t work because there is no uniform rule or method of parenting and experience has proven that some parents will share things with kids that I won’t.

Don’t misunderstand, that is not an indictment of parents. I don’t agree with how everyone parents but I am realistic so I knew that when I showed up at my third grader’s school for the afternoon pickup it was possible she might have heard something about the events of the day.

It was why I spent some time considering how to answer any questions she might have and figured out how I would approach things so that she would feel comfortable.

I wanted her to know we trust the school and believe it to be a safe place. Fortunately I didn’t have to have that conversation with her so it didn’t matter.

But I took a very different approach with my son.

Age Appropriate Meets Proactive Response

He is in middle school now and it is a different world from elementary. That is not supposed to be profound or insightful, just realistic.

Kids have internet access through their smartphones, iPads, Kindles and computers. I am not naive enough to believe they don’t use them during school or that they only visit “age appropriate” web sites.

Since we weren’t going to find our own Fortress of Solitude I was confident that there wasn’t going to be any way to keep him from hearing about what happened and decided that a proactive response was the best way to go.

It was a guarantee that I could introduce him to the topic in a manner that I thought was appropriate. That is the sterile way of saying I hoped to explain it in a way that didn’t scare him or give him nightmares.

But it was also recognition that he knows that bad things happen. We have had discussions about 9-11 and the assassination of Dr. King. He knows about the Holocaust and has had more than a couple of discussions about war.

Some of them were with me and some were in school. This wasn’t the first time he has been exposed and sadly it won’t be the last.

What I Said

I told him that there had been a shooting at a school in Connecticut. He asked me if people died and I said that some had. I told him that most people have been saved, but we didn’t get in to many details.

He doesn’t need to know all that.

I reminded him that during any sort of emergency the most important thing he can do is stay calm and make smart decisions. He nodded his head and for a long moment there was nothing but silence.

“Dad, I know you are serious.”

“I know you know. I am just proud of you and I want you to know that I am confident in your abilities.”

What I Didn’t Say

What I didn’t say was that life has shown that crazy things happen and that sometimes no matter what you do bad things happen. I didn’t tell how heartbreaking it was to see pictures and video of kids walking with police and faces of parents in agony.

What I didn’t talk about was how I heard parents at school talk about how they would kill those that hurt their children or about the others who said their lives would end if they lost their kids.

But in the recesses of my mind I heard all those things and watched a million memories parade on by.

I asked him if he was worried and he said no. When he asked me if I was worried I shook my head and said I trust the school.

What I Worry About Most

What I worry about most is not the crazy guy shooting up the school but the stupid crap we did. I worry about drunk drivers, falling out of trees, bike accidents and silly decisions to jump from the roof into a swimming pool.

That is not bravado speaking either, it is how I really feel.

But when things like this happen there is that little whisper that says sometimes things happen. It reminds me that no one is immune.

My heart breaks for the people who lost someone yesterday and I pray that they find a way through this all.

And in the silence of the night I hold my breath and hope that statistics are right and that my kids grow up to live healthy, full, rewarding and enriching lives.

Amen.

It Should Have Been On YouTube

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Wanted: Santa Claus

The story below is a guest post I wrote for my friend Kristen. She is the author of the Four Hens and a Rooster Blog and was silly enough to let me share the tale about how I took down ‘Jersey Santa.’

If you are new to the blog you might not know that I am the guy who likes to tell a good story (See samples below) or that there is a cancellation fee for unsubscribing to the blog.

Most people consider it bad form to slap a priest or pull a rabbi’s beard. They aren’t real keen on your telling Sister Mary that she has a rack that was made for sin and or suggesting that you can help her see god. 567 Ways To Tell A Better Story

The clown was drunk, surly and horny. Or should I say that he was in dire need of shagging Tinkerbell. Ok, her name wasn’t t really Tinkerbell but the performers at a kids birthday party don’t introduce themselves by their real names so you’ll forgive me if I can’t tell you whether she was Karen, Kathy, Tracey, Lacey or Stacey. The Flying Clown

A bear hug is no match for an angry man with a salami. For I took said salami and proceeded to beat him silly with it. Fortunately I was smart enough not to hit the two cops who came ostensibly to break up the fight. It Wasn’t Worth Getting Arrested

Before I share the story about ‘Jersey Santa’ I should add that some of you will believe these tales to be real even though they are marked fiction. If you find yourself among those people please let me know because I want to send you a bill for reading my words. The kids need new shoes and you might as well make yourself useful.

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There are relatively few good ways to tell most people that you beat up Santa Claus.

Most of them start with he was drunk, aggressive and getting too friendly with my wife/kids but those are hard to come by.

My story isn’t quite like that. The jolly old man wasn’t making eyes at my woman or doing bad things to my kids so I don’t have any reasons other than I just don’t like him.

Something about that guy just chaps my hide. Maybe it is because as the Jewish kid I know he automatically puts me on the naughty list.

Once upon a midnight dreary when I found myself in a state between weak and weary I started thinking about how unfair it was not to be gifted with whatever sort of gifts are given to the other team.

Since I am a peace loving fellow I figured the best way to go about this was to figure out who Mr. Claus reports to. Once I had that information it would be easy to encourage him to share some loot with me.

When I began my research I discovered the 1-800-Ask a Gentile hotline. I dialed the fine folks over there and much to my chagrin learned it didn’t work. Every time I called I got one of those error messages about the line not being in service.Since my one track mind isn’t easily dissuaded I called the Vatican and asked to be connected with the pope.

Apparently he isn’t available to take calls nor is he willing to return them, especially when they are of a frivolous or silly nature. I don’t know about you, but a guy who wears a funny pointed hat shouldn’t chew on the butts of other people who enjoy silly.

Anyhoo, time passes and I am stumped. Mrs. Hackleshmackle, the librarian from my high school called me an idiot and said she don’t have to put up with my nonsense no more.

There ain’t no one at the Library of Congress who will answer my question nor is there anyone at the Smithsonian. But like I said, I am determined so I figure I’ll go to the local mall and ask the guy who is playing Santa Claus if he can help me out.

So I head on over to the Short Hills Mall and find myself talking to an elf who has a real Jersey attitude. I say, Snooky, I got no time to deal with an elf who smells like she doused herself with a combination of kerosene and Chanel Number Smellslikecrap. Just tell the fat guy I need to talk.

I don’t even want to tell you what sort of response I got, but it was pretty vulgar. Fortunately Santa heard us talking and he waddled over and what he said shocked me.

That fat old man used a series of four letter words in a fashion that cannot be described as friendly or jolly.

Well, no one gets a free poke at me so I told Santa that if he didn’t apologize I was going to kick his ass.

Jersey Santa didn’t take too kindly to that so he vaulted over the candy cane fence and came straight for me.

Santa, I ain’t one of your elves. The sarge told me he loved me because I am a hard charger with head full of rocks. Step back or risk having your bag of coal shoved so far up your ass a match and a burp will start a fire.

Needless to say Jersey Santa didn’t take my advice but he did take five fingers in the mouth, a boot to the ass and a hard right to the gut.

Had there been a window he probably would have been defenestrated, but sadly luck was not on my side.

I’d like to say I got through the moment unscathed and unharmed but that wouldn’t be true.

Two of Santa’s elves jumped me from behind. One of them bit my shoulder and the other grabbed a hold of the kind of package that requires more TLC than they gave it.

And Santa, well he surprised me with a hook shot that almost knocked me on my ass. I have to give him credit for that one, it was almost as good as he got.

Twenty-five years later I still don’t get anything on Christmas nor have I ever figured out who Santa’s boss is. But I got some good memories and I didn’t get arrested, so I guess I got that going for me.

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