As I sat thinking about the fact that today is my daughter Melanie's 17th birthday, I was seriously about to type this sentence: "I wonder what it's like to be a fourth child."
This would be a stupid thing to type, you see, because I AM a fourth child. But really, I'm a different kind of fourth child from Melanie. I'm the baby of my family, the fourth of four, and my siblings were (are) all more than decade older than me.
I was essentially raised an only child.
Melanie, on the other hand, is the fourth of five siblings who are closer in age. She has spent her life living in the kind of chaos that reigns in households as big as ours.
She has learned to adapt, of course, but more than that, she has learned to thrive.
For a long time, Melanie was like the true baby of the family in that she was the youngest girl and, well, she just always seemed like a little kid to me.
Then one day – suddenly, shockingly – she wasn't. She was a young woman. This happened a couple of years ago and I'm still trying to get over it.
But while I stumble, she flourishes. She's an honors student who plays soccer and serves as vice president of her class. She has a boyfriend (whom I like very much) and engages in all of the activities and programs in which smart kids engage.
She's rarely the first to do anything in our house. It's hard, when your the sixth-oldest person in the family, to be truly original. But where she shines, where she's unique, is the way she pulls it all off. She has to work hard to succeed, and she does just that. Even in the things that seem to come easily to her.
And today she's 17, which is one of my favorite ages. You're not an adult, but you're also quickly leaving behind all vestiges of kid-hood. She has a lot to learn, and she has to mature as much as any 17-year-old, but it occurs to me that no matter where life takes her, she's going to be just fine.
That's as much as you can ask for as a parent. Once you know they're going to be fine, you breathe a little sigh of relief. That doesn't mean you won't worry about them. It doesn't mean they won't screw up...sometimes majorly.
But it does mean that, all things considered, you know she's going to be the kind of grown-up of whom you as a dad will be proud.
In a lot of ways, she already is.
Happy birthday, little Melanie.
Thursday, September 21, 2017
Thursday, September 7, 2017
For it's money they have and peace they lack
There is a cult within America – populated largely by white, middle-aged males, but not limited exclusively to them – that has romanticized the game of baseball beyond what it probably deserves. I am perhaps one of them, but at least I know I am one of them.
The reasons for this idolization of the sport are varied. For many, baseball was their best (and perhaps only) connection with their fathers. Addressing his dad, Sting once sang of a childhood in which "everything I did sought your attention." Many of us root for the teams our fathers rooted for because there is an indelible bond, strengthened ever further by blood, among those who live and die with the fortunes of a common athletic team.
For others, baseball represents a simpler time. In most cases, I think that simpler time for which they yearn was really no simpler than today, but it certainly seemed simpler in a pre-Internet age...and with the passing of time, of course, which tends to whitewash every flaw.
In the days before massive youth soccer leagues, baseball was the one sport in which most young men – it was softball for the girls – participated at one level or another. I played through the age of 13 until I could no longer keep up with the fastballs and had no hope of hitting a curveball. More importantly, I became a fan of the game at the age of 9 and remain one to this day.
It is a slow game, some will say, and I don't disagree with them. But "slow" does not equate with "boring." Watching a well-played baseball game is just about the best way I can think of to spend a summer afternoon, even if it takes 3+ hours to play and ends with a 2-1 score.
I bring this up because, as I type, my beloved Cleveland Indians have won an astounding 14 games in a row (the second consecutive season in which they've accomplished this feat). And tonight they go for No. 15 with ace pitcher and Cy Young Award candidate Corey Kluber on the mound.
So many people I come across these days, including my doctor as she poked and prodded me this morning as part of my annual physical, want to talk about the Tribe. Could this be their year? Will they stay healthy? What's up with Jose Ramirez's incredible bat? And his hair, for that matter?
They ask these questions with that note of restrained, even fatalistic, optimism that Cleveland sports fans have perfected. We have been burned in a variety of creatively cruel ways over the years, and there is a part of us that always assumes the worst will happen.
But the important thing is, talking about the Tribe is fun, and it makes us happy in a way. It gives us a few minutes to stop thinking about hurricanes and politics and flag protests and everything else that makes us cry and worry and act viciously toward one another.
There are poor people in this country, no doubt about that, but as comedienne Marsha Warfield said about hunger in the U.S., "It ain't but so bad." The vast majority of us have the essentials we need to live. Most have roofs over their heads and some sort of food on the table.
We have the things our wages can buy us. What we don't have, what perhaps we've never had, is peace. A sense that everything is going to be OK. Maybe that's impossible to have in this (or any) age, so we settle for small glimpses of it. We talk about the things that make us feel good and that remind us that humans have the capacity to do meaningful, inspirational things.
And I include baseball in that. It's just a game, you might say, and you're right. But it's also an escape, albeit temporary, from everything else that weighs on us. It is a way to connect to the part of our collective consciousness that shuts down in the face of worrisome news and constant conflicts and the mortality of this life.
There are bad characters in baseball as in anything. There is greed, there is selfishness, and there is cheating.
But there is also a purity and honesty and beauty there that mostly eludes us as we manage our way through the mundane details of everyday life.
It's purity, honesty and beauty that can be had for the price of a ticket, or even the click of a TV remote.
If acknowledging that simple fact constitutes over-romanticizing baseball, then I can only plead guilty.
But in the end, I'll be back season after season to watch and cheer and fret and fume. I follow other sports, but in the end, it was baseball that was my first love. And she never fails to deliver.
The reasons for this idolization of the sport are varied. For many, baseball was their best (and perhaps only) connection with their fathers. Addressing his dad, Sting once sang of a childhood in which "everything I did sought your attention." Many of us root for the teams our fathers rooted for because there is an indelible bond, strengthened ever further by blood, among those who live and die with the fortunes of a common athletic team.
For others, baseball represents a simpler time. In most cases, I think that simpler time for which they yearn was really no simpler than today, but it certainly seemed simpler in a pre-Internet age...and with the passing of time, of course, which tends to whitewash every flaw.
In the days before massive youth soccer leagues, baseball was the one sport in which most young men – it was softball for the girls – participated at one level or another. I played through the age of 13 until I could no longer keep up with the fastballs and had no hope of hitting a curveball. More importantly, I became a fan of the game at the age of 9 and remain one to this day.
It is a slow game, some will say, and I don't disagree with them. But "slow" does not equate with "boring." Watching a well-played baseball game is just about the best way I can think of to spend a summer afternoon, even if it takes 3+ hours to play and ends with a 2-1 score.
I bring this up because, as I type, my beloved Cleveland Indians have won an astounding 14 games in a row (the second consecutive season in which they've accomplished this feat). And tonight they go for No. 15 with ace pitcher and Cy Young Award candidate Corey Kluber on the mound.
So many people I come across these days, including my doctor as she poked and prodded me this morning as part of my annual physical, want to talk about the Tribe. Could this be their year? Will they stay healthy? What's up with Jose Ramirez's incredible bat? And his hair, for that matter?
They ask these questions with that note of restrained, even fatalistic, optimism that Cleveland sports fans have perfected. We have been burned in a variety of creatively cruel ways over the years, and there is a part of us that always assumes the worst will happen.
But the important thing is, talking about the Tribe is fun, and it makes us happy in a way. It gives us a few minutes to stop thinking about hurricanes and politics and flag protests and everything else that makes us cry and worry and act viciously toward one another.
There are poor people in this country, no doubt about that, but as comedienne Marsha Warfield said about hunger in the U.S., "It ain't but so bad." The vast majority of us have the essentials we need to live. Most have roofs over their heads and some sort of food on the table.
We have the things our wages can buy us. What we don't have, what perhaps we've never had, is peace. A sense that everything is going to be OK. Maybe that's impossible to have in this (or any) age, so we settle for small glimpses of it. We talk about the things that make us feel good and that remind us that humans have the capacity to do meaningful, inspirational things.
And I include baseball in that. It's just a game, you might say, and you're right. But it's also an escape, albeit temporary, from everything else that weighs on us. It is a way to connect to the part of our collective consciousness that shuts down in the face of worrisome news and constant conflicts and the mortality of this life.
There are bad characters in baseball as in anything. There is greed, there is selfishness, and there is cheating.
But there is also a purity and honesty and beauty there that mostly eludes us as we manage our way through the mundane details of everyday life.
It's purity, honesty and beauty that can be had for the price of a ticket, or even the click of a TV remote.
If acknowledging that simple fact constitutes over-romanticizing baseball, then I can only plead guilty.
But in the end, I'll be back season after season to watch and cheer and fret and fume. I follow other sports, but in the end, it was baseball that was my first love. And she never fails to deliver.
Thursday, August 24, 2017
A year without parenting milestones
As the 2017-18 academic year gets underway, my wife Terry and I find ourselves very much "in process" when it comes to being the parents of five children.
What I mean is, we've got kids going every which direction, but no one is graduating or necessarily reaching any sort of academic or vocational landmark in the coming year. Yes, one kid is starting college, but compared with graduation, that's a relatively tame thing, if only because we've been through it before at different levels.
We stand thusly in the Tennant household as summer 2017 wanes and the first signs of autumn make themselves evident:
She is, by almost any standard you care to name, an adult. I'm good with this, but I'm also not. She was ready to be on her own and all, but I miss having her around. I will always miss having her around. That's the way this game is played. (And hey, you can see my pretty little girl here and read her very professional sounding bio while you're at it.)
And it all makes sense to me. Jack is the youngest of five kids, which in itself means he has always had to work to carve out his own identity in the chaos of our house. But when you consider that he skipped a grade back in elementary school, it gets even tougher for him. He's an 11-year-old in a class full of 12- and soon-to-be-13-year-olds. This is a funny age to begin with, and being the youngest one in the class has to make it even trickier. So Jack copes by being the funny guy. I'm OK with that as long as he doesn't become disruptive in class or during team cross country activities. And I think he knows that. He's doing fine, but I'll admit I worry about him a lot.
So anyway, that's where things stand for us. We're just going about the business of living life and continuing to raise a family. With each passing year, thoughts of what happens once we reach The Other Side (i.e., the empty nest) creep into my head, but they're no more than thoughts. We still have a long way to go, with plenty of homework, school projects, sports practices and games, band concerts, and yes, graduations and big milestones to go.
For now, that's good enough. Exhausting, but good enough.
What I mean is, we've got kids going every which direction, but no one is graduating or necessarily reaching any sort of academic or vocational landmark in the coming year. Yes, one kid is starting college, but compared with graduation, that's a relatively tame thing, if only because we've been through it before at different levels.
We stand thusly in the Tennant household as summer 2017 wanes and the first signs of autumn make themselves evident:
Elissa
My 23-year-old eldest child has earned her bachelor's degree in marketing from Cleveland State University. She works for a great little strategic branding agency called Hey Now! Media as a digital strategist/social media manager. That's a very Millennial job title, and come to think of it, that exclamation point in the name of the agency is pretty darn Millennial, too. Elissa has officially moved out, though she lives only 5 minutes or so away in a rented house with one of her longtime friends.She is, by almost any standard you care to name, an adult. I'm good with this, but I'm also not. She was ready to be on her own and all, but I miss having her around. I will always miss having her around. That's the way this game is played. (And hey, you can see my pretty little girl here and read her very professional sounding bio while you're at it.)
Chloe
Little Chloe is nearly 21 years old, which makes me think I probably shouldn't refer to her as "Little Chloe" so much anymore. She is a junior biomedical engineering major at the University of Akron who has designs on attending medical school and becoming some sort of doctor, possibly a pediatrician (though she also talks on occasion about becoming an eye doc...I think she would be good at either). She is at the point of her engineering studies where everything gets pretty intense and serious, and as a result she is no longer a member of the Akron marching band, which is sad but also necessary. Engineering students, I'm told, regularly drop out of band at Akron once they hit that third year. She is in the process of moving into a just-off-campus apartment as I type, and will be officially gone as of Sunday evening. She's a hard worker, that one is.Jared
The Boy begins his college career next week as a freshman at THE Cleveland State University. OK, CSU doesn't use the "THE" like Ohio State does, but it just sounded good so I went with it. Anyway, I've only seen him for short stretches throughout this summer because he spends a lot of time working at the Cleveland Indians team shop. And hanging out with his girlfriend. This is what happens when you have an 18-year-old son. By all accounts, though, he's ready to start this college thing and plow ahead with his intended major in business administration. I have no idea what he's going to do with his life, and maybe he doesn't, either, which is just fine. I never understand why we push 18-year-old kids to make decisions that could affect the course of their professional lives for the next three or four decades. Jared will find his way. He always does. Let's give him a few years to sort things out.Melanie
Mel grew up suddenly – jarringly even – in the last couple of years. She's a junior at Wickliffe High School, a class officer, a soccer player, and so far a straight-A student. This year she is spending half of each school day out at Mentor High School taking a few general classes and participating in Mentor's business/marketing program, then the second half of the day back at Wickliffe. I can't keep up with her. Next thing I know, she'll be graduating. I would rather not talk about it, but between you and me, I'm super impressed with this one.Jack
Ah, Jackie. My Other Boy. My 11-year-old, thin-as-a-rail, cross country-running, class clown. Yes, apparently he's the class clown, at least according to his seventh-grade math teacher Danna Huested. I've known Danna since 1975, when we both started kindergarten at the old Mapledale Elementary School, and she is among the best teachers my kids have had. So I found it part amusing and part alarming when I attended middle school open house the other day, and with a smile she said to me, "So you saved the class clown for your last kid? He doesn't fit the (Tennant) mold!" A month or so earlier, Jack's cross country coach (another Wickliffe classmate, the awesome Todd Calic) said something similar: "Everyone on the team loves him. He cracks everybody up."And it all makes sense to me. Jack is the youngest of five kids, which in itself means he has always had to work to carve out his own identity in the chaos of our house. But when you consider that he skipped a grade back in elementary school, it gets even tougher for him. He's an 11-year-old in a class full of 12- and soon-to-be-13-year-olds. This is a funny age to begin with, and being the youngest one in the class has to make it even trickier. So Jack copes by being the funny guy. I'm OK with that as long as he doesn't become disruptive in class or during team cross country activities. And I think he knows that. He's doing fine, but I'll admit I worry about him a lot.
So anyway, that's where things stand for us. We're just going about the business of living life and continuing to raise a family. With each passing year, thoughts of what happens once we reach The Other Side (i.e., the empty nest) creep into my head, but they're no more than thoughts. We still have a long way to go, with plenty of homework, school projects, sports practices and games, band concerts, and yes, graduations and big milestones to go.
For now, that's good enough. Exhausting, but good enough.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
No offense, but you most likely have no idea what you're talking about
I'm not a confrontational person, so I don't especially enjoy arguments or online debates. You will understand, then, how much it pains me to have to tell you that you are clueless when it comes to the major issues facing the world today.
You will also understand that I'm right there with you. I fully count myself among the clueless. I'm not saying I have the right answers and you don't. I'm saying that together, we barely understand the questions let alone the answers.
When it comes to almost any issue on which people are likely to take a stand these days – things like Charlottesville, global warming, North Korea, immigration, any random thing tweeted out by President Trump, etc. – I frankly do not trust your judgment, nor should you trust mine.
The reason is that all of these are stunningly complex problems, and unless you are:
(a) a trained expert with access to and understanding of the relevant information needed to form an intelligent opinion, and
(b) someone who does not take a knee-jerk position to the political right or left
...then I have no choice but to discount your take. And since I know virtually no one who fits both point (a) and point (b), I'm forced to conclude that you're full of poop. I actually hate the word "poop," but this is ostensibly a family blog and I'm not about to drop even a relatively mild S-bomb here.
Take global warming, for instance. You can certainly correct me if I'm wrong (I don't think I am, but again, what do I know?), but climatology is an immensely complex science, is it not? Concomitantly, global warming theory is also very complex and nuanced. Yet every time it's cold in August, some uninformed jack-wad is on Twitter with his "Hey, so much for global warming, huh snowflakes??" take.
There is no need to point out to this person that nothing in the concept of global warming precludes a cold day – or a long stretch of cold days – in what is normally a relatively warm time of the year. They have "won" because something happened that seems to support their supremely uninformed and simplistic opinion on a given topic, and any "facts" that get in their way have been made up by the biased liberal media or are being propagated by right-wing corporate fascists.
This is not intelligent debate. This is a bunch of monkeys with keyboards typing about random things of which they have little to no understanding.
And these same monkeys are called upon to evaluate the opinions of political candidates and vote for the ones they believe are right.
Yet they have virtually no idea what "right" is or how to get there. They (we) are unfairly expected to have a big-picture view of questions and problems that go far beyond anything they (we) are trained to analyze and understand.
Now, having said all of that, I do realize the seemingly inevitable conclusion of this line of thinking: That there's no need to have an opinion on anything, that we should trust our fate to a small handful of experts on each issue, that we should just stick to playing online poker on our phones and watching "Game of Thrones" and let the really, really smart people decide everything for us.
And I have no counterargument to that. That's terrifying to me and it's not at all what I want, yet I still feel strongly that very, very few of us are equipped to rationally and thoroughly pass judgment on the big issues of the day. We just aren't. We can gain some small understanding, but we don't have enough context, knowledge or training to be able to say definitively what course society should take on any given important question.
This, by the way, is why I'm supremely comforted by my belief in the God of the Bible. I am convinced there will be a "happy ending" to all of this, but I'm also aware that I live in a country in which people are free to believe that or not. You are permitted to make fun of me for putting my faith in "sky fairies" or whatever, and I'm free to ignore you because, as I've said, you don't have any more idea than I do what you're talking about.
I need to stop talking now, especially since you've come this far and have realized I have no firm advice for you. This is, I think, an unsolvable question. You either shut down and let yourself be guided by politicians and power brokers, or you take a strong stand on everything, knowing you ultimately lack the capacity to fully understand the question thoroughly or to appreciate opposing viewpoints in an objective way.
Life's crazy, isn't it?
You will also understand that I'm right there with you. I fully count myself among the clueless. I'm not saying I have the right answers and you don't. I'm saying that together, we barely understand the questions let alone the answers.
When it comes to almost any issue on which people are likely to take a stand these days – things like Charlottesville, global warming, North Korea, immigration, any random thing tweeted out by President Trump, etc. – I frankly do not trust your judgment, nor should you trust mine.
The reason is that all of these are stunningly complex problems, and unless you are:
(a) a trained expert with access to and understanding of the relevant information needed to form an intelligent opinion, and
(b) someone who does not take a knee-jerk position to the political right or left
...then I have no choice but to discount your take. And since I know virtually no one who fits both point (a) and point (b), I'm forced to conclude that you're full of poop. I actually hate the word "poop," but this is ostensibly a family blog and I'm not about to drop even a relatively mild S-bomb here.
Take global warming, for instance. You can certainly correct me if I'm wrong (I don't think I am, but again, what do I know?), but climatology is an immensely complex science, is it not? Concomitantly, global warming theory is also very complex and nuanced. Yet every time it's cold in August, some uninformed jack-wad is on Twitter with his "Hey, so much for global warming, huh snowflakes??" take.
There is no need to point out to this person that nothing in the concept of global warming precludes a cold day – or a long stretch of cold days – in what is normally a relatively warm time of the year. They have "won" because something happened that seems to support their supremely uninformed and simplistic opinion on a given topic, and any "facts" that get in their way have been made up by the biased liberal media or are being propagated by right-wing corporate fascists.
This is not intelligent debate. This is a bunch of monkeys with keyboards typing about random things of which they have little to no understanding.
And these same monkeys are called upon to evaluate the opinions of political candidates and vote for the ones they believe are right.
Yet they have virtually no idea what "right" is or how to get there. They (we) are unfairly expected to have a big-picture view of questions and problems that go far beyond anything they (we) are trained to analyze and understand.
Now, having said all of that, I do realize the seemingly inevitable conclusion of this line of thinking: That there's no need to have an opinion on anything, that we should trust our fate to a small handful of experts on each issue, that we should just stick to playing online poker on our phones and watching "Game of Thrones" and let the really, really smart people decide everything for us.
And I have no counterargument to that. That's terrifying to me and it's not at all what I want, yet I still feel strongly that very, very few of us are equipped to rationally and thoroughly pass judgment on the big issues of the day. We just aren't. We can gain some small understanding, but we don't have enough context, knowledge or training to be able to say definitively what course society should take on any given important question.
This, by the way, is why I'm supremely comforted by my belief in the God of the Bible. I am convinced there will be a "happy ending" to all of this, but I'm also aware that I live in a country in which people are free to believe that or not. You are permitted to make fun of me for putting my faith in "sky fairies" or whatever, and I'm free to ignore you because, as I've said, you don't have any more idea than I do what you're talking about.
I need to stop talking now, especially since you've come this far and have realized I have no firm advice for you. This is, I think, an unsolvable question. You either shut down and let yourself be guided by politicians and power brokers, or you take a strong stand on everything, knowing you ultimately lack the capacity to fully understand the question thoroughly or to appreciate opposing viewpoints in an objective way.
Life's crazy, isn't it?
Monday, August 14, 2017
I wish school didn't start so early, but I get why it does
At the risk of turning this into a "BACK IN MY DAY" old man rant, I will point out that my youngest two children go back to school tomorrow, which is a full three weeks earlier than they would have returned using the system under which I grew up.
That system – also known as "The Right System" – dictated that school didn't start until right after Labor Day. Which meant that the month of August was entirely devoted to summer vacation unless you were a fall sport athlete who had practices in August. And that was perfectly fine.
Then, round about the time I was in high school in the mid- to late 80s, they pushed the start of school back into August. It was late August, mind you, but still...August. That took some getting used to.
And now it seems every year they just keep messing with us. More for their own amusement than anything else, they keep seeing how far they can move up that first day of school before someone starts to notice. This year, Day #1 is August 15th, which as far as I can tell is the earliest the school year has ever kicked off in Wickliffe.
I will readily note that school has started in early August in Florida and other southern states for years. That's what they're used to, so they don't count in this discussion.
We in the Midwest lived for decades under an academic calendar that didn't commence until the Labor Day picnics were over, and that always seemed like a good way to go at it. At least to me. Labor Day was your last hurrah. As I recall, it was the last weekend during which the city pools were open. Or at least the last weekend they were open under summer hours.
You would watch the Jerry Lewis telethon on Labor Day and then you would go back to school the very next day, or maybe on Wednesday of that week. We were all good with it.
Of course, having said all of this, I realize school districts are subject to forces they can't necessarily control in making this decision, chiefly the state testing schedule that requires you (or at least makes it a very, very good idea) to have a certain number of instructional hours before the dreaded tests begin. The earlier you start, the longer you have to work with the kids before they take the tests, which go a long way toward determining your district's grade on state report cards, teacher and administration performance reviews, funding, etc.
Plus, at the high school level, an earlier start allows a clean break between the first and second semesters. You can finish off first-semester exams before the kids go off for their holiday break, and then start fresh with second-semester classes and material in January.
On the other hand, we somehow for years managed the not-quite-so-clean process of January review and exams at Wickliffe, and I'm guessing we could somehow get through it again if a calendar switch would force us into it.
I always think twice before I criticize school board members and administrators, because I frankly find that most of the people who do that do it out of ignorance. I would like some of them to spend a day in those jobs before they spout off. That's not to say people in those positions are beyond criticism. Not at all. But having the facts in hand first is probably advisable.
In any case, like so many things in life, this whole start-of-school question comes down to this: I wish it wasn't this way, but I get why it is. Things change. Life goes on. You can all get off my lawn anyway.
Friday, June 30, 2017
There are now more adults in my house than children
There comes a point, when you have kids, when they are no longer kids.
Actually it's not so much a "point," since that suggests a precise time at which they move from kid-hood into adulthood. And of course it doesn't work that way.
What does come about all of a sudden, though, is your realization that the transition has happened.
I came home from work one day recently to a completely empty house. Understand, this rarely happens when you live with six other people, two of whom are legally considered minors, especially in the summer time. If it's not a school day, someone always, always, always seems to be home.
But not this time. I walked in and...bam, no one. So I ran down the mental checklist of everyone's whereabouts:
Actually it's not so much a "point," since that suggests a precise time at which they move from kid-hood into adulthood. And of course it doesn't work that way.
What does come about all of a sudden, though, is your realization that the transition has happened.
I came home from work one day recently to a completely empty house. Understand, this rarely happens when you live with six other people, two of whom are legally considered minors, especially in the summer time. If it's not a school day, someone always, always, always seems to be home.
But not this time. I walked in and...bam, no one. So I ran down the mental checklist of everyone's whereabouts:
- Terry was working at the library. It's only 22 hours a week, but it feels to me like Terry is always working at the library. Anyway, she was gone.
- Elissa was somewhere between her job and, I supposed, her boyfriend Mark's house.
- Chloe was working one of her two jobs, I think the library one with Terry. Or maybe she was attending one of her summer college classes. Or maybe she was with her boyfriend Michael. I don't know. The point is, she was nowhere to be found.
- Jared was at his job at the Cleveland Indians Team Shop at Progressive Field, hawking overpriced caps and way overpriced jerseys to suburbanites who had already dropped an awfully pretty penny on tickets, parking and concessions.
- I didn't know where Melanie was. If I remember correctly, I found out later she was out with her boyfriend Dylan.
- And what about little Jack? Little 11-year-old Jack who is usually at home? Off camping with the family of a friend of his. He's at the age where he's developing an entire existence that has nothing to do with us. We've been through this before as the other kids have grown up, of course, but it's still always shocking when they become, you know, actual people with social calendars and everything.
And so there I was, absolutely alone at home for one of the very few times in the past 20 years. Jobs, boyfriends, college classes. It was all a far cry from the toy-strewn floors, the Winnie the Pooh videos, and the randomly dropped sippy cups of not too long ago.
And if I'm being honest with you, I'll admit I kind of liked it.
Or at least I liked it for about 15 minutes. And then I got lonely. It turns out I like having people around the house, even if I'm not interacting with them directly. I realize that one day the constant hum of conversation and activity will become the exception rather than the rule, but borderline chaos is all I've known for many years now.
I grumble about it when it's happening, and then I get sad when it's gone. I'm apparently one of those people you just can't please.
Anyway, the point I guess is that I'm suddenly the father of at least one actual working adult, a couple of on-the-brink adults, and two more who, while technically kids, are growing up at an alarming rate.
It's kind of cool. And kind of sad.
So it goes.
Saturday, June 3, 2017
Reflections of a man who has somehow been married for 25 years
There are two amazing things about the fact that my 25th wedding anniversary is coming up in a few days:
(1) Twenty-five years is a long time. I can't believe it has been 25 years.
(2) Even after that quarter-century, every morning I wake up and look to my left and my wife is still there.
If I were in her shoes, I might have bolted by now.
Well, not really.
I think.
I mean, my general impression these past 2½ decades has been that she is as happy with the overall state of things as I am. As far as I can tell, she's as much with the program as me.
But then, I know myself. And honestly, I would probably get a little irritated living with me every day. I'm very well-intentioned – maybe too much so. I suspect my constant earnest attempts at being agreeable could verge on "grating" from time to time.
So occasionally I worry she'll wake up herself one day, look to her right, see me there, and it will finally dawn on her that maybe she married down. Or at least that she just didn't make the best long-term choice when she married at the age of 23.
And then suddenly that space to my left will be empty.
Which, OK, is a stupid way to think. You don't live life in fear of "what if." You live in celebration of "what is."
And "what is" is pretty darn good, let me tell you.
I have said this before but it bears repeating, and I've always meant it in all sincerity: I won the Matrimonial Lotto. And I did it at the age of 16. That's when this wonderful woman and I first got together.
At the time, of course, I had no idea we would get to this point. I only knew that this pretty girl had decided that maybe I was sufficiently presentable to go out with, which was more than enough to make my clueless 16-year-old self happy.
And I've pretty much stayed that way ever since: happy.
I complain, of course, because that's what we do as human beings. No matter how good we've got it, there's a part of us that wants to complain about something. Anything, really. It just makes us feel better, I guess?
But when it comes down to it, I have no room to complain. I am wildly and undeservedly blessed, and it starts with the woman on the other side of that bed.
I have, in the wise words of Stevie Nicks, built my life around her. At some point I figured out she was a person worth doubling down on, so I did.
And the payoff has been, by all accounts, tremendous.
My wife is my best friend. She is beautiful both inside and out. She is funny (something that took her years to realize about herself), smart, loving, loyal, dedicated and an absolute joy to be around.
I don't just say these things because it happens to be a milestone anniversary for us, or because tonight we're having a blowout party in our backyard to which absolutely anyone who reads this is invited. I say them because they are true, and because in saying them, I force myself to realize the true meaning of "grace" in my life. God has given her to me not because I "earned" such a blessing, but pretty much just because He loves me despite the fact that I'm a big giant goof.
So today I celebrate all that is right with my life – which is to say, just about everything – and it starts with the beautiful young woman in the white dress who said "I do" 25 years ago.
That was one giant risk she took, and I only hope I can supply some small return on her investment of trust in me.
(1) Twenty-five years is a long time. I can't believe it has been 25 years.
(2) Even after that quarter-century, every morning I wake up and look to my left and my wife is still there.
If I were in her shoes, I might have bolted by now.
Well, not really.
I think.
I mean, my general impression these past 2½ decades has been that she is as happy with the overall state of things as I am. As far as I can tell, she's as much with the program as me.
But then, I know myself. And honestly, I would probably get a little irritated living with me every day. I'm very well-intentioned – maybe too much so. I suspect my constant earnest attempts at being agreeable could verge on "grating" from time to time.
So occasionally I worry she'll wake up herself one day, look to her right, see me there, and it will finally dawn on her that maybe she married down. Or at least that she just didn't make the best long-term choice when she married at the age of 23.
And then suddenly that space to my left will be empty.
Which, OK, is a stupid way to think. You don't live life in fear of "what if." You live in celebration of "what is."
And "what is" is pretty darn good, let me tell you.
I have said this before but it bears repeating, and I've always meant it in all sincerity: I won the Matrimonial Lotto. And I did it at the age of 16. That's when this wonderful woman and I first got together.
At the time, of course, I had no idea we would get to this point. I only knew that this pretty girl had decided that maybe I was sufficiently presentable to go out with, which was more than enough to make my clueless 16-year-old self happy.
And I've pretty much stayed that way ever since: happy.
I complain, of course, because that's what we do as human beings. No matter how good we've got it, there's a part of us that wants to complain about something. Anything, really. It just makes us feel better, I guess?
But when it comes down to it, I have no room to complain. I am wildly and undeservedly blessed, and it starts with the woman on the other side of that bed.
I have, in the wise words of Stevie Nicks, built my life around her. At some point I figured out she was a person worth doubling down on, so I did.
And the payoff has been, by all accounts, tremendous.
My wife is my best friend. She is beautiful both inside and out. She is funny (something that took her years to realize about herself), smart, loving, loyal, dedicated and an absolute joy to be around.
I don't just say these things because it happens to be a milestone anniversary for us, or because tonight we're having a blowout party in our backyard to which absolutely anyone who reads this is invited. I say them because they are true, and because in saying them, I force myself to realize the true meaning of "grace" in my life. God has given her to me not because I "earned" such a blessing, but pretty much just because He loves me despite the fact that I'm a big giant goof.
So today I celebrate all that is right with my life – which is to say, just about everything – and it starts with the beautiful young woman in the white dress who said "I do" 25 years ago.
That was one giant risk she took, and I only hope I can supply some small return on her investment of trust in me.
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Five things I want to tell my son on this, the day of his high school graduation
Tonight my son Jared graduates, the third of our children to do so. Three down, two to go.
I will tell you I'm not pleased with the way this post turned out. I earnestly believe everything I'm trying to tell my son below, but none of it came out quite right.
Maybe that's because, while many life lessons are universal, the way we each learn and experience them is unique. So that even as I describe my own thoughts around a particular nugget of wisdom, I'm acutely aware that Jared's perspective on it is likely to be a bit different.
So I guess this list isn't perfect. No list of supposedly transcendent life lessons ever is. I hope the boy, and anyone else who happens to read this, accepts it in the flawed-yet-sincere spirit in which it is offered.
Jared, we bought you the laptop for graduation, and now here's the gift that comes without a receipt:
(1) You've got to try even when you don't feel like trying: Whatever you do, whether it's a job or a marriage or anything else important in your life, you have to be present and you have to be actively engaged. That means showing up and really trying. Every day. Sometimes that's going to be easy. Sometimes it won't be. You often hear it said of pitchers in baseball that they "just don't have it today," yet many times they stay in the game and "battle." They may not feel great, they may not feel motivated. But they have a job to do, and so they do it. Even when they don't feel like doing it. That's the essence of being a responsible adult: You show up and you work hard every time without exception.
(2) Feeling sorry for yourself is tempting, but it will get you nowhere: Sometimes you're going to feel like everything and everyone is against you. You just will. And you can safely allow yourself to feel that way for maybe 15 minutes. Then you need to move on. Seriously, you need to get over it and move on. Not everything is going to go your way. Not everyone is going to like or appreciate you. Oh well. There's not much you can do about that, so keep doing what you know is right. Keep showing up (see item #1 above), keep plugging away. It sounds simplistic, but it's the only way things are going to turn around. In essence, quit your crying and suck it up.
(3) Sports cliche #147 – "Worry only about the things you can control" – is real: You hear athletes talk about this all the time. They say they can't concern themselves with the things they can't influence. Instead, all of their focus is on the items over which they have specific control – their attitude, their preparation, their game plan. It's the same for those of us who don't get paid to play a sport. In your career, in your personal life, in everything you do, there is a long list of things over which you exert control. Concentrate on those things. Don't worry about other people's attitudes. Don't worry about external circumstances you can't change. Don't concern yourself so much with the unchangeable things that simply are. Direct your time and attention instead to what could be.
(4) Have a plan: Even if it only covers the next few years of your life, have a plan for what you want to achieve and how you're going to get there. Develop a vision for your life and what you want out of it. Otherwise your existence will be a series of randomly connected activities with no real end goal in mind. You'll get somewhere, to be sure, but probably not where you want to be. Just set aside some time every once in a while to think about the future, both short term and long. You'll be glad you did.
(5) Be grateful: You have so much in your life. You have a family who loves you more than you can understand (though you will understand if and when you have kids of your own). You have a roof over your head, a car to drive, food to eat. Lots and lots and lots of people in this world lack one or more of those things. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth whether or not you recognize it. If you spend your time lamenting the things you don't have, you will be one unhappy individual. I'm telling you, you don't want to be that guy.
Happy graduation day, buddy. Enjoy every minute of it, because you've earned it.
I will tell you I'm not pleased with the way this post turned out. I earnestly believe everything I'm trying to tell my son below, but none of it came out quite right.
Maybe that's because, while many life lessons are universal, the way we each learn and experience them is unique. So that even as I describe my own thoughts around a particular nugget of wisdom, I'm acutely aware that Jared's perspective on it is likely to be a bit different.
So I guess this list isn't perfect. No list of supposedly transcendent life lessons ever is. I hope the boy, and anyone else who happens to read this, accepts it in the flawed-yet-sincere spirit in which it is offered.
Jared, we bought you the laptop for graduation, and now here's the gift that comes without a receipt:
(1) You've got to try even when you don't feel like trying: Whatever you do, whether it's a job or a marriage or anything else important in your life, you have to be present and you have to be actively engaged. That means showing up and really trying. Every day. Sometimes that's going to be easy. Sometimes it won't be. You often hear it said of pitchers in baseball that they "just don't have it today," yet many times they stay in the game and "battle." They may not feel great, they may not feel motivated. But they have a job to do, and so they do it. Even when they don't feel like doing it. That's the essence of being a responsible adult: You show up and you work hard every time without exception.
(2) Feeling sorry for yourself is tempting, but it will get you nowhere: Sometimes you're going to feel like everything and everyone is against you. You just will. And you can safely allow yourself to feel that way for maybe 15 minutes. Then you need to move on. Seriously, you need to get over it and move on. Not everything is going to go your way. Not everyone is going to like or appreciate you. Oh well. There's not much you can do about that, so keep doing what you know is right. Keep showing up (see item #1 above), keep plugging away. It sounds simplistic, but it's the only way things are going to turn around. In essence, quit your crying and suck it up.
(3) Sports cliche #147 – "Worry only about the things you can control" – is real: You hear athletes talk about this all the time. They say they can't concern themselves with the things they can't influence. Instead, all of their focus is on the items over which they have specific control – their attitude, their preparation, their game plan. It's the same for those of us who don't get paid to play a sport. In your career, in your personal life, in everything you do, there is a long list of things over which you exert control. Concentrate on those things. Don't worry about other people's attitudes. Don't worry about external circumstances you can't change. Don't concern yourself so much with the unchangeable things that simply are. Direct your time and attention instead to what could be.
(4) Have a plan: Even if it only covers the next few years of your life, have a plan for what you want to achieve and how you're going to get there. Develop a vision for your life and what you want out of it. Otherwise your existence will be a series of randomly connected activities with no real end goal in mind. You'll get somewhere, to be sure, but probably not where you want to be. Just set aside some time every once in a while to think about the future, both short term and long. You'll be glad you did.
(5) Be grateful: You have so much in your life. You have a family who loves you more than you can understand (though you will understand if and when you have kids of your own). You have a roof over your head, a car to drive, food to eat. Lots and lots and lots of people in this world lack one or more of those things. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth whether or not you recognize it. If you spend your time lamenting the things you don't have, you will be one unhappy individual. I'm telling you, you don't want to be that guy.
Happy graduation day, buddy. Enjoy every minute of it, because you've earned it.
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
You're only as happy as you want to be, and I'll admit I hate that
There's a quote you've probably heard, usually falsely attributed to Abraham Lincoln, that says "most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."
Whoever originally said it, boy, there's a whole bucketful of truth to that, isn't there?
Yes, there are external forces in your life, things beyond your control, that affect you. Those things have always been there, and they always will be there.
What many a life coach will tell you, though, is that you can control how they affect you. If you choose to let them affect you negatively, they will affect you negatively. And if you choose to just roll with it, take the punch, and move on in a more or less positive manner, they will probably affect you positively in the long run.
And man, I hate that.
I want to be able to point to this, this, this and this, and say, "I would love to be happy, but look at all of these things that are wrong in my life. I can't be happy as long as all of that is going on."
But I can't do that with a clear conscience because I have finally learned, in 47+ years on this planet, that you absolutely choose your outlook. Happy people are happy because they choose to be happy.
Which is fine, except it takes real work to be happy. And that's where the inherently lazy part of me that doesn't particularly like trying hard at anything rebels.
Happy people are happy not only because they choose to be happy, but also because they choose to work at being happy. Every day.
You don't have to be a Pollyanna and ignore all of the ugly things in life. By all means, acknowledge them. Deal with them. They're there whether you and I like it or not.
But you do have to make the active choice to be mostly contented with your existence. You cannot be someone who constantly laments their lot in life and be a generally happy person at the same time.
Feel sorry for yourself if you want, but it's a miserable friggin' way to live, let me tell you.
Because here's the thing: Unless you believe in reincarnation (which I do not), then you must acknowledge that you get one shot at life. One shot, that's it. How you choose to use that shot is entirely up to you.
If you choose always to wait for things to get better someday and then you'll be happy, you won't be happy.
You won't. There's no maybe about it. You won't be happy. Why? Because you have full control over what "things getting better" means to you. And maybe it's time for you to reconsider your personal definition.
It cannot and should not mean that you're waiting for all things to be aligned and perfect, or even near perfect. You and I both know that only leaves you waiting for a bus that will never come.
Again, there are three key facts of life that you have to accept if you want to be a happy person:
God sets the rules, and He always gives you a choice.
This effort does not come naturally to me, by the way, yet lately I've been making it. And I'm genuinely a happier person. I feel less tired, less bogged down by my daily obligations, less overwhelmed by the challenges of moment-to-moment existence.
I'm still learning, but already I see a world of difference in myself. All because of a simple daily choice.
I felt the need to share this with you because, if you're like a lot of people I know, this realization (simple to understand, more difficult to execute) can be life changing.
Happiness isn't a confluence of fortunate external circumstances. Much like love, it's a personal choice to be happy. A choice that must be consciously made each and every day.
So make it.
Whoever originally said it, boy, there's a whole bucketful of truth to that, isn't there?
Yes, there are external forces in your life, things beyond your control, that affect you. Those things have always been there, and they always will be there.
What many a life coach will tell you, though, is that you can control how they affect you. If you choose to let them affect you negatively, they will affect you negatively. And if you choose to just roll with it, take the punch, and move on in a more or less positive manner, they will probably affect you positively in the long run.
And man, I hate that.
I want to be able to point to this, this, this and this, and say, "I would love to be happy, but look at all of these things that are wrong in my life. I can't be happy as long as all of that is going on."
But I can't do that with a clear conscience because I have finally learned, in 47+ years on this planet, that you absolutely choose your outlook. Happy people are happy because they choose to be happy.
Which is fine, except it takes real work to be happy. And that's where the inherently lazy part of me that doesn't particularly like trying hard at anything rebels.
Happy people are happy not only because they choose to be happy, but also because they choose to work at being happy. Every day.
You don't have to be a Pollyanna and ignore all of the ugly things in life. By all means, acknowledge them. Deal with them. They're there whether you and I like it or not.
But you do have to make the active choice to be mostly contented with your existence. You cannot be someone who constantly laments their lot in life and be a generally happy person at the same time.
Feel sorry for yourself if you want, but it's a miserable friggin' way to live, let me tell you.
Because here's the thing: Unless you believe in reincarnation (which I do not), then you must acknowledge that you get one shot at life. One shot, that's it. How you choose to use that shot is entirely up to you.
If you choose always to wait for things to get better someday and then you'll be happy, you won't be happy.
You won't. There's no maybe about it. You won't be happy. Why? Because you have full control over what "things getting better" means to you. And maybe it's time for you to reconsider your personal definition.
It cannot and should not mean that you're waiting for all things to be aligned and perfect, or even near perfect. You and I both know that only leaves you waiting for a bus that will never come.
Again, there are three key facts of life that you have to accept if you want to be a happy person:
- I can control my happiness (or lack thereof).
- There will always, always, always be "bad things" in my life. This has always been, is now, and always will be. There is no changing this. "Bad things" will happen. I cannot alter this essential tenet of human existence.
- I must choose to be happy anyway.
God sets the rules, and He always gives you a choice.
This effort does not come naturally to me, by the way, yet lately I've been making it. And I'm genuinely a happier person. I feel less tired, less bogged down by my daily obligations, less overwhelmed by the challenges of moment-to-moment existence.
I'm still learning, but already I see a world of difference in myself. All because of a simple daily choice.
I felt the need to share this with you because, if you're like a lot of people I know, this realization (simple to understand, more difficult to execute) can be life changing.
Happiness isn't a confluence of fortunate external circumstances. Much like love, it's a personal choice to be happy. A choice that must be consciously made each and every day.
So make it.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Happy Easter, and I'm finished talking for a while
For my Christian friends, I hope that in addition to whatever chocolate and miscellaneous confectioneries you consume today, you also take a moment to remember the resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is, as that most cliched of phrases has it, the reason for the season.
For all of my friends, just a note that this latest little spurt of blog posts is over and I'm going back to checking in every month or two for anyone who may be interested in reading.
Speaking of which, please know how much I appreciate the fact that you read this stuff at all. The comments (here, on Facebook, and verbally when we meet) are of great value to me. Even if we DID collectively violate Google Ads' solicitation policy together and cost me 15 or so CDs worth of classical music pleasure.
That still stings.
Talk to you soon!
For all of my friends, just a note that this latest little spurt of blog posts is over and I'm going back to checking in every month or two for anyone who may be interested in reading.
Speaking of which, please know how much I appreciate the fact that you read this stuff at all. The comments (here, on Facebook, and verbally when we meet) are of great value to me. Even if we DID collectively violate Google Ads' solicitation policy together and cost me 15 or so CDs worth of classical music pleasure.
That still stings.
Talk to you soon!
Saturday, April 15, 2017
I love Saturdays
Do you not love Saturdays? Are they just not the best day of the week?
I say they are. Or at least I say they're in the top two. Back in July 2013, I wrote a post in which I ranked the days of the week, and in that list I placed Saturday at #2, just behind Fridays. I may have changed my mind since then.
(NOTE: I really wrote an entire blog post ranking the days of the week? Apparently I did. I was seriously hurting for blog material by that point. You will note that, about three months later, I suspended the blog for what turned out to be nearly a year-and-a-half because I felt I didn't have anything interesting to say. You may counter by pointing out that this has never stopped me before...)
Saturdays are just all-around tremendous, especially Saturdays on which I'm free to do what I want without being burdened by any outside appointments or obligations.
Saturday always starts with me getting out of bed. That, I find, is an excellent way to start the day. Then I pee. You didn't need to know that, but I feel it's important. It's a good, satisfying pee because I spend it thinking about all of the cool stuff I'm going to get to do that day. When in fact I should probably be concentrating a bit more on my aim.
Anyway, after the pee, I go into the closet and put on my running clothes. I run every Saturday, rain or shine, cold or hot, windy or not. Usually 3 miles but sometimes 4 or 5.
After I get my running stuff on, I go into the kitchen and feed the cats. They're always happy to see me when I do this. I feel this is unfair, as I'm more than just a provider of kibble.
For example, I'm also a provider of water, which is what I do when I go into the basement and fill up their water bowls. After that, I scoop out their litter boxes, sweep up the general area, and then take the bag of disgusting cat waste outside to discard it. If it's a day in which the newspaper is delivered, I go and pick up the paper.
Then it's a glass of water, a quick session of dynamic stretching to warm up, and then I'm out the door to run.
(ANOTHER NOTE: We need to pick up the pace here. I'm stunned that you're still reading this.)
After the run comes a shower. And after the shower I step onto the scale so I can get a read on how my Weight Watchers meeting that morning will go. Did I gain anything? Did I lose anything? Did I stay the same? That first weigh-in will tell me how the official meeting weigh-in will go.
Anyway, I get dressed, I brush my teeth, I go to the Weight Watchers meeting, I come home, and I finally get to have breakfast. You guys, I love breakfast. Which is kind of surprising when you realize I have the same thing every day. Every day. It's always a half cup of cooked oats, a banana, and coffee with half and half.
But on Saturday it's just so good, because it's the first food I eat and I know I still have the whole day ahead of me. It's a glorious feeling.
After that the Saturdays vary. I may be taking Jack to his cross country practice. I may be taking a shopping trip to the market for greens and fruit, and maybe to CVS for various provisions I routinely buy there. I may be going to the library (you guys, I love the library).
I will almost certainly be working my way through a list of to-do's that I've sketched out the night before. To-do lists are a major part of my life, and some of my greatest satisfaction comes from completing them: CHECK! CHECK! CHECK! DONE! DONE! DONE! I AM A GOOD AND CONSCIENTIOUS PERSON!
There are always some sort of chores on the to-do list, from cleaning the bathroom to doing laundry to vacuuming to checking the car fluids and tire pressures to whatever else needs doing.
Saturday evenings are spent with Terry, the kids, or some combination thereof. We may see a movie. Maybe go out with relatives or friends. Or just stay in and watch TV. But it's almost always fun and I almost always love every minute of it.
Don't get me wrong, Sundays are a strong contender, and I can see why I placed Friday at the top of that days of the week list. But Saturdays? Man, you can't beat a good Saturday. I hope you enjoy yours!
I say they are. Or at least I say they're in the top two. Back in July 2013, I wrote a post in which I ranked the days of the week, and in that list I placed Saturday at #2, just behind Fridays. I may have changed my mind since then.
(NOTE: I really wrote an entire blog post ranking the days of the week? Apparently I did. I was seriously hurting for blog material by that point. You will note that, about three months later, I suspended the blog for what turned out to be nearly a year-and-a-half because I felt I didn't have anything interesting to say. You may counter by pointing out that this has never stopped me before...)
Saturdays are just all-around tremendous, especially Saturdays on which I'm free to do what I want without being burdened by any outside appointments or obligations.
Saturday always starts with me getting out of bed. That, I find, is an excellent way to start the day. Then I pee. You didn't need to know that, but I feel it's important. It's a good, satisfying pee because I spend it thinking about all of the cool stuff I'm going to get to do that day. When in fact I should probably be concentrating a bit more on my aim.
Anyway, after the pee, I go into the closet and put on my running clothes. I run every Saturday, rain or shine, cold or hot, windy or not. Usually 3 miles but sometimes 4 or 5.
After I get my running stuff on, I go into the kitchen and feed the cats. They're always happy to see me when I do this. I feel this is unfair, as I'm more than just a provider of kibble.
For example, I'm also a provider of water, which is what I do when I go into the basement and fill up their water bowls. After that, I scoop out their litter boxes, sweep up the general area, and then take the bag of disgusting cat waste outside to discard it. If it's a day in which the newspaper is delivered, I go and pick up the paper.
Then it's a glass of water, a quick session of dynamic stretching to warm up, and then I'm out the door to run.
(ANOTHER NOTE: We need to pick up the pace here. I'm stunned that you're still reading this.)
After the run comes a shower. And after the shower I step onto the scale so I can get a read on how my Weight Watchers meeting that morning will go. Did I gain anything? Did I lose anything? Did I stay the same? That first weigh-in will tell me how the official meeting weigh-in will go.
Anyway, I get dressed, I brush my teeth, I go to the Weight Watchers meeting, I come home, and I finally get to have breakfast. You guys, I love breakfast. Which is kind of surprising when you realize I have the same thing every day. Every day. It's always a half cup of cooked oats, a banana, and coffee with half and half.
But on Saturday it's just so good, because it's the first food I eat and I know I still have the whole day ahead of me. It's a glorious feeling.
After that the Saturdays vary. I may be taking Jack to his cross country practice. I may be taking a shopping trip to the market for greens and fruit, and maybe to CVS for various provisions I routinely buy there. I may be going to the library (you guys, I love the library).
I will almost certainly be working my way through a list of to-do's that I've sketched out the night before. To-do lists are a major part of my life, and some of my greatest satisfaction comes from completing them: CHECK! CHECK! CHECK! DONE! DONE! DONE! I AM A GOOD AND CONSCIENTIOUS PERSON!
There are always some sort of chores on the to-do list, from cleaning the bathroom to doing laundry to vacuuming to checking the car fluids and tire pressures to whatever else needs doing.
Saturday evenings are spent with Terry, the kids, or some combination thereof. We may see a movie. Maybe go out with relatives or friends. Or just stay in and watch TV. But it's almost always fun and I almost always love every minute of it.
Don't get me wrong, Sundays are a strong contender, and I can see why I placed Friday at the top of that days of the week list. But Saturdays? Man, you can't beat a good Saturday. I hope you enjoy yours!
Friday, April 14, 2017
One of my favorite jokes and, less importantly, why
A couple of years ago, an Oxford University study determined (don't ask me how) the 10 funniest jokes ever.
You can peruse the list for yourself. Inevitably, you'll chuckle at some and scratch your head at others. Not because you don't understand them, but because you'll be thinking, "Wait, THAT'S one of the 10 funniest jokes ever?"
Because humor is, as much as anything I can think of, a subjective endeavor. I know this because my wife and I often have what is commonly termed Incredibly Opposite Senses of Humor. Something will bring me to tears I laugh so hard, and she will look at me without the trace of a smile and shake her head, as she often does as she wistfully looks back on the day of our marriage and wonders how things could have gone so horribly wrong.
The point is, one man's gut-buster is another man's "Huh?"
My absolute favorite joke from that scientifically proven list of 10 is this one:
(1) The Unanswered Questions: Why was this snail coming to the guy's door? Why did the guy react by throwing the snail away? Did he realize the snail could talk, or no? What is so important that the snail spent three years of his life slithering back to the front door so he could get another chance to talk to the guy AND voice his displeasure? I love thinking about all of these things.
(2) The Swearing: Yes, I consider "what the hell" to be "swearing." This is because, as a general rule, I don't swear. I never really have much. Don't know why, just didn't. So it still has a bit of a scandalous comic effect on me when I hear it. And I love the idea of the indignant snail saying it.
(3) The Absurdity of It All: You either like Monty Python or you don't. There's no in between. Same with a hundred other comedians, actors, sketch groups, etc. I love, love, love Python, whose skits and movies always rested on some comically unreal premise. The whole situation with the snail having a valid reason to visit this guy's house is hilarious, even apart from the joke itself.
I may have over-analyzed that a little, but if nothing else, it gives you a sense of what makes this 47-year-old white American male laugh. It's a tad frightening, I know.
You can peruse the list for yourself. Inevitably, you'll chuckle at some and scratch your head at others. Not because you don't understand them, but because you'll be thinking, "Wait, THAT'S one of the 10 funniest jokes ever?"
Because humor is, as much as anything I can think of, a subjective endeavor. I know this because my wife and I often have what is commonly termed Incredibly Opposite Senses of Humor. Something will bring me to tears I laugh so hard, and she will look at me without the trace of a smile and shake her head, as she often does as she wistfully looks back on the day of our marriage and wonders how things could have gone so horribly wrong.
The point is, one man's gut-buster is another man's "Huh?"
My absolute favorite joke from that scientifically proven list of 10 is this one:
A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later there's a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says, "What the hell was that all about?"I first heard that joke, or some variation of it at least, many years ago. But it still makes me laugh even today. Why? Three reasons:
(1) The Unanswered Questions: Why was this snail coming to the guy's door? Why did the guy react by throwing the snail away? Did he realize the snail could talk, or no? What is so important that the snail spent three years of his life slithering back to the front door so he could get another chance to talk to the guy AND voice his displeasure? I love thinking about all of these things.
(2) The Swearing: Yes, I consider "what the hell" to be "swearing." This is because, as a general rule, I don't swear. I never really have much. Don't know why, just didn't. So it still has a bit of a scandalous comic effect on me when I hear it. And I love the idea of the indignant snail saying it.
(3) The Absurdity of It All: You either like Monty Python or you don't. There's no in between. Same with a hundred other comedians, actors, sketch groups, etc. I love, love, love Python, whose skits and movies always rested on some comically unreal premise. The whole situation with the snail having a valid reason to visit this guy's house is hilarious, even apart from the joke itself.
I may have over-analyzed that a little, but if nothing else, it gives you a sense of what makes this 47-year-old white American male laugh. It's a tad frightening, I know.
Thursday, April 13, 2017
If I had to do it all over again...
Back in November 2015, I wrote about some things in my life I might have done differently if given the chance to go back. I'm not a person who has many regrets, but as Frank Sinatra once sang, I've had a few.
In addition to the ones I mentioned in that post of 17 months ago, I can think of a few others:
In addition to the ones I mentioned in that post of 17 months ago, I can think of a few others:
- I should have taken piano lessons.
- I would have learned to program in machine language on my Commodore 64 computer instead of just playing a series of pirated software games.
- I would have lost weight after my senior season of football so that my last year of high school track wasn't such a..."disappointment" isn't the word, but 190-pound me simply couldn't long jump or run as fast as 170-pound me.
- I would been a much better class officer, speaking of high school. (Apologies to Brian Fabo, who shouldered much of the load and rightly pointed out that I wasn't shouldering mine.)
- I shouldn't have quit after one night of washing dishes at The Bright Spot restaurant in order to take a job at Wendy's that paid me a dime per hour more. (Hey, I was 16, had a girlfriend and needed the money. Those dimes really did count! But still...)
- I should have treated college as something more than just an academic formality that had to be completed before I could become a sports writer and, of course, stay in the business for 40 years covering Cleveland professional teams until my retirement.
- I wouldn't have been such a smart aleck from, oh, 6th grade through...well, now. Remind me to stop doing that.
- I would have taken our dog Jesse for more walks. He was such a good boy.
- I would have made sure my shorts (and their contents) were secure before sliding down that rope in 6th-grade gym class. Yikes.
- I should have made a point of telling my coaches and teachers how much I learned from them and how much I appreciated them. The list is too long, but apologies to the likes of Mrs. Schwarzenberg, Mrs. Grabner, Mrs. Feltham, Miss Yeager, Mr. Thomas, Mrs. Crow, Mrs. Coil, Ms. Capasso, Mr. Kondrich, Mr. Duricy, Mr. Kendra, Mr. Ranallo, Mr. Mazer, Mr. Bailey, Mr. Bezjak, Madame Whitehorn, Mr. Elias, Mr. Robertson, Mr. Kowalski, and Coaches Benz, Magill, Knapp, Rosneck, Nackley, Smith, Wolfgram, Kowalski (again), D'Amore, and countless others I've neglected to mention. You were all wonderfully patient with me and incredibly influential in my life. Thank you.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
I'm totally fine if you're not a hockey fan, but if you let me take you to a game, I bet you would be
There are two types of hockey fans (two types of fans of any sport, really):
(1) Those who love the game and are very, very concerned that you love it, too
(2) Those who love the game and couldn't care less whether you like it or not
I am of the latter tribe. It doesn't affect me in the least if your general attitude is "Hockey? Meh."
I happen to think hockey (ice hockey, as a point of clarification for my international friends) is a beautiful game. I know soccer has appropriated that title, "the beautiful game," but for my money, it should be attached to hockey.
It is a sport that combines speed, skill, and equal parts mental and physical toughness. It looks stunningly easy until you try lacing up the skates yourself. Once you do, you will be forever in awe of the men and women who play the game at the highest level, stopping and starting on a dime, skating to the point of exhaustion on every shift, handling a five-ounce rubber puck as if it were glued to their stick, and doing all of that while hitting (and being hit) at speeds upwards of 20 miles per hour or more.
It is not a sport for the faint of heart, and we're not just talking about the players. If you're going to watch hockey with any regularity, you will see blood. Oh yes, blood will be spilled. Sometimes it's an accidental high stick to the face. Or a fast-moving puck to the teeth. Or an elbow that hits just right and splits an eyebrow.
I'm not saying this happens every time a player steps onto the ice, or even every game. It doesn't. But it is an extremely physical game played by a breed of athlete whose grit and persistence often defies ready comprehension. The intensity with which these athletes play greatly increases the risk of sustaining physical damage.
It is not uncommon, for instance, for a hockey player to suffer an injury that would immediately sideline an athlete from another sport, get stitched up, and be back on the ice only minutes later. It's part of the culture of the game: You must be there for your teammates. You must be available to take that next shift. You must.
In some sense, hockey is the most team-oriented of all sports. People often say they don't like the fights, but that's almost always because they don't understand the nature and the purpose of fighting. Fighting is done for the team. The players need referees to keep things fair, of course, but they largely police themselves by sticking up for teammates.
If you "take liberties" (a wonderfully Canadian phrase) with my star player, someone on my team is going to drop the gloves and expect you to answer for your dangerous play. Winning or losing the fight is almost secondary. The point is showing up, taking and demanding accountability, and defending teammates who may not be able to defend themselves.
While often the least skilled players on a team, hockey's "enforcers" are often also the most beloved. They do a job few others can or want to do.
And even if that all sounds like rationalization of barbaric behavior, you will note that fighting in hockey is being legislated out of the game relatively quickly. At some point there will be no more fighting, which many think will lead to a rash of injuries caused by players who no longer have to worry about whether they're making a careless hit or carrying their stick a bit too high.
In any case, there is nothing like a hockey game watched live and in person. I watch it on TV when I can because I'm a fan. But to really get it, in order to really appreciate it, you must be attend a game yourself. Sit close to the ice the first time or two if you want. I call the glass seats the "gateway drug" of hockey that introduces you to the speed, skill, passion and jarring impact of a game.
Those of us a bit more seasoned in the sport tend to sit farther back in order to watch the flow of play develop. But it doesn't matter really. Just get to an arena.
If you go with me, the only two things I will need to teach you are the concepts of "offsides" and "icing." If you get those, the rest is almost self-evident, from the penalties to the tactical execution.
Like I said, whether or not you allow yourself to become addicted to the drug of hockey is ultimately of no consequence to me. But I'm telling you, let someone experienced sit next to you at a game and, in most cases, you'll be hooked.
(1) Those who love the game and are very, very concerned that you love it, too
(2) Those who love the game and couldn't care less whether you like it or not
I am of the latter tribe. It doesn't affect me in the least if your general attitude is "Hockey? Meh."
I happen to think hockey (ice hockey, as a point of clarification for my international friends) is a beautiful game. I know soccer has appropriated that title, "the beautiful game," but for my money, it should be attached to hockey.
It is a sport that combines speed, skill, and equal parts mental and physical toughness. It looks stunningly easy until you try lacing up the skates yourself. Once you do, you will be forever in awe of the men and women who play the game at the highest level, stopping and starting on a dime, skating to the point of exhaustion on every shift, handling a five-ounce rubber puck as if it were glued to their stick, and doing all of that while hitting (and being hit) at speeds upwards of 20 miles per hour or more.
It is not a sport for the faint of heart, and we're not just talking about the players. If you're going to watch hockey with any regularity, you will see blood. Oh yes, blood will be spilled. Sometimes it's an accidental high stick to the face. Or a fast-moving puck to the teeth. Or an elbow that hits just right and splits an eyebrow.
I'm not saying this happens every time a player steps onto the ice, or even every game. It doesn't. But it is an extremely physical game played by a breed of athlete whose grit and persistence often defies ready comprehension. The intensity with which these athletes play greatly increases the risk of sustaining physical damage.
It is not uncommon, for instance, for a hockey player to suffer an injury that would immediately sideline an athlete from another sport, get stitched up, and be back on the ice only minutes later. It's part of the culture of the game: You must be there for your teammates. You must be available to take that next shift. You must.
In some sense, hockey is the most team-oriented of all sports. People often say they don't like the fights, but that's almost always because they don't understand the nature and the purpose of fighting. Fighting is done for the team. The players need referees to keep things fair, of course, but they largely police themselves by sticking up for teammates.
If you "take liberties" (a wonderfully Canadian phrase) with my star player, someone on my team is going to drop the gloves and expect you to answer for your dangerous play. Winning or losing the fight is almost secondary. The point is showing up, taking and demanding accountability, and defending teammates who may not be able to defend themselves.
While often the least skilled players on a team, hockey's "enforcers" are often also the most beloved. They do a job few others can or want to do.
And even if that all sounds like rationalization of barbaric behavior, you will note that fighting in hockey is being legislated out of the game relatively quickly. At some point there will be no more fighting, which many think will lead to a rash of injuries caused by players who no longer have to worry about whether they're making a careless hit or carrying their stick a bit too high.
In any case, there is nothing like a hockey game watched live and in person. I watch it on TV when I can because I'm a fan. But to really get it, in order to really appreciate it, you must be attend a game yourself. Sit close to the ice the first time or two if you want. I call the glass seats the "gateway drug" of hockey that introduces you to the speed, skill, passion and jarring impact of a game.
Those of us a bit more seasoned in the sport tend to sit farther back in order to watch the flow of play develop. But it doesn't matter really. Just get to an arena.
If you go with me, the only two things I will need to teach you are the concepts of "offsides" and "icing." If you get those, the rest is almost self-evident, from the penalties to the tactical execution.
Like I said, whether or not you allow yourself to become addicted to the drug of hockey is ultimately of no consequence to me. But I'm telling you, let someone experienced sit next to you at a game and, in most cases, you'll be hooked.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Happy birthday, Mom!
My mother turns 85 years old today. Every year I announce her age on social media without asking her if it's OK and without fear of retribution, because Mom is further away from getting a Facebook account than your typical Amish farmer is.
Mom could handle a computer just fine if she wanted to. I know this because she's smart. She either doesn't admit or doesn't know how smart she is, but that's because she's Mom and self-deprecation is what Mom does.
I remember when Mom was the single smartest human being I knew (and she still ranks right up there, though she has admittedly been surpassed by my wife, who over nearly 25 years of marriage I've come to find out knows at least a little bit about virtually everything...and I don't mean that sarcastically).
From birth until the age of 5 or so – and really quite a ways beyond that – my mom was my world. She was the person I was with most or all of every day. I don't know if it's because I was the baby of the family or whether I just had social issues or a little bit of both, but I was especially dependent on my mom for a long time. My only problem with starting kindergarten is that it took me away from Mom for hours at a time.
After awhile, of course, it was fine. By necessity, you learn eventually to untie yourself from mother's apron strings because, otherwise, a 47-year-old man living at home and hanging around his mom all day would be a little bit strange, wouldn't it? Or maybe "demented" is the word.
Anyway, no matter how old you get, your mom is still your mom and she deserves your time and respect. My respect she has. Lately what I haven't given her is my time.
I could give you the excuse that I work long hours, that I have a lot going on, that I'm not home most of the time, blah blah blah blah. But Mom lives all of 7 minutes away in the house where I grew up, and where she has lived for 54 years since the latter days of the Kennedy Administration.
Getting there for a 15-minute visit, or calling her most days of the week, isn't and shouldn't be that difficult. But sometimes I treat it like it is.
So note to self: More phone and face time with Mom. Do it.
In any event, happy birthday to Mom. I owe way, way more to her than I could possibly realize, and I hope she's around many more years for me to let everyone know exactly how old she is.
Mom could handle a computer just fine if she wanted to. I know this because she's smart. She either doesn't admit or doesn't know how smart she is, but that's because she's Mom and self-deprecation is what Mom does.
I remember when Mom was the single smartest human being I knew (and she still ranks right up there, though she has admittedly been surpassed by my wife, who over nearly 25 years of marriage I've come to find out knows at least a little bit about virtually everything...and I don't mean that sarcastically).
From birth until the age of 5 or so – and really quite a ways beyond that – my mom was my world. She was the person I was with most or all of every day. I don't know if it's because I was the baby of the family or whether I just had social issues or a little bit of both, but I was especially dependent on my mom for a long time. My only problem with starting kindergarten is that it took me away from Mom for hours at a time.
After awhile, of course, it was fine. By necessity, you learn eventually to untie yourself from mother's apron strings because, otherwise, a 47-year-old man living at home and hanging around his mom all day would be a little bit strange, wouldn't it? Or maybe "demented" is the word.
Anyway, no matter how old you get, your mom is still your mom and she deserves your time and respect. My respect she has. Lately what I haven't given her is my time.
I could give you the excuse that I work long hours, that I have a lot going on, that I'm not home most of the time, blah blah blah blah. But Mom lives all of 7 minutes away in the house where I grew up, and where she has lived for 54 years since the latter days of the Kennedy Administration.
Getting there for a 15-minute visit, or calling her most days of the week, isn't and shouldn't be that difficult. But sometimes I treat it like it is.
So note to self: More phone and face time with Mom. Do it.
In any event, happy birthday to Mom. I owe way, way more to her than I could possibly realize, and I hope she's around many more years for me to let everyone know exactly how old she is.
Monday, April 10, 2017
10 things I really should understand a lot better than I do
(1) Plumbing (or wiring, or heating and cooling, or virtually any other semi-complex system within my house)
(2) The economy
(3) Why airplanes don't just fall out of the sky. You can explain aerodynamics, air lift, wing shape and everything to me as much as you want. I still don't see why every jetliner I've ever been on was able to stay aloft for more than four seconds.
(4) How to read Shakespeare. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. But when I come up against "Against the which, a moiety competent / Was gaged by our king; which had return'd / To the inheritance of Fortinbras, / Had he been vanquisher," I pretty much dissolve into a puddle of ignorance.
(5) How a saxophone, an instrument I've played since 1979, actually works.
(6) Bridge, Hearts, Spades and about 47 other popular card games
(7) How a baby actually emerges from a woman. I've watched it happen live and in person several times. And yet I still think it was all done with mirrors or CGI or something. I know the size of a newborn baby. And I know the size of the orifice from which it supposedly passes. The two don't match up in any way at all. I don't care what geometry you use, THAT ain't fittin' through THAT. So I want to know how they actually do it.
(8) Why accents exist (I mean linguistic accents. Not, you know, rugs.)
(9) Cricket (Again, to clarify, the sport. Not the insect...though come to think of it, I know almost nothing about the bug, either.)
(10) How to juggle, do a backflip, or whistle through my fingers. These are all physical acts that utterly escape me.
(2) The economy
(3) Why airplanes don't just fall out of the sky. You can explain aerodynamics, air lift, wing shape and everything to me as much as you want. I still don't see why every jetliner I've ever been on was able to stay aloft for more than four seconds.
(4) How to read Shakespeare. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. But when I come up against "Against the which, a moiety competent / Was gaged by our king; which had return'd / To the inheritance of Fortinbras, / Had he been vanquisher," I pretty much dissolve into a puddle of ignorance.
(5) How a saxophone, an instrument I've played since 1979, actually works.
(6) Bridge, Hearts, Spades and about 47 other popular card games
(7) How a baby actually emerges from a woman. I've watched it happen live and in person several times. And yet I still think it was all done with mirrors or CGI or something. I know the size of a newborn baby. And I know the size of the orifice from which it supposedly passes. The two don't match up in any way at all. I don't care what geometry you use, THAT ain't fittin' through THAT. So I want to know how they actually do it.
(8) Why accents exist (I mean linguistic accents. Not, you know, rugs.)
(9) Cricket (Again, to clarify, the sport. Not the insect...though come to think of it, I know almost nothing about the bug, either.)
(10) How to juggle, do a backflip, or whistle through my fingers. These are all physical acts that utterly escape me.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
My theory of leadership: Get good people and get out of their way
I never set out, in either my career or my personal life, to be a leader. It just kind of happened that way.
At Vitamix, I head up a team of three very talented communications professionals. I inherited one and hired two, and I couldn't have been more fortunate with the mix of ability and dedication that resulted.
At home, of course, I'm theoretically the co-head of a household of seven people, though I recognize aptitude when I see it and leave many important executive decisions to Terry. My job, in those instances, is to support her. I'd like to think I do it well.
I'm also the president of the Wickliffe High School Girls Soccer Boosters. A more appropriate title would be "coordinator," because my role is largely to channel the vast energy and ideas that emanate from the three wonderful ladies who are my fellow officers.
What I have learned, in all of these situations, is that effective management starts with recognition of what you yourself do well and what you don't do well. I know my limitations. I know what I can and can't do, and I don't pretend that my talents extend any further than they actually do.
I will make suggestions and coach when I can, but if you ever find yourself reporting to me in any capacity, I promise you two things:
(1) I will not micromanage. I trust that you are a responsible adult and that you have the ability to do your job well. That's a given. I'm going to step aside and let you do that job. I expect you'll deliver fabulous results (or else I wouldn't have hired you) and keep me apprised of what's going on.
(2) I will go to bat for you every chance I get. One of my responsibilities is to take some of the slings and arrows for you. Some you'll know about, others you never will. And that's the way it should be. You don't need to be distracted by things that are beyond your control, or by people who may or may not understand what you do and how you do it. Let me run interference for you.
If I ever fail to do either of these things, or if I'm letting you down in some other aspect of our working relationship, I expect you will let me know.
And that about sums up my philosophy on leadership.
So far it has worked out. Check with me again in two decades when I'm thinking about retirement and I'll let you know the final result.
At Vitamix, I head up a team of three very talented communications professionals. I inherited one and hired two, and I couldn't have been more fortunate with the mix of ability and dedication that resulted.
At home, of course, I'm theoretically the co-head of a household of seven people, though I recognize aptitude when I see it and leave many important executive decisions to Terry. My job, in those instances, is to support her. I'd like to think I do it well.
I'm also the president of the Wickliffe High School Girls Soccer Boosters. A more appropriate title would be "coordinator," because my role is largely to channel the vast energy and ideas that emanate from the three wonderful ladies who are my fellow officers.
What I have learned, in all of these situations, is that effective management starts with recognition of what you yourself do well and what you don't do well. I know my limitations. I know what I can and can't do, and I don't pretend that my talents extend any further than they actually do.
I will make suggestions and coach when I can, but if you ever find yourself reporting to me in any capacity, I promise you two things:
(1) I will not micromanage. I trust that you are a responsible adult and that you have the ability to do your job well. That's a given. I'm going to step aside and let you do that job. I expect you'll deliver fabulous results (or else I wouldn't have hired you) and keep me apprised of what's going on.
(2) I will go to bat for you every chance I get. One of my responsibilities is to take some of the slings and arrows for you. Some you'll know about, others you never will. And that's the way it should be. You don't need to be distracted by things that are beyond your control, or by people who may or may not understand what you do and how you do it. Let me run interference for you.
If I ever fail to do either of these things, or if I'm letting you down in some other aspect of our working relationship, I expect you will let me know.
And that about sums up my philosophy on leadership.
So far it has worked out. Check with me again in two decades when I'm thinking about retirement and I'll let you know the final result.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Occasionally sacrificing what you want to do for what you need to do: The hard part of adult life
One of my essential and ongoing dilemmas – just ask my wife, who has to hear me whine about it all the time – is that I want to run a marathon. It would be my second marathon. The first happened way back in 2001.
OK, you say, go run a marathon. Not so fast. Marathon training requires a lot of time, especially those long weekend runs. I don't have time. Or at least, the other choices I make in life create the circumstances in which I don't have time.
Because really, I DO have the time if I choose to create the time. But I have family commitments, chores, job-related obligations, etc. All of those take precedence over the quest for Marathon #2, as does that pesky little biological need for adequate sleep.
In reality, I choose not to have the time to train for a marathon. I also choose to go to church virtually every Sunday morning. I also choose to be married and raise a large-ish family.
These are all life decisions I've made that affect my allocation of resources. Those resources include time, money, and energy, both mental and physical.
Maybe someday, when the kids are a little older or maybe my professional and personal circumstances have changed for whatever reason, I'll have more time to do the things I've put off. But in the interim, this is the life I've chosen, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
If you're any older than 15 or so, you know what I'm talking about. It's interesting watching my daughter Elissa adjust to this most inescapable of grown-up realities as she settles into her first full-time job. She claims she's not very good at the adulting thing, as many people her age do, but I would say she's far ahead of most of her peers.
Whenever I get a little disappointed about not being able to do everything I want to do, I take stock of what those little personal sacrifices have done for me. I am blessed beyond measure, largely because of the way I've chosen to react to all of the gifts God has given me.
Sure, I can't just up and go on a weekend trip at the spur of the moment. But how important is that when compared with having a wonderful wife to whom I've been married for nearly 25 years? And children I love being around? And a job that provides us with so many material gifts countless others on this planet lack?
I have a car to drive, food to eat, a roof over my head, and a warm place to sleep every night. If you stop taking things like that for granted for just a second, and recognize how close to NOT having them you really are, suddenly the other stuff pales greatly in comparison.
I may or may not run that second marathon someday, but if I don't, it really is OK. That, I suppose, is at least one wise thing I've come to understand in my 47 years.
OK, you say, go run a marathon. Not so fast. Marathon training requires a lot of time, especially those long weekend runs. I don't have time. Or at least, the other choices I make in life create the circumstances in which I don't have time.
Because really, I DO have the time if I choose to create the time. But I have family commitments, chores, job-related obligations, etc. All of those take precedence over the quest for Marathon #2, as does that pesky little biological need for adequate sleep.
In reality, I choose not to have the time to train for a marathon. I also choose to go to church virtually every Sunday morning. I also choose to be married and raise a large-ish family.
These are all life decisions I've made that affect my allocation of resources. Those resources include time, money, and energy, both mental and physical.
Maybe someday, when the kids are a little older or maybe my professional and personal circumstances have changed for whatever reason, I'll have more time to do the things I've put off. But in the interim, this is the life I've chosen, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
If you're any older than 15 or so, you know what I'm talking about. It's interesting watching my daughter Elissa adjust to this most inescapable of grown-up realities as she settles into her first full-time job. She claims she's not very good at the adulting thing, as many people her age do, but I would say she's far ahead of most of her peers.
Whenever I get a little disappointed about not being able to do everything I want to do, I take stock of what those little personal sacrifices have done for me. I am blessed beyond measure, largely because of the way I've chosen to react to all of the gifts God has given me.
Sure, I can't just up and go on a weekend trip at the spur of the moment. But how important is that when compared with having a wonderful wife to whom I've been married for nearly 25 years? And children I love being around? And a job that provides us with so many material gifts countless others on this planet lack?
I have a car to drive, food to eat, a roof over my head, and a warm place to sleep every night. If you stop taking things like that for granted for just a second, and recognize how close to NOT having them you really are, suddenly the other stuff pales greatly in comparison.
I may or may not run that second marathon someday, but if I don't, it really is OK. That, I suppose, is at least one wise thing I've come to understand in my 47 years.
Friday, April 7, 2017
On healthy eating, food that tastes bad, and the Ultimate Trade-Off
By all accounts, I eat in a manner that most people would term "healthy."
Of course, as an American, it's not difficult to eat healthy compared with your countrymen. When you begin to understand what healthy eating really is, you quickly become appalled at what doctors call the Standard American Diet (and its appropriate acronym, "SAD").
We don't exactly eat in a way that promotes feeling good and longevity, folks. We just don't. And what's worse, our #1 export as a nation is our poor dietary habits. The Type-2 diabetes epidemic is becoming a global phenomenon, though I would guess we still lead the world in insulin shots per capita.
I ate that way for a long time. Not as much as some folks, but still not ideal from a medical standpoint. Then I started doing some reading and found out what our bodies truly need. And it ain't the chemical-filled "low-fat" stuff that was all the rage in the 90s and beyond. It's real food, as close to its natural state as possible.
My diet is not perfect. I'll be the first to admit that. These days I don't eat as much protein as I should, and I've not been able to give blood in a while because my iron levels are always too low (though interestingly, I feel like I have a lot of energy most days). I also eat way, way too much fruit. It fills me up, and there can be a lot of sugar in fruit, though as I understand it, it's a natural sugar that's metabolized differently from the added sugar that permeates everything at the grocery store.
But as I try to evolve my eating patterns, I think I'm definitely getting better. There's improvement, which is good.
Here for example is absolutely everything I ate yesterday (Friday, March 31st):
BREAKFAST:
* 1 cup oatmeal (1/2 cup plain oats, 1/2 cup water...I honestly love how it tastes, though I know many people would say it's incredibly bland)
* 1 banana
* 1 cup coffee with 16-18g of half and half
SNACKS (eaten throughout the day...I snack a lot):
* 3 more bananas
* 4 apples
* 1 grapefruit
* 1 carrot
* 1 ounce walnuts
* 1 packet Chicken of the Sea pink salmon
* 1 cup plain Greek yogurt (yes, I eat it and like it plain)
* 1 whole-wheat mini bagel
* 1 Weight Watchers cheese stick
* 1 Weight Watchers cheese stick
* 3 more cups of coffee prepared just like the one I had at breakfast above
LUNCH:
* 1 greens salad (even mixture of spinach and kale) with a combo olive oil/red wine vinegar dressing
DINNER:
* 2 ounces bran flakes with a cup of almond milk (NOTE: This is a very, very light dinner for me. I usually eat more than this, but Terry is out of town and the kids ordered pizza that I didn't want to wait for. So cereal it was!)
This was about how I ate every day last week, and I lost 1.4 pounds (I also jogged four days, which is important to note). That's a good, sensible weight loss, and I didn't feel especially hungry at any part of the day.
Should I have eaten more whole grains and protein? Yes. But that's just one day. It's a snapshot. I get more of those things on other days.
Every day I try to get my share of healthy fats, which generally consists of nuts, the olive oil on my salad, and any fish I can scrounge up when it's available. I try to get whole grains (i.e., not white bread or white rice), I try to get vegetables (though generally not enough), I have no problem meeting my fruit quota, and I'll eat lean meats when we do have meat.
I read all kinds of books and articles about healthy eating, and I know the areas in which I'm lacking. You can suggest anything and I'll probably be aware that I should be eating it. But this is my general approach, and medically it seems to work in terms of my blood pressure, blood sugar, etc. All of those important numbers the doctor always talks to you about.
Many people will say that this type of food isn't enjoyable for them, and that they would rather have fewer but fun years vs. more but bland-eating years. And I offer up no judgment on that whatsoever. It is, in the end, what I call "The Ultimate Trade-Off."
You have to ask yourself: What do I want? What are my goals? What makes me feel best? And while we all know the "right" answer to that question in terms of health and wellness, the real "right" answer varies for each of us.
It may be that you want to eat steak every day for the rest of your life, and if you die early, so be it. And I completely respect that. I am not the Food Police for anyone but myself. What I want out of life and what you want out of life may differ, but neither of our approaches is inherently better than the other.
In the end, as I said in yesterday's weight loss post, we all have to make our own decisions. The key is being truly comfortable with the one you make and living with it. If you can do that, then you've got a big part of this whole "life" thing figured out.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Some thoughts on weight, health and BMI
Every once in a while, I come on here and talk a bit about my personal weight loss (and gain, and loss, and gain, and loss, etc.) journey, in the hopes that it will be somewhat interesting to you and that you'll at least read past the headline.
This is one of those days.
I went to my Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday and got back to within two pounds of my goal as a Lifetime Member, which means I don't have to pay to come to meetings and to access the E-Tools on my iPhone that allow me to look up the point values of various foods, track my eating and activity, etc. It's a nice little incentive to stay at or around your goal weight: Eat too much and you end up paying.
My weight losses have always been followed by weight gains. It's a reality that many, many people face, and that I may face for the rest of my life, I don't know. But looking back over just the last nine years, I've had significant weight losses at the following times and gained much or all of the weight back each time:
2008: Lost about 30 pounds, gained it all back by 2010
2011: Lost 15 pounds or so, gained it all back by 2012
2013: Lost something like 45 pounds, gained 25 of it back by early 2016
2016: Lost that 25 I had gained back PLUS 25 more. Yes, a 50-pound swing, though that took me down into the mid-160s by last fall and, honestly, as much as it pains me to say this, that was just too much.
2017: By the early part of this year, I had gained 25 of the pounds back again, and now I'm starting to lose it again.
I weighed in at 186.4 this morning (Saturday, April 1st), a figure that would surprise many people just looking at me. I don't look like I weigh 186 pounds, though I will say that much of it is in my legs. I've told you before that we Tennants carry a lot of weight in our thick English-German calf and thigh muscles.
Still, I really don't think I'm quite yet at a medically ideal weight. What that weight should be, though, constantly baffles me. It's not 165, but it's also not 185.
"Hey, Scott, here's a thought: How about splitting the difference and stopping at 175?"
Yes, yes, you're probably right. It's just that I have a hang-up about being in the "overweight" or "obese" section of the Body Mass Index (BMI) charts.
People attack the BMI scale all the time, claiming it's unrealistic. But I think that's because most people don't understand exactly what BMI is.
BMI is not a set of numbers designed to make you feel like a fat slob. As I understand it, it's simply a table based on straight actuarial data. It's telling you, in essence, "Look, you do what you want. We're just saying that people under this particular weight for your height tend to die early a lot less often than people who are over that weight. That's it. That's all we're saying. It may seem like an unrealistic number to you, but the stats are the stats."
Yes, I know that people who are especially muscular get thrown unfairly into the overweight/obese category on the BMI chart. I understand it's not perfect. I'm just saying its purpose is really only to show you how likely you are to suffer an early death based on your height and weight. There are, and always will be, exceptions.
Of course, there are many things that contribute to being "healthy," and maintaining a proper weight is just one of them. But it's an important one, to be sure. For my height (5-9 1/2), I don't enter the "normal" weight zone on the BMI chart unless I'm under 172 pounds. My 186 weigh-in this morning puts me at about 27.1 (under 25 is healthy/normal). A 27.1 BMI is classified as "overweight."
Do with that information what you will. We all have to make our own decisions. I'm just having a hard time balancing the medical "hey, you're in good shape" with the subjective "hey, you look too gaunt" from family and friends.
The more important question I should be asking myself is how I'm going to go about maintaining that true goal weight once I get there. And I'm looking into that now. A different maintenance philosophy and a whole lot of prayer seem to be the preferred strategy.
One key thing for me, as Terry told me countless times as I refused to listen, is that I need to show up at weekly Weight Watchers meetings. I just have to. They keep me accountable and motivated. When I stop going, I gain weight. It's a simple pattern, not hard to recognize, yet time and again I try to do it on my own. Dumb.
OK, I've written more than I should have on this. I wanted to talk about healthy eating apart from weight, but you know what? I'll do that in tomorrow's post. I really need to go grab an apple (and not a Twinkie) right now.
This is one of those days.
I went to my Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday and got back to within two pounds of my goal as a Lifetime Member, which means I don't have to pay to come to meetings and to access the E-Tools on my iPhone that allow me to look up the point values of various foods, track my eating and activity, etc. It's a nice little incentive to stay at or around your goal weight: Eat too much and you end up paying.
My weight losses have always been followed by weight gains. It's a reality that many, many people face, and that I may face for the rest of my life, I don't know. But looking back over just the last nine years, I've had significant weight losses at the following times and gained much or all of the weight back each time:
2008: Lost about 30 pounds, gained it all back by 2010
2011: Lost 15 pounds or so, gained it all back by 2012
2013: Lost something like 45 pounds, gained 25 of it back by early 2016
2016: Lost that 25 I had gained back PLUS 25 more. Yes, a 50-pound swing, though that took me down into the mid-160s by last fall and, honestly, as much as it pains me to say this, that was just too much.
2017: By the early part of this year, I had gained 25 of the pounds back again, and now I'm starting to lose it again.
I weighed in at 186.4 this morning (Saturday, April 1st), a figure that would surprise many people just looking at me. I don't look like I weigh 186 pounds, though I will say that much of it is in my legs. I've told you before that we Tennants carry a lot of weight in our thick English-German calf and thigh muscles.
Still, I really don't think I'm quite yet at a medically ideal weight. What that weight should be, though, constantly baffles me. It's not 165, but it's also not 185.
"Hey, Scott, here's a thought: How about splitting the difference and stopping at 175?"
Yes, yes, you're probably right. It's just that I have a hang-up about being in the "overweight" or "obese" section of the Body Mass Index (BMI) charts.
People attack the BMI scale all the time, claiming it's unrealistic. But I think that's because most people don't understand exactly what BMI is.
BMI is not a set of numbers designed to make you feel like a fat slob. As I understand it, it's simply a table based on straight actuarial data. It's telling you, in essence, "Look, you do what you want. We're just saying that people under this particular weight for your height tend to die early a lot less often than people who are over that weight. That's it. That's all we're saying. It may seem like an unrealistic number to you, but the stats are the stats."
Yes, I know that people who are especially muscular get thrown unfairly into the overweight/obese category on the BMI chart. I understand it's not perfect. I'm just saying its purpose is really only to show you how likely you are to suffer an early death based on your height and weight. There are, and always will be, exceptions.
Of course, there are many things that contribute to being "healthy," and maintaining a proper weight is just one of them. But it's an important one, to be sure. For my height (5-9 1/2), I don't enter the "normal" weight zone on the BMI chart unless I'm under 172 pounds. My 186 weigh-in this morning puts me at about 27.1 (under 25 is healthy/normal). A 27.1 BMI is classified as "overweight."
Do with that information what you will. We all have to make our own decisions. I'm just having a hard time balancing the medical "hey, you're in good shape" with the subjective "hey, you look too gaunt" from family and friends.
The more important question I should be asking myself is how I'm going to go about maintaining that true goal weight once I get there. And I'm looking into that now. A different maintenance philosophy and a whole lot of prayer seem to be the preferred strategy.
One key thing for me, as Terry told me countless times as I refused to listen, is that I need to show up at weekly Weight Watchers meetings. I just have to. They keep me accountable and motivated. When I stop going, I gain weight. It's a simple pattern, not hard to recognize, yet time and again I try to do it on my own. Dumb.
OK, I've written more than I should have on this. I wanted to talk about healthy eating apart from weight, but you know what? I'll do that in tomorrow's post. I really need to go grab an apple (and not a Twinkie) right now.
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
OK, so apparently cheaters DON'T prosper
Remember the whole thing where I asked you to click on the ads in my blog so I could make a few bucks? And how I even thanked you for doing it after my Google Ads account balance shot up?
I included this line at the end of that thank-you post when it suddenly occurred to me that what I was doing may not have been entirely ethical: "You don't think the Google AdSense people will read this and take away my cash, citing some obscure rule about soliciting ad clicks or something, do you? Maybe we should just keep this between ourselves..."
Well, guess what! (You already know where this is going.) I received the following note of reprimand from the Google Ads people:
Yes, the earnings that pushed me over that magical $100 payment threshold are probably going to be rescinded. That's $40 in income gone in a flash, and there's no doubt I deserve it.
So yeah, I screwed up. I should have read the fine print a bit more closely and realized (as a marketing professional myself) that solicited clicks aren't of any use to advertisers.
I guess, then, my request to you is to stop clicking on the ads unless you're really, genuinely interested in something. I appreciate everyone chipping in with a few clicks, but them's the rules, you know?
I guess we'll put that classical CD buying binge on hold for a bit...
I included this line at the end of that thank-you post when it suddenly occurred to me that what I was doing may not have been entirely ethical: "You don't think the Google AdSense people will read this and take away my cash, citing some obscure rule about soliciting ad clicks or something, do you? Maybe we should just keep this between ourselves..."
Well, guess what! (You already know where this is going.) I received the following note of reprimand from the Google Ads people:
Hello,
We recently detected invalid activity in your AdSense account. As a result, we’ve temporarily suspended your account for 30 days. During this time, no ads will be served on your sites.
Why was my account suspended?We found instances of one or more users clicking repeatedly on your AdSense ads which is prohibited by the AdSense Program Policies. Clicks on Google ads must result from genuine user interest. Publishers may not ask others to refresh or click their ads. This includes asking for users to support your site, offering rewards to users for viewing ads or performing searches and promising to raise money for third parties for such behavior. Additionally, clicking your own ads, automated clicking tools or traffic sources, robots, or other deceptive software are also prohibited.The note was actually much longer, but the gist of it was:
- We know what you did, smart a**.
- There's a rule against that to which you clearly agreed, but you never even bothered to read it, did you?
- Your account is suspended for 30 days, which means no ads will appear on your blog AND we're going to withhold the payment to which you were otherwise entitled AND we're probably going to refund all of the revenue you've recently generated to the affected advertisers.
- And there's nothing you can do about it. Nyah nyah nyah!
Yes, the earnings that pushed me over that magical $100 payment threshold are probably going to be rescinded. That's $40 in income gone in a flash, and there's no doubt I deserve it.
So yeah, I screwed up. I should have read the fine print a bit more closely and realized (as a marketing professional myself) that solicited clicks aren't of any use to advertisers.
I guess, then, my request to you is to stop clicking on the ads unless you're really, genuinely interested in something. I appreciate everyone chipping in with a few clicks, but them's the rules, you know?
I guess we'll put that classical CD buying binge on hold for a bit...
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
What we did right with each of our kids - Part V - Jack
(NOTE: Parents are forever lamenting the things they wish they had done differently with their children. "I should have been more strict about this" or "I wish I had let her participate in that." That type of stuff. I see nothing productive there, so instead I choose to celebrate the things that Terry and I appear to have done well with our children. Plus, it's a good way to fill five days of blog posts. So there's that.)
At the ripe old age of 11, my son Jack is still a work in progress. You can of course argue that ALL of us are works in progress, but what I mean is that, compared with my older kids, he's still fairly malleable in terms of how he sees the world and the values he absorbs from us, his parents.
Jack busts me up. I don't know if it's because he's so naturally funny (he really is) or if it's just because he's kid #5 and Terry and I are, in general, more laid back and relaxed in our approach to raising him vs. our older children.
I actually like to think we've been pretty laid back with all of the kids, since my wife and I are essentially laid back people. Maybe too laid back in some ways, though we've been trying to focus only on the positive in these "what we did right with each of our kids" posts, so I'll stay away from that.
So to wrap up the series, here are five things Terry and I may have actually done right when it comes to little Jack:
(1) We're letting him try a new family sport: cross country. Like everyone in the family at one point or another has done, Jack plays soccer. Like three of his siblings before him, he has done this since he was a kindergartner. But over the last couple of months he has started distance running through the Wickliffe Junior Olympics program, and it's obvious we've stumbled upon something for which he has talent and from which he derives enjoyment. Bingo. I have no idea what his sporting future holds, but I have a feeling that soccer and cross country will have a hard time co-existing in his life, and that he will eventually (maybe very soon) have to pick one or the other.
(2) We got him swimming lessons when he was a baby. A toddler, really, but still, he was much younger than any of the other kids were when they learned to swim. I think Terry started taking him to lessons when he was 2. I'm amazed at how well kids that age can do in the water, especially since I'm not exactly a fish myself. That was a good call.
(3) We exposed him to electronics fairly early. Like most in his generation, Jack is a technological native. He was proficient in all types of hardware and software from an early age. And while he often spends too much time on various devices, he at least has a sense that there's such a thing as "too much time on devices." He'll learn to balance it all out as he gets older.
(4) We taught him to be affectionate. This may be just Jack's personality, but to this day he still hugs us and tells us he loves us every day. I'll be interested to see how much of that goes away as he hits his teen years, but right now he has no problem showing the world he loves his mom and dad. It's sweet.
(5) We taught him to lose. Now understand, when he was really, really little, I would arrange it so that Jack would win most games of Candyland or Chutes and Ladders. You don't want to crush their dreams quite that early. But for the most part, when we play a family game and Jack wins, he wins on his own. There's a lot of losing in life, and I don't say that in an Eeyore, whoa-is-us manner. It's just the way things are. The sooner you learn that, and the sooner you learn to deal with it, even if it's just a seemingly unimportant card or board game, the better.
At the ripe old age of 11, my son Jack is still a work in progress. You can of course argue that ALL of us are works in progress, but what I mean is that, compared with my older kids, he's still fairly malleable in terms of how he sees the world and the values he absorbs from us, his parents.
Jack busts me up. I don't know if it's because he's so naturally funny (he really is) or if it's just because he's kid #5 and Terry and I are, in general, more laid back and relaxed in our approach to raising him vs. our older children.
I actually like to think we've been pretty laid back with all of the kids, since my wife and I are essentially laid back people. Maybe too laid back in some ways, though we've been trying to focus only on the positive in these "what we did right with each of our kids" posts, so I'll stay away from that.
So to wrap up the series, here are five things Terry and I may have actually done right when it comes to little Jack:
(1) We're letting him try a new family sport: cross country. Like everyone in the family at one point or another has done, Jack plays soccer. Like three of his siblings before him, he has done this since he was a kindergartner. But over the last couple of months he has started distance running through the Wickliffe Junior Olympics program, and it's obvious we've stumbled upon something for which he has talent and from which he derives enjoyment. Bingo. I have no idea what his sporting future holds, but I have a feeling that soccer and cross country will have a hard time co-existing in his life, and that he will eventually (maybe very soon) have to pick one or the other.
(2) We got him swimming lessons when he was a baby. A toddler, really, but still, he was much younger than any of the other kids were when they learned to swim. I think Terry started taking him to lessons when he was 2. I'm amazed at how well kids that age can do in the water, especially since I'm not exactly a fish myself. That was a good call.
(3) We exposed him to electronics fairly early. Like most in his generation, Jack is a technological native. He was proficient in all types of hardware and software from an early age. And while he often spends too much time on various devices, he at least has a sense that there's such a thing as "too much time on devices." He'll learn to balance it all out as he gets older.
(4) We taught him to be affectionate. This may be just Jack's personality, but to this day he still hugs us and tells us he loves us every day. I'll be interested to see how much of that goes away as he hits his teen years, but right now he has no problem showing the world he loves his mom and dad. It's sweet.
(5) We taught him to lose. Now understand, when he was really, really little, I would arrange it so that Jack would win most games of Candyland or Chutes and Ladders. You don't want to crush their dreams quite that early. But for the most part, when we play a family game and Jack wins, he wins on his own. There's a lot of losing in life, and I don't say that in an Eeyore, whoa-is-us manner. It's just the way things are. The sooner you learn that, and the sooner you learn to deal with it, even if it's just a seemingly unimportant card or board game, the better.
Monday, April 3, 2017
What we did right with each of our kids - Part IV - Melanie
(NOTE: Parents are forever lamenting the things they wish they had done differently with their children. "I should have been more strict about this" or "I wish I had let her participate in that." That type of stuff. I see nothing productive there, so instead I choose to celebrate the things that Terry and I appear to have done well with our children. Plus, it's a good way to fill five days of blog posts. So there's that.)
My daughter Melanie is 16 years old and right on the verge of getting her driver's license. This does not scare me at all, in part because I've been through this before with three other kids, and in part because it's just so convenient having a child who can drive herself places.
But part of me will always think of Melanie as the four-year-old version of herself. She had this great little haircut that just screamed "CUTE!" And in fact everything she did and everything she said screamed "CUTE!" I love the current Melanie, but as parents do, I will always keep a piece of Little Tiny Melanie in my heart.
There is, incidentally, some variation in her name within our household. She is officially "Melanie," but I usually call her "Mel." And when she was a baby, Terry and I took to calling her "Melanie Moo," which somehow eventually morphed into "Schmoo." I don't know why.
Anyway, sticking with our theme this week, I'm here to tell you five things we did right with this particular child, so here they are:
(1) We let her be the baby of the family for a while. I used to think this was kind of a bad thing. Mel was the baby for so long before Jack showed up that she was treated like the baby for a long time after she had grown out of that role. Her siblings did a lot of things for her and we didn't push her especially hard. But now that I see her maturing into such a bright, goal-driven young woman, I realize we didn't do her any permanent harm. Let little kids be little kids for a while, I guess is the moral here.
(2) We're not forcing her to be in band just because everyone else in the family is/was in band. At this point it's iffy whether Mel, who quit band after her freshman year, will return to it next year as a junior. There's a part of me that wants her to, since I was a bando, my wife was a bando, and so were Elissa, Chloe and Jared. And Jack currently plays the trumpet. But if it's not something she particularly enjoys (and I don't think it is), why force it? She can make her own decision here, as far as I'm concerned.
(3) We let her go to concerts from a fairly young age. For whatever reason, I didn't go to my first rock/pop concert until I was 18 years old (February 1988, Sting, Cleveland Public Hall...what a show). Mel has been going to concerts since her very early teens. Live music is a fun and exciting experience, and going with just her friends teaches her to navigate large venues and downtown streets. Not bad things to know.
(4) We let her have a boyfriend. All three of my girls have what you might call long-term boyfriends, and I like all three of them. They're good guys, which I think is because my girls have good heads on their shoulders and can make wise decisions when it comes to dating. I've never understood the "you're not dating until your xx years old" rule some moms and dads impose, but then again, I don't claim to be the perfect parent. I just think my girls are learning the basics of healthy relationships by being allowed to engage in their own while still young adults.
(5) We forced her to share a room with her sister Chloe. This isn't really a hardship, since Chloe lives at the University of Akron most of the time. But you know, it's not going to kill you to learn to compromise and share a living space with someone else from time to time. Now if we can just teach Mel not to leave moldy food, unwashed clothes and various papers all over her floor, we would be getting somewhere...
My daughter Melanie is 16 years old and right on the verge of getting her driver's license. This does not scare me at all, in part because I've been through this before with three other kids, and in part because it's just so convenient having a child who can drive herself places.
But part of me will always think of Melanie as the four-year-old version of herself. She had this great little haircut that just screamed "CUTE!" And in fact everything she did and everything she said screamed "CUTE!" I love the current Melanie, but as parents do, I will always keep a piece of Little Tiny Melanie in my heart.
There is, incidentally, some variation in her name within our household. She is officially "Melanie," but I usually call her "Mel." And when she was a baby, Terry and I took to calling her "Melanie Moo," which somehow eventually morphed into "Schmoo." I don't know why.
Anyway, sticking with our theme this week, I'm here to tell you five things we did right with this particular child, so here they are:
(1) We let her be the baby of the family for a while. I used to think this was kind of a bad thing. Mel was the baby for so long before Jack showed up that she was treated like the baby for a long time after she had grown out of that role. Her siblings did a lot of things for her and we didn't push her especially hard. But now that I see her maturing into such a bright, goal-driven young woman, I realize we didn't do her any permanent harm. Let little kids be little kids for a while, I guess is the moral here.
(2) We're not forcing her to be in band just because everyone else in the family is/was in band. At this point it's iffy whether Mel, who quit band after her freshman year, will return to it next year as a junior. There's a part of me that wants her to, since I was a bando, my wife was a bando, and so were Elissa, Chloe and Jared. And Jack currently plays the trumpet. But if it's not something she particularly enjoys (and I don't think it is), why force it? She can make her own decision here, as far as I'm concerned.
(3) We let her go to concerts from a fairly young age. For whatever reason, I didn't go to my first rock/pop concert until I was 18 years old (February 1988, Sting, Cleveland Public Hall...what a show). Mel has been going to concerts since her very early teens. Live music is a fun and exciting experience, and going with just her friends teaches her to navigate large venues and downtown streets. Not bad things to know.
(4) We let her have a boyfriend. All three of my girls have what you might call long-term boyfriends, and I like all three of them. They're good guys, which I think is because my girls have good heads on their shoulders and can make wise decisions when it comes to dating. I've never understood the "you're not dating until your xx years old" rule some moms and dads impose, but then again, I don't claim to be the perfect parent. I just think my girls are learning the basics of healthy relationships by being allowed to engage in their own while still young adults.
(5) We forced her to share a room with her sister Chloe. This isn't really a hardship, since Chloe lives at the University of Akron most of the time. But you know, it's not going to kill you to learn to compromise and share a living space with someone else from time to time. Now if we can just teach Mel not to leave moldy food, unwashed clothes and various papers all over her floor, we would be getting somewhere...
Sunday, April 2, 2017
What we did right with each of our kids - Part III - Jared
(NOTE: Parents are forever lamenting the things they wish they had done differently with their children. "I should have been more strict about this" or "I wish I had let her participate in that." That type of stuff. I see nothing productive there, so instead I choose to celebrate the things that Terry and I appear to have done well with our children. Plus, it's a good way to fill five days of blog posts. So there's that.)
My son Jared, now 18, was as tall as me when he was 12 or 13 years old. This isn't saying much as I'm of exceedingly average height (5-9½, thank you very much), but now that he has topped out at around 6-1, "tall" is one of his defining characteristics.
There are many people taller than Jared, of course, but for our family, he's a giant.
Speaking of which – true story – one time when was about 10, he was playing soccer and one of the players on the opposing team urged his teammates to "cover the giant," referring to Jared. Every once in a while, Terry or I will exclaim, "Cover the giant!" And the other one will chuckle appreciatively.
For many years, Jared was my Man Child. He looked older than he really was up until high school, at which point he looked like someone who was exactly where they should be. Now, as high school winds down for him, he looks to me like someone trying to figure out where he belongs next.
Which is perfect. That's what you should be doing when you're 18.
Here are five things I'd like to think Jared's mother and I did right for him:
(1) We let him be who he is. Jared is a quiet guy. He talks to people now more than he used to, but he is still widely known as The Quiet Tennant. And that's fine. Jared is who he is, and any attempt to make him seem more outgoing would have been disingenuous and ultimately unfair. (By the way, he and I have always talked a lot. If you know Jared only in passing, you might be surprised to learn he is one of the funniest people I know. He has a dry sense of humor that just kills me.)
(2) We encouraged him to kick a football. In the grand scheme of things, the three years Jared spent as a kicker for the Wickliffe High School football team may seem unimportant. And yes, he will undoubtedly do far more important things in his life. But the experience of putting on the shoulder pads and playing under the lights every Friday night was one he'll never forget, I'm sure. He got there largely on his own. No one sought him out to kick. As a freshman, he asked the coach what he needed to do to become a kicker. He found out where he needed to be and when, and he showed up. He found what he needed to learn, and he learned it. All on his own. No kicking coach or anything, just Jared. Let's hear it for personal initiative.
(3) We let him destroy our garage with hockey pucks. OK, we did't let him do this, but to Terry's credit, she has kept herself from killing Jared for putting a variety of dents in our garage door and gouges in our garage walls. Jared never played organized hockey, but I played living room and driveway hockey with him when he was a lot younger, and to this day his love of the sport continues to grow. When I think back to my own sports experiences with my dad, most of the memories revolve around attending Indians games and watching Friday night boxing matches together. I hope that one day for Jared, one of his memories of his dad will be watching, playing and talking about hockey. It's our thing, as is a shared love for Cleveland sports.
(4) We told him what he should do and watched when he chose to ignore our advice. The older he gets, the more The Boy seems to follow our teaching (sometimes grudgingly). But over the years, he has more than once gone his own direction, often with less-than-desirable results. I'll say it again: There is value in screwing up. Let it happen.
(5) We taught him he is loved. Jared is not an outwardly affectionate guy. He will occasionally hug his mother, but it's not an everyday thing. Still, in everything he has done, and in every decision he has made, we tried to make it clear that we loved him no matter what. I think he gets that concept in his head for now. Someday he'll understand it in his heart, too.
My son Jared, now 18, was as tall as me when he was 12 or 13 years old. This isn't saying much as I'm of exceedingly average height (5-9½, thank you very much), but now that he has topped out at around 6-1, "tall" is one of his defining characteristics.
There are many people taller than Jared, of course, but for our family, he's a giant.
Speaking of which – true story – one time when was about 10, he was playing soccer and one of the players on the opposing team urged his teammates to "cover the giant," referring to Jared. Every once in a while, Terry or I will exclaim, "Cover the giant!" And the other one will chuckle appreciatively.
For many years, Jared was my Man Child. He looked older than he really was up until high school, at which point he looked like someone who was exactly where they should be. Now, as high school winds down for him, he looks to me like someone trying to figure out where he belongs next.
Which is perfect. That's what you should be doing when you're 18.
Here are five things I'd like to think Jared's mother and I did right for him:
(1) We let him be who he is. Jared is a quiet guy. He talks to people now more than he used to, but he is still widely known as The Quiet Tennant. And that's fine. Jared is who he is, and any attempt to make him seem more outgoing would have been disingenuous and ultimately unfair. (By the way, he and I have always talked a lot. If you know Jared only in passing, you might be surprised to learn he is one of the funniest people I know. He has a dry sense of humor that just kills me.)
(2) We encouraged him to kick a football. In the grand scheme of things, the three years Jared spent as a kicker for the Wickliffe High School football team may seem unimportant. And yes, he will undoubtedly do far more important things in his life. But the experience of putting on the shoulder pads and playing under the lights every Friday night was one he'll never forget, I'm sure. He got there largely on his own. No one sought him out to kick. As a freshman, he asked the coach what he needed to do to become a kicker. He found out where he needed to be and when, and he showed up. He found what he needed to learn, and he learned it. All on his own. No kicking coach or anything, just Jared. Let's hear it for personal initiative.
(3) We let him destroy our garage with hockey pucks. OK, we did't let him do this, but to Terry's credit, she has kept herself from killing Jared for putting a variety of dents in our garage door and gouges in our garage walls. Jared never played organized hockey, but I played living room and driveway hockey with him when he was a lot younger, and to this day his love of the sport continues to grow. When I think back to my own sports experiences with my dad, most of the memories revolve around attending Indians games and watching Friday night boxing matches together. I hope that one day for Jared, one of his memories of his dad will be watching, playing and talking about hockey. It's our thing, as is a shared love for Cleveland sports.
(4) We told him what he should do and watched when he chose to ignore our advice. The older he gets, the more The Boy seems to follow our teaching (sometimes grudgingly). But over the years, he has more than once gone his own direction, often with less-than-desirable results. I'll say it again: There is value in screwing up. Let it happen.
(5) We taught him he is loved. Jared is not an outwardly affectionate guy. He will occasionally hug his mother, but it's not an everyday thing. Still, in everything he has done, and in every decision he has made, we tried to make it clear that we loved him no matter what. I think he gets that concept in his head for now. Someday he'll understand it in his heart, too.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
What we did right with each of our kids - Part II - Chloe
(NOTE: Parents are forever lamenting the things they wish they had done differently with their children. "I should have been more strict about this" or "I wish I had let her participate in that." That type of stuff. I see nothing productive there, so instead I choose to celebrate the things that Terry and I appear to have done well with our children. Plus, it's a good way to fill five days of blog posts. So there's that.)
My 20-year-old daughter Chloe wants to be a doctor. A pediatrician, to be specific, and of course she's doing it by first getting a degree in biomedical engineering. This makes some sense, I suppose, but it's just like Chloe to go at the whole thing just a bit differently from most people.
For Chloe herself is a bit different from most people. Always has been. It is one of the many things to love about her.
Allowing her individuality to flourish is probably one thing we did right for her. Here are five others:
(1) We allowed her to be an interesting person. As Chloe was going out the door to head for work just now, I told her I was going to write a post about her, and I gave her the topic. She suggested that letting her be an interesting person should be on this list. Actually, she just said, "I'm an interesting person." And I said, "Does that mean we actually helped you become interesting? Or did we just stand by and let it happen?" And all she said as she ran out to her car was, "Good point." I'm not even sure what the point is. But I guess you could say we never quashed any of her eccentricities. Chloe is Chloe. If you love her like we do, great. If you don't, she doesn't have much use for you.
(2) I introduced her to soccer when she was 6 years old. Technically, she introduced me to soccer. I had been coaching my kids in t-ball and baseball for a couple of years when Chloe the kindergartner informed me she wanted to play soccer. So I went to City Hall to sign her up, and through a chain of events that still confuses me to this day, I ended up as her coach, as well (another story for another time). Chloe played nonstop all the way through her senior year of high school, capping her career by being named Most Valuable Player on her team that season. Soccer proved to be an outlet for her both physically and mentally, as she learned what it means to truly work for something and strive to improve every day.
(3) I let her choose the baritone horn on "Meet the Instrument Night" when she was in 4th grade. Chloe's choice to be a low brass player serves her well even to this day, as she has played the sousaphone in the University of Akron marching band the last two years. Terry, however, started accompanying us to these Meet the Instrument Nights after that because she was afraid I was going to steer all of our kids toward weird musical choices.
(4) We got out of her way. I said in a blog post on Chloe's birthday a year or two ago that the best thing when you're dealing with extremely bright and talented kids is to just let them go. That doesn't mean you should disengage from their lives completely, but understand that you aren't (and shouldn't be) driving the train. You're just the conductor, man, and you'd better hang on for the ride.
(5) We taught her to play cribbage. Have you ever played cribbage? That's a fun game. Sailors on submarines have played it for years. It's a good mix of strategy, skill and a little luck (much like life itself). Teach your kids to play cribbage. And if you don't know how, I will take you to Starbucks and have you playing like a champ in less than 15 minutes while we sip overpriced coffee (on me).
My 20-year-old daughter Chloe wants to be a doctor. A pediatrician, to be specific, and of course she's doing it by first getting a degree in biomedical engineering. This makes some sense, I suppose, but it's just like Chloe to go at the whole thing just a bit differently from most people.
For Chloe herself is a bit different from most people. Always has been. It is one of the many things to love about her.
Allowing her individuality to flourish is probably one thing we did right for her. Here are five others:
(1) We allowed her to be an interesting person. As Chloe was going out the door to head for work just now, I told her I was going to write a post about her, and I gave her the topic. She suggested that letting her be an interesting person should be on this list. Actually, she just said, "I'm an interesting person." And I said, "Does that mean we actually helped you become interesting? Or did we just stand by and let it happen?" And all she said as she ran out to her car was, "Good point." I'm not even sure what the point is. But I guess you could say we never quashed any of her eccentricities. Chloe is Chloe. If you love her like we do, great. If you don't, she doesn't have much use for you.
(2) I introduced her to soccer when she was 6 years old. Technically, she introduced me to soccer. I had been coaching my kids in t-ball and baseball for a couple of years when Chloe the kindergartner informed me she wanted to play soccer. So I went to City Hall to sign her up, and through a chain of events that still confuses me to this day, I ended up as her coach, as well (another story for another time). Chloe played nonstop all the way through her senior year of high school, capping her career by being named Most Valuable Player on her team that season. Soccer proved to be an outlet for her both physically and mentally, as she learned what it means to truly work for something and strive to improve every day.
(3) I let her choose the baritone horn on "Meet the Instrument Night" when she was in 4th grade. Chloe's choice to be a low brass player serves her well even to this day, as she has played the sousaphone in the University of Akron marching band the last two years. Terry, however, started accompanying us to these Meet the Instrument Nights after that because she was afraid I was going to steer all of our kids toward weird musical choices.
(4) We got out of her way. I said in a blog post on Chloe's birthday a year or two ago that the best thing when you're dealing with extremely bright and talented kids is to just let them go. That doesn't mean you should disengage from their lives completely, but understand that you aren't (and shouldn't be) driving the train. You're just the conductor, man, and you'd better hang on for the ride.
(5) We taught her to play cribbage. Have you ever played cribbage? That's a fun game. Sailors on submarines have played it for years. It's a good mix of strategy, skill and a little luck (much like life itself). Teach your kids to play cribbage. And if you don't know how, I will take you to Starbucks and have you playing like a champ in less than 15 minutes while we sip overpriced coffee (on me).
Friday, March 31, 2017
What we did right with each of our kids - Part I - Elissa
(NOTE: Parents are forever lamenting the things they wish they had done differently with their children. "I should have been more strict about this" or "I wish I had let her participate in that." That type of stuff. I see nothing productive there, so instead I choose to celebrate the things that Terry and I appear to have done well with our children. Plus, it's a good way to fill five days of blog posts. So there's that.)
Elissa is my newly minted 23-year-old daughter. I don't mean "newly minted" in the sense of "we just got her." I mean she just turned 23 recently.
Also, you will note that I did not hyphenate "newly minted" in that first sentence. Long ago when I first started at The News-Herald, Robin Palmer taught me not to hyphenate "ly" words. I don't know if that was an AP Style thing, a News-Herald thing, or just a Robin thing. But to this day when I'm editing copy, I will remove the hyphen after a "ly" word.
Anyway, Elissa. When she was little, she was shy. A borderline genius, mind you, but shy and introverted. As she grew, she became a little more extroverted with each passing year. Now, the thing comedian John Mulaney says about Jewish women also applies to Elissa: You do not need to ask how she's feeling. She will tell you.
And this is an exceedingly good thing. Women are often conditioned in this society to believe that "shy and quiet" is more attractive than "opinionated and vocal." I will take the latter any day of the week, and I like to think we encouraged her to be that way.
Here are five other things we did right with Elissa:
(1) We made her play her oboe until she graduated from high school. She was ready to be done with the instrument by her junior year (maybe sooner), but we prodded her to stick it out. I believe studying and performing music is an inherently beneficial thing. As is seeing through something you started. Elissa would disagree with me, but I think we did right by her in this decision.
(2) We let her make her own decision about college when it came to living on campus. She could have saved a ton of money living at home while she attended Cleveland State University, but she wanted the on-campus experience, and it's clear how much less she would have grown over those four years had we made her live at home.
(3) I played Barbies with her when she was little. Whatever you think of Barbie and whether she actually imposes unrealistic standards of beauty on little girls (I happen to think most little girls are smarter than that), we had some of our most fun times together playing with the gigantic stock of Barbie merchandise stored under Elissa's bed. Of course, once I got sick of playing, I would concoct some sort of fiery death for Barbie, Ken, and whomever else joined us in our adventures. But PRE-DEATH, Barbie sessions were fun.
(4) We let her make mistakes. This one is going to come up a few times in these posts about my kids, because I see great value in being allowed to screw up in your life. Protecting your children from every stumble and fall is unrealistic and ultimately counterproductive. To Elissa's credit, she has made relatively few mistakes to this point, but she has learned from the ones she has made. I'm pretty sure, anyway...
(5) We helped develop within her a healthy appreciation of 80s music. Elissa listens to a lot of stuff I like and a lot of stuff I probably don't understand. But in the end, we can always find common ground in "Come On, Eileen."
Elissa is my newly minted 23-year-old daughter. I don't mean "newly minted" in the sense of "we just got her." I mean she just turned 23 recently.
Also, you will note that I did not hyphenate "newly minted" in that first sentence. Long ago when I first started at The News-Herald, Robin Palmer taught me not to hyphenate "ly" words. I don't know if that was an AP Style thing, a News-Herald thing, or just a Robin thing. But to this day when I'm editing copy, I will remove the hyphen after a "ly" word.
Anyway, Elissa. When she was little, she was shy. A borderline genius, mind you, but shy and introverted. As she grew, she became a little more extroverted with each passing year. Now, the thing comedian John Mulaney says about Jewish women also applies to Elissa: You do not need to ask how she's feeling. She will tell you.
And this is an exceedingly good thing. Women are often conditioned in this society to believe that "shy and quiet" is more attractive than "opinionated and vocal." I will take the latter any day of the week, and I like to think we encouraged her to be that way.
Here are five other things we did right with Elissa:
(1) We made her play her oboe until she graduated from high school. She was ready to be done with the instrument by her junior year (maybe sooner), but we prodded her to stick it out. I believe studying and performing music is an inherently beneficial thing. As is seeing through something you started. Elissa would disagree with me, but I think we did right by her in this decision.
(2) We let her make her own decision about college when it came to living on campus. She could have saved a ton of money living at home while she attended Cleveland State University, but she wanted the on-campus experience, and it's clear how much less she would have grown over those four years had we made her live at home.
(3) I played Barbies with her when she was little. Whatever you think of Barbie and whether she actually imposes unrealistic standards of beauty on little girls (I happen to think most little girls are smarter than that), we had some of our most fun times together playing with the gigantic stock of Barbie merchandise stored under Elissa's bed. Of course, once I got sick of playing, I would concoct some sort of fiery death for Barbie, Ken, and whomever else joined us in our adventures. But PRE-DEATH, Barbie sessions were fun.
(4) We let her make mistakes. This one is going to come up a few times in these posts about my kids, because I see great value in being allowed to screw up in your life. Protecting your children from every stumble and fall is unrealistic and ultimately counterproductive. To Elissa's credit, she has made relatively few mistakes to this point, but she has learned from the ones she has made. I'm pretty sure, anyway...
(5) We helped develop within her a healthy appreciation of 80s music. Elissa listens to a lot of stuff I like and a lot of stuff I probably don't understand. But in the end, we can always find common ground in "Come On, Eileen."
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Cross country runners are among the toughest people on the planet
And so are wrestlers, but that's another blog post for another day.
My youngest son, Jack, is running cross country for the first time. Well, officially what he's doing is known as the Wickliffe Junior Olympics program, but for all intents and purposes it's Wickliffe Middle School's offseason cross country training program.
(NOTE: Apparently there are people who think the phrase "all intents and purposes" should actually be rendered as "for all intensive purposes." What? Why? Why would you think that? What is an "intensive purpose?" What makes it so much more intensive than other purposes? I don't understand human beings sometimes.)
Anyway, the boy is running cross country. He's still learning the ropes, but the program is clearly awesome and well tailored to someone of Jack's age (11) and temperament (mildly eccentric and easily distracted).
His coach is Coach Todd, a great guy with whom I ran track back in the late 1800s at Wickliffe High School. Or maybe it was the late 1980s. It just seems like it was a long time ago.
Todd was a distance runner way back when and is still in great shape. He pushes the kids, but he doesn't drive them until they throw up or anything. He understands they're at an age where an experience like that will turn them off of the sport forever.
Jack and I go out running together a couple of times a week, and I can see his endurance and focus improving every time we lace up our shoes. It's kind of fun to watch.
I was a Wickliffe track athlete for six years, but I was a sprinter. As I've mentioned before, I thought distance runners were nuts (they are). I didn't join their ranks until I was older and perhaps a little wiser.
Cross country was and is a fall sport. During the fall I played football. Every once in a while I would see the cross country team practicing, which is to say they were out running. You "practice" cross country by running. Lots and lots of running.
Occasionally one of my football teammates would say something about the cross country runners and how they wouldn't last five minutes on a football field. I would laugh and suggest that he wouldn't last five SECONDS in a cross country meet.
I ran with these people every day during track season in the spring, and I knew what they were capable of. I also knew how hard they worked to get better. By the time kids get to high school, you can push them a lot more, but most of the cross country runners I knew pushed themselves. They didn't need a coach with a whistle and a clipboard to motivate them.
Which is to say that cross country runners are, for my money, among the most disciplined, hardest-working athletes in all of sports. And having raised a family of kids who were mostly soccer players, I'm excited at the prospect of having a cross country warrior in our ranks (I think old-time sports writers used to call them "harriers," by the way.)
If you're looking for someone with mental toughness and a true drive to succeed, find a distance runner. You won't be disappointed.
My youngest son, Jack, is running cross country for the first time. Well, officially what he's doing is known as the Wickliffe Junior Olympics program, but for all intents and purposes it's Wickliffe Middle School's offseason cross country training program.
(NOTE: Apparently there are people who think the phrase "all intents and purposes" should actually be rendered as "for all intensive purposes." What? Why? Why would you think that? What is an "intensive purpose?" What makes it so much more intensive than other purposes? I don't understand human beings sometimes.)
Anyway, the boy is running cross country. He's still learning the ropes, but the program is clearly awesome and well tailored to someone of Jack's age (11) and temperament (mildly eccentric and easily distracted).
His coach is Coach Todd, a great guy with whom I ran track back in the late 1800s at Wickliffe High School. Or maybe it was the late 1980s. It just seems like it was a long time ago.
Todd was a distance runner way back when and is still in great shape. He pushes the kids, but he doesn't drive them until they throw up or anything. He understands they're at an age where an experience like that will turn them off of the sport forever.
Jack and I go out running together a couple of times a week, and I can see his endurance and focus improving every time we lace up our shoes. It's kind of fun to watch.
I was a Wickliffe track athlete for six years, but I was a sprinter. As I've mentioned before, I thought distance runners were nuts (they are). I didn't join their ranks until I was older and perhaps a little wiser.
Cross country was and is a fall sport. During the fall I played football. Every once in a while I would see the cross country team practicing, which is to say they were out running. You "practice" cross country by running. Lots and lots of running.
Occasionally one of my football teammates would say something about the cross country runners and how they wouldn't last five minutes on a football field. I would laugh and suggest that he wouldn't last five SECONDS in a cross country meet.
I ran with these people every day during track season in the spring, and I knew what they were capable of. I also knew how hard they worked to get better. By the time kids get to high school, you can push them a lot more, but most of the cross country runners I knew pushed themselves. They didn't need a coach with a whistle and a clipboard to motivate them.
Which is to say that cross country runners are, for my money, among the most disciplined, hardest-working athletes in all of sports. And having raised a family of kids who were mostly soccer players, I'm excited at the prospect of having a cross country warrior in our ranks (I think old-time sports writers used to call them "harriers," by the way.)
If you're looking for someone with mental toughness and a true drive to succeed, find a distance runner. You won't be disappointed.
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