Yeah Write

The best part of making resolutions is breaking them and I blame the blog for helping me remember which ones I fell short on.

It burns me up a bit to admit that I haven’t hit the mark and that I am not pumping out 500 push-ups each day or that book I told Stephen King about hasn’t materialized yet.

Let’s be honest A Fool Frolics Freely but the wise man does more than just dance in the fire, he makes a plan and sticks to it or so I once believed.

When I look back at the past couple of years the blog shows me that 2010 wasn’t great and that I was hopeful 2011 would be better. Well, if you look at Words You Won’t Read you’ll see I wanted to call that post 2011- You Were a Real Motherfucker.

What About 2012

2012 was a damn sight better than 2010 and 2011 but still not what I wanted it to be. 2012 fell short in multiple areas but not all of that happened because I broke the resolutions I made.

But let’s not waste time listing all the resolutions that didn’t happen or going over all of the reasons why it wasn’t or was not my fault because some of that just doesn’t matter.

Resolutions are promises we make to ourselves or at least that is how I view New Years resolutions so when we break them we are hurting the most important person in our life.

Yeah, I know that sounds backwards to some people and that some of you are scratching your heads. Some of you are thinking about how your children, spouse/partner or other family member are the most important person in your life and wondering how I could be so selfish.

Well the answer is simple.

You can’t take care of anyone else if you can’t take care of yourself.

Moms Are Awful About This

Read through a dozen mommy blogs and you’ll find multiple posts from moms who complain about doing everything for everyone else and nothing for themselves. It drives me nuts to see these posts because I don’t understand why you don’t find ways to give yourself a moment here and there.

I am not talking about spa days, massages, or shopping trips. What I am referring to is the no cost moment to yourself.

Since I have multiple weeks where the kids attend Camp Dad and I have been responsible for taking care of the kids and working I am confident that I know something about this.

Still I am also confident that some of the mothers are busy cursing my name but hopefully they aren’t wasting good wine by tossing it at the screen.

A Question That Remains Unanswered and Probably Shall Remain As Such

I really want to know Why Must Stupidity Be Contagious. If I had the answer one of my resolutions would be to work on ridding the world of the stupid gene/bug which would be really good for everyone.

If I accomplished that I feel secure in saying I would make enough cash from doing so to spend real time writing the books that I resolved to write and maybe even buy the castle that I haven’t managed to acquire yet.

That raises the question of what happens to broken resolutions that are fulfilled later on. Is there a statute of limitations upon them? Do we still get full credit or just partial?

Someone please tell me because it is after midnight which means January 2nd has rolled around and I am beginning to feel like I am behind the eight ball again.

Did I mention that the only 8 ball I really like is the Magic 8 Ball?

That Magic 8 Ball is wonderful. It has been a trusted advisor for years. Back in high school I asked it two questions about Anne Stacey:

1. Did she love me?
2. Would she sleep with me?

I’ll let you guess what was most important to me at 18. Anyhoo, the wonderful ball responded with ‘Ask again later’ and ‘reply hazy, try again’ which was exceptionally helpful because everyone knows how decisive some 18 year-old women can be.

Did You Make Any Resolutions?

All that narishkeit above leads us right back to the topic of resolutions. Did you make any for 2013 and are they the sort of thing that you really believe you will fulfill?

I made three but I am not going to write about them and not because I am afraid to share them either. I think they are more likely to be filled by keeping them to myself. What I will say is they are health and work related and that I expect good things to come from them.

What about you?

It was the night I was visited by the ghost of Christmas Sex. It is the kind of tale that is far more interesting to me than a Fifty Shades novel because this really happened.

One of the many benefits of being single and Jewish on Christmas Eve is you don’t have any more pressure to do anything special on that particular night than any other night.

If you haven’t volunteered to cover someone else’s shift at work it is not much different than any other Saturday night, especially when fewer establishments shut down for the holidays.

But for a variety of reasons many members of the tribe have come to throw parties that evening so that we have a place to hang out.

Way back in 1993 I didn’t feel like going to the Matzah Ball party that the once famous gents named Stu and Lew were throwing on Christmas Eve. I didn’t feel like getting dressed up to go to some club that was going to be packed full of people I already knew, especially when there was a stiff cover fee.

So I walked over to the video store down the street from my apartment and rented a movie. Can’t remember what it was but I recall that I gave a pretty nice tip to the pizza delivery guy.

The 20th Century

Way back during the dawn of time we called the 2oth century when we went to see or rented a movie we actually watched it. There weren’t any social media platforms begging for attention. So I didn’t try to come up with witty remarks I could share on Twitter or think about buying stock photos of my fabulous fake vacation to upload onto Facebook.

So when my telephone rang around 10 PM I was free to speak. The movie was done and I had nothing but time.

“What are you doing?”

Hindsight is a wonderful thing which allows me to realize she knew in advance what her intentions were and that she had an agenda that night.

“Not much. Just finished watching a movie. Aren’t you supposed to be with your family tonight?”

“I had dinner with them, but I couldn’t take it any more. Between my mom and my sister I had to get out of there.”

We exchanged some more small talk and then she tells me she is going to be driving by my apartment.

“I am going to drop a gift off at my friend’s house. Do you want to hang out afterwards?”

It doesn’t occur to me that it is unusual to drop a gift off at almost 11 so I tell her to come on by afterwards.

Christmas Gifts

“I know you are Jewish, but you are making a big mistake by not keeping any Mistletoe around. It is kind of useful this time of year.”

Sometimes I am slow to pick up on things so I tell her I think it is great for people to celebrate their holidays but Christmas isn’t my thing. I won’t ever have a tree, stocking or any of that stuff.

“Yeah, but Mistletoe is a plant. Are you sure you don’t have any of that around here? Maybe the neighbor has some. You should go ask.”

Still slow on the draw I tell her I don’t want to bother them. I don’t have to close my eyes to remember how I could tell she was getting irritated with me. So being the smart man I am I told her she was yelling at the wrong person.

I don’t remember exactly how she responded, but it didn’t include a smile, giggle or hair flip.

How I Tried To Blow It One Last Time

“I am not going to feed your ego by telling you that you are pretty so that you can thank me, kiss me on the cheek and go home.”

“Jack you are an idiot and a jerk. I have made a fool of myself all night long by throwing myself at you. This is your last chance.”

“I want to do more than just kiss you.”

“$^%#^#^ Jack, trust me on this. A woman doesn’t show up at your house after ten on Christmas Eve so that she can give you a peck on the lips and go home. Are you really that dense.”

Right about then was when I decided to take her seriously and made my best effort to prove her time wasn’t to be wasted.

We didn’t sleep much but when I think of pleasant Christmas Eve and Christmas morning surprises that moment in time holds a special place in my heart. It is the sort of Christmas Spirit I can get behind.

She is only eight years-old and I fear I might have failed her. I am her father and though I know I am human and fallible I feel like I fell down on the job.

Those who know me well understand how seriously I take my role as father and that when I say I would take the bullet for my children it is not hyperbole.

You cannot mess with my kids without finding yourself on the wrong side of my smile. The thousand yard stare comes out, the vein on my forehead becomes more pronounced and my fingers start flexing.

They call me dad and they expect me to take care of them because it is what I do.

+++++

The moment that haunts my present happened at the season end soccer party. Our girls were called forward by their coaches and one by one they were presented with a trophy and some words that were supposed to compliment and encourage them.

Each girl walked up wearing a huge smile that only grew broader as the coaches praised them for their efforts and skill.

This was the third team party with these coaches and this team. It wasn’t as they say our “first rodeo” which is part of why I didn’t expect the head coach to single out my girl and talk about how she is a “tough cookie who needs to work on her game.”

Those weren’t the exact words, but it is very close.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and I waited for him to circle back and soften the words. I expected him to say something that would make her smile and feel good…but he didn’t.

+++++

She didn’t react. She is a tough cookie and I know she is stronger in the most important ways than most of the girls she plays with.

That is not why she plays. I didn’t sign her up to live vicariously through her triumphs nor to commiserate in the losses.

At eight she is supposed to learn how to play the game so that she can learn how to be part of a team and more importantly to play because she loves it.

Those last three words are huge- “She loves it.”

I won’t let anyone beat that love out of her.

She has heard me say that she is going to determine how far she goes in soccer and in life. Those aren’t just words to me. I believe in them.

+++++

Her tears hurt me and I ached for her.

I took the coach aside and calmly asked him to tell me what his intentions were for her and the team.

He thanked me for my candor and shared his plans and his impression of my daughter. I listened carefully and what I heard was the voice of man whose perception of reality is far different than my own.

One of my jobs as a father is to teach my kids how to deal with adversity. They need to learn what to do if they fail because we all do. They need to figure out how to bounce back and how to survive the rough moments.

Part of me immediately saw this as a great teaching moment and an opportunity to learn. Part of my saw a chance for growth but there was another part that wondered if this is the time to do it.

Life requires us to toughen up, but is now the time. Is this really the place to push her and will she get a fair shot.

The advantage of his skewed perception is that she doesn’t have to exhibit much improvement for it to look like a dramatic increase in her skill level.

But she has to want this. She has to fight for her place. They just added several new players to the team.

If she isn’t willing to fight she won’t get much playing time.

+++++

I am torn.

There are few things I enjoy more than going after a challenge and destroying it. If it was me I would take great pleasure in working hard to make him eat his words so that he felt foolish for doubting me.

But that is me.

This is about her.

I want her to want it. I want her to make that decision.
But she is eight and I wonder how hard to push or not push. My gut says that if I just pull her from the team she will be furious with me and she may not see the big picture.

It might be worth letting her play through the spring season. She told me that is what she wants to do.

Maybe I let things play out. Maybe I let my girl take my hand and lead the way. Maybe I make a deal with her that if she does that we will spend more time together practicing.

Maybe that is the right balance.

The risk is that it blows up. The risk is that it doesn’t work out well at all and she comes away angry and upset.

I am supposed to protect her but I can’t wrap her up in bubble wrap to keep her safe from all that could hurt or harm her.

The world doesn’t work that way.

+++++

My children are on vacation this entire week. Thanksgiving break has hit so they are on vacation and decisions don’t have to be made yet, hard or easy.

The house is filled with laughter and there are many smiles floating around here, mine included.

But I would be lying if I said that a piece of me didn’t hurt and that I didn’t feel like I have fallen short.

We’ll all get through this and we’ll work it out, but damn I wish it didn’t have to be so freaking hard.

It is a game and games should be fun.

The worst part about D’s funeral wasn’t being asked to be a pallbearer or shoveling dirt onto his casket.

Those weren’t great but they pale in comparison to the moment I looked up from the grave and made eye contact with his mother. I can’t describe the look of horror upon her face or tell you what it felt like to be holding the shovel in my hand when our eyes met.

Some people go out for a Sunday drive but we weren’t some people. We were 29 back then, kings of the world and all that we surveyed was part of our realm.

‘D’ was a scientist and a pilot. Some days we would head out to Santa Monica Airport and take his father’s plane out for a spin.

Thousands of miles above the ground we would talk about life and our dreams or just sit quietly and look out at the wild blue yonder the poets speak about.

Fourteen years later the memories are still vivid and it doesn’t take much to bring back some of those moments. Maybe it is because I am a father now and I understand things differently than I once did.

Once I didn’t believe things like this could happen to me or those I cared most about. I didn’t see it as being naïve or arrogant. Terminal illness wasn’t on my radar. I knew people who had died, young people, but they all died from accidents.

Drunk driving, wet weather and dumb luck took them. It hurt but it was different because I knew if they hadn’t been driving or riding they would still be here.

Thomas The Tank Engine Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore

The first time my son asked me who ‘D’ was caught me off guard. He was looking at wedding pictures, naming the people in the photo one by one and then he found someone he didn’t recognize.

I looked at the photo and saw ‘D’ smiling back at me. There he was garbed in the traditional monkey suit, two years removed from his first fight with tumor number one and two years removed from the battle with tumor number three.

It was hard to reconcile the two moments. If you would have seen him back then you wouldn’t have had a clue he had ever been sick. He was making plans for the future and petitioning for the return of his license.

We talked about going flying again. He teased me gently about telling my wife about the past, double dates and plane rides.

“His name was ‘D’ and he was a very good friend.

My son smiled and went back to playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine trains.

‘D’ is gone now and my son doesn’t play with Thomas anymore. Time keeps moving.

August Memories

Three of us are asked to speak about ‘D.’ Technically they call it a eulogy but I hate the term so I think it as a moment to try and share stories that show who he was.

It feels surreal. ‘D’ is lying in a box somewhere behind us. We half expect him to interrupt our talk with one of the practical jokes he was famous for.

Any moment now there will be a loud explosion and when the smoke clears the old man will be standing there laughing and we’ll laugh with him. Story time ends and there is no explosion, no smoke and no ‘D’.

Instead there are tears and grown men are crying on the shoulders of their mothers and wives.

Make Like John Henry

My mother and wife encourage me to let it out and to let go, but that is not how it will go. There is only one thing left to do, one last way to say goodbye and show our love.

Jackets come off, skirts and dresses are adjusted and the shovels are passed between us. This task won’t be left to those who didn’t know or care for him. This is for us.

We got this. The once proud kings of the world have lost this round.

The August heat shows no mercy and sweat pours off of our brows. We don’t care and we keep working. I refuse to stop and won’t let go of the shovel. The work is what is keeping me together, the time to really let go will come later.

Later on I’ll hear that ‘D’s little brother told their mother it was time to go and that we would make sure things were taken care of. When I think about her eyes I remind myself of that and hope in some small way it helped.

Do You Miss Your Friend

Sometimes we forget how observant children can be. A chunk of moments have passed since my son asked about ‘D’ and we have taken Thomas on more than a few adventures.

“Daddy, do you miss your friend?”

I nod my head and say “One day I hope you have a friend as good as ‘D.”

And then I add a silent prayer that he never has to experience his own August day.