The author is a late thirty something father and husband who's just trying to be a little better tomorrow than he was yesterday. Yes, he knows he thinks too much.
Quotations centered on the page are from the song "Everything is good for you" by Crowded House. The video can be found at the bottom of the post.
That's Him right?
"I see a man with a flag
and he leads the procession
and a woman shedding tears
for a man locked in prison..."
Some times the strangest set of random events can lead one to open a door into enlightenment. A monologue coupled with a song elicits a spark of epiphany that culminates in an ironic “Oh my God”...
Today I happened upon “Letting go of God by Julia Sweeney. If you are interested in watching it it can be found in seven parts on YouTube, here. If nothing else, I recommend it for it's quirky, honest and thought provoking content. I'll bow to Wikipedia's succinct synopsis;
'"Sweeney's third autobiographical monologue is titled Letting Go of God. In it, she discusses her Catholic upbringing, early religious ideology, and the life events and internal search that led her to believe that the universe can function on its own without a deity to preside over it. "
I was struck by how Julia's spiritual journey from a Catholic childhood toward eventual atheism mirrored my own, though to be honest these days I am have surrendered to the fact that I am at best described as a "Hopeful Agnostic Deist". If you need clarification on what that means just think "I hope but I don't know though I doubt it... maybe" and if that doesn't cut it, pick up a good bottle of single malt scotch and come on over some night.
"then the two locked eyes
and for a moment I was taken
and all paths lead
to a single conclusion..."
My biggest problem with spiritualism in general and religion specifically is not so much what I believe, but the perception that my beliefs are not welcome by those around me. Though I have spent my entire thinking life searching for the barest spark of faith via educating myself on all major world's religions, aboriginal and tribal practices along side modern physics, science and cosmology, the fact remains that I come from a Catholic family who has never made a practice of discussing religion let alone spirituality. As a member of my family once told me "You are Catholic no matter what you think. " My retort of "I'm a thinker, therefore not a Catholic." was not greeted with any kind of appreciation. To be honest, I might have been a little militant and pushy in the past when it came to trying to enlighten others. The fact is that I was jealous of anyone who could look me in the eye and say that had "faith", but oh how I love to argue... Adam Clayton of the band U2 said it best;
"There are some people who say you shouldn't mix politics and music, sports and politics. Well... I think that's kinda bullshit!"
Maybe it has something to do with maturity but I find myself less and less concerned with espousing my beliefs whether they be Political, Religious or what have you. I do get pulled in by what I believe are points of contention, inaccurate reports or vague declarations of right and wrong, but as the days go by I am less and less concerned. I'm learning to let the bait swim on by without offering so much as a nibble.
"Everything is good for you
if it doesn't kill you
everything is good for you
one man's ending
is another man's beginning
everything is good for you..."
So, I had just finished watching the monologue and I was in an unusually positive mood. I felt vindicated, yet, not spiteful in any way. Someone else felt as I did, suffered the same doubts and though we reached an ultimately different conclusion, it was similar enough to lend me some solace. I made my way into the kitchen to clean up some orphaned dishes and begin preparing dinner before the family got home. I put some old favorite songs (Recurring Dream; the very best of Crowded House)onto the kitchen iPod.As I began to unload and then reload the dishwasher, hand wash some pieces etc. the song I've been quoting throughout this post came on.As I sang the line "All paths lead to the same conclusion..." a warm feeling washed over me. It was okay to feel the way I did. I could be proud of my journey without trying to change other people's feelings (I've never really done that though I have interrogated a few believers hoping they would give up their secrets). I would not advertise my heresy, if pressed, I would merely say that I was not practicing (as I've said in the past) if pressed further I would state that my beliefs were personal. I had divested myself of the argument. I was free.
That lasted for about ten seconds. That is when the thought of my children came up. My wife and I were both raised Catholic. We have both received five of the seven sacraments save Holy Orders (six for me since I was administered Extreme Unction as an infant). I wont discuss my wife's religious proclivities but suffice to say she is far more Catholic than I. As far as introducing our children to Catholicism, we are not regular church goers. The Wife and the girls go when Grandma is town, when we are back east visiting and we attend locally on the big holidays. Rosie has attended a bible camp and will soon be starting catechism to begin her own climb up the sacramental ladder. I've always been okay with that. There has always existed a bit of a detente in regards to religion and the kids. My feelings are known by The Wife, but we have a bit of an unspoken agreement; I don't have to put too much effort toward ensuring their dogmatic indoctrination but I don't get to sabotage it either.
"It's a nightmare talking
to a restless ocean
with a reckless calm
to state their position
but if you come undone
it might just set you free..."
One thing that Julia Sweeney remarked on a couple of times in her monologue was her regret at the loss of community, sense of extended family and of shared experience by openly leaving the church (and the ensuing, but recovered from alienation of her actual family). Granted I never directly experienced those things myself I recognize that for many people they make up the vast majority of what keeps them in their respective churches. The human need to belong ranks right up near the top of the other evolutionary imperatives.
"Everything is good for you
if it doesn't kill you
everything is good for you
one man's ending
is another man's beginning..."
I don't belong. I've tried. I've bleed, sweated and cried to be a part of something I will never understand. I've prayed to God to give me the barest hint. I know who I am now and I am comfortable with that. But who am I to keep from my child the sense of community that permeates the rest of her family, friends and contemporaries? Parents can often be ideologues to a fault; "My child will not (this) like I had to!" or "I will not make my child (that) like my parents did." But in the end, whatever you keep from your child often becomes what they seek out first.
"bring back your head here comes trouble to turn me and be well cover your heart everything is good for you if it doesn't kill you."
This is where I said "Oh My God". Funny, right? I decided The Wife needs more support in helping the kids down the right path. I may not believe what they will be learning but the fact that it is as much cultural as it is dogmatic is elementary. It took me years and years even to be able to form an educated opinion and I don't blame that all on brain washing or anything like that, hell, I never paid enough attention to my teachers to be brainwashed, I was already convinced I knew everything. The Girls will form their own opinions in their own way given the evidence presented before them. As they grow my answers may become more personally honest but regardless of semantics, I'll never lie to them.
I hope you enjoy the fact that it was through my ultimate comfort in realizing my true status of infidel that led me to support my children's religious education.
A quote from one of my favorite movies mentions the smell of napalm and it's allegory in freedom...
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning... It smell's like freedom..."
(Yeah, no sh!t, that's really Robert Duvall...)
A true poet's soul would urge me to ascribe the same feral feeling to the pen or at least the pencil. If you know me I am truly torn between the pen and sword. Fact is, I think you should fight with one and write with the other... Obvious? Sure... just make sure you know what hand holds each... Scribbling on your enemy is not all that effective...
"You want the last word son? Napalm still smells good... now get me another cup 'o Joe..."
Okay... Bob Duvall 2, me, well... none. But I would like to tell you about a better quote... and why it is important to me...
Yeah, that's Bono... this means what I have to say is serious...
Am I bugging ya? I don't mean to bug ya...
I quote my Rosie...
"Mom.... ceilings must feel pretty lonely since no one watches them..."
My daughter had no idea that I had recently mentioned how 'I watched the ceiling' to describe my insomnia...
'Tis a simple thought... but she thought of my friend... the ceiling.
Surrounded by non-sequiters like that, I just have to keep writing...
[Please skip to the bottom and press play on the video, then read along]
To say that raising kids is a learning experience is to state the obvious. To further state that all kids are different, require different parenting styles and react differently to different stimuli, well... that is raising the duh factor to a new level. Kids are themselves learning how to react to the world. Something that scares a child one day might delight them the next. A favorite food which they must eat as often as possible might be deemed "Yucky" without warning and banished from their culinary lexicon. Children are as complicated as they are fascinating, but with time and the proper tools (Patience and Observation to start) they can be easily civilized or at least tamed enough to mix with the general population.
Right?
I mean, hey, that was wisdom! Granted obvious wisdom, but come on, easy as one two three right? End of article... chalk one in the win column. That was what? One paragraph? A couple hundred words? Let's start printing it on diaper packages and we will all sleep a little better at night (or at least have quieter airplane rides). No charge...
But it's not that easy is it? I mean, even if you get your child figured out, learn their triggers, devise appropriate coping strategies and most importantly learn the difference between discipline and punishment... what was that you say? They are the same thing? I beg to differ.
Soap Box Side Note:
Discipline is a tool that teaches accountability and can breed confidence as well as moral fiber. Punishment is well... a show of power manifested as anger; a vain attempt at pay-back for a slight committed... in this case by a child.
From Merriam Webster; Discipline:
"training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character"
From Merriam Webster; Punishment:
"suffering, pain, or loss that serves as retribution "
The same? No way, no how.
End Side Note.
So, let's say you've got all your chops down. You can handle crying, you understand that sometimes a child just needs to express the feelings they are still learning about. Unlike us silly adults they haven't learned how to bottle it up and deal with it at the gym, with a glass of wine, on the golf course or through our favorite past time... blame. You pick your battles, you're firm but fair, you keep your word. You teach them to keep theirs. Etc...
There is one variable that you may not have mastered (one that I have not mastered)... Yourself.
As I may may mentioned in passing before, my job requires that I maintain a level of professionalism beyond reproach. At times I must be a hard disciplinarian to wild young men under very stressful situations. At others, counselor, father, protector or dare I say friend is required. I have attained the rank and been given the training to do these things and I enjoy the privilege of having the trust of my superiors to do what is needed to get my job done. I am backed by tradition, history and the honor of those who have gone before me to carry out my duties outside the bounds of written instruction, law or code.
I have remarked before to friends or family, especially those who have seen me on the job that I am a much different person in uniform as "The Chief" than I am in my personal life. I have likened donning my uniform as putting on my "Super Suit". I make no excuses, I do what needs to be done, I make things happen. I wish I could say the same in my personal life. Then again, when I am wearing my uniform people do what they are told. I have of course pondered the partitioning of personality.
Introspection:
I'll be the first person to mention that I am not perfect. I talk a good game, have a pretty good intellectual grasp of right and wrong... it's the application of those lessons that is the hard part.Tonight it was Open House at school. It was just as uncomfortable as usual and I tormented myself over my own behavior until the kids were in bed and the wife and I could debriefeach other on the evening.I thought that I had been a jerk. I thought that I was impatient. I thought that I had failed...
I had spent the entire ride home after dinner (we took separate cars) examining and condensing my feelings into a meaningful mea culpa.
I had worked out a few things, some I already knew... some that I hadn't yet put into words... They were like a puzzle... I had all the pieces, I just hadn't put them together to form a picture yet.
And then the picture was clear...
I don't like crowds
I'm uncomfortable in new social situations
Noise, especially crying and multiple voices aimed at me drive me batty
When I get 'stressed' I get hyper critical
I'm a dramatic needy b!tch
I'm sure that list could go on, I have other sensory issues but they don't impede parenting (I hate dirty hands... for example eating ribs, yeah, yeah, shut up)... but you get the picture. I felt like I had been making good headway on not letting my own feelings and failings impact my children too much... the sins of the father should not in my opinion be status quo for the daughter... But I felt like I failed tonight.
Then I got home and apologized to my wife for my behavior and did a bit of a shrug... and was told.
"I think you did great, much better than in the past, you were fine Honey..."
And suddenly I felt invigorated. Effort pays off. Not instant gratification, not perfection... but "Better than last time..."
Please pardon this rant. I was recently reminded of a challenge to my personal definition of how certain family members should be titled via a popular social networking medium. Put in plain English, I stated in a public electronic forum that certain blood relations were of a closer specified relation than blood would allow.
Why did I do this? Why would I do this?
Answered simply;
1. I did it because it was right to do.
2. I did it because I meant it.
Shall I be even more specific? Ok... I said on Facebook that my nieces were my sisters and I stand by the fact that... they are.
Being a brother, sister etc is a privilege. Not a right. Blood means that someone shared parentage, but does not ensure, engender or guarantee loyalty. This is not a hypothesis. This is not a Theory. This is a fact.
How do I know? Empirical evidence my friend. It has been proven. By action on the part of some and lack of action of others time and time again.
Family, loyalty and love are not a game. Score is not kept, tallies are not settled. Family, loyalty and love are silent wars of attrition where only those who's mettle is true and love is real survive. It is not a popularity contest.
Therefore today I step off the high road. This is not to say that I will bow to ruder tactics or nasty double entendre to seek out revenge upon those who disagree... no, I merely disavow myself of the argument.
You see, I live a professional life where thousands of men and women are my brothers and sisters. We call each other such to each others faces on a daily basis. We have bonded so via common experience, shared code and moral value. It is a choice we have made.
What I share with the young ladies in question; My sisters, is something even greater. Not only did blood, relation and circumstance push us toward another, diversity, distance and strife could not and will not keep us apart...
This is the part in the conversation where I sigh, look down at the ground and give it just one last try...
I love my sisters, these three amazing young women. I am blessed to be their brother. I dont give a good god damn what someone who doesn't understand those words thinks.
I care about My Family, a family which includes many people, blood and not... and which when examined honestly is a strong and enviable clan.
You see, Family is a privilege... not a right.
It is something you fight for, not rail against.
In the end it is not something you are born to, it is something that must be earned... and if you treat it badly and with contempt... it can be lost.
Tonight as I sat down before the keyboard intent on writing, I hit that spot I sometimes do when my want of writing is greater than my need for writing. It's times like this that I often lose momentum on a project and end up relegating it the “Visit Later” folder on the hard drive. More often than not those stories and essays languish in the lonesome dregs of the virtual desktop never to be visited again regardless of the title of the folder, almost as if they were a freshly dumped girlfriend whom I just told “Let's be friends”.
Many times when I need to write it is because I have recognized a problem and want to logic out solutions by riffing on the page. I used to write a great deal of poetry. Horrible, overly emotional self indulgent fluff (okay, it wasn't all that bad) but that stopped for the most part when I met my beautiful wife. Oh, I have had resurgences of the poetic muse, but they were when I explored technique and nearly always involved... drinking.
Why? Why did I all but give up poetry as I gave up music and song writing? Easy; because I was no longer sad, no longer wallowing in self pity. Dumb as it may sound, sometimes I'm sad that I'm not sad anymore. I've never had the ego to say that I was good, but god damnit I was prolific! Sometimes I just miss the way the words flowed from my fingers.
So tonight, as I sat here wondering what to write, I thought, well, what's on my mind?
(In no order of importance, Ladies and gentlemen your top ten!)
I'm really digging on the debut album by “Them Crooked Vultures”. ( I mean how does one go about getting John Paul Jones of Led Zep to be your bass player?)
I really enjoyed the grilled Portabellas, squash and Polenta I made for dinner.
My kids are awesome. And a pain in the ass. Sometimes an awesome pain in the ass. And I love them for it.
What's that you say? Really? Number ten? You think so? Hmmmm.... Yeah. I guess besides number five (which doesn't surprise anyone who knows her) it's the only one relevant to this blog. The title of the blog after all is “A Husband and Father” and not “Bored Dude Drinking Wine and spelling Dog backwards”.
So I guess I'll write about their awesomeness and pain in the ass-ness.
The Oldest.... Hmmm... we need new nick-names... We'll call her 'Rosie'. Well, Rosie hit an even 10.0 on the PITA (Pain In The Ass) Scale yesterday. It was just an out and out lousy day behavior wise. Wednesdays are always hard and we may have figured out why. Rosie has (we are finally admitting) some attention issues to go along with her stunning memory, intellect, creativity and ability to just well... figure shit out. Put simply she is a loud wiggle worm. Wednesdays are rough (we figured out) because;
(A) Mom picks her up early from “after school care” to take her to the sitters so she can see her friend. This means that she misses out on that extra recess that let's her get her ya-ya's out.
(B) She goes to Ballet which, though she wants to be a dancer, she just doesn't have the patience for. Add to that that her Ballet Teacher thinks that she is at Julliard and the next recital will be at the Bolshoi, well... Rosie doesn't take well to that level of seriousness... she's six years old damnit.
So the fact is, by the time she gets into our loving-just worked eight hours and am dog tired-arms she has lot's of ya-ya's... Mucho Ya-Ya's... EPIC fricken ya-ya's to get out.
So yesterday she had the privilege to go get frozen yogurt with her friends (Mom Chaperoned) after dance. Let's just say that it did not go well. Ya-yas won over. She had her first ever “Go to your room until bedtime” night. Yes, she was paroled for dinner, but it was a bare bones “eat and don't you dare laugh dinner”. There was crying, there was discussing, there was more crying... and generally, there was crying.
Today, Mom figured out the Ya-Ya connection.
So today (as we often do anyway) we had a family bike ride after work. The route is about four miles round trip over residential, city and then waterfront bike path. It doesn't take too long, today just an hour. Rosie rides her own bike (and today was especially proficient, even experimented with Standing Up and Trying to Pedal) Mom and Dad ride theirs and The Youngest... Hmm... Nick Name... 'Itty Bitty' well... she usually sits in the child seat behing Mom. She's 4 and she is (as her nick name would indicate) little. We are just a about to upgrade Rosie to a larger bike and will re-attach the training wheels and re-gift her old bike to Itty Bitty. In the meantime we have considered getting a “tag along”(the 'half bike' things that connects to the back of a big bike that the kids can peddle but not really control). I digress.
Itty Bitty should be able to get her own ya-ya's out right? Well Dad said (jokingly) that she could chase him by running after him. So, we gave it a try. Now understand something... this kid is little. We can barely force MAYBE a thousand calories into her on a good day... Getting Itty Bitty to eat anything other than cheese, chocolate, yogurt or Pediasure is neither a science nor art... it's a crap shoot.
This little girl ran. She RAN man... She must have run the equivalent of a 5k for her size. Even when she was tired she still wanted to walk and pick flowers. I took a movie of part of it. She was amazing. Just Kept Running. She even had her own little 'kick' (shout out to present or former runners).
It wasn't a perfect night. Dinner and manners and then baths etc were not perfect. But that time on the bikes (and for Itty Bitty; the open road) was awesome. All of those awesome moments, validated by knowing glances between my wife and I, those moments where we acknowledge that “We made these independent miracles before us”, they are what life is... they are why I am happy that I cannot write poetry... The muse can go to hell.
(The author would like to thank his wife, Justin Vineyards, Them Crooked Vultures, The Smiths, Incubus and Outkast for proofreading and the patience to actually link all the things he meant to when he first put fingers to keys)
A Husband and Father
