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I Would Like a Little Time With My Seasons Please

7/28/2015

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Seasons, chapters, whatever you call them; those chunks of life define us: Infancy, Youth, Puberty, Adolescence, College, Career, Marriage, Parenting, Grandchildren, Retirement, our passing. Beginning, middle and end, we only get our short few years on this planet. How we live those years, every choice, changes our path, our possibilities.  Our lives are never ending change; a constant flux of intertwining events, leading to endless possibilities. A mere wrong turn can lead to fortune or death. Whatever else we think or believe, we all agree. There just isn’t enough time.

Roger McGuinn and the Byrds serenaded us with a lyrical adaptation of Ecclesiastes:

To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to


David Gilmore and Pink Floyd gave us the haunting words:

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day 
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way. 
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town 
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way... 

…Every year is getting shorter; never seem to find the time. 
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines 
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way 
The time is gone, the song is over, 
Thought I'd something more to say.

Time, is our most precious commodity. We gain knowledge daily, we can beg borrow or steal more money. We can find new friends, gain influence and power. But time; time is in control. We get what we get. We can’t buy it, barter it, trade it or create it. We are utterly at it’s mercy.

I find as I get older, that the clock seems to move faster. The days on the calendar slip by quicker than ever. The shorter the candle, the faster it burns. “It’s not fair!” we lament. Give me just a few more years of health; time to enjoy children and grandchildren. We crave more years of seasons. Season of our world, seasons of our lives, seasons of the lives around us.

“Time Marches On” “You are about out of time” “Time’s up!” “All in due time” “There’s no time like the present”  “In the nick of time” “Time flies when you’re having fun”.  Our culture revolves around time. We obsess over it, we are short of it in all things. We rush, rush, rush. Seldom do we “take our time” or “stop and smell the roses”. We are so busy keeping up with time constraints upon us; appointments, getting to work on time, breaks, lunches, overtime, travel schedules (late flights, Grrrrr), that we miss many opportunities that time affords us. We fail to literally stop and smell the roses, or the fresh cut grass; the myriad smells of the woods or a field, so different with each season. How many sunrises and sunsets do we savor? Even for a few minutes. Rain and snow, those incredibly fresh unmistakable aromas of our world.

Our food goes over lips teeth and gums in a rushing waterfall of meal after meal. How often do we eat slowly; really enjoying the experience? Those few moments when as a parent you pause at your child’s door as you leave the room, having just tucked them in. That is time well spent indeed.

Seasons change, and time marches on; as inevitably and inexorably as death and taxes. Take stock of your account. How much time do you have? Poor health empties the account quickly. Stress does the same. Count your days, count your blessings and don’t let time get the best of you; get the best from what time you have.

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The Empty Nest

12/28/2014

 
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We are born and raised by our parents. Those precious few years of play and discovery, then off to school, and eventually; we are on our own. Wild oats are sown, we find the love of our lives and get married. Then we have children. It all seems so different; no longer the child but the parent, fully responsible with your mate for their precious lives. Each day we work, worry, play, guide, teach and protect. We cheer for them in their triumphs, comfort them in their pains and defeats. They fill our world with challenges and joy. Then, one day, they are gone.

Peace, quiet, solitude. Emptiness; that nagging pit in the stomach on those first days and weeks; remembering that our youngest has left home. I think I’ll pop in to his room and… he’s not there, no one home but mom and dad. It feels strange; the lack of busyness, chaos and activity. The two of us adjust slowly, the stilted awkward phone calls become easy conversations, filled with laughter and questions, lots of questions. We still worry, and via phone, email and text we guide and teach as we had before. Then its time for a visit; whether here or there matters not, once together, it is as though we had never been apart. We talk and share our jokes and jibes; we are one, we are family.

The Trouble With Writing…

7/5/2014

 
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The trouble with writing is, well, writing. Getting started writing to be more specific. Once I sit myself down in front of the keyboard, mind cleared, thoughts focused; the words just seem to appear, as if by magic. It’s the getting here that’s the trouble.
I haven’t written, for the sheer pleasure of it at least, for quite some time, and that, I must admit, I regret. There is something wonderful and freeing about writing. Frankly, I’ve missed it. With that said, here I am, pen in hand (well, keyboard actually), ready to ramble for your reading pleasure (or dismay). I will post what I write with the hope that some of you will enjoy my efforts. Your comments are appreciated. 
Before I get back to it, one final note. I am at heart a political animal. I have very strong beliefs, and am very passionate about them. However in the words I write here, I will not travel down that road. As in the past, THIS writing is for pleasure, mine, and hopefully yours. I will write about whatever interests or amuses me; whatever moves me, the things we all experience. 

From Darkness into Light

2/6/2013

 
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Those who live in the Northern half of America’s heartland will tell you how much they love the change of seasons. I have sung that song for many years. There is nothing quite as exhilarating as that first fully thawed spring day; birds singing, the steady drip of ice and snow melting. Spring is after all the beginning of the four-season-cycle. It is birth, growth, movement and light. After a long, cold, dark, winter, the day lengthens, the sun moves north to warm us. 

In the far north, we do our best to embrace winter; indulging in every sort of winter sport: skiing and snowboarding, snowmobiling, ice fishing, cross country skiing, and lots of winter walks. We beam at the winter wonderland of fresh snow, enjoy cozy days at home with the kids when the schools close for a winter storm. A beautiful White Christmas is the capper. Nothing is better than inches of fresh snow, blanketing the landscape, aglow with Christmas lights as we scurry about in preparation for our time with family and friends.

And yet, no matter our best efforts, winter begins to wear us down. Is it the cold? No, not at all, we shirk off the cold; we know how to dress for it and by mid-winter, we skip gloves and hat when the temperature hits the teens. Is it the snow? It can be, when we are buried under the snow of massive winter storms. But what is it really, what really wears us down? THE DARK.

For those with early work schedules, leaving in the dark and arriving home again in the dark becomes a depressing, drudging ritual; like some low budget sci-fi flick where the sun has been removed forever. We long for the light; we HUNGER for it; longer hours of daylight and the holy grail of winter relief: The Return of Day Light Savings Time! By the time it comes, we have enjoyed our lengthening days, ever warmer sun and rising temperatures. Then it finally happens, we arise on Sunday morning, one hour short of sleep, knowing that the sun will set an hour later. This simple thing, adjusting the clock, lifts our spirits. We smile more easily and begin planning for the spring and summer ahead. The simple fact is this: without our season of darkness, spring would never be so sweet. 

Back to Work Pen in Hand

1/30/2013

 
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Quite some time ago I started writing about being a DAD. I created  my own blog, Real Talk With D.A.D. 
Life got busy and as with many things, Real Talk got put on the back burner. Well, it is time to dust off the pen, grab some paper and get back to work. So why Real Talk With D.A.D.? Simply put, I just wanted to share my ramblings and musings; my journey through the trials and travails of parenting.
Being DAD or MOM is the most daunting thing. What? ME, responsible for this helpless little child?
That first moment, right after birth, you hold your newborn, awestruck; time stands still for a bit, the center of the universe is in your arms. Joy, fear, thankfulness and the beginning of the never ending journey. You are now a parent.
Everything I have written up till now is posted on Real Talk. I will post my new writings on Real Talk, with links on facebook as well. Here is a taste of my first writing:

http://www.realtalkwithdad.com/1/post/2010/04/worlds-greatest-dad.html

Let's Talk Football

1/16/2012

 
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We live in Wisconsin and it is the day after the Packers failed to advance in their run for back to back Super Bowl wins. So let's not talk football. Or on the other hand, Let's Talk Football!
Football indeed, but not the pro's, oh no. Let's talk about College Football.

As My son continues his Junior year in High School, the search for a college begins. Well, at least that is what you would think, but in his mind, the search is over. He clued me in on his parameters for a school late this past summer: Pretty far from home, warm weather, and a Division I school with great sports teams. I knew where this was headed. He and I have traveled to Oklahoma and Texas for the past five years over spring break to give him an early start on the motocross season.

Of all the places we have visited on those trips. none is more a true home to motocrosss, than Stillwater Oklahoma. Just by chance this is also the location of Oklahoma State University. It is a great school, has excellent programs in his area of study, and yes, it is a Division I school with excellent teams. Football, Basketball and Wrestling top the list. So on a three day weekend fall trip, we did the power drive from Northern Wisconsin to O.S.U. for a little motocross riding, and if my son has his way, his one and only campus visit. He was bent on it before we got there and nothing we experienced changed his mind. To the contrary, the campus is gorgeous, the staff and students excellent hosts and the facilities, well, flat out amazing. T.Boone Pickens, oil billionaire, is an alum of O.S.U. and has dug deep in his pockets to support his alma mater. One of the tour highlights is the football stadium. Seating 60,000 plus, this is exactly what he was looking for; the quintessential college experience. Huge crowds, a winning team, marching band and all.

The trip was a total success, and academically, it works very well, acceptance seems likely and the costs; well let's just say we can get it done. Gulp. At years end we were able to watch the OSU Cowboys win over Stanford in an absolutely crazy overtime game. He didn't just enjoy that game. He climbed right on in; might as well have been there. Just over a year, one last year, then off to college he goes, I'll be sad to see him go, but I am so proud that he is ready.


I'm in Tune....

6/23/2011

 
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I was out in the driveway today working on an enclosed trailer we use for hauling dirt bikes. It was time to finally put in those fluorescent lights I have been promising my son for so long. Like most projects, I was getting totally wrapped up in my work. It’s almost a zen state; at one with the task at hand; the clock irrelevant. What’s the next step, ah, there is just the tool I need. The radio is blasting my favorite classic rock station and I am “right in tune” to the strains of The Who singing “teenage wasteland”. The smell of fresh cut grass fills the air, along with that musty dampness that follows a couple of days of uninterrupted rain. The sun peeks out now and then. Then it hits me, what am I now, fifty seven? Hmmmm, what’s the deal? I remember days just like this when I was in my teens; loving my music, engrossed in what I was doing, my mind lost in the combination. I don’t really feel any different now than I did then. Seriously; and yes, I know the bones creak a bit, and I sure get sore more quickly, but at the core of it, I really feel the same. Just as focused, just as into the music. The work, the sights, the sounds, the smells, and most importantly how I feel at the moment… all pretty much the same. So there it is, I’m in tune, right in tune, just like I have been for a very, very long time.


Here Comes the Sun

5/6/2011

 
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In the sixties, the Beatles sang: “Here Comes the SUN.” I am happy to say that after “a long cold lonely winter,” that the sun has indeed arrived. After months of pining (and yes I have to admit, whining), the SUN has finally arrived. The grass is green, the buds on the trees are beginning to open, and the birds sing endlessly from dawn to dusk. Best of all, the temperatures up here on the frozen tundra of northern Wisconsin have finally risen to the point of opening the doors and windows. Ah, the sweet delight of a home filled with fresh spring air. As much as the winter wears me down more with each passing year, the blossoming of spring can only be truly experienced if you have suffered through that “long cold lonely winter.” The longer and colder the winter; the sweeter the spring that follows. It snowed a few last flakes here, just this past Sunday, but today, ah, today; sun, birds, green grass, and lovely fresh spring air.

There is such a feeling of exhilaration when you step outside on these early spring mornings, the smells, the sounds, and that lovely warmth of the sun, high in the sky. The end of the school year is only a few weeks off, and although it was a bit frosty, we have already enjoyed our first camping trip of the season. Summer trips, hikes in the woods, holiday weekends and barbecues, lie ahead . Our enjoyment is all the sweeter, knowing as we do, that winter follows. We have to grab our warm, wonderful spring and summer and squeeze everything out of it. Up here, we don’t take a lovely day for granted, we bask in it, we cherish it, and we remember it fondly during the following winter.

IT\'S COLD INSIDE

4/15/2011

 
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Recently I shared, “I got the fever.” Now the tables are turned. The fever has been replaced by a big chill, a chill that has shaken me to the core. Let me explain. There are five of us in our family: Me, my wife Deb, Our Daughters Anika and Alyssa, and our son Erik. Just a couple weeks ago, we celebrated our 25th anniversary and on that occasion I took time to reflect on the past quarter-century.

I realized quickly that we are very near the end of the road of raising kids, at least in the traditional sense. I know that you never really retire from being “Mom” or “Dad.” I get that, I really do. However, our oldest, Anika, is almost done with college and has a great career already in the works. She is done in one month. Alyssa, second born has been back at home for a while, but has plans to move soon. Last but not least, Erik our youngest and “trailer child” is sixteen. He is working two part time jobs and as a sophomore, will be done with high school in two short years. They drive, they work, they have relationships; in short, their lives are busy and full. As for Deb and I, the empty nest is imminent, lurking around the corner like a cold dark storm, ready to sweep in and chill us to the bone.

There is such satisfaction in seeing our chldren move through life, sharing their hurt and pain, reveling in their successes. It’s been that way for the past twenty five years, but not for much longer. This impending change is a big one.  I long for those years when the kids were younger, and I was less gray. So here I am, feeling a bit cold and lonely. As with all change, the future will bring us wonderful things: trips to visit our children, and someday, grandchildren. “Good night honey.” “Goodnight daddy, I love you.” “I love you too honey, I love you too.”

Fred

3/6/2011

 
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I grew up in a close-in suburb of Chicago. That being said, there wasn't a lot of personal touch when you went shopping. Even at the smaller stores, it was rare that you were remembered. I moved a number of times and my family and I ended up in a smallish college town; twelve thousand people, and a main street that rivals Bedford Falls for aw shucks quaintness. We had a home built here, so long before moving in, I had to find the local hardware store. There are two in town, and the one nearest to us is Lund's.
The first time I stopped in to Lund's, I entered a typical small town hardware store. The entire place is the size of a department at a big box store. The prices may not be as low, but you can get in and out, and not drive a twenty mile round trip. Now that alone would be enough to bring me in fairly often. Then I met Fred.
Moments after I entered I was met eye to eye by a warm gentle man, hand extended; "hello, I'm Fred, can I help you?" "yes" I answered; and within five minutes, Fred had extracted my name, occupation, names of my wife, our three children, hobbies, and a fair bit of family history. As I left that first day, he made sure to be near enough to the door to bid me "thanks Doug." By the time we were done with our part of the sweat equity on our new home, I had been into Lund's dozens of times. Each time, Fred would acknowledge me with a warm greeting and ask a few questions about my clan. I observed other new residents, first time visitors to Lund's, and watched as Fred drew them out, welcoming them to his family of customers.
Through good times and bad, Fred, ever present, would help me find what I needed and if I was in a rough patch, would provide a patient listening ear. I don't remember of the now hundreds of visits to Lund's more than a hand full of times that Fred was not present. His staff is well trained, patient and polite, but Fred is the heart and soul of the operation, and for that matter a significant bit of the heart and soul of our little town. He is the only Dad I have ever seen outside throughout Halloween evening, greeting and engaging every trick-or-treater as they approached his home.
Every visit to Lund's Fred learned a bit more about me and my family, and always asked for updates on the latest goings on. Going to Lund's I would forget the stubborn broken bolt, or maddening problem with a leaky pipe, and instead, look forward to those few quiet moments with Fred.
At my sarcastic worst, I have said that every history museum in every city will soon be adding two wings: Customer Service and Common Sense, this because both will soon be "extinct" in the real world. Ah well, Fred to the rescue on that one, proving me wrong. Thanks Fred.

I GOT THE FEVER

2/11/2011

 
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  There are 365 days in a year. We are taught from a tender age, that the year is split into four roughly equal parts: Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Now there are parts of the world where this holds true. The north central  portion of the United States is exempt from this however.

No, we do not get to enjoy 90 day slices of seasonal variety, no gentle transitions through the four seasons, no easy enjoyment of the freshness of Spring after a tolerably short Winter, not here, not up in the Northland, oh no, we have two seasons; winter and construction.

You think I exaggerate? Hardly. This year the snow hit before thanksgiving, and pretty hard at that. We have had snow after snow, with barely a three day break without at least a dusting.

And cold? Where do I begin? Real temps in the -20 to -30 range with wind chills that just sound ridiculous. Did I mention wind? Lots of wind, bone chilling frostbite and die wind.

Up here we can expect the average winter to end sometime around April 15th. We have experienced blizzards as late as early  April. The worst year, we had a blizzard on Halloween, then to add insult to injury, March is traditionally our heaviest snow month. Really, I’m not kidding.

Just imagine the unbounding joy of a winter that begins on October 31st, and continues till tax day. 5 1/2 months.

Cabin Fever, Snow Fever, Spring Fever. . . I got it all!! Around mid-February, depression sets in. It’s still dark fully half of the day, cold, bleak frozen, and almost perpetually gray when it’s not dark. We do get some sun, but at a price. The price? You guessed it, those lovely bone chilling temps I mentioned before. Yesterday, February 10th, we awoke to a delightful 21 degrees below zero. I got the fever baby, I got the fever.

Now for the second part of life up North, our other season: CONSTRUCTION. This year, even with the early snow and intense cold, projects were not fully wrapped up until about December 7th. With today’s modern construction techniques, they work well into the cold, and you guessed it! Start very early, as in even before winter “ends” on March 20th.

During our relentless winter, the season to follow is never out of mind, or for that matter, out of sight. Construction season is so long, that on the largest projects, they leave the equipment out, poised and ready for another 7 month assault of traffic delays and detours.

There they sit, dark looming shadows, you see them in the distance as you draw near, like characters from the latest Transformers film, waiting to whir to life and pounce. The seemingly endless delays and detours are heralded months before they start, by orange signs telling you when the misery begins, and how incredibly long it is going to last. The signs should be going up any day now. Roads that were repaired a few short years ago will be torn up, rebuilt, and in another few years, rebuilt again.

Throughout Europe and the British Isles, there are Roman roads that are still in use, two thousand years after they were built. Why can’t we get a road to last for fifty, or even twenty?

Well, I have a few scant weeks to ponder that fact, sullen, depressed and wan, as I await the end of winter and the signs of the next season: DETOUR AHEAD.

IT\'S THAT MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR...

12/23/2010

 
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December 23rd, almost time for Scrooge to be visited by the three spirits. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day mean many things to many people. Many who rarely attend church celebrate the season with purpose and fervor rivaling anything else they do the rest of the year. There is just something about it; the hustle and bustle of last minute shopping, and preparation for the feasts that will be laid out for family in the days ahead. When all is said and done, there will even be enough time to sit back and read through this year’s Christmas Cards, marveling at how tall the young ones have gotten as the old ones have become a bit grayer.

Even those serving the rest of us in the stores and shops seem to smile a bit brighter, unwearied by the long hours and the endless press of customers. We are all a bit like Scrooge on that Christmas morning; the time of the year, the Day itself, put in us Joy that we cannot seem to quite muster at any other time.

When we have passed through our youthful days of ripping the paper from our presents, greedily rushing through to be sure that every Christmas wish has been fulfilled, we are left with the rest, the important part: Time with family and friends; a meal shared, laughter, talk, and family games.

When we gather, we see the changes in each of us, the young ones who now open their presents more slowly and deliberately, those celebrating their very first Christmas, children now grown becoming what they were meant to be as they move into adulthood, and the oldest moving a bit slower each year. We laugh, we pray, we share our feast and at the heart of it all, the Christmas Story; the very first Christmas, the beginning of it all. The Christmas message creeps into our hearts; that child, born so long ago, born for us, to save us all. He who lived His life with Joy in His heart every moment, joy and abiding love for us all. Merry Christmas everyone, Merry Christmas.

RESPECT YOUR ELDERS

12/19/2010

 
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As a child of the sixties, I was, as were most, sucked into the counter-culture. I didn’t fall irrevocably into that endless pit of quicksand, but for a time, I “checked out” of mainstream America. A major part of the “movement” was to disregard all that our elders had to teach us.

Our government, our parents, tried and true institutions that were the foundation of our society were ignored and in some quarters, reviled. They had been defined as “the system,” the enemy. We, trapped within the confines of our tiny inexperienced and undeveloped minds, were sure that we had all the answers; how wrong, how sad. What a waste of a generation.

I have finally reached that point in life where I get it. It being why one should respect their elders; the truth in the concept is evident in virtually all tribal cultures to this day, and was until the sixties, practiced in western society. As I talk with my two now adult daughters and my teenage son, I am amazed at how few questions they ask fall out of the scope of my knowledge and experience. The tables are turned, I am now a member of that “older” generation; one of those that historically earned the respect of those younger.

The dictionary definition of WISDOM is: 1. The ability to discern or judge what is true, right, or lasting; insight. 2. Common sense; good judgment. 3a. The sum of learning through the ages; knowledge. b. Wise teachings of the ancient sages.

I think they dig a little too deep on that one. My definition of wisdom is simple and to the point:

                “Wisdom is knowledge gained through observation and experience.”

A lot of the wisdom I have gained can be expressed in a few short phrases:

“Screw me once, shame on you, screw me twice, shame on me.”

“Assume nothing, trust no one, not even yourself.”

“That which does not kill you makes you stronger.” Nietzsche (very old, but very true)

“I hear, I forget; I see, I remember; I experience and I understand.” Confucius

“Life is what you make it.” Art Erickson (my father in law)

“You are above average, you can achieve whatever you want.” My dad, and most dads

The part I really didn’t get about respecting your elders when I was young, is that a lot of that knowledge gained comes at a price: Grief, pain, loss and at times, suffering.

Part two of the price is aging; that slow process of decline in vision, hearing, strength and health. I am still young enough that I am in pretty good shape, but the word “arthritis” has become part of my daily vocabulary.

So in the long and the short of it here is the message: My generation squandered the opportunity to learn from the wisdom of others, we forged ahead, often recklessly, without the benefit of the experienced guiding hands of those who had lived before us. What fools we were. It took a long time to unlearn those lessons of the sixties and come to this simple undying truth:

“Respect your elders; they have for you a wealth of knowledge, respect and love. Through you they achieve immortality as they impart those precious bits of themselves to you.”

So sorry for the long delay dad, but I get it now. I finally get it.

Too Many Cooks? NOT!!

11/24/2010

 
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Yes it’s that time of the year. Turkey Day, Thanksgiving, That one day of the year that we gorge ourselves on the traditional feast. Front and Center: The Bird!! The American tradition is of course, Turkey dinner with all the trimmings. The list, to be complete, must include: Turkey, Dressing, Mashed Pototatoes and Cranberries. Now from that basic list things get interesting depending on where in this great land you live and of course your own family traditions.

In the South for example, cornbread dressing, greens and more. In our neck of the woods, the upper Midwest, the dressing is a traditional stuffing seasoned with saqe, and we all seem to also add some form of yams or sweet potatoes as well. Our family also holds to a pretty common tradition of the classic green bean casserole: French cut canned green beans mixed with Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup and topped with Durkee’s fried onions.

Many families, ours included, like to add some of their own special dishes. My wife’s family is Swedish, so we always have Swedish potato sausage (if you’ve never had it, it is very good) and the classic Swedish protein, Swedish meatballs. Too many cooks? Not with a menu as large as ours, not at all. We have always followed the American tradition of Pot-Luck style. Now for Thanksgiving, pot luck is a bit of a misnomer; for most families, as with ours, this is a regimented attack on the menu as planned. All duties are doled out, such that the complete meal comes from far and wide with MANY cooks, and no duplicated dishes. One special item on our menu, a perennial favorite is corn pudding. Corn pudding? What the heck is that? Well, I had never heard of it let alone tried it until my first Thanksgiving with my wife’s family 25 years ago. Think cream corn; pudding style. Rich, warm, silky smooth and very, very tasty. Aunt Ollie was the designated cook for corn pudding for decades before I joined the clan, and she continued her duties perfectly, well into her eighties. After her passing, the corn pudding faltered a bit. A few took a stab at it, and at times the no duplicate dishes rule was violated. After a time, our niece Jenny took over and mastered this unique dish. Firm yet smooth and creamy, with the  top browned just so. Perfection in every bite. For all the plenty of this traditional day; food, family and football, it is that first mouthful of corn pudding that defines the day; the holidays are here at last. Yummmmm.

War of the Wheels

11/22/2010

 
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It has often been said that America has a "love affair" with the automobile. I would put to you that once we get behind the wheel and in traffice, love is the farthest thing from our collective minds.
The relationship between people and their cars is a lot like people and their pets. We tend to personify them and make them extensions of ourselves. Up until about a year ago I drove a full sized pick up truck full time. Then I got a job with a serious commute and it made sense to buy a nice small fuel efficient car.
I picked a Honda Fit. Not only is it small, it's design makes it look even smaller.
I was unprepared for the change in my social place on the highway as I drove my shiny new car off the dealer lot.
The first thing I noticed is that there was a sudden increase in tailgating. I mean like every car behind me. If I was in the left lane moving with prevailing traffic, I would still have someone right on my bumper. Not only that, the bigger the vehicle behind me, the more aggressive the tailgating. I didn't get it right away, you know, the thought that driving behavior changes not only based on what someone is driving, but also how they relate on the road to vehicles of different types.
I have also found that I am the target for being cut-off if leave a space between me and the car ahead more than a foot longer than the offending vehicle. I have learned to follow rather closely in rush hour traffic so as to not be passed ten times per mile.
I drive that way I always have, even in my small car, and when cut-off, I tend to return the favor. This is very interesting in that the size and value of the vehicle that has done me wrong has a great deal to do with their response to my returning the favor. Suffice it to say, when I take my little car and swing in front of the semi that just nearly ran me over and "'hit the hooks" the driver's response is to threaten to run me over with his bumper on mine, horn and bright lights flashing. In the words of Mr. Spock, "fascinating". It seems that we equate behavior on the road with the vehicle and not the person. On the highway, size does matter.
Part two of this equation is "value" as in cost of the car. How dare you drive in front of my: Lexus, Accura, Infinity, Cadillac, Beemer or Mercedes with your tiny little S__t Box!!!
The arrogance and disregard for others on the highway is almost uniform with this crowd. As though their ability to "afford" their luxury car sets them above us all, above things like using a turn signal, ever... These behaviours seem to know no racial, ethnic or gender bounds. A trucker drives like a trucker, and little cars are driven, well, like little cars. Beemer drivers are as arrogant on the road as they tend to be walking down the street. The behavior on the road is just an exagerated version of who we are. I like to guess type of vehicle a person drives. It isn't hard to get right. I'm getting pretty good at it. Timid on the street, timid on the highway, likely driving a sub-compact. Worn blue jeans, flannels and a John Deere baseball cap, semi or pick up. .
The alarming thing is that on the street or in the grocery store, we all tend to behave a lot more the same. Get out on the road and our rolling cubicles separate us from those around us. Inside those walls of anonymity we become a caricature of ourselves. The timid, are even more so. The most aggressive? Let's just say it ain't pretty.


ON THE ROAD AGAIN....

11/15/2010

 
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  My son, our youngest is taking his driver’s test in a couple of weeks. How can this be? Wasn’t the summer after sixth grade just a few months ago? “Let’s do the Time Warp Again…” Where did those years go, when he could walk under the overhang on the kitchen island without bumping his head? That wasn’t so long ago was it? “Let’s do the Time Warp Again…”

For me, as a dad, the drivers license is the defining moment; the end of dependence. Each time it’s been a bittersweet event. Pride that my child, my son has conquered this milestone, moved one large step closer to manhood, and away from childhood. That’s all good right? Yes, all good, I won’t have to drop what I’m doing at inconvenient times to drop him off, or pick him up, or run him on errands, or a thousand other things.

But now, he’ll just do all that on his own; without us, without me. It’s all a natural progression towards adulthood and complete independence. Right?

“What I’d really like Dad is to borrow the car keys. See ya later can I have them please… and the Cat’s in the Cradle….”

His life will be fuller, his independence will grow, and well, we will spend less time together. I’ll miss that. I know I will. I hope he will too.

Dazed and Confused...

11/9/2010

 
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I recently posted the following on Facebook:

ENOUGH ALREADY!! We all just listened to an entire year of political commercials..... And now it just moves to Facebook? I can TiVo the commercials away... What do you do here? Suggestions? And by the way... If you check elections for the past half a century, this country is about fifty-fifty. You’re not gonna change any minds posting the party line right or left here. Anyone wanna talk football?

A good number of folks that regularly appear on my wall have been posting all sorts of political commentary. What I find interesting in this is that their postings are usually an exact or nearly exact regurgitation of one TV or Radio personality or another. Often, they will thank some such for “revealing the Truth” about one point or another. Invariably, if you do a little REAL homework, you will find that little of what you hear anywhere from anyone is grounded in the TRUTH.

Now this isn’t a matter of taking sides or professing a particular party affiliation. No, this is simply a matter of reading, researching on government websites that by law must post the facts as they are and accepting that simple truth.

This parroting of stories without any Real knowledge has become rampant.

 It was Ben Franklin who said:
                                
                                “Believe none of what you hear, and half of what you see.”

There are no truer words for the times if you include the reading of “articles, blogs and commentaries” as that which you hear, and of course television as part of what you see.

These rigid stances based on beliefs in party line are so far from what most of us believe. If we talk, one on one, issue by issue, you will find that we agree on about eighty percent of things; eighty percent of things about which we know the hard truth.

We have become so inundated with sound bites and talking points, that we rarely look any deeper, and just take what we are fed at apparent face value. We glom onto our favorite: Columnist, blogger, anchor, commentator, or talk show host, and assume that all we see, read and hear is the truth.

Market share and ratings are what drive our “information train” these days. “The Colbert Report and the Daly Show” have become the primary news source for many of us… REALLY? You think I am kidding? Just ask around. What was once news, is about income, profitability and I repeat, ratings.

A relentless trend in all of this, is the never ending election cycle. Years ago, there was a “Campaign Season.” These seasons were one half, or even one third of what they are today. It now is literally never ending. Last week, ON ELECTION NIGHT, the jousting began. Who is presidential timber? Who will they choose for running mates? If the election (2012) were held today who would win such and such race??

For me, this says it all:

“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief…”

                                Bob Dylan – All Along the Watchtower

OMG! Another Election!!!

10/3/2010

 
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Every four years, we here in America, suffer the onslaught of information that accompanies the impending fall election. Now it seems, we are getting the same major onslaught of political ads and partisan rhetoric for this mid-term election. Now realize that this is an election for Representatives and Senators at the national level as well as local and state races. No presidential or vice-presidential candidates. That said, the commentary and commercials have been flying not only at the state and local level, but at the national level.
I will borrow a phrase from Dickens here: Bah HUMBUG!!!
I have come to realize that what we see on TV, hear on the Radio and read in our papers (the few of us that still subscribe) regarding politics is ALL so laden with slant and spin, that you just have to turn it all off. Turn it off NOW!!!
Enter Tivo. This is the coolest thing since sliced bread (whatever that means) or at least since Color TV. Here is what I suggest. Fast forward every political commercial, and use that downtime during your favorite show to do a little research on the folks who would have us hire them to run our country. Don't forget that not-so-small fact. These would be "leaders" of the free world, work for us. So let's act like bosses. Would you hire someone to babysit your kids without checking them out thoroughly, or at least getting awesome references form a trusted friend? Of course not. You and I exercise due diligence in our private and business lives, but when faced with the most important duty of any citizen of this great nation, we defer to Madison Avenue blather.
So, if you don't have Tivo, get it. Then you have no excuse for voting without good information. We are so quick to say "I just don't have time for that." "I trust so-and-so the news anchor..."" REALLY?
Would you trust them to pick your babysitter? I thought not. Lots is at stake in any election. Don't just show up and vote based on the mutual mud slinging and misdirection, rather, inform yourself. Find out how these people vote on issues important to you. This info is available on all sorts of site, like the congressional record.
A side benefit to Tivo... NO MORE GEICO COMMERICALS!!!

The REAL World’s Greatest DADS

6/21/2010

 
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Another Father’s Day has just passed, the day when all of us who have the name DAD receive gifts and cards from our children. On this day the focus is on us and the accolades are heaped upon us, often in the guise of baseball hats and tee-shirts emblazoned with slogans like “World’s Greatest DAD”.

On this, our one special day, we bask in all the attention and love, thinking that we have been “pretty good dads”. Few of us would dare to think we are the greatest or the best. I myself often feel I have fallen short. There never seems to be enough time for each child, and work, and church, and chores, and projects… You get the picture.

I myself have tried to put my children first, embracing their hobbies and sports and whenever possible, doing things together as a family. With three children, two grown and gone, the last in high school. I can look back on good times and bad. I have my regrets as do we all. Harsh words spoken, moments we missed due to scheduling conflicts and travel.

Every Father’s Day, I think of those DADS that have been so selfless, so strong, and so brave. They do deserve the title World’s Greatest Dad. This past year I have traveled extensively. Whenever I meet our brave service men and women I thank them for their service. Many of them have children; Mom or Dad, halfway around the world, battling for freedom, heroes all.

This year three days before Father’s Day the following occurred in Wadena, a small town in rural Minnesota; a father there was concerned about the bad weather and the safety of his daughter. He owned a small business and it was his day off. His daughter was running the store that day. He stopped in several times to check on her as the weather worsened, just as a good worrisome father is expected to do. His last visit, sirens blaring he rushed into the store, moments ahead of a terrible tornado. He guided his daughter and the one patron present into the cooler and covered them with his own body. They both survived. He did not. The greatest gift a father could give to his child, his life, willingly given for theirs. We would all hope that if faced with similar circumstances we would act in kind. I pray that day never comes, but that I will be ready if it does. In the midst of their loss and grief, his daughter and his entire family, so sad for his passing, must be so proud of his gift of life, his ultimate sacrifice.  A true hero, a true World’s Greatest DAD.

My Earth Day

6/10/2010

 
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Earth Day was recently in the news as we passed yet another anniversary. The first Earth Day is spoken of with reverence; as though it was the first time that mankind grasped the nature of our planet and our tenuous existence upon it. The notion that there was no awareness before this first great day seems a bit ridiculous to me.

I remember with extreme clarity, a day in third grade in 1963. This was years before the first Earth Day. The teacher was talking about natural resources, you know, one of those topics that are listed when you look up the basic stats of any country along with population, terrain, climates etc. This particular day we were talking about natural resources around the world and how the United States had an abundance of many things that were scarce in other parts of the world, Gold, Silver, Copper and Iron Ore to name a few. As she spoke, I remember this bad feeling coming over me, a feeling of foreboding and ill. Much as if your mom had announced her impending arrival to your room to check that you had tidied up and made your bed, when indeed you had not.

We had terrariums in most of our classrooms back then and the teachers had explained to us that it was a closed system. One of them actually had a lizard inside to balance the oxygen and carbon dioxide so that it could be truly sealed. Our earth is no different, just a matter of scale. My eight year old brain grasped this instantly. As she talked about our use of natural resources I was overwhelmed with one distinct thought: The Earth is a closed system and we will eventually run out of all of it.

The word that should be in front of all natural resources is limited. None are limitless save the air we breathe and the water we drink, going through their endless natural cycles, oxygen to C02 and back again. Water on the ground or in our oceans and lakes, into us, animals and plants, then out again and back to the sky, over and over.

At this tender age and every day since, I think how we must be good stewards of this planet. We have all seen the slogan “Save the Planet”. This is really a misnomer, the planet will survive. If we blew ourselves up today, the Earth would be here until consumed by our Sun when it goes nova millions of years from now. What the slogan should be is “Save Life”. That is the real focus here, how we use those resources, how we care for the fragile ecosystems that make up this giant blue marble, this largest of terrariums, hurtling through space.

I have to admit that the feelings on that first day, that epiphany of understanding of our world and its limits, have diminished greatly since that day. That was my first Earth day. No marching, no angry talk. Just a profound sadness over the fact that we aren’t doing a very good job as stewards of our planet.

The current disaster in the gulf is the first time that my feelings have returned to what they were that day in third grade. How is it that the most powerful nation on earth can’t plug a hole in a pipe less than two feet across? That this has continued to spew, unabated this long is unconscionable. Where is the Army Corp of Engineers, where is the outcry and the effort to fix this and fix it now? All I see is talking heads on both sides pointing fingers. We need to put all possible effort into this and find a quick and complete solution and we need to do it now.

We Got A Raise!!!

5/14/2010

 
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It seems of late that wherever you turn, the phrase “in this economy” comes up. Glad to hear your busy “in this economy ”we say to the local merchant. We hear and see constant reminders of the high unemployment and uncertainty of the times. This focus on belt tightening and tough times got me to thinking about the first few years of marriage.

We waited a bit longer than some. I was 32. Seems so young now, looking back, but at the time it seemed I had waited till my life was half over to get started with marriage and kids.

Once we got married we didn’t wait long for kids and not only that, we had the first two, the girls, fourteen months apart. My wife worked part time so that she could spend a good amount of her time at home with the kids. Lean times back then. We really had to watch what we spent. I had no idea how expensive kids are. In the brief period of our marriage before the little ones arrived, we would go to a high end grocery store near us and buy all sorts of exotic goodies for a home made gourmet meal. Dining out was a regular habit.

Then things changed, drastically changed. The first thing to go is sleep, but that is a topic for another time. The second thing is money. Diapers wipes and formula were near the top of our list of monthly expenses. With one, it was a bit of an ouch, but of course as they grow, they eat more, hence, more formula and well, more diapers too and let’s not forget wipes, powder, zinc oxide and  the clothes that last for 30-60 days. The worst of it was when we had two in diapers and drinking formula at the same time. The cost of diapers and formula for each was the equivalent of a four-pack-a-day smoker chuggin’ down a half a bottle of Black Jack a day. They grew, they ate more and more. It seemed as though you could almost hear the sucking sound as the money left my wallet each time I stepped into the infant aisle at Target to restock on formula and diapers. Let’s not forget you had to lug this stuff around with you all the time, everywhere you went. To the store, church, daycare, playdates. My life revolved around formula and diapers. Livin’ the dream man, livin’ the dream. As with all things, you adjust and become accustomed to circumstances and life goes on.

But then it happened, I knew it was coming, but I hadn’t thought about the impact, the import of this moment, this life changing event. Our first child weaned off formula! We had just gotten a raise! This was an epic moment and an epiphany all at the same time. Not only was this a sizeable raise (reduction of expense to be honest) but it was only the first of four. Remember, we had two on formula and in diapers at the same time. Two to wean off diapers, two to potty train! This drain on the budget, this devouring expense was going to end! I could see the light at the end of the tunnel! I didn’t hear choirs of angels but it was close. Sure enough, time passed and we got another raise, and another, and another. With these historic changes came other benefits. I no longer walked like a hunchback with two girls in my arms and a diaper bag over one shoulder. They walked, they talked, they ate the same food we ate. But alas, the raises were short lived. Soon we discovered sports, and dancing, and gymnastics. Sigh, it was good while it lasted but at least we were done with diapers and formula! Or so I thought. I’m Pregnant! She said. My fortieth birthday present.

"One Heckuva Run"

4/19/2010

 
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Precious, fragile, fleeting, and way too short. Life. Your born, you grow, you have your own children, they grow and on and on it goes. We have our triumphs and failures, our pains and pleasures. Neither wealth or position can slow or change this inexorable process. Life itself is what we all have in common. Seasons, holidays, births, graduations and yes, the end. Death. It’s the end of the road for us all. No escape, no pardon.

We were planning to all head out to the track this weekend, me my wife and my son. Another weekend of motocross; out camping and visiting with our part time neighbors. The phone rang mid week. My wife answered. It was her child hood friend. She had married my wife’s cousin and like us, their three children are pretty much grown. She had some bad news. Her grandmother had passed away. Ninety seven years old. I remember seeing her in recent years. Bright eyed, clear headed and well spoken and yet when at ninety seven someone dies we just accept it. In fact when someone makes it into their nineties we tend to say things like “she had a heckuva run”. No disrespect intended, rather simply a factual statement of how we feel. A long life, well lived is a heckuva run. We accept this passing as a natural step. We don’t feel the same though when the young are taken.

My son and I got to the track and unloaded the trailer. We were talking to our friends who were wondering where my wife was and if she was coming. “She had a funeral to go to.” A few words were exchanged about who, how old, etc. and on to other topics. It was a beautiful spring day, fresh crisp air and warm sunshine. The hustle of morning preparations in the “pits” as everyone worked to prepare their machines for the day’s riding. We hadn’t been there long when we heard the news. It was about one of the riders we regularly see at the track. Three of his high school friends had been in a crash that very morning. One was killed and another was in critical condition after a life flight. More word as the day passed. The second boy didn’t make it. He was the rider’s cousin. It was prom night for their small school. A class of eighty students, now seventy eight. One of the young riders friends balked at the news; “No way, you’ve got to be kidding” we just can’t take it in when the young leave us, suddenly or not. 

Now of course when I was that age, I was just as incredulous. After all, we were the new young generation, indestructible, immortal. At the end of a long hot day, late in my senior year of high school I plopped into my seat at my last period class. Red faced and drenched in sweat. No air conditioning and I had just left gym class at the far end of the building. A good number of us had just come from gym, disheveled and half dressed with shirt tails out, hair still wet and uncombed. Mr. Desenfants sat on the front edge of his desk, lessons open behind him. The bell rang and the last few students took their seats. He looked across the room, smiled, shook his head and turned to close up his lesson book. “I don’t think we’re going to get much learning done today” he said. What followed was a rare experience. A full period of wide ranging conversation from how wonder bread is viewed in Europe as “air that has been taught to stand up” to the meaning and value and tenuous nature of life. He got us on that last one. “Do you all realize” he asked “that it is likely that one or more of your graduating class will not make it to the end of the year?" Silence, gasps, wide eyes. What was he talking about? C’mon, we are the new generation, invincible, immortal. A very interesting and sobering class period. He was right. Painfully right. I don’t recall the exact number any more, seven I think, did not make it to graduation. One was a friend of mine. By her own hand. Suicide. I could not grasp it. Dead, gone. Forever. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those folks who can’t handle funerals. My grandmother was one of thirteen children. I was fine with funerals. Friends, classmates, different story altogether. Losing a friend, someone so close, so young. Beyond comprehension. I think of that day with Mr. Desenfants often. Pretty much whenever someone young leaves us. 

My son and I spoke about it on our way home. How tough it was going to be for those kids, that entire school. Prom night. Two of their class. Tough stuff. A real eye opener for my son. For me as for all of us, that profound sadness when we see a life cut short. These moments always make me think of my children. How I want to continue to protect them from the world. An unrealistic goal for sure; to live life it has to be well, lived. There was a commercial on the news tonight. I don’t even remember what the pitch was for, but it showed a hockey player getting a phone call on the bench. At “MOM’s” request, he sang “itsy bitsy spider” for his little girl. His friends laughed as he turned and saw them in embarrassment. But did he really care? Of course not. One thing we do know about this life is that friends and family are what make it worth living. Our children are number one, what really drives us. Feed them, clothe them, put a roof over their heads and in my case, play them Brahm’s Lullably on the piano as they fell asleep. I know that as with all of us, my children too will leave this life one day, I can only hope and pray that it is after “a heckuva run” for each of them. 

The Man Card

4/12/2010

 
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  By D.A.D.

 

The other day Anika reminded me that I had been using the term “Man Card” for quite a few years. The context is very important. I have almost always used the term in a humorous and somewhat sarcastic manner. “That guy doesn’t have a clue…they should take away his Man Card”.
So, what exactly do I mean by Man Card? You must have a bit of a glimmer from the line above. Let me give a better example. Anika had met a strong strapping young man in his mid-twenties. He had volunteered to help her move and did a fine job with the heavy lifting, quite literally. However things took a bad turn when it was time to get the new place set up.
She asked him to hang a curtain rod. This has to be one of the simplest tasks you can imagine. An electric drill, a tape measure, a pencil screws and anchors and you’re done in a jiffy. As in like five minutes. It is the simplest of tasks that a man with any mechanical abilities should be able to perform. He did not have a clue. Did not even try. I would have to guess that McGyver was not one of his favorite shows.

The parade of young men that have vied for my daughters attentions rarely deserve to hold a Man Card. What the heck is up? Did they take shop class out of the schools? Nope, both girls and recently my son the freshman all brought home well crafted projects. My girls and my boy get this. How is it then that so many young men out there are clueless when it comes to the skills that would earn them a Man Card? You doubt my concern? Okay, here’s a clue, Cup-Stacking is now considered a sport, no really, I’m not kidding, they teach this in Middle School Gym class. If your child is a national level competing Cup-Stacker, I make no apologies, not even to you. Cup Stacking, not cool. Lacking basic man skills, way not cool. So seriously, how did it come to this, so many men in the current generation so undeserving of a Man Card? Ready for this? Our generation has made it way to easy for our kids. Hire the carpenter while we take Billy to the Cup Stacking competition instead of Father and Son working on a project together. Many schools have dropped wrestling, gymnastics and other sports. Working with your hands is not respected any more. How many plumbers, electricians and carpenters are doing better financially than their white collar counterparts? Many, trust me on this, many.  We have had this shift of thinking that somehow actually doing things is, beneath us, a less than desirable pursuit. This spells trouble, serious trouble.

Now realize there are other qualifications and disqualifications for a Man Card. Being a bully, no card, never ever ever. Being rude and disrespectful to women. Definitely no card and a nice long session out back of the wood shed is in order. Being polite and respectful to your peers and elders, bingo, good points towards your Man Card. Treating a woman with kindness and respect; ah you’re catching on, Major Points for the card. So here’s the deal Mom and Dad, take a pass on the Cup-Stacking, get the little guy working with some tools and teach him manners. My son knows the only things that might ever make me raise a hand to him are being a bully, or in any way hurting a woman. Kind of old fashioned I know, but honestly, he knows I will never raise my hand to him. The good news though, I'll never have to face that dilemma. Yup, he’s earned his Man Card.

She’s Leaving Home, bye bye…

4/12/2010

 
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By D.A.D.

The empty nest; all parents joke about it, hey they’re gone! Hurray! Sleep, privacy, a clean house, all those things we have been missing for so long. We’re sure it will be new found FREEDOM.

Our second child my daughter, left for an overseas trip the other day. Six months she’ll be gone, after living with us at home again for the past year and a half. We all have our ups and downs, our points of contention, but gone is gone. I have to admit that although I’ve been through this so many times in the past; trips to camp, off to college and the dorm, school in another country, etc. I always find myself aching with a sense of loss, each and every time.

Anika has been on her own for a while and when she hasn’t visited for a time, it’s kind of like we all need a fix, as though we’re slipping out of control until we connect again. The frequency of phone calls outbound and inbound seems to increase as the time since that last visit falls further into the past. The same happens with her sister when she is gone. She has planned this departure for some time, but still, the ache is there. It’s like I wasn’t ready. Just like every time before.

This is the first time that both girls have been a good distance from home at the same time. Our nest is now two-thirds empty. Little brother remains, a freshman in High School. I thought today about his future, when he will be off on his own. His sports put us on the road together week-end after week-end much of the year. It’s a rare thing for Mom, Dad and son to spend so much time together. I cherish it, because I know that it will end sooner rather than later. The completely empty home, I know it’s inevitable, but I am not eager for that day to come.

Mud and Letters

4/5/2010

 
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Being a Dad has its challenges and rewards. The rewards come in many forms: “Thanks Dad”, “I love you Dad” are a couple of the good ones. Seeing your children grow into adulthood, making good choices (better than mine!) is one of the best. My son has grown to what must be near his full height in the past year, just about eye-to-eye with me. He has chosen without our prodding to be involved in sports for many years. He is now a bit over fifteen and has played soccer, football and basketball. He also began wrestling, again his own choice in 7th grade and has continued, just recently finishing the season as a freshman in High School. 

His real love though, is motocross. If you are not familiar with this sport, let me just say that I will get much deeper into the world of motocross in the future. For now, just know that it is at the core, hard riding on fast motorcycles on very challenging dirt tracks with turns bumps and jumps that seem impossible.  Again, this was his idea, not ours. He came home one day asking to go to a race with a friend to “watch”. Watching motocross racing is the first step. The next step is to join in. He has been racing now since age eleven and loves it as much as one can love a sport. On my end, I have to say it is a wonderful group of sons and daughters with very fine parents. Yes I said sons and daughters. Smoke, oil, speed and horsepower are not only for the male of the species. We head to the track nearly every weekend from the first of April through mid October. This past weekend we were at a track in the middle of Missouri (about 500 miles from home) to watch my son compete in what is a qualifying round for a National Amateur Championship. 

The riding has become his total passion, with the desire to pursue it on a professional level. You will never know what you can achieve if you don’t try. It is my job as Dad, to support my children in their efforts. The event was three days: Practice all day Friday and races on both Saturday and Sunday. The weather was great on Friday and Saturday. Sunday however was a different matter entirely. In a few words let’s just say, big ugly mud pit. After two days of glorious riding Sunday arrived. The rain had started in the evening after racing on Saturday and lasted for a good number of hours. The “dirt” at this particular track that Sunday morning was pretty much adobe. You know the stuff they used to build houses for the past few millennia. Clay and straw. Add water and you have what strongly resembles concrete.  Get the picture? Ten minutes on the track followed by up to an hour of aggressive power washing. What fun! It was even worse than that with races so close we could barely remove enough mud to make the bike rideable.

Our whole family teamed together between races to get him ready for the next one, urging him on to tough it out. Mud is his sworn enemy, his nemesis, that which sucks all the fun out of racing. It is so, only if you let it be. Until Sunday this was the case. Then it happened. He came off of the track after the first race coated from head to toe. I was ready for the onslaught: “This sucks! What’s the point? You can’t ride in this!”etc., etc., etc. The usual litany we have experienced in all years past. This time was different, way different. He came off like a prize fighter after a beating of a round. Tired and worn, but head held high, ready to steel himself for the battle of the next round. We scrambled like a pit crew to get him and his bike ready. Clean goggles and shirt, as much mud as possible off of the bike and that most important thing the fighter gets in the corner between rounds, those words of encouragement and strategy; From me, from dad, there in his corner. You can’t plan those moments, they just happen. He needed to ride feet on the pegs, standing to better handle the corners. He already knew this as the fighter knows his long practiced technique. But when they stray, fighter and rider need those reminders. Off he went and around he came, standing in the turns, controlling the bike the way he never had on mud in the past. No longer the sworn enemy or nemesis, mud is now just another challenge to be beaten, beaten with calm and confidence. My son is becoming a man. If the room your are in seemed to go just a bit brighter, that is me, the proud Papa, beaming with pride. Not at what I have done, but for my son. That alone would be an excellent Dad day. But there was more to come.

Wrestler and Rider, two sports that work together like hand in glove. Both require courage, strength focus and discipline. Both are very, very hard work and they both make you stronger. Initially, my son pursued wrestling only as a way to stay in shape during the winter months to be stronger and better prepared for the coming season of motocross, but a funny thing happened along the way, he got hooked. He couldn’t go out on the mat and just go through the motions, not even in 7th grade. He was pretzled into positions that I expected would break bones, but he never quit, he always fought to the end. So it went again in 8th grade. The aggressive training and “live wrestling” was making him stronger and tougher. Along came freshman year. I wince at the mere thought, my youngest child in high school. The pangs of the soon to be empty nest are beginning to get to me already. He was excited about the new coaches, cousins who had been champions in both high school and college. The practice and training was grueling. He had a love hate relationship with the sport. The love came in not only when he won, but also when he had held his own against a tough opponent in a hard fought match. He lived for the challenge. Pre-season practice rolled into season and a spot was available for him on the Varsity roster. Freshman on Varsity. Humbling and a bit daunting to say the least. He fought hard every match and although wins were few and losses many, his coaches told he and I often that they appreciated that he wrestled with so much heart. So did I. I was in awe. Where did he get this? I have to be honest, not from me. He brought a strength and determination to the mat time after time that I could take no credit for. It was all him. Later in the season after a tough, tough schedule they moved him to JV to wrestle at the Conference Championship. At Varsity level they compete for conference, region, section and state. At the JV level, conference is far as you can go. He lost his first match and promptly told me in anger (at himself) that he should have won. Here was the fighter, between rounds. I was there in his corner and told him what he already knew: “focus! Go out there to win every match!” he did just that. He won the last four and took the title for his class. 

Several hours into our 500 mile drive home, my son commented that he was missing the wrestling awards banquet. A few minutes later as he texted with his friends at the banquet he said “I got my letter”. “Varsity letter? I said. “Yes” was the answer. We knew it was coming, but to hear it, for it to be real, at that moment, well it was the perfect end to a perfect day for this Dad. The room goes brighter still. Mud and Letters. What could be better?

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