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 May 2014

95 More Reasons Why Geniuses & Sex Addicts Read My Blog

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Killer Whale

Every day I outrun the hordes of people who mistake me for an internet superstar and demand that I share the secret of blogging success with them.

Because I am better, smarter, faster and humbler I effortlessly say the best way to blog is…your way.

But it is never enough, they demand more and so I share 5 Reasons Why Geniuses & Sex Addicts Read My Blog and then I wonder if maybe the reason they love me is because they think I am the heir to the Tim Hortons empire.

It would make sense for the Canadians but the Americans, could they be so silly, it is not like I am the master of Dunkin’ Donuts or something.

Frankie Says Relax

I am wandering through the mall looking for Father’s Day gifts when I see a guy wearing a pair of overalls that aren’t hooked and hair that has frosted tips.

Dude has a shirt that takes me back in time.

“Frankie Says Relax.”

Truth is his whole outfit makes me wonder if he has watched too many John Hughes movies, it is 2014 and the Brat Pack is pushing 50.

I watch him for a moment and wonder what his story is. From across the way I can’t quite decide how old he is or isn’t. Maybe he is a high school kid who is going to an ’80s party or maybe it is something else, doesn’t really matter because now I am lost in 1984.

A couple of friends and I are at a youth group dance but we aren’t out on the floor. We’re standing in a corner watching groups of girls dance together, trying to figure out if we are going to try and join them.

In a few years I’ll be in college and I’ll have ample confidence to approach whomever, whenever and wherever but I am not there yet. I have kissed girls before but haven’t had an official girlfriend yet and I am bit unsure about it all.

Jon tells me that he is desperate for a chance to dance with Becky but he says he won’t go unless I am there because he knows she won’t dance with him alone if her friend Michelle doesn’t have someone to dance with.

In between songs we walk over and Jon asks Becky if we can dance with them. She says yes and by the 3rd time Frankie says we should relax I am ready to bolt because the girls are pointing fingers and laughing at me.

“Jack, you dance like such a spaz.”

That is enough for me, I am gone. The Go-Go’s are singing Our Lips Are Sealed but mine are curled in anger and embarrassment.

Reality…Bites

Dude wearing the Frankie shirt wanders away and I reconnect with 2014. It is an early dismissal day for my son, got about an hour before I have to go pick him up from school so I make a point to move with purpose and intent.

The night before he told me about some girls who are teasing him. I can’t figure out if they like him or if something else is going on. I don’t like it when he is upset but I want him to figure it out for himself.

I don’t see a reason for me to jump in but the echoes of the girls who laughed at me have reached through the years and something inside my head is rattling.  It irritates me, there is no reason for them to have free rent inside my melon but I figure I am just concerned about my son so I write it off.

Sure enough the echoes disappear and I am left with my decision to let him handle it. I still feel good about it. I don’t want it to turn into anything but I have confidence in him and I trust that he’ll find a good solution.

A tall brunette walks by me and another memory floats to the surface. I am back in the fraternity and we are all inside dancing but there is no room to do more than sort of sway.

Some of the guys and I are dancing with some girls when one of them tells me that she likes the way I dance. I am sure she is drunk or blind  but the reason doesn’t matter because she likes me and she proves it.

I feel better about my son.

95 More Reasons Why Geniuses & Sex Addicts Read My Blog

It is early Friday evening of Memorial Day weekend and I am back at the computer. We’re not going away this weekend but I plan on taking the kids to see some movies and to enjoy some barbecue.

A short time ago I participated in a conversation about whether it made sense to blog today or not. I said yes and listed a bunch of reasons why.

But the primary one isn’t because I have readers who aren’t in US and aren’t celebrating a holiday weekend. It is because I love to write and I love to chase down these obscure memories and try to turn them into a story.

I love that feeling I get when I feel like I have successfully bent words to my will.

What about you?

The Life Lesson No Parent Wants To Teach

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Hurva Synagogue Arch
A different sort of lesson learned in Jerusalem.

It is considered poor form and bad parenting to suggest your child resolve their differences with brass knuckles, bastard swords and or hand grenades.

Nor are you supposed to suggest duels or any sort of trial by combat. Words are what we want to use and most of us do our very best to teach our children that.

The Life Lesson No Parent Wants To Teach

Sometimes people suck. Sometimes friendships fail and sometimes you get stuck having to deal with the surviving parts and pieces of a friendship turned sour.

I remember writing  How To Raise The Perfect Daughter and thinking about how lucky my son had been not to have any serious drama at school or at home.

He once asked me if boys have the same sort of drama that girls do and I had told him that it happens, but we hope it is infrequent. He told me he didn’t understand how his little sister could have a frenemy and I told him that sometimes we give certain people lots of chances to be our friends.

And then I told him that everyone has to decide what they are willing to tolerate and that there is a line we should never let people cross.

Maybe he got lucky because he didn’t have any first hand experience with a frenemy until six weeks or so ago. That is when a friend from school began swinging between being a jerk and being a friend.

My son was hurt and angry by this other kid’s behavior. When he asked me for advice I told him to sit the kid down and tell him that his behavior was unacceptable.

“Dad, what happens if he doesn’t change?”

“No one is allowed to treat your poorly. If he keeps being a jerk you cut him loose. There is no reason to walk on eggshells. Loyalty is admirable but being mistreated because you allow it to happen is not.”

You Know Where This Is Going

My son sat the kid down and for a short while things were good and then they weren’t. He told me that he was very upset because his frenemy cussed him out but wouldn’t say why he was angry.

“If he won’t tell me what I did I can’t apologize.”

“You might not have done anything. Sometimes people just act like jerks because they can and not because of anything you did.”

“He is my friend, if something is bothering him I want to help.”

“I am your father and I don’t like what I am hearing. I am not angry with you but I think this kid has crossed the line. You need to be prepared to let go and accept that you may never get answers. That is just how life is.”

When he told me he was going to do things his way I smiled. He is going to do things his way and in his time, wonder who he got that from.

I am proud of him. There are so many good qualities in him, the kid is growing up to be a really good person. But part of me is screaming inside because I see another piece of his innocence being stripped away.

The frenemy isn’t the only thing.

People Are Teasing Me

You’ll excuse me if I call the frenemy a little prick and not just because he has been such a dick to my son but because he is pulling other kids into this.

There are several now who have given my son a nickname he hates and they are riding him about it. I gave him advice for how to handle it and now we will see what happens.

It is hard to sit back and watch but if he is going to learn anything I have to let him deal with this. If it crosses a certain line I will step in but I can’t do that yet.

And so I sit here remembering what life was like when I was his age and I hadn’t become so callous and hard about some things. I wasn’t born with this thick skin, I earned it. I just wish he wouldn’t have to earn one too.

Everyone Has A Story- What Is Yours?

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fridge and range2 The Secret Behind Post Secret Everyone Has A Story

Editor’s Note: One of my favorite blogging features is being able to go back through the archives and catch a glimpse of what your life was like.

It is a snapshot in time.

I like going back to see if the significance of those moments is still applicable. Sometimes they still are and sometimes what seemed important then looks silly now.

This post is just about three years old but I like it because it captured several key moments in my life and because I see it as tied into a tipping point in which I decided to make significant changes in my life.

And for those of you who are curious, this sort of stream of consciousness style of writing is among my favorites.

Everyone has a  story but not everyone gets a chance to tell it.  One of the 982,834 things I think about is what those stories are and how can I find time to hear more of them.

Stories are the secret behind Post Secret. Sometimes they are secrets but most of us wish we could share those secrets with someone else.

Think about it for a moment. Here is what I am going to listen to while you do.

  1. Silver Springs- Fleetwood Mac
  2. Landslide- Fleetwood Mac
  3. Happy- Bruce Springsteen
  4. If You Could Read My Mind- Gordon Lightfoot
  5. Hurt- Johnny Cash Cover

My Old Kitchen

I had to go through the old neighborhood this week and made a point to drive by the old house. Been more than a year since we sold it and moved out, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since then.

That kitchen you see in the picture is part of what I think about most. I have vivid memories of my daughter standing in it, pacifier in her mouth, asking me to let her cook dinner.

I blink and I see us there on the last Father’s Day we spent there. The kids are yelling at me to get out of the kitchen, they have a surprise.

They don’t know that I have already spotted the meal they have made for me and when they bring me breakfast in bed I act surprised.

When I blink again I remember standing in the garage late at night. My father lay unconscious 3,000 miles away. The last time I had seen him was 12 hours before.

Clicks, beeps and whistles from the machines helped to make sure his chest kept rising. I grabbed his hand and told him I had to go home, reminded him there was 3 year-old boy waiting for me and a pregnant wife.

Told him I expected him to fight harder and that I wanted him to meet the grandchild that was coming.

Looked down at his hand and remembered when they had seemed to be the biggest hands I had ever seen and noticed that now they were exactly the same size as my own.

That Was Then

Dad came home and was there to take a picture of two great-grandmothers oohing and awing over the only great granddaughter on the west coast. He and I watched as the grandmothers tried to coax their new granddaughter from the arms of their mothers.

My grandfathers beamed with pride and talked to me not just as a grandson, but as a man. That had started when my son was born, but it became more pronounced with the arrival of a girl. It was understood that things had changed again, in a very positive way.

Later on I stood in the garage again and worked out on my heavy bag. It was the one place that was all mine, my refuge.

5 More Songs

  1. Gypsy- Fleetwood Mac
  2. Walk- Foo Fighters
  3. Atomic Dog- George Clinton
  4. Baker Street- Gerry Rafferty
  5. Hey Hey What Can I Do- Led Zeppelin

The Garage As Thinking/Laughing Place

Fast forward or click backward if you will and you’ll see me standing in the garage again. We buried my grandfather earlier today. It is also the day my old boss texted, emailed and called repeatedly so that I could check in so that he could fire me.

I am sitting in the garage thinking about…stuff.

The kitchen you see in the photo above doesn’t look like that. That is because we are in the middle of the remodel. I am trying to figure out what kind of person fires someone the day of their grandfather’s funeral.

I am angry and embarrassed, but mostly angry. I didn’t get fired for not doing my job. The sales numbers don’t lie.

My grandfather reaches out to me and tells me I am better off, or at least I think he might have. I hear his voice, but he is not there any longer. He tells me not to lose my temper because I can’t do anything to the man who did this to me. That is, I can’t hurt him because he is clearly already broken.

People Want To Be Heard

There are a million stories tied into those fragments. There are a million tales I could tell and secrets I sometimes think about sharing.

Sometimes I’ll go to the store/park/airport/coffee shop solely to look and listen. Call it voyeuristic, but I want to hear more stories.

Sometimes I think about past relationships and see that part of what killed them was the point when we stopped listening and sharing those stories.

People want to be heard. They want to be loved, listened to, trusted and made to feel like they are worth something.

One of the best things our blogs can do is meet those needs and desires.

I hear the echoes of the future in the voices of my past. Changes are happening now and more are coming.

What stories will I tell down the road.

I Lost Her Forever

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moonlight quote
If no one sees it happen does that mean no one will believe it did.

Confession: once while I was bench pressing I dropped the bar on my chest and got stuck. I was twenty something and at the end of my workout.

Because I was young and invincible I didn’t have a spotter and I figured that it was only 225 pounds. Since I could lift far more I arrogantly believed that even though I was exhausted I could run through a fourth set and all would be fine.

It was until my arms went on strike and I the bar came crashing down on my chest.

I refused to ask for help and began squirming my way into a position to push the bar off of me but was spared potential injury when someone noticed my struggle and ran over to help me.

I Lost Her Forever

“Daddy, mommy is crying in the kitchen. You need to help her.”

I looked at my daughter and told her this was one of those times where it was ok for an adult to be upset. My son looked at his sister and then at me, “dad we don’t know how she died.”

“I think she had a stroke, but I really don’t know. I am not sure that is the part that matters. Mom and Katie have been friends since they were four. Go give her a hug, you’ll help more than you know.”

Katie was only 44. She had was a very sweet woman but she was a mess and had been for years. If you wanted to see what mental and emotional abuse could do to a person she was a good example about why some parents should lose their kids.

I met her when my then fiancee introduced us in ’95. I liked Katie, she was nice and very sweet but I thought Vegas was a bad place for her and her husband to live. They drank and smoked too much for a place like that.

They thought so too so they moved out into the Nevada desert. I don’t know how much that helped or hurt, we didn’t see them often. Life got in the way.

“Dad, come here too, we all need to hug mom.”

“Jack, I lost her forever. I should have done more.”

“You did as much as you could, you couldn’t fix what was broken there.”

Later that evening my son asked me to explain.

“Dad, what was broken and why couldn’t it be fixed?”

“It is complicated. Her parents did a number on her, when she was little they told her she was bad and she never forgot that. Some things stick with you.”

Jerusalem, Texas & The Desert

I am standing in the  Judean Hills, alone in the moonlight staring off towards Jerusalem and thinking about the home I intend to build. It is not imminent, this home I want. I am 25 and though I want to be a father I know I am not ready.

Alone in the darkness I try to picture the life I want to create but even though I think I know what I want the images are blurry. I see faces but I can’t quite make them out.

Decades later I am wandering through Hulen Mall in Fort Worth and I realize I haven’t heard anyone speaking Hebrew in forever. It surprises me at how loud the silence is.

The guy at the counter hands me my pretzel and I sit down to eat, think and watch the people walk by. Once I was convinced I would live my life in Israel but now I am not sure if that will ever happen.

Texas is home.

I look around and think about how comfortable I feel. The silence in some areas is jarring but it is ok, because I have known for years that one day I would live here.

Never really understood it until now, but recognition settles in and I understand it is one of several places that just feels like home. One of several places that I am connected to, that I feel like I have long history with.

Many months later I’ll lock my apartment, hop into the car and head back towards LA.

Alone in the desert I’ll see more images in my head of the life I have had and the one I am creating but the faces aren’t completely blurred anymore.

Some are the same and some are…new.

The Gym

I can dunk a tennis ball on the ten foot rim and can even get a volleyball through but the basketball keeps slipping out of my grip.

Eventually I put one through, but I can’t tell you if I look like Jordan or some awkward kid flailing through the air. There is no video, no film nor photo of it.

It is just me and an empty gym.

How Parent Bloggers Are Killing Blogging

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Dad can cook, clean and parent.
Dad can cook, clean and parent.

Way back in 2010 a blogger  wrote a post called Dear Angry Mommy Blogger that generated more than average traffic for him. Four years later he ran the same post and saw his stats spike again.

He shook his head and looked down from his self righteous mountaintop and wondered if those silly mommy bloggers would ever learn and then he looked at silly daddy bloggers and shook his head again because they had fallen into the same trap.

Instead of working together to save the blogosphere the parent bloggers were working to kill it. They were sending out thousands of pitch letters to brands and generating millions of blog posts about the same stupid crap that others had written about time and time again.

Even worse they had been conned into believing that they could give their content away for free and that the exposure that came with appearing on a major publication would be of great benefit to them. They didn’t recognize how the proliferation of players had left the blogosphere in a state of chaos and clutter or how badly the talent pool had been diluted.

Mediocre and marginal writers were given platforms to write about by self proclaimed editors who had no editing skills, no writing skills and no journalistic background to rely upon.

The blind were leading the deaf and dumb up the mountainside but instead of riches they headed directly towards cliffs and volcanoes.

Doom was upon them…Doom I TELL YOU!

And Then Jack Stopped Using The Third Person

Some of you may accuse me of being old and cranky, you might be right or you might not be. I turned 45 a few weeks ago and next week the blog turns 10.

When I started blogging my oldest was 3.5 and youngest was in utero. I blogged about all of the usual parent blogger stuff, what it is like to be a new father, potty training, pre school, kindergarten and elementary school.

I wrote about the conversations we had when pets died, when grandparents passed away and hit all sorts of religious stuff from how to deal with Santa Claus to Bar Mitzvahs.

There were posts about being laid off, how it felt to be forced to sell my house, words about friends divorcing and words about friends dying.

One reader sent me an email saying my blog was too depressing. They didn’t like reading about the real stuff that was happening. They liked stories about the kids, tales about grandparents and fiction.

I understood because I preferred the days when I was “classic father.” I earned enough for my wife to stay home with the kids and for us to have a nice life and then life happened and I got knocked out of the tree house and it felt like I hit every branch on the way down.

That changes you.

It wasn’t just me. Bunch of guys I knew had this happen around the same time. We had a college education and had done things the right way only to learn sometimes when shit happens it happens to you.

How Are Parent Bloggers Killing Blogging

I can’t point my finger at just one group because it is happening elsewhere too but I see more of it in the parent blogosphere. I stumble across more conversations about how to build a personal brand and turn your blog into a platform. I come across books and look at excerpts that make me wonder if people understand that self publishing doesn’t remove the obligation to edit.

Ask me to talk about great writing and I will always talk about how subjectivity plays a role, always has and always will.

What bothers me about blogging isn’t that I haven’t gotten more recognition. Nor is it tied into my feelings about blog conferences, nepotism and brand ambassadorships. (Some people have gotten gigs because they went to conferences and made friends with the “right people” not because they have talent.)

It  is the push to monetize and build a brand that irks me because we don’t focus on storytelling and writing as a craft as much as I would like.

Great writing, compelling content, storytelling–that’s what I love and what I want more of.

But it is not what I see.

Maybe I am hanging out in the wrong places. Maybe what I want is there and I just have missed it.

It is possible.

When I complain about monetization’s impact on blogging I have to include myself. I have been a brand ambassador and written sponsored posts.

It has been fun and I intend to do more of it.

Does that make me a hypocrite? Does it matter if I say I don’t play the game like others do and because of that I miss out on some opportunities that I could otherwise have.

Blogs & Bloggers Have To Evolve

The secret to my longevity is simple. I like to write and blogging is still fun. Add in a willingness to evolve and you have the skeleton of a ebook on how to last in the blogosphere.

It is all part of why I don’t write about one single topic.

I kid around about being old and grumpy. I am not old but my focus is not with the new and young parents.

My children are in elementary and middle school now, but high school comes in the Fall of 2015. College isn’t quite on the horizon yet but it is close enough for me to look at my finances and think about how to make it happen.

What does any of this mean? I don’t know. I am busying thinking about the differences between being a father and a man and trying to figure what a 21st century father is.

If nothing else I am too busy to worry about whether this post meets the guidelines of the social media experts. People will read it or they won’t but it is not going to be because I made sure to optimize it or give it away for free to some big publication who derives the majority of the benefit from my labor.

What The Hell Is A 21st Century Father?

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star trek bridge
Would a 21st Century father be like Captain Kirk…

I still don’t know what a 21st century father and can’t say that I am particularly worried about that. Maybe it is just a cheap attempt to garner more attention from the people who care about fathers who blog or maybe it is just me airing out the cobwebs inside my head.

Steiner the minor went to a Bar Mitzvah Saturday morning and I took the dog for his latest round of shots. On the way to the vet I told the fur ball that half the time I don’t have a clue about anything and that I am just winging it.

Told him that I am not having a midlife crisis because I am not middle aged but that I am feeling anxious about the future. It is not the sort of anxiety you take drugs for but this sense of being on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and a gut feeling that I have to get back out of L.A.

I keep repeating that and wondering how the hell that happened. When did this place stop feeling like home and when did I decide it is time to make like my great grandparents and grandparents and start over. Can’t say that I know precisely when but I know that 7 Things You Never Say To Mean Moms has something to do with it.

I am not naive enough to believe obnoxious people only live in one place. I have moved around and traveled enough to know the truth of that but I also know that some times a father has to listen to his gut.

How Can I Be A Better Father?

Steiner the minor and his little sister gave me cards for my birthday that said I am the greatest father ever. I appreciate it and I know they mean it but I think about improving and wonder what I can do to make that happen.

That is not because I think I am a bad father because I am not. I am better than most and not as good as some.

BTW, that last part is tongue-in-cheek–I don’t compare my parenting skills to anyone besides my dad and grandfathers and even then I don’t spend much time thinking about whether they were better.

If anything I wonder what sort of advice/commentary they might offer for certain situations.  There is a boatload of wisdom there that I don’t have access to any more, at least not in the traditional way.

When I think about them I always picture men who knew how to meet every challenge and had answers to the tough questions. I know that is not how things really went. They all told me about some of their harder moments and challenging times but memory is colored by time and age.

My primary view is as they were when I was a boy and not I as a man.

What The Hell Is A 21st Century Father?

Sometimes I think about descriptions of 21st Century Fathers and shake my head because it comes across as marketing hype and marketing garbage.

Maybe I was lucky because I had role models who did more than just provide for their families. They were all involved. Mom and dad talked about dads who traveled for work but were otherwise around and my own father was always there.

He left early to go to work and got home after dark so he didn’t always get to the middle of the day school events, but he was at the major ones. Never missed sporting events, or parent-teacher conferences.

I am not defined by what the media shows or what parent bloggers write about. My own definition as a dad comes from what I see reflected in my kids’ eyes and how I feel about myself.

Don’t ask me to tell you what a 21st century father is because I don’t know. What I know is that I am busting my ass to raise children who grow up to be menschen. Kids who have coping skills and can deal with whatever comes down the pike.

What Comes Next

Won’t be long before Steiner the minor heads off to high school. We have five years left before college and a bit more for his sister.

The questions I ask myself now are all tied into where do we need to be to give them the best education, most experiences and best opportunity to build a future.

Easy stuff, nothing difficult at all to predict or figure out there. Ok, might be some snark and sarcasm that last sentence. I am less interested in trying to predict and more in trying to prepare.

Meaning I can’t say what will happen but I can help provide them with the tools to adapt and to succeed because that is what fathers do.