So, is everyone ready for Christmas? I'm certainly not. I haven't even started my shopping. Fortunately, I only going to get gifts for immediate family this year. That's all that -- and probably more than -- I can afford.
I am not one of those people that's good at shopping for others. I need specific gift wish list ideas. If I have pre-approved options to choose from, I then feel a little more comfortable venturing off the list for some secondary gift of my own choosing, because at least I know I have something the recipient will like.
I sort of miss the days when my daughter was younger. There were distinct phases that provided gift ideas. There was a Disney princesses phase, a Barbie phase and a Harry Potter phase. There were years when all I needed were sizes and I could even feel comfortable and confident selecting clothes.
Now my daughter is 16. When we go clothes shopping now, my contribution is providing transportation and one -- or more -- credit cards.
I do know the stores she likes, or think I do, but knowing the fickle nature of teen tastes, maybe that has changed too. So, I supposed I could go the gift card route. While I love the practicality of that, it seems a tad impersonal for the person I most enjoy buying for doing things for.
I am far worse at buying things for my parents and brothers. I could chock it up to being out of the house for so many years, but I never knew what to get them when I lived with all of them either. And my dad is the hardest to shop for of all.
But buying gifts for my daughter, which has been so much fun over the years, has gotten me past the dread of gift buying/giving. I can, and sometimes do, actually enjoy gift buying sometimes. Of course, I find many more things that I think would be fun to receive as gift than things I'm sure will be good gifts for those I love. And my parents and I are so bad about admitting the things we want as gifts. When one of us ask, "So, what you do want for Christmas, the inevitable answer is always, "Oh, nothing." Or that other old chestnut, "I don't need anything."
But the thing with gifts, and a truly great gift (especially for adults) is not getting something you need, but getting something you want. We tend to buy ourselves the things we really need. What we don't tend to do is buy things we would like to have, if we had a little extra money to splurge on a little something for ourselves. That's a good gift. Why can't my parents (or me for that matter) provide a few hints at things that they would like?
The bad thing is, now my daughter is getting more coy when asked what she would like for Christmas. She used to be pretty good about putting a wish list together (and then providing me with a copy, which is pretty key to the whole success of the list). Apparently she inherited the "nothing" response gene, and it's kicked in at adolescence.
Poor kid, she inherited the freakiest things from my family. Fortunately, the looks she gets from her mother's side of the family.
So, I still need to get my shopping started, but I'm fairly confident my days of waiting until Christmas Eve to even start are behind me -- I think. We'll know for sure in the next few days.
Showing posts with label absentee father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label absentee father. Show all posts
Monday, December 17, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
No small wonders
Did you see Kellie Pickler's performance Wednesday night on the Country Music Association awards on ABC? It had to be the most dramatic live performance I've ever seen.
Her music video for the song, while nice and very polished, lacks the power and raw emotion of her live performance.
I am not an American Idol watcher, so I have not known why Kellie Pickler was since her appearance on there. I've heard the name, but couldn't have picked her out of a photo lineup before seeing Wednesday's performance. And I guess I've been off the country music bandwagon for a while. Even the best country music stations seem to play too much of the same songs over and over. I got bored with the radio airplay, not the genre of music. So I guess I've missed Miss Pickler's songs out there.
I will definitely be adding the song she sang on the CMAs, "I Wonder" to my personal music collection.
The song resonates with me, and scared the crap out of me, probaby because I have missed so much of my daughter's life. I too wonder about the things she wonders about. Does she wonder why I haven't always been there? What questions may she have for me?
I hope that simple word -- forgiveness -- is something my daughter is able to do.
I'm not ashamed to say the tears streaming down Kellie Pickler's face during her CMA performance were matched in volume by my own. The words she sang were obviously not just lyrics to a song. They were the story of a life, real and raw, painful and yet proud.
Good Morning America did a nice job covering the story behind the song and Pickler's emotional CMA performance.
Bravo young lady. Thanks for letting me cry right along with you, as a flawed parent who wonders too.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Prom corsages, birthday candles and hazard lights
Something was definitely wrong. The sounds of crunching metal, squealing rubber and exploding plastic came from up ahead. The explicative uttered from the front seat was the next clue. Then there was a Dodge pickup sliding sideways into our lane of travel, complete with screeching tires and a wildly careening trailer behind it.
Oh crap, are we going to crash? Yes. No, maybe not. Oh, shit yes we are.
The distance between the sliding truck and our front bumper was closing fast. Then it was gone in a metal-bending jolt.
I immediately turned to my right to see if my daughter was injured.
"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"
"I'm OK."
All four of us in the car came out shaken and with a few muscle strains, but there was no blood or penetrating trauma. No broken bones, cuts or abrasions. Just frayed nerves.
In all there were four cars involved in the crash on a busy commercial street in southeast Portland. The car I was in was the furthest from the initial point of impact, but all four cars involved in the crash had to be towed from the scene. Remarkably, no one else suffered any obvious injuries either. But a trip home from Sunday lunch became much more of an adventure than any of us imagined it would be. We were winding down from a long week of family activities -- Mother's Day, a state golf tournament, a barbecue, a business trip, a high school prom, a surprise birthday party, time with extended family and a four-car crash that blocked three lanes of a four-lane city street.
It was quite a week and I can't quite do it justice here. The images still whirl in my mind in brief flashes. I'm having a difficult time finding the words to explain how the buzz of activity affected me. But I realized, that even after being involved in a car crash, even that difficult experience with my daughter was better than most other days spent alone without her.
I need to remind myself, when I have questions and doubts about whether I have made the right choices in my life the last few years that I am where I want to and need to be. Seeing my daughter experience milestones in life, being with her at times of celebration or stress, is worth some personal/professional disappointments. I can't be there every day, but I'm there a lot more days and spending time with her and the other people I love and who I know love me.
We aren't a traditional family. We don't fit a Norman Rockwell ideal. But we celebrate many of life's big and small moment's together. And when life comes crashing in, we are there to hold each other, hug each other and make sure we are all OK.
Oh crap, are we going to crash? Yes. No, maybe not. Oh, shit yes we are.
The distance between the sliding truck and our front bumper was closing fast. Then it was gone in a metal-bending jolt.
I immediately turned to my right to see if my daughter was injured.
"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"
"I'm OK."
All four of us in the car came out shaken and with a few muscle strains, but there was no blood or penetrating trauma. No broken bones, cuts or abrasions. Just frayed nerves.
In all there were four cars involved in the crash on a busy commercial street in southeast Portland. The car I was in was the furthest from the initial point of impact, but all four cars involved in the crash had to be towed from the scene. Remarkably, no one else suffered any obvious injuries either. But a trip home from Sunday lunch became much more of an adventure than any of us imagined it would be. We were winding down from a long week of family activities -- Mother's Day, a state golf tournament, a barbecue, a business trip, a high school prom, a surprise birthday party, time with extended family and a four-car crash that blocked three lanes of a four-lane city street.
It was quite a week and I can't quite do it justice here. The images still whirl in my mind in brief flashes. I'm having a difficult time finding the words to explain how the buzz of activity affected me. But I realized, that even after being involved in a car crash, even that difficult experience with my daughter was better than most other days spent alone without her.
I need to remind myself, when I have questions and doubts about whether I have made the right choices in my life the last few years that I am where I want to and need to be. Seeing my daughter experience milestones in life, being with her at times of celebration or stress, is worth some personal/professional disappointments. I can't be there every day, but I'm there a lot more days and spending time with her and the other people I love and who I know love me.
We aren't a traditional family. We don't fit a Norman Rockwell ideal. But we celebrate many of life's big and small moment's together. And when life comes crashing in, we are there to hold each other, hug each other and make sure we are all OK.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
It's the small things
I was fortunate to spend part of the weekend with my daughter. I suppose she will always be my little girl, but the last signs of that little girl are slipping away and she has become a young woman. I still don't know how to be the father of a girl let alone the father of a young woman.
But she makes me so proud. And little things give me joy about being part of her life. Earlier in the week when we got together she was telling some about her recent prom date and her dress. Admittedly those are things I don't fully appreciate. Oh, sure I can appreciate how a woman looks in a dress, but I don't really understand the pride a young woman takes in something like her first prom dress. But I could appreciate the pride she expressed and the smile on her face as she told me about her evening.
I was also quite proud to learn that she wore the silver bracelet I got for her for her 16th birthday and the fact that she borrowed a matching necklace from an aunt to wear with it for her first prom. The fact that she wore that bracelet on a special occasion for her made me feel like I was part of that special night, and a little bit of me was there with her.
As an absentee parent, I've come to appreciate, even celebrate, the little things, those little moments that make be feel like a parent or at least a special person in her life.
It doesn't pay to be picky. I take what I can get. There was another little moment over the weekend that I latched onto, even though it was a bit, um, odd, at least it seems that why when I try to comprehend how to explain it.
One of those celebrity gossip shows, perhaps "Entertainment Tonight" was starting on TV and their were talking about a story and showing a video in which actor David Hasselhoff was drunk and being filmed by his 16-year-old daughter. As poor timing would have it, I picked that moment of our little family Cinco de Mayo celebration to venture into the kitchen for a cerveza. My daughter was in the kitchen, near the refrigerator, and opened up the fridge, of her own initiative, to grab a malt beverage. She said, loudly and with more than a hint of sarcasm, "Here's your beer DAD!"
Her mother said, "Don't do it, don't you dare do it." And I said to my daughter, "Great, can you videotape me too when I get drunk."
We all had a good laugh out of it, but truth be told I was downright giddy, and not due to the beer. But it was the first time, albeit under strange circumstances, that my daughter ever called me dad to my face. Another man has that moniker. Although I have heard her refer to me indirectly, to her friends, as her "real" dad. But not Dad. Normally, if she refers to me in a formal sense it is by my first name.
So, perhaps its not that moment when a child, first learning to speak, says "Dada" or "Papa" or "Papi" or some such thing somewhere around age 1. Fifteen years late is far, far better than never, even if said in jest. I'll take it and hold out some small hope that maybe there will be more in the future.
I'll save the other awkward parental moment from the weekend for another post.
But she makes me so proud. And little things give me joy about being part of her life. Earlier in the week when we got together she was telling some about her recent prom date and her dress. Admittedly those are things I don't fully appreciate. Oh, sure I can appreciate how a woman looks in a dress, but I don't really understand the pride a young woman takes in something like her first prom dress. But I could appreciate the pride she expressed and the smile on her face as she told me about her evening.
I was also quite proud to learn that she wore the silver bracelet I got for her for her 16th birthday and the fact that she borrowed a matching necklace from an aunt to wear with it for her first prom. The fact that she wore that bracelet on a special occasion for her made me feel like I was part of that special night, and a little bit of me was there with her.
As an absentee parent, I've come to appreciate, even celebrate, the little things, those little moments that make be feel like a parent or at least a special person in her life.
It doesn't pay to be picky. I take what I can get. There was another little moment over the weekend that I latched onto, even though it was a bit, um, odd, at least it seems that why when I try to comprehend how to explain it.
One of those celebrity gossip shows, perhaps "Entertainment Tonight" was starting on TV and their were talking about a story and showing a video in which actor David Hasselhoff was drunk and being filmed by his 16-year-old daughter. As poor timing would have it, I picked that moment of our little family Cinco de Mayo celebration to venture into the kitchen for a cerveza. My daughter was in the kitchen, near the refrigerator, and opened up the fridge, of her own initiative, to grab a malt beverage. She said, loudly and with more than a hint of sarcasm, "Here's your beer DAD!"
Her mother said, "Don't do it, don't you dare do it." And I said to my daughter, "Great, can you videotape me too when I get drunk."
We all had a good laugh out of it, but truth be told I was downright giddy, and not due to the beer. But it was the first time, albeit under strange circumstances, that my daughter ever called me dad to my face. Another man has that moniker. Although I have heard her refer to me indirectly, to her friends, as her "real" dad. But not Dad. Normally, if she refers to me in a formal sense it is by my first name.
So, perhaps its not that moment when a child, first learning to speak, says "Dada" or "Papa" or "Papi" or some such thing somewhere around age 1. Fifteen years late is far, far better than never, even if said in jest. I'll take it and hold out some small hope that maybe there will be more in the future.
I'll save the other awkward parental moment from the weekend for another post.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Resurrection
At the risk of sounding completely manic, the weekend ended on a good note. I enjoyed spending time with my daughter and family, sharing good food and good company.
Good days can override a lot of not so good days. I have to remind myself that those days, though less frequent than I may like, are the days I am here for. Spending part of my daughter's birthday with her last week, spending holidays with her. Those are the days I came here for.
Good days can override a lot of not so good days. I have to remind myself that those days, though less frequent than I may like, are the days I am here for. Spending part of my daughter's birthday with her last week, spending holidays with her. Those are the days I came here for.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Something's missing
I've been reminiscing a lot lately. Obviously it was the trip to the old desert stomping grounds. That place, those people, have a profound effect on me.
I spent my 30s in the deserts of Southern California. In many ways, I came of age there. I learned and grew a lot professionally, achieve some successes and endured some setbacks. It was a bit of a mixed bag socially. I made some great friends, and strengthened some key friendships, but the dating life was disappointing, except for a couple of adventures and one romance spectacular in its emotional highs and lows.
I am not deluding myself. It was not all sunshine and roses. But there was a lot of sunshine and I love the sunshine.
Fortunately the sun was shining today and spring is in the air, at least for a few days. But I miss the friendships built over the California decade. I miss working in a big office filled with people and energy, excitement, enthusiasm and ideas. I miss nights spent dining out or talking under the stars.
I miss the me I was there. I miss the me I could see myself becoming.
Fortunately, I'll be spending Easter with my daughter and her family. I'll take unconditional love and acceptance where I can get it.
OK, maybe I made a play to buy a little of that love with my daughter's birthday present, an inscribed silver bracelet that came in a distinctive blue box. Better to be bankrupt than disappoint my one and only child on her Sweet 16!
I spent my 30s in the deserts of Southern California. In many ways, I came of age there. I learned and grew a lot professionally, achieve some successes and endured some setbacks. It was a bit of a mixed bag socially. I made some great friends, and strengthened some key friendships, but the dating life was disappointing, except for a couple of adventures and one romance spectacular in its emotional highs and lows.
I am not deluding myself. It was not all sunshine and roses. But there was a lot of sunshine and I love the sunshine.
Fortunately the sun was shining today and spring is in the air, at least for a few days. But I miss the friendships built over the California decade. I miss working in a big office filled with people and energy, excitement, enthusiasm and ideas. I miss nights spent dining out or talking under the stars.
I miss the me I was there. I miss the me I could see myself becoming.
Fortunately, I'll be spending Easter with my daughter and her family. I'll take unconditional love and acceptance where I can get it.
OK, maybe I made a play to buy a little of that love with my daughter's birthday present, an inscribed silver bracelet that came in a distinctive blue box. Better to be bankrupt than disappoint my one and only child on her Sweet 16!
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Guilt: The gift that keeps on giving
My daughter has a birthday coming up. I'm feeling guilty. I haven't seen her in several weeks I'll have to go out of town the weekend of her birthday party. Fortunately, I will get back in town in time to at least see her for a little bit on her birthday, but it won't be during the big group celebration.
I've often missed her birthday, but for many years I was able to spend the week before her birthday with her. Her birthday generally follows spring break. When I lived out of state, I would try to schedule at least one week of my vacation on her spring break.
Most years we would have some sort of birthday celebration as part of her vacation. It was one of the highlights of every year to spend spring break right with her before her birthday. It didn't make up for 49 or 50 weeks apart a year, but it was quality time. Our relationship was largely built on those intensive visits and ime together spent a week at a time, two or three times a year.
I few years ago our spring break routine was disrupted when I had to attend a wedding for my then-fiance's sister. At one point we had offered to take my daughter with us on the trip to an exotic beach locale, but she didn't really feel comfortable making such a big trip to be surrounded by strangers. So for the first time in many years I wasn't going to see my daughter for her spring vacation or birthday. The guilt was profound and I bought a pretty extravagant gift, diamond earrings, for her. Perhaps it was a bit much for a young girl just entering her teens, but it was at a period of my live where diamonds seemed to be a way to say I love you.
Now, I'm heading off to another wedding, this one for a dear friend, and am looking forward to seeing several other friends whom I haven't scene in almost two years. So, I'm pretty excited about all that. But I'm also feeling that profound guilt of again devoting my daughter's time to someone else to attend another wedding.
But there isn't likely to be an extravagant guilt gift this year. I just don't have the funds at this point in my life. And I feel guilty about that too.
There's plenty of guilt about the financial situation, which has also cut into visits with my daughter of late. My trips to see her, though she's an only easy drive away, have been limited. There just haven't been the funds to fill the gas tank, or pay for dinners out. My poor old rig is neglected too, and more than a thousand miles overdue for an oil change. But the vehicle is rapidly approaching the end of its useful life, and not nearly the source of guilt that the lost time with my daughter inflicts.
So, I need to figure out a special gift for her birthday. Not too expensive perhaps, but personal and unique. Not that I have a clue what that might be. What's the perfect gift to give your daughter to tell her you are sorry for all the lost years, birthdays and holidays?
I've often missed her birthday, but for many years I was able to spend the week before her birthday with her. Her birthday generally follows spring break. When I lived out of state, I would try to schedule at least one week of my vacation on her spring break.
Most years we would have some sort of birthday celebration as part of her vacation. It was one of the highlights of every year to spend spring break right with her before her birthday. It didn't make up for 49 or 50 weeks apart a year, but it was quality time. Our relationship was largely built on those intensive visits and ime together spent a week at a time, two or three times a year.
I few years ago our spring break routine was disrupted when I had to attend a wedding for my then-fiance's sister. At one point we had offered to take my daughter with us on the trip to an exotic beach locale, but she didn't really feel comfortable making such a big trip to be surrounded by strangers. So for the first time in many years I wasn't going to see my daughter for her spring vacation or birthday. The guilt was profound and I bought a pretty extravagant gift, diamond earrings, for her. Perhaps it was a bit much for a young girl just entering her teens, but it was at a period of my live where diamonds seemed to be a way to say I love you.
Now, I'm heading off to another wedding, this one for a dear friend, and am looking forward to seeing several other friends whom I haven't scene in almost two years. So, I'm pretty excited about all that. But I'm also feeling that profound guilt of again devoting my daughter's time to someone else to attend another wedding.
But there isn't likely to be an extravagant guilt gift this year. I just don't have the funds at this point in my life. And I feel guilty about that too.
There's plenty of guilt about the financial situation, which has also cut into visits with my daughter of late. My trips to see her, though she's an only easy drive away, have been limited. There just haven't been the funds to fill the gas tank, or pay for dinners out. My poor old rig is neglected too, and more than a thousand miles overdue for an oil change. But the vehicle is rapidly approaching the end of its useful life, and not nearly the source of guilt that the lost time with my daughter inflicts.
So, I need to figure out a special gift for her birthday. Not too expensive perhaps, but personal and unique. Not that I have a clue what that might be. What's the perfect gift to give your daughter to tell her you are sorry for all the lost years, birthdays and holidays?
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
My brown-eyed girl
It was one of those perfect days that I wish I could wrap myself up in to keep me warm forever.
The sun was shining, making the Pacific Ocean sparkle like the rarest of gems. The outgoing tide revealed a bounty of treasure in the sand. Starfish, in vibrant hues of orange and purple, clung in clusters to the craggy rocks on the edge of the surf. And there, walking in the wet sand, was my daughter. Head down. Hair, in tight waves of curl, obscuring her face, periodically revealing a bright smile or a concentrated stare as she combed the sand for agates. Resting on her haunches. Delicate fingers reaching just beyond her feet for tiny rocks. Her black polished toenails looking like smooth sea pebbles resting atop her tan toes and white flip-flops.
There are signs there of the little girl, on the verge of turning 6, sitting in rapt attention watching the Lion King parade down Disneyland's Main Street. But now, at 15, it is easy to see the young woman she will become. The young woman that she has already become.
It was just about the perfect day, shared with family. Beachcombing. Playing games. Soaking up the sun on a day that had been forecast for rain. Watching a whale spouting and breeching the surface of the sea a short distance from the shoreline in front of from the large picture windows of a hillside retreat.
For years I lived a long distance from my daughter, getting caught up with her life in week-long vacations two or three times a year. I told myself that at least the time we spent was quality time. Morning til night in concentrated bursts, trying to make up for all those times I was not there. Seeing how much she had grown. Enjoying each new stage of her life and trying hard not to think about all the stages I had missed.
We drew closer and closer every visit. The "I love yous" and hugs and kisses were no longer forced and were only occasionally awkward. The became real, sincere, heartfelt and warm. Each visit just got better and better and we grew closer and closer. But as the teen years hit and took hold I started to feel that slipping away. She was carving her own personal time with her own friends out of this planned family time, as teenagers are wont to do. That's when I knew it was time -- past time -- to come home. And it was just about a year ago now that I was finally able to make that happen.
The visits have been more frequent over the last 12 months. More milestones shared. Junior high graduation. Meeting her friends. I met one boyfriend and just as I was getting accustomed to his name and his presence he was gone. Then there was a new school and new friends and another new boyfriend. Halloween and Christmas. Her birthday and other family birthdays. Family gatherings and celebrations. Helping an aunt move. Normal life stuff.
But those magic moments have been more fleeting. A second or a moment or a minute amid the rush. Looking back on my own childhood, I suppose my parents must have experience something similar and we lived under the same roof for 18 years. Life can't be all splender and bliss.
But when you aren't there for so many moments, large or small, you spend a lot of time wondering what you've missed and missing imagined wonders.
But that day, that Saturday two Saturdays ago, was one of the special days. Not because of any single big thing, but hours upon hours of little ones. And because of that brown-eyed girl with curls and a smile as warm as the May sun.
Technorati tags: Absentee father
Parenthood
Daughter
Oregon Coast
Beachcombing
The sun was shining, making the Pacific Ocean sparkle like the rarest of gems. The outgoing tide revealed a bounty of treasure in the sand. Starfish, in vibrant hues of orange and purple, clung in clusters to the craggy rocks on the edge of the surf. And there, walking in the wet sand, was my daughter. Head down. Hair, in tight waves of curl, obscuring her face, periodically revealing a bright smile or a concentrated stare as she combed the sand for agates. Resting on her haunches. Delicate fingers reaching just beyond her feet for tiny rocks. Her black polished toenails looking like smooth sea pebbles resting atop her tan toes and white flip-flops.
There are signs there of the little girl, on the verge of turning 6, sitting in rapt attention watching the Lion King parade down Disneyland's Main Street. But now, at 15, it is easy to see the young woman she will become. The young woman that she has already become.
It was just about the perfect day, shared with family. Beachcombing. Playing games. Soaking up the sun on a day that had been forecast for rain. Watching a whale spouting and breeching the surface of the sea a short distance from the shoreline in front of from the large picture windows of a hillside retreat.
For years I lived a long distance from my daughter, getting caught up with her life in week-long vacations two or three times a year. I told myself that at least the time we spent was quality time. Morning til night in concentrated bursts, trying to make up for all those times I was not there. Seeing how much she had grown. Enjoying each new stage of her life and trying hard not to think about all the stages I had missed.
We drew closer and closer every visit. The "I love yous" and hugs and kisses were no longer forced and were only occasionally awkward. The became real, sincere, heartfelt and warm. Each visit just got better and better and we grew closer and closer. But as the teen years hit and took hold I started to feel that slipping away. She was carving her own personal time with her own friends out of this planned family time, as teenagers are wont to do. That's when I knew it was time -- past time -- to come home. And it was just about a year ago now that I was finally able to make that happen.
The visits have been more frequent over the last 12 months. More milestones shared. Junior high graduation. Meeting her friends. I met one boyfriend and just as I was getting accustomed to his name and his presence he was gone. Then there was a new school and new friends and another new boyfriend. Halloween and Christmas. Her birthday and other family birthdays. Family gatherings and celebrations. Helping an aunt move. Normal life stuff.
But those magic moments have been more fleeting. A second or a moment or a minute amid the rush. Looking back on my own childhood, I suppose my parents must have experience something similar and we lived under the same roof for 18 years. Life can't be all splender and bliss.
But when you aren't there for so many moments, large or small, you spend a lot of time wondering what you've missed and missing imagined wonders.
But that day, that Saturday two Saturdays ago, was one of the special days. Not because of any single big thing, but hours upon hours of little ones. And because of that brown-eyed girl with curls and a smile as warm as the May sun.
Technorati tags: Absentee father
Parenthood
Daughter
Oregon Coast
Beachcombing
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Follow up to parenting by MSN Messenger
My daughter changed her quote.
I don't know if it was my influence or not, but today, when she logged on when I was online, her MSN Messenger quote had been changed. It was still a line from a lyric, or appears to be based on my online research, but it's not the Tenacious D song about a threesome with a reference to fucking to '70s music.
The new line appears to be out of a song called "Such Great Heights". My guess is my daughter is familiar with the cover version by Iron & Wine off the "Garden State" movie soundtrack, not the original by Postal Service. I'm not sure I could tell you which is which, although I have seen "Garden State" and actually bought the DVD of that movie that is now somewhere in my daughter's house.
Anyway, she changed the quote. And when we chatted online today I didn't mention the quote at all and made no reference to our conversation last night. And she talked, or typed, back. We had a nice little chat. And when I said I loved her she said she loved me too. So, maybe I'm not the highest ranking member of the shit list after all.
Parenthood
MSN Messenger
I don't know if it was my influence or not, but today, when she logged on when I was online, her MSN Messenger quote had been changed. It was still a line from a lyric, or appears to be based on my online research, but it's not the Tenacious D song about a threesome with a reference to fucking to '70s music.
The new line appears to be out of a song called "Such Great Heights". My guess is my daughter is familiar with the cover version by Iron & Wine off the "Garden State" movie soundtrack, not the original by Postal Service. I'm not sure I could tell you which is which, although I have seen "Garden State" and actually bought the DVD of that movie that is now somewhere in my daughter's house.
Anyway, she changed the quote. And when we chatted online today I didn't mention the quote at all and made no reference to our conversation last night. And she talked, or typed, back. We had a nice little chat. And when I said I loved her she said she loved me too. So, maybe I'm not the highest ranking member of the shit list after all.
Parenthood
MSN Messenger
Parenting by MSN Messenger
I spent the day with my daughter and her family on Saturday. Well, I should say part of the day. The part of the day we spent at my daughter's mom's house, my daughter spend in her room. Not exactly the picture of family togetherness.
It's getting harder and harder to have much quality time, even though I'm now living closer and getting to spend more frequent time with her.
I got copies of her new school pictures, which is great. Unfortunately, picture day was about a week before she got her braces off. And she's had her hair highlighted, so she already looks different than her freshman year photo.
It was a nice day. The family took me out to lunch and made me dinner for my birthday, which was nice. And I got to see my new niece for a little while and her big sister, so that was nice too, even though I missed my older niece's soccer game. So I'm going to try to go up and see her last game of the season next week.
The rest of the day we spent just doing ordinary family stuff. I help my daughter's mom and her partner build the computer desk we bought back in the spring and which has been sitting in its box for months.
When I got back home a little while ago I logged on to find my daughter, where she was when I left, online and sitting at the computer. MSN Messenger allows you to add a personal quote to your screen name. My daughter changes hers quite often. She had a new one tonight. It reads:
"Put on a cool '70s groove, a funky groove to fuck to."
My daughter is 14.
I was not amused. So I asked her about it.
Apparently she was amused, because she answered me back with an "lol".
She informed me the quote was from a Tenacious D song. I, being tragically unhip, do not have any Tenacious D in my musical library.
I told her I didn't think it was funny and I think it may give guys some bad ideas.
There was no response.
I told her I just wanted to let her know I made it home (not that she was losing any sleep about it). "And please consider changing the quote."
No response.
So I said I loved her and I would talk to later.
Still no response.
So I said goodbye and waited.
Still no response.
So I logged off.
I keep in contact with some friends and family by IM programs. But it feels pretty damn inadequate to try to be a parent over MSN Messenger.
Oh, and in case your curious, the Tenacious D song is apparently called "Double Team", and yea it's pretty much about what the title would lead you to think.
Look, I'm far from a prude. But I am scared shitless about my daughter trying to be "cool" and ending up doing something she's not ready for with a boy, or boys. Lord knows, I will probably never be ready for her to have an active sex life, but 14 is much too young. And not that listening to songs about sex means she's doing any such thing. Lord knows at 14 I was probably saying things and listening to things that would have shocked my parents. But I just don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be a parent of a teenage daugher. I don't know if it's appropriate to try to act like a parent when I have been not much more than a sperm donor and a periodic visitor for her entire short life.
But I didn't move back here just to share sunny days at the park with her. I came back to be here for her, in good times and bad. Does that mean I'm merely a silent observer and walking ATM machine?
I don't know.
It's getting harder and harder to have much quality time, even though I'm now living closer and getting to spend more frequent time with her.
I got copies of her new school pictures, which is great. Unfortunately, picture day was about a week before she got her braces off. And she's had her hair highlighted, so she already looks different than her freshman year photo.
It was a nice day. The family took me out to lunch and made me dinner for my birthday, which was nice. And I got to see my new niece for a little while and her big sister, so that was nice too, even though I missed my older niece's soccer game. So I'm going to try to go up and see her last game of the season next week.
The rest of the day we spent just doing ordinary family stuff. I help my daughter's mom and her partner build the computer desk we bought back in the spring and which has been sitting in its box for months.
When I got back home a little while ago I logged on to find my daughter, where she was when I left, online and sitting at the computer. MSN Messenger allows you to add a personal quote to your screen name. My daughter changes hers quite often. She had a new one tonight. It reads:
"Put on a cool '70s groove, a funky groove to fuck to."
My daughter is 14.
I was not amused. So I asked her about it.
Apparently she was amused, because she answered me back with an "lol".
She informed me the quote was from a Tenacious D song. I, being tragically unhip, do not have any Tenacious D in my musical library.
I told her I didn't think it was funny and I think it may give guys some bad ideas.
There was no response.
I told her I just wanted to let her know I made it home (not that she was losing any sleep about it). "And please consider changing the quote."
No response.
So I said I loved her and I would talk to later.
Still no response.
So I said goodbye and waited.
Still no response.
So I logged off.
I keep in contact with some friends and family by IM programs. But it feels pretty damn inadequate to try to be a parent over MSN Messenger.
Oh, and in case your curious, the Tenacious D song is apparently called "Double Team", and yea it's pretty much about what the title would lead you to think.
Look, I'm far from a prude. But I am scared shitless about my daughter trying to be "cool" and ending up doing something she's not ready for with a boy, or boys. Lord knows, I will probably never be ready for her to have an active sex life, but 14 is much too young. And not that listening to songs about sex means she's doing any such thing. Lord knows at 14 I was probably saying things and listening to things that would have shocked my parents. But I just don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be a parent of a teenage daugher. I don't know if it's appropriate to try to act like a parent when I have been not much more than a sperm donor and a periodic visitor for her entire short life.
But I didn't move back here just to share sunny days at the park with her. I came back to be here for her, in good times and bad. Does that mean I'm merely a silent observer and walking ATM machine?
I don't know.
So, all you parents out there, what should I have done? And what should I do?
Parenthood
MSN Messenger
Family
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Post mortem
OK, so I've written way too much about my birthday on here, which sort of shoots my assertion that I don't like birthday or drawing a lot of attention to them. And since is the first October that has passed on this here particular blog, you have no evidence to the contrary. So, you just have to take my word that I'm not a big fan of birthdays.
There is a reason for that. I think I'm mentioned that a bit before, but let me just say that my family sucks at birthdays. We are pathetic. We don't do cards. We don't do gifts. As often as not we don't even call to wish a happy birthday.
I've done my damnedest to break that pattern with my daughter. The time around her birthday has been a special time for us. Well, I can't actually speak for her, and who knows what a teenage girl's response to a query about how special her birthday is with her biological father. But it's a safe bet, there would be some eye-rolling involved.
But since she started school, her birthday has generally followed her school's spring vacations. And since I was living in California for the last 10 years, I have made it a tradition to try to spend her spring vacation and/or birthday with her whenever possible. That got screwed up a couple of years ago, when I got hauled off to Florida for my ex's sister's wedding. We were going to try to take my daughter with us, but a big trip like that for a week to spend time with people she didn't even know wasn't her idea of fun. The Florida beaches for spring break sounded good in theory, but as the date drew near, she opted out. I didn't blame her. I would have opted out too if I thought all my body parts would have remained attached to their rightful locations.
But the guilt of not being able to see my daughter near her birthday was pretty powerful and in an attempt to (over) compensate I bought her her first set of really nice earrings. I've been told you can't buy love, but until I see proof I'm taking no chances.
All that is a way of saying I've tried to make birthdays a fairly big deal for my daughter. They were never a big deal in our house, and as a kid, particularly as a teenager, that was a big deal with me. I'm not sure I've ever gotten over it. In fact I'm sure I haven't. There is still a lot of not-so latent hostility on my part. I now "forget" the birthdays of my parents, and brothers regularly. I mean, I know when they are, I just often choose not to recognize them. I do try to call my mom at least. She knows a slight when she feels one, and I don't need that guilt. And my parents' wedding anniversary and my dad's birthday are only a couple of days apart. So I try to kill two holidays with one call. But I don't do gifts for them. They don't do gifts for me either. It's a pretty equitable arrangement, if warped.
It used to really bug me when friends, some of them not much more than casual acquaintances really, recognized my birthday in a bigger way than my family did. Pissed me off actually. My friends say or do something nice and I react with more resentment toward my parents. Not good.
So, for many years I have tried to just ignore my birthday as much as possible. Oh, sure, I would still hope to find a card in the mailbox, but I would do my best not to expect one or get bent out of shame when none came. Instead I would try to do something for myself on my birthday and call it good. When possible, I would take the day off from work, which can be a nice little gift in and of itself. Sometimes I'd go for a drive. Maybe I'd see 2 or 3 movies in one day at the theater. Spring for a nice dinner for myself. One year I bought myself a computer and a digital camera to replace the home computer that had fried that fall. A couple of years I made plans to attend an air show at Edwards Air Force Base.
One year, my parent came to visit me in California. I had told my dad about the Edwards Air Show and he thought that sounded like a good excuse for a road trip. It was the only time my mom ever came to California in the 10 years I lived there. Dad made a few visits, taking detours on business trips and the like. He even came down to help me move from Central California to Palm Springs and he made at least one other visit while I was in Palm Springs. But that one trip was all mom managed to make in a decade. Oh, she had traveled to Europe once, Australia a couple of times, but California just wasn't in the cards I guess.
Anyway, my parents were visiting and we went out to dinner. The date: Oct. 17, 1997. During dinner Dad looks at his watch and says something like "What's the date today?"
Normally, I have to look at the calendar setting on my watch too, no matter how many times I've checked the date already, but that date I know. I had it cold.
"October 17th," I said.
"October? Don't you have a birthday coming up pretty soon?"
Now, if my dad had a better sense of humor, I might have thought he was pulling my leg. Dad's just not that funny. Not intentionally anyway.
"Yea." I said.
"When is it?"
About that time mom pipes in.
"It's today," she said. Well, at least she remembered. A little late, but hey.
So, anyway, birthdays I've come to expect nothing in recognition and have been rarely disappointed. And not to lay all the guilt on my folks, I've never got much in the way of recognition for birthdays or Father's Day from my daughter or her mom either. I was pretty sure they didn't even know when my birthday was.
This year, I got lots of pleasant surprises for my birthday. Some readers of this blog were kind enough to leave birthday wishes after I confessed my arrival at the big Four-Oh. I got three birthday cards from two different people (Brat sent me two. I'm not sure, but I think maybe she has a crush on me). I got birthday e-mails from one current coworker and two former coworkers. And to top it all off, I got a text message birthday wish from the guy that was my best friend from the time we were in grade school through being roommates in college, which completely blew me a way.
But that wasn't all. My daughter's mom sent me a text message wishing me a happy birthday, and my daughter did too (probably at her mother's urging, but I was thrilled none-the-less).
And when I got home from the concert, there was an e-mail in my mailbox from my mom, with birthday wishes from her and the rest of the family.
Yea, sometimes the people you love can rip your heart out without even trying. But sometimes they surprise you too.
Turning 40 may just have been the best birthday yet.
Birthday
There is a reason for that. I think I'm mentioned that a bit before, but let me just say that my family sucks at birthdays. We are pathetic. We don't do cards. We don't do gifts. As often as not we don't even call to wish a happy birthday.
I've done my damnedest to break that pattern with my daughter. The time around her birthday has been a special time for us. Well, I can't actually speak for her, and who knows what a teenage girl's response to a query about how special her birthday is with her biological father. But it's a safe bet, there would be some eye-rolling involved.
But since she started school, her birthday has generally followed her school's spring vacations. And since I was living in California for the last 10 years, I have made it a tradition to try to spend her spring vacation and/or birthday with her whenever possible. That got screwed up a couple of years ago, when I got hauled off to Florida for my ex's sister's wedding. We were going to try to take my daughter with us, but a big trip like that for a week to spend time with people she didn't even know wasn't her idea of fun. The Florida beaches for spring break sounded good in theory, but as the date drew near, she opted out. I didn't blame her. I would have opted out too if I thought all my body parts would have remained attached to their rightful locations.
But the guilt of not being able to see my daughter near her birthday was pretty powerful and in an attempt to (over) compensate I bought her her first set of really nice earrings. I've been told you can't buy love, but until I see proof I'm taking no chances.
All that is a way of saying I've tried to make birthdays a fairly big deal for my daughter. They were never a big deal in our house, and as a kid, particularly as a teenager, that was a big deal with me. I'm not sure I've ever gotten over it. In fact I'm sure I haven't. There is still a lot of not-so latent hostility on my part. I now "forget" the birthdays of my parents, and brothers regularly. I mean, I know when they are, I just often choose not to recognize them. I do try to call my mom at least. She knows a slight when she feels one, and I don't need that guilt. And my parents' wedding anniversary and my dad's birthday are only a couple of days apart. So I try to kill two holidays with one call. But I don't do gifts for them. They don't do gifts for me either. It's a pretty equitable arrangement, if warped.
It used to really bug me when friends, some of them not much more than casual acquaintances really, recognized my birthday in a bigger way than my family did. Pissed me off actually. My friends say or do something nice and I react with more resentment toward my parents. Not good.
So, for many years I have tried to just ignore my birthday as much as possible. Oh, sure, I would still hope to find a card in the mailbox, but I would do my best not to expect one or get bent out of shame when none came. Instead I would try to do something for myself on my birthday and call it good. When possible, I would take the day off from work, which can be a nice little gift in and of itself. Sometimes I'd go for a drive. Maybe I'd see 2 or 3 movies in one day at the theater. Spring for a nice dinner for myself. One year I bought myself a computer and a digital camera to replace the home computer that had fried that fall. A couple of years I made plans to attend an air show at Edwards Air Force Base.
One year, my parent came to visit me in California. I had told my dad about the Edwards Air Show and he thought that sounded like a good excuse for a road trip. It was the only time my mom ever came to California in the 10 years I lived there. Dad made a few visits, taking detours on business trips and the like. He even came down to help me move from Central California to Palm Springs and he made at least one other visit while I was in Palm Springs. But that one trip was all mom managed to make in a decade. Oh, she had traveled to Europe once, Australia a couple of times, but California just wasn't in the cards I guess.
Anyway, my parents were visiting and we went out to dinner. The date: Oct. 17, 1997. During dinner Dad looks at his watch and says something like "What's the date today?"
Normally, I have to look at the calendar setting on my watch too, no matter how many times I've checked the date already, but that date I know. I had it cold.
"October 17th," I said.
"October? Don't you have a birthday coming up pretty soon?"
Now, if my dad had a better sense of humor, I might have thought he was pulling my leg. Dad's just not that funny. Not intentionally anyway.
"Yea." I said.
"When is it?"
About that time mom pipes in.
"It's today," she said. Well, at least she remembered. A little late, but hey.
So, anyway, birthdays I've come to expect nothing in recognition and have been rarely disappointed. And not to lay all the guilt on my folks, I've never got much in the way of recognition for birthdays or Father's Day from my daughter or her mom either. I was pretty sure they didn't even know when my birthday was.
This year, I got lots of pleasant surprises for my birthday. Some readers of this blog were kind enough to leave birthday wishes after I confessed my arrival at the big Four-Oh. I got three birthday cards from two different people (Brat sent me two. I'm not sure, but I think maybe she has a crush on me). I got birthday e-mails from one current coworker and two former coworkers. And to top it all off, I got a text message birthday wish from the guy that was my best friend from the time we were in grade school through being roommates in college, which completely blew me a way.
But that wasn't all. My daughter's mom sent me a text message wishing me a happy birthday, and my daughter did too (probably at her mother's urging, but I was thrilled none-the-less).
And when I got home from the concert, there was an e-mail in my mailbox from my mom, with birthday wishes from her and the rest of the family.
Yea, sometimes the people you love can rip your heart out without even trying. But sometimes they surprise you too.
Turning 40 may just have been the best birthday yet.
Birthday
Monday, October 10, 2005
The things you miss
It's amazing how little things show you how many big things you miss.
The first time I started seeing my daughter as a young woman rather than a little girl was when I saw a photograph her grandmother sent to me after my daughter's young nephew was born a couple of years ago. He was just a few days after my daughter's 12th birthday. It hadn't been too terribly long since I had seen my daughter, but the young woman I saw holding her newborn nephew wasn't the girl I had seen just before Christmas.
Staring back from the photograph was a young woman in braces.
Last night I had dinner with my daughter, her mom and her mom's partner. And the first thing I noticed when we met outside the restaurant were that my daughter's braces were gone.
In just a few short weeks since I had seen her, her appearance had changed again. I asked her over dinner when she got the braces off.
"It was like a month ago," she said, like it was already old news and not worthy of mentioning anymore.
A month ago? Has it been a month since I've seen my daughter? I live 50 miles away for Christ sake. I moved here so I would be here for stuff, see her more often. Has it really been that long since I've seen her?
I was trying to do the math in my head. It wasn't quite a month since I'd seen her, but pretty close. Between my weekend schedule and theirs we just hadn't been together in a few weeks. We've chatted online, but no face-to-face time.
A lot of the dinner conversation focused on my daughter's school, which her mother is not a fan of. She is back in a public school this year after two years in a private school. Her mom wants to send her to a private high school now, at least beginning next year, if not at midyear. I'm certainly supportive of the idea of sending her to a private high school, but the money certainly gives me pause. The one they are looking at costs $8,000 a year, or $800 a month spread out over 10 months, plus books and other miscellaneous expenses. I pay less than $800 a month for rent, electricity and cable.
Not that you can really put a price tag on your child's education or safety, and not that I would have to pay the entire bill, but that's still a big chunk of cash. I might have to get rid of cable, Internet, cell phone and hope my 10-year-old truck will hold out a few more years and need no major repairs.
That and it would be nice if my daughter and her family actually came to see where I live sometime before I have to downsize my apartment. So much for dreams of buying a house.
Well, unless that lottery win comes through. No one won Saturday, so Wednesday's drawing will be an insane $240 million or something like that.
That would certainly help cover private school costs. Can't pay for missing milestones like braces going on or coming off, seeing your daughter go off to her first high school homecoming dance (which she did Saturday night).
Little things add up. And big things pile on.
Parenthood
The first time I started seeing my daughter as a young woman rather than a little girl was when I saw a photograph her grandmother sent to me after my daughter's young nephew was born a couple of years ago. He was just a few days after my daughter's 12th birthday. It hadn't been too terribly long since I had seen my daughter, but the young woman I saw holding her newborn nephew wasn't the girl I had seen just before Christmas.
Staring back from the photograph was a young woman in braces.
Last night I had dinner with my daughter, her mom and her mom's partner. And the first thing I noticed when we met outside the restaurant were that my daughter's braces were gone.
In just a few short weeks since I had seen her, her appearance had changed again. I asked her over dinner when she got the braces off.
"It was like a month ago," she said, like it was already old news and not worthy of mentioning anymore.
A month ago? Has it been a month since I've seen my daughter? I live 50 miles away for Christ sake. I moved here so I would be here for stuff, see her more often. Has it really been that long since I've seen her?
I was trying to do the math in my head. It wasn't quite a month since I'd seen her, but pretty close. Between my weekend schedule and theirs we just hadn't been together in a few weeks. We've chatted online, but no face-to-face time.
A lot of the dinner conversation focused on my daughter's school, which her mother is not a fan of. She is back in a public school this year after two years in a private school. Her mom wants to send her to a private high school now, at least beginning next year, if not at midyear. I'm certainly supportive of the idea of sending her to a private high school, but the money certainly gives me pause. The one they are looking at costs $8,000 a year, or $800 a month spread out over 10 months, plus books and other miscellaneous expenses. I pay less than $800 a month for rent, electricity and cable.
Not that you can really put a price tag on your child's education or safety, and not that I would have to pay the entire bill, but that's still a big chunk of cash. I might have to get rid of cable, Internet, cell phone and hope my 10-year-old truck will hold out a few more years and need no major repairs.
That and it would be nice if my daughter and her family actually came to see where I live sometime before I have to downsize my apartment. So much for dreams of buying a house.
Well, unless that lottery win comes through. No one won Saturday, so Wednesday's drawing will be an insane $240 million or something like that.
That would certainly help cover private school costs. Can't pay for missing milestones like braces going on or coming off, seeing your daughter go off to her first high school homecoming dance (which she did Saturday night).
Little things add up. And big things pile on.
Parenthood
Saturday, August 20, 2005
It was only a minor felony
After work I made a brief stop at home to pack a bag before leaving Salem and heading to Portland for the weekend. I figured I would stop by the house where I was to house sit and check on the dogs and cats. You know, make sure a dog hasn't eaten a cat, or a pooch didn't get an eye clawed out by a feline, something like that. Then I would head out on some errands, like going to the bank, filling up the car with gas and maybe stopping off at a bar for a beer or two.
I should have known better. Nothing ever goes as planned with my family.
The rule of thumb when dealing with my daughter's family is that I consider all plans flexible. If you like spontaneity, it can be fun. If you crave order and stability, it's a nightmare.
I've learned to appreciate the spontaneity more. Today, my appreciation was tested.
Earlier this week, we coordinated where the house key would be left, and she told me that she may leave a not with instructions. So, I pull up to the house, with my Burgerville dinner in hand, and look for the house key. It isn't where it is supposed to be. I check several other places on the porch. Still no key. When I run out of ideas for places to look, I decide to give up and call my daughter's mom to ask her where she left the key.
No answer on her cell phone.
I call my daughter to see if she has heard from her mom.
Nope.
Well, if you do, tell her I can't find the key and have her call me.
OK.
So then I try my daughter's aunt who live here in town.
No answer.
So, I try text messaging my daughter's mom from my cell phone. And then I wait.
Well, at least I had my dinner.
So after downing my pepper bacon Tillamook cheeseburger and Walla Walla Sweet Onion rings, I wait some more. I wall all around the house and find the dogs tied up in the back yard. Well, at least they won't be crapping and pissing in the house if I have to turn around and head home. But do I leave them outside overnight? They are big, hairy dogs. They won't freeze, but I'm supposed to be taking care of them. Do I take them with me? Go get food for them?
After making my way around the house I notice that several windows of the house are open. So if I abandon the house and the critters the house will be vulnerable unless the burglar alarm is set. But would the windows be open if the alarm is on? Should I try to crawl in through a window? And if I do try that, what if the alarm is set? I don't know the code to disarm it. Or what if a neighbor spots me climbing through a window and calls the cops?
I decide the prudent course is to wait a while. So I sit in one of the patio chairs and enjoy the warm evening with a nice cool breeze blowing, making the wind chimes dance and sing their light sweet song.
After weighing my options and inspecting the house , I decide to break in. What the hell, I haven't committed a felony in a while. This could cap the evening nicely.
The screen is stuck pretty good on the window that looks the most plausible to get through without breaking a ton of stuff and killing myself in the process. I might have to mangle the screen to get in, but it looks doable. So, after improvising some burglary tools using the nail clippers attached to my keychain and some delicate balancing on a bucket, and an ungraceful tuck and roll maneuver through the window, I make my way into the house. No bells. No whistles, just a little quiet Friday night breaking and entering.
I finally hear from my daughter's mom a few hours later. She confirms that she forgot to leave a key hidden outside. But, yes, I did find the instructions she left. And a house key hanging on the key rack inside the house.
Oh, and then when I log onto the computer, my daughter instant messages me.
Guess what? Change of plans. She's not staying where she is until Sunday so her mother can pick her up and bring her back home. She wants to attend a party Saturday night in Portland. So her other dad and I are going to each drive about 100 miles to meet halfway between there and here so I can bring her back a day early.
She may only be 14, but she's learned the family traits early.
Tomorrow ought to be an interesting day. We'll see what surprises are in store.
Weekend
House sitting
Breaking and entering
I should have known better. Nothing ever goes as planned with my family.
The rule of thumb when dealing with my daughter's family is that I consider all plans flexible. If you like spontaneity, it can be fun. If you crave order and stability, it's a nightmare.
I've learned to appreciate the spontaneity more. Today, my appreciation was tested.
Earlier this week, we coordinated where the house key would be left, and she told me that she may leave a not with instructions. So, I pull up to the house, with my Burgerville dinner in hand, and look for the house key. It isn't where it is supposed to be. I check several other places on the porch. Still no key. When I run out of ideas for places to look, I decide to give up and call my daughter's mom to ask her where she left the key.
No answer on her cell phone.
I call my daughter to see if she has heard from her mom.
Nope.
Well, if you do, tell her I can't find the key and have her call me.
OK.
So then I try my daughter's aunt who live here in town.
No answer.
So, I try text messaging my daughter's mom from my cell phone. And then I wait.
Well, at least I had my dinner.
So after downing my pepper bacon Tillamook cheeseburger and Walla Walla Sweet Onion rings, I wait some more. I wall all around the house and find the dogs tied up in the back yard. Well, at least they won't be crapping and pissing in the house if I have to turn around and head home. But do I leave them outside overnight? They are big, hairy dogs. They won't freeze, but I'm supposed to be taking care of them. Do I take them with me? Go get food for them?
After making my way around the house I notice that several windows of the house are open. So if I abandon the house and the critters the house will be vulnerable unless the burglar alarm is set. But would the windows be open if the alarm is on? Should I try to crawl in through a window? And if I do try that, what if the alarm is set? I don't know the code to disarm it. Or what if a neighbor spots me climbing through a window and calls the cops?
I decide the prudent course is to wait a while. So I sit in one of the patio chairs and enjoy the warm evening with a nice cool breeze blowing, making the wind chimes dance and sing their light sweet song.
After weighing my options and inspecting the house , I decide to break in. What the hell, I haven't committed a felony in a while. This could cap the evening nicely.
The screen is stuck pretty good on the window that looks the most plausible to get through without breaking a ton of stuff and killing myself in the process. I might have to mangle the screen to get in, but it looks doable. So, after improvising some burglary tools using the nail clippers attached to my keychain and some delicate balancing on a bucket, and an ungraceful tuck and roll maneuver through the window, I make my way into the house. No bells. No whistles, just a little quiet Friday night breaking and entering.
I finally hear from my daughter's mom a few hours later. She confirms that she forgot to leave a key hidden outside. But, yes, I did find the instructions she left. And a house key hanging on the key rack inside the house.
Oh, and then when I log onto the computer, my daughter instant messages me.
Guess what? Change of plans. She's not staying where she is until Sunday so her mother can pick her up and bring her back home. She wants to attend a party Saturday night in Portland. So her other dad and I are going to each drive about 100 miles to meet halfway between there and here so I can bring her back a day early.
She may only be 14, but she's learned the family traits early.
Tomorrow ought to be an interesting day. We'll see what surprises are in store.
Weekend
House sitting
Breaking and entering
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
It's a girl!
I have a new niece!
Well, sort of.
To be completely accurate, my daughter has a new cousin who was born today in Portland.
Does that make me an uncle? To be honest, I don't know.
My daughter's mother and I never married, and so the mother of new "Baby I" was never officially my sister in-law. Well, for that matter my daughter doesn't call me dad either, she calls me by my first name.
But anyway.
So, I don't know if I "legally" have a new niece or not, but I do, so that's that. And I'll be seeing her this weekend.
Welcome to the world "Baby I." I'm sorry it's such a mess for your arrival. Us grownups aren't the tidiest housekeepers in that regard. But we'll really glad you are here.
The reports I'm receiving via text messaging is that Mom and Baby are fine. I got the report that labor had begun shortly before 11 a.m. today. When I called after work, the newest member of the family had still not made her entrance. But she made her grand entrance shortly before 7 p.m.
Congratulations Mom and Dad and Big Sis.
New baby
Family
Well, sort of.
To be completely accurate, my daughter has a new cousin who was born today in Portland.
Does that make me an uncle? To be honest, I don't know.
My daughter's mother and I never married, and so the mother of new "Baby I" was never officially my sister in-law. Well, for that matter my daughter doesn't call me dad either, she calls me by my first name.
But anyway.
So, I don't know if I "legally" have a new niece or not, but I do, so that's that. And I'll be seeing her this weekend.
Welcome to the world "Baby I." I'm sorry it's such a mess for your arrival. Us grownups aren't the tidiest housekeepers in that regard. But we'll really glad you are here.
The reports I'm receiving via text messaging is that Mom and Baby are fine. I got the report that labor had begun shortly before 11 a.m. today. When I called after work, the newest member of the family had still not made her entrance. But she made her grand entrance shortly before 7 p.m.
Congratulations Mom and Dad and Big Sis.
New baby
Family
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I think I wet myself, again
I had two former employees get in touch with me on Wednesday to ask is they could use me as a reference.
Perhaps I should become a professional reference. I've always seemed to be better at helping other people get a job than I have been at getting jobs for myself. Perhaps that sounds odd, since I just started a new job myself. But I have always been more successful helping other people try to achieve their dreams than achieving my own.
But I take pride in being a teacher. Being a mentor. That's a pretty good gig and being a teacher of journalists, writers and photographers, is not always the easiest thing to do. People with an artistic temperament can be, well, temperamental.
I'm not sure I fit in the artistic category, but temperamental sure is tailor made. Not that I've been a hot-head lately, just lethargic and pessimistic. Perhaps that has shown in some of the blog posts. But I certainly haven't tackled the subject head on. I've been holding back, afraid to admit in black-and-white that I'm bored and unfulfilled.
For years I told myself I wanted to move back to the Northwest to be closer to my daughter, and I finally got an opportunity to do that. The job market isn't exactly sizzling here, and there aren't as many media outlets here as their are in California. Not as many as Southern California even. So, I'm fortunate to find something within an hour's drive of where my daughter lives.
I knew I was moving here for personal, not professional, reasons. Most of the job choices in my life were made to try to advance the career, or get experience to advance the career. And the family, and personal life, have suffered. So, this time I turned things on their head and made a professional choice for primarily personal reasons. And I'm flopping around like a fish out of water, ready to be wrapped up and taken home for someone's meal. The mouth keeps flapping, but there's no oxygen getting to the gills.
I've been trying to tell myself that everything is fine and I'm liking my situation. But telltale signs of stress are popping up. Drinking too much. A pinched nerve in the shoulder blade. Insomnia is coming back.
I am certainly seeing my daughter more, but it's not really quality time, like it has been in years past on my vacations. It's just time. Although, if I were honest with myself, the feeling I feel now after leaving her isn't a whole lot different that it has been after vacation visits. There's a sadness and emptiness there. So, maybe it's not so different after all. And yea, I know it's going to take some time. Yea, I know Rome wasn't built in a day and I know I can't erase 14 years of being apart in a few short weeks.
I'm just tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of feeling like the new kid at school, where everyone else knows the layout of the school, the routine and each other. It's second grade all over again.
A 7 year-old boy walks into Mrs. Harrison's second grade classroom, and feels the eyes of 20-plus kids turning, staring. If only he could melt into the floor. He's assigned to an empty desk, but it doesn't fit. He doesn't fit. The desk is too big. He is too small. His feet dangle above the floor and he can only reach solid ground by scrunching down in the seat and extending his toes.
At recess he cowers in the corner of the playground, wanting to be asked to play with the other kids and afraid to be approached at the same time. He fidgets, because he has to go to the bathroom, but doesn't know where it is, and doesn't know who -- or how -- to ask. And then it's too late. The telltale wet spot stains the front of his Toughskins. He walks up to the teacher to ask for help, but no words will come out of his mouth, only sobs exploding from his tiny chest.
The scared little boy eventually found a way to fit in. It wasn't a tailored fit, but not too bad for the off-the-rack world.
Maybe all I need is a new pair of Toughskins. And a clean pair of underwear.
Moving
Blogging
Perhaps I should become a professional reference. I've always seemed to be better at helping other people get a job than I have been at getting jobs for myself. Perhaps that sounds odd, since I just started a new job myself. But I have always been more successful helping other people try to achieve their dreams than achieving my own.
But I take pride in being a teacher. Being a mentor. That's a pretty good gig and being a teacher of journalists, writers and photographers, is not always the easiest thing to do. People with an artistic temperament can be, well, temperamental.
I'm not sure I fit in the artistic category, but temperamental sure is tailor made. Not that I've been a hot-head lately, just lethargic and pessimistic. Perhaps that has shown in some of the blog posts. But I certainly haven't tackled the subject head on. I've been holding back, afraid to admit in black-and-white that I'm bored and unfulfilled.
For years I told myself I wanted to move back to the Northwest to be closer to my daughter, and I finally got an opportunity to do that. The job market isn't exactly sizzling here, and there aren't as many media outlets here as their are in California. Not as many as Southern California even. So, I'm fortunate to find something within an hour's drive of where my daughter lives.
I knew I was moving here for personal, not professional, reasons. Most of the job choices in my life were made to try to advance the career, or get experience to advance the career. And the family, and personal life, have suffered. So, this time I turned things on their head and made a professional choice for primarily personal reasons. And I'm flopping around like a fish out of water, ready to be wrapped up and taken home for someone's meal. The mouth keeps flapping, but there's no oxygen getting to the gills.
I've been trying to tell myself that everything is fine and I'm liking my situation. But telltale signs of stress are popping up. Drinking too much. A pinched nerve in the shoulder blade. Insomnia is coming back.
I am certainly seeing my daughter more, but it's not really quality time, like it has been in years past on my vacations. It's just time. Although, if I were honest with myself, the feeling I feel now after leaving her isn't a whole lot different that it has been after vacation visits. There's a sadness and emptiness there. So, maybe it's not so different after all. And yea, I know it's going to take some time. Yea, I know Rome wasn't built in a day and I know I can't erase 14 years of being apart in a few short weeks.
I'm just tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of feeling like the new kid at school, where everyone else knows the layout of the school, the routine and each other. It's second grade all over again.
A 7 year-old boy walks into Mrs. Harrison's second grade classroom, and feels the eyes of 20-plus kids turning, staring. If only he could melt into the floor. He's assigned to an empty desk, but it doesn't fit. He doesn't fit. The desk is too big. He is too small. His feet dangle above the floor and he can only reach solid ground by scrunching down in the seat and extending his toes.
At recess he cowers in the corner of the playground, wanting to be asked to play with the other kids and afraid to be approached at the same time. He fidgets, because he has to go to the bathroom, but doesn't know where it is, and doesn't know who -- or how -- to ask. And then it's too late. The telltale wet spot stains the front of his Toughskins. He walks up to the teacher to ask for help, but no words will come out of his mouth, only sobs exploding from his tiny chest.
The scared little boy eventually found a way to fit in. It wasn't a tailored fit, but not too bad for the off-the-rack world.
Maybe all I need is a new pair of Toughskins. And a clean pair of underwear.
Moving
Blogging
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
The right to remain seated
I attended my daughter's eighth-grade graduation this evening with several members of her family. I was very proud. My little girl will start high school in the fall. Pretty amazing.
At one point in the program they asked the parents of several of the students who are the last in particular families to graduate from this private school, or those who were the parents of only children. My daughter was one of those mentioned. I didn't stand up though. It didn't feel right for me to do so. Not that she would have seen from where she was sitting. And maybe none of the rest of the family would have thought anything about it, but they also didn't suggest I stand either. I just didn't feel like I'd quite earned that honor of recognition. It may be one of those moments that nags at me for years to come, but I just sat there, feeling a bit out of place, like I was in limbo or in another dimension of parenthood that isn't quite recognized here in this plane of reality.
I'm just glad I was able to be there for her and support her on her special day. Afterward we went out for a celebratory family dinner.
On the moving front, I finally got clearance on the criminal background check for the apartment complex I applied to live in earlier this week. I guess my criminal past is acceptable enough for them to take my money every month. So, Thursday I will go give them a check and pick up my key and start the arduous process of getting my stuff back out of storage and into my new place. Hopefully, by the end of the weekend I will be settled enough to at least pretend I have a life again. Whether I will have Internet access or cable TV remains to be seen. And who can live without those necessities in the modern world?
Milestones
Parenthood
Moving
At one point in the program they asked the parents of several of the students who are the last in particular families to graduate from this private school, or those who were the parents of only children. My daughter was one of those mentioned. I didn't stand up though. It didn't feel right for me to do so. Not that she would have seen from where she was sitting. And maybe none of the rest of the family would have thought anything about it, but they also didn't suggest I stand either. I just didn't feel like I'd quite earned that honor of recognition. It may be one of those moments that nags at me for years to come, but I just sat there, feeling a bit out of place, like I was in limbo or in another dimension of parenthood that isn't quite recognized here in this plane of reality.
I'm just glad I was able to be there for her and support her on her special day. Afterward we went out for a celebratory family dinner.
On the moving front, I finally got clearance on the criminal background check for the apartment complex I applied to live in earlier this week. I guess my criminal past is acceptable enough for them to take my money every month. So, Thursday I will go give them a check and pick up my key and start the arduous process of getting my stuff back out of storage and into my new place. Hopefully, by the end of the weekend I will be settled enough to at least pretend I have a life again. Whether I will have Internet access or cable TV remains to be seen. And who can live without those necessities in the modern world?
Milestones
Parenthood
Moving
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Good Friday? Says who?
I guess I never paid enough attention in Sunday school when I was a kid. Why would Christians refer to the day their messiah was executed as Good Friday? That just doesn't seem to make much sense.
This Friday I shall dub Odd Friday. It was just an odd day. My daughter and I went to the video store to return some DVDs rented a couple of days ago when one of her friends spent the night. On the way back to my daughter's house, we got into a very odd conversation. At least it seemed odd for me, as an absentee father, to be having this chat with my not yet 14 year-old female daughter.
First let me preface this by saying this was a follow-up to a something that happened the night before. My daughter was chatting online and her mother watched in to the room where the computer was. The word blowjob was on the screen, and her mother, appropriately I thought, put an end to her chat session and may prohibit her from chatting for some as yet undefined period of time. Now, this word was in the message sent to my daughter, not in the message she sent out. But still, it is a bit inflammatory to see a word like that on a young teenage girl's IM message.
So, Friday my daughter brought up how her mom was "pissed" at her and didn't want to push her luck by asking to hang out with a guy friend on Friday. So I asked, "You understand why your mother was so pissed don't you?" To which daughter replied, in a typically defensive teen manner: "I didn't do anything wrong."
OK, I was a master at the I didn't do anything wrong, so I didn't let the conversation end there. Secondly, that was not an answer to my question. But the stunner to me was, in the ongoing conversation the word blowjob came out of my daughter's mouth, not once, but twice.
Perhaps this was so unsettling to me because I never talked about blowjobs with either of my parents, an I lived with them full time until I went to college. That word never came up in conversation in our home. It was a typical Midwest family upbringing (or what I imagine as such, and I am certain that other people experienced the same thing). We never talked about sex. We never had "the talk." I somehow managed to lose my virginity, and get a woman pregnant by the time I was 26 due to the instruction imparted in locker rooms, school buses, adult magazines and some one-on-one lab experimentation that started in college under the apprenticeship of some more experienced female instructors.
Anyway, I don't know if I accomplished anything in the conversation with my daughter. I was trying to tell her that she needs to be able to talk to her mother about stuff like that. I am pretty sure my point was entirely missed because of the defensive wall daughter threw up. And I was doing what I could to not walk away from a touch conversation if for no other reason than to show that I don't just come to town to take her shopping. Being involved means more than being a credit card. But all I probably accomplished was pissing her off. When I left the house that afternoon, I ended up saying goodbye to her through a closed bedroom door. There was no response from the other side. Her mother's words of wisdom to me when that happened was "She's 13."
Yes, she is.
So, I left Portland and headed east several hours to the place where my parents, brothers and grandmother live. To the house where I grew up. In the land of tumbleweeds, farm fields and country living, otherwise known as dial-up Internet computing hell. The oddities continued there. OK, so I have been in the state for several days and am just now getting to my parents' house, but there was no big reception waiting for me. No small one either for that matter, even though I had called and gave them 3 hours notice that I was on the road and on my way.
When I got here, the only person around was my mom. She didn't even get out of her chair when I walked in. Dad, who is fighting a cold and is still recuperating from knee surgery was in bed, as was my grandmother. And who wouldn't be in bed at 5:30 in the afternoon. Grandmother finally came out about 8, and then went back to bed about a half hour later. Dad emerged briefly at one point in his underwear (not an attractive sight) and then went back to bed. He reemerged about 9:30 or so, for less than an hour. Both brothers showed up, one obviously tipsy but trying not to let it show, and he passed out early. And the other brother, the one who I rarely see when I'm home anyway, headed back to town.
The funny thing is, I don't expect much from my family. We are not good conversationalists together (unless you count verbal disagreements) and we aren't touchy-feely emotional with one another either. I've been trying to learn to cast off that upbringing, that part of my nature forced in that family furnace for all of my daughter's life. I find I have to make an effort to tell her I love her. I have to work at conversation with her. And fortunately, her family is very expressive. They are huggy people. I was once very uncomfortable with that, but I've grown to appreciate it and even like it. I also was fortunate to have a relationship not too long ago with a woman who was also very outgoing like that, and I worked diligently at expressing my emotions with hugs and words in that relationship, which has helped with my daughter. All those years of work, however, have done little if anything for the relations with my own family. I don't doubt that we love each other, but we do not express. And sometimes, in spite of the love, we don't like each other very much.
So, it was definitely an Odd Friday. I'll spend much of Saturday here in rural Oregon, with my family, then return to Portland to spend the last remaining hours of my time in the state with my daughter before returning to California on Sunday.
As is often the case, it has been a rather bittersweet visit. Perhaps this whole bachelor living thing isn't so bad after all.
Family
Parenthood
Travel
Religion
This Friday I shall dub Odd Friday. It was just an odd day. My daughter and I went to the video store to return some DVDs rented a couple of days ago when one of her friends spent the night. On the way back to my daughter's house, we got into a very odd conversation. At least it seemed odd for me, as an absentee father, to be having this chat with my not yet 14 year-old female daughter.
First let me preface this by saying this was a follow-up to a something that happened the night before. My daughter was chatting online and her mother watched in to the room where the computer was. The word blowjob was on the screen, and her mother, appropriately I thought, put an end to her chat session and may prohibit her from chatting for some as yet undefined period of time. Now, this word was in the message sent to my daughter, not in the message she sent out. But still, it is a bit inflammatory to see a word like that on a young teenage girl's IM message.
So, Friday my daughter brought up how her mom was "pissed" at her and didn't want to push her luck by asking to hang out with a guy friend on Friday. So I asked, "You understand why your mother was so pissed don't you?" To which daughter replied, in a typically defensive teen manner: "I didn't do anything wrong."
OK, I was a master at the I didn't do anything wrong, so I didn't let the conversation end there. Secondly, that was not an answer to my question. But the stunner to me was, in the ongoing conversation the word blowjob came out of my daughter's mouth, not once, but twice.
Perhaps this was so unsettling to me because I never talked about blowjobs with either of my parents, an I lived with them full time until I went to college. That word never came up in conversation in our home. It was a typical Midwest family upbringing (or what I imagine as such, and I am certain that other people experienced the same thing). We never talked about sex. We never had "the talk." I somehow managed to lose my virginity, and get a woman pregnant by the time I was 26 due to the instruction imparted in locker rooms, school buses, adult magazines and some one-on-one lab experimentation that started in college under the apprenticeship of some more experienced female instructors.
Anyway, I don't know if I accomplished anything in the conversation with my daughter. I was trying to tell her that she needs to be able to talk to her mother about stuff like that. I am pretty sure my point was entirely missed because of the defensive wall daughter threw up. And I was doing what I could to not walk away from a touch conversation if for no other reason than to show that I don't just come to town to take her shopping. Being involved means more than being a credit card. But all I probably accomplished was pissing her off. When I left the house that afternoon, I ended up saying goodbye to her through a closed bedroom door. There was no response from the other side. Her mother's words of wisdom to me when that happened was "She's 13."
Yes, she is.
So, I left Portland and headed east several hours to the place where my parents, brothers and grandmother live. To the house where I grew up. In the land of tumbleweeds, farm fields and country living, otherwise known as dial-up Internet computing hell. The oddities continued there. OK, so I have been in the state for several days and am just now getting to my parents' house, but there was no big reception waiting for me. No small one either for that matter, even though I had called and gave them 3 hours notice that I was on the road and on my way.
When I got here, the only person around was my mom. She didn't even get out of her chair when I walked in. Dad, who is fighting a cold and is still recuperating from knee surgery was in bed, as was my grandmother. And who wouldn't be in bed at 5:30 in the afternoon. Grandmother finally came out about 8, and then went back to bed about a half hour later. Dad emerged briefly at one point in his underwear (not an attractive sight) and then went back to bed. He reemerged about 9:30 or so, for less than an hour. Both brothers showed up, one obviously tipsy but trying not to let it show, and he passed out early. And the other brother, the one who I rarely see when I'm home anyway, headed back to town.
The funny thing is, I don't expect much from my family. We are not good conversationalists together (unless you count verbal disagreements) and we aren't touchy-feely emotional with one another either. I've been trying to learn to cast off that upbringing, that part of my nature forced in that family furnace for all of my daughter's life. I find I have to make an effort to tell her I love her. I have to work at conversation with her. And fortunately, her family is very expressive. They are huggy people. I was once very uncomfortable with that, but I've grown to appreciate it and even like it. I also was fortunate to have a relationship not too long ago with a woman who was also very outgoing like that, and I worked diligently at expressing my emotions with hugs and words in that relationship, which has helped with my daughter. All those years of work, however, have done little if anything for the relations with my own family. I don't doubt that we love each other, but we do not express. And sometimes, in spite of the love, we don't like each other very much.
So, it was definitely an Odd Friday. I'll spend much of Saturday here in rural Oregon, with my family, then return to Portland to spend the last remaining hours of my time in the state with my daughter before returning to California on Sunday.
As is often the case, it has been a rather bittersweet visit. Perhaps this whole bachelor living thing isn't so bad after all.
Family
Parenthood
Travel
Religion
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Back from the Emerald City
We're back in Portland after a little more than two days in Seattle. I swear we walked all over downtown Seattle, and if that wasn't enough, we also hiked all over Westfield Shoppingtown Southcenter in Tukwila and then all through Ikea in Renton. I've never been to an Ikea store before. My feet, and my credit card, are killing me.
I bought two things for myself, a new pair of sneakers and one of those LiveStrong/Lance Armstrong cancer support bracelets. Most of the money went to supplement my daughter's wardrobe. It's all stuff she needed, and I was certainly happy and proud to do it. But the best part for me was getting to spend so much time with her. I can't believe she will be 14 here in a couple of weeks. So many special, small moments. I loved it. But the highlight may have been when I learned that she had been telling her friends that her "biological father" was coming to visit. That seems so huge to me, I'm not sure if I can explain why satisfactorily.
I have always been around throughout my daughter's life. I saw her the first time in the hospital the day she was born. But we have never lived under the same roof. Her family has know the whole story from the beginning, as has mine. But she has always known another man as dad. She has only known that I am her biological father for about 4 years now. I've met several of her friends over the years, but I had never know what she had told them about who I am when I came to visit. So, I was thrilled that she now tells, at least her close friends, what relationship we have. That's a big step. But I guess in her life, I'm just another wrinkle. Perhaps it is no harder to explain me than the relationship between her mother and her partner. I'm just one of the many colors of this rainbow family.
I guess Dorothy was right. Visiting the Emerald City is a wonderful experience, but their is no place like home. And home is where the heart -- and the family -- is, no matter how unconventional the family may be. I wouldn't trade my family for the world.
One other note on the day, and it is certainly not the least of things because it has certainly been at the top of my mind today, and that is that a very dear friend went into the hospital this morning for some surgery. I have not yet heard how that has gone, and I suppose I will not rest easy until I do. Sometimes it really sucks to be so far away from those who are important to us. It is an ironic feeling to have that realization now when I am with my daughter, who I ordinarily am so far away from. My thoughts and prayers are with you D.
And so goes life along the Yellow Brick Road.
Family
Travel
Friends
I bought two things for myself, a new pair of sneakers and one of those LiveStrong/Lance Armstrong cancer support bracelets. Most of the money went to supplement my daughter's wardrobe. It's all stuff she needed, and I was certainly happy and proud to do it. But the best part for me was getting to spend so much time with her. I can't believe she will be 14 here in a couple of weeks. So many special, small moments. I loved it. But the highlight may have been when I learned that she had been telling her friends that her "biological father" was coming to visit. That seems so huge to me, I'm not sure if I can explain why satisfactorily.
I have always been around throughout my daughter's life. I saw her the first time in the hospital the day she was born. But we have never lived under the same roof. Her family has know the whole story from the beginning, as has mine. But she has always known another man as dad. She has only known that I am her biological father for about 4 years now. I've met several of her friends over the years, but I had never know what she had told them about who I am when I came to visit. So, I was thrilled that she now tells, at least her close friends, what relationship we have. That's a big step. But I guess in her life, I'm just another wrinkle. Perhaps it is no harder to explain me than the relationship between her mother and her partner. I'm just one of the many colors of this rainbow family.
I guess Dorothy was right. Visiting the Emerald City is a wonderful experience, but their is no place like home. And home is where the heart -- and the family -- is, no matter how unconventional the family may be. I wouldn't trade my family for the world.
One other note on the day, and it is certainly not the least of things because it has certainly been at the top of my mind today, and that is that a very dear friend went into the hospital this morning for some surgery. I have not yet heard how that has gone, and I suppose I will not rest easy until I do. Sometimes it really sucks to be so far away from those who are important to us. It is an ironic feeling to have that realization now when I am with my daughter, who I ordinarily am so far away from. My thoughts and prayers are with you D.
And so goes life along the Yellow Brick Road.
Family
Travel
Friends
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Living in a safer world and a teenager high on Red Bull
In the post 9/11 world, airline passengers practically have to disrobe to get on a commercial airplane anymore. The latest things the federal watchers have banned from possessing in the cabin of an airliner is cigarette lighters. And all sharp objects, like a fingernail file, are expressly forbidden.
So consequently I was surprise and amused several hours ago when flying on an Alaska Airlines MD-80 from Palm Springs to Portland when I saw this little gem in the lavatory of the aircraft. They had a little slot in there marked specifically for the purpose of disposing razor blades.
Maybe it for those panicked folks who realized they had inadvertently gone past the TSA checkpoint with a "weapon" and go into the in-flight john to quell their panic attack. Maybe the slot is an attempt at last-minute amnesty for people who mistakenly violate federal safety procedures.
Or perhaps it is intended for perspective hijackers who get cold feet prior to attempting to take over the plane.
Nervous hijacker: If only there was a way I could back out of this fiendish plan to hijack this plane. But I've gone to all this trouble to smuggle an old-fashion double sided razor blade on board. Which was no small trick. I mean I have to find a pickle just the right size and firmness so when I inserted the blade in there the sharp edges didn't stick out. And then there was the added stress and discomfort of inserting the pickle shank up my rectum. It's not easy to walk with a pickle up the pooper! And then, there was the whole removal process in the can. But, I don't want to hurt these nice people. If only I could get rid of my weapon somehow... Oh, look, a sharps disposal slot for blades. Now, isn't that handy.
So, I went back to my seat in the nearly empty plane and had a little quiet chuckle about the razor disposal slot. But by the time the plane touched down at PDX I was wishing I had a razor blade. I'd rather slit my wrists than go through another landing like that.
Portland, which has shipped all of its rain and storm weather south to Palm Springs most of the winter, was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around like a vibrator during multiple orgasms. We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach.
The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.
After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your sign" sort of questions.
Me: So, is it windy here?
Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.
Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.
Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.
It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.
But, obviously, my fellow passengers and I made it, safe and sound, and fortunately no one left their lunch on the cabin upholstery. Although, I was seriously questioning the wisdom of the two beers I had at the airport bar in Palm Springs. The 11 o'clock news was reporting wind gusts on the nearby Oregon Coast ranging from 50-plus to nearly 80 mph. I think they were all aimed at our plane. But we got here, and life goes on.
After getting to Portland and picking up a rental car, I met up with my daughter's mom, and we went together to pick up our daughter from a party she was attending with some of her friends from school. Apparently that party was designed to end at 10 p.m., because as we got there, a parade of cars started pulling up at the same house. They were sure a punctual bunch of parents, I'll give them that.
Apparently the drink of choice at this party was the energy drink Red Bull. My daughter admitted to having two of them. And a Coke. Apparently caffeine getter her motor revving and she gets quite chatty. I've been told I can be the same way when I've had a few beers. I don't, however, thing those two things are related, nor do I think there is an inherited connection. And I choose not to believe the Red Bull was a chaser for something else. Anyway, the last visit when I was here, I felt light an inquisitor trying to get her to say anything in a complete sentence. Tonight she was rambling on about her boyfriend, and her friends hooking up with each other, and freak dancing at Catholic school dances, and, on and on. And yes, I had to have her define freak dancing, and GOD I hope I never witness her doing such a thing.
I'm not sure which is worse, having a teenage daughter who doesn't talk, or one that tells you about all the drama of 8th grade in a metropolitan city. I guess it is cool that she felt comfortable enough to say those things to me and fill me in on her life, but it was verging on too much information for my aging ticker.
I'm leaning toward the silence is golden thing at the moment.
Flying
Vacation
Teenagers
Parenthood
So consequently I was surprise and amused several hours ago when flying on an Alaska Airlines MD-80 from Palm Springs to Portland when I saw this little gem in the lavatory of the aircraft. They had a little slot in there marked specifically for the purpose of disposing razor blades.
Maybe it for those panicked folks who realized they had inadvertently gone past the TSA checkpoint with a "weapon" and go into the in-flight john to quell their panic attack. Maybe the slot is an attempt at last-minute amnesty for people who mistakenly violate federal safety procedures.
Or perhaps it is intended for perspective hijackers who get cold feet prior to attempting to take over the plane.
Nervous hijacker: If only there was a way I could back out of this fiendish plan to hijack this plane. But I've gone to all this trouble to smuggle an old-fashion double sided razor blade on board. Which was no small trick. I mean I have to find a pickle just the right size and firmness so when I inserted the blade in there the sharp edges didn't stick out. And then there was the added stress and discomfort of inserting the pickle shank up my rectum. It's not easy to walk with a pickle up the pooper! And then, there was the whole removal process in the can. But, I don't want to hurt these nice people. If only I could get rid of my weapon somehow... Oh, look, a sharps disposal slot for blades. Now, isn't that handy.
So, I went back to my seat in the nearly empty plane and had a little quiet chuckle about the razor disposal slot. But by the time the plane touched down at PDX I was wishing I had a razor blade. I'd rather slit my wrists than go through another landing like that.
Portland, which has shipped all of its rain and storm weather south to Palm Springs most of the winter, was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around like a vibrator during multiple orgasms. We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach.
The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.
After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your sign" sort of questions.
Me: So, is it windy here?
Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.
Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.
Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.
It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.
But, obviously, my fellow passengers and I made it, safe and sound, and fortunately no one left their lunch on the cabin upholstery. Although, I was seriously questioning the wisdom of the two beers I had at the airport bar in Palm Springs. The 11 o'clock news was reporting wind gusts on the nearby Oregon Coast ranging from 50-plus to nearly 80 mph. I think they were all aimed at our plane. But we got here, and life goes on.
After getting to Portland and picking up a rental car, I met up with my daughter's mom, and we went together to pick up our daughter from a party she was attending with some of her friends from school. Apparently that party was designed to end at 10 p.m., because as we got there, a parade of cars started pulling up at the same house. They were sure a punctual bunch of parents, I'll give them that.
Apparently the drink of choice at this party was the energy drink Red Bull. My daughter admitted to having two of them. And a Coke. Apparently caffeine getter her motor revving and she gets quite chatty. I've been told I can be the same way when I've had a few beers. I don't, however, thing those two things are related, nor do I think there is an inherited connection. And I choose not to believe the Red Bull was a chaser for something else. Anyway, the last visit when I was here, I felt light an inquisitor trying to get her to say anything in a complete sentence. Tonight she was rambling on about her boyfriend, and her friends hooking up with each other, and freak dancing at Catholic school dances, and, on and on. And yes, I had to have her define freak dancing, and GOD I hope I never witness her doing such a thing.
I'm not sure which is worse, having a teenage daughter who doesn't talk, or one that tells you about all the drama of 8th grade in a metropolitan city. I guess it is cool that she felt comfortable enough to say those things to me and fill me in on her life, but it was verging on too much information for my aging ticker.
I'm leaning toward the silence is golden thing at the moment.
Flying
Vacation
Teenagers
Parenthood
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Go to your room
I was in Oregon over the weekend. It was a quick trip, but I got to see my daughter while I was there.
Well, sort of.
Mostly I got to see the outside of her closed bedroom door.
She has definitely become a teenager. And I'm not too fond of it.
Oh, I understand. I spent 1978 through the summer of 1984 either in my bedroom, or anywhere my motorcycle -- or later a car -- would take me that was were my parents or brothers weren't. I had a lock on my door, austensibly to keep my younger brothers out. But it offered a little valuable warning if a parent was at the door so I could stash the Robin Williams tape (of which mom would never have approved) or the Playboy and Penthouse magazines I liberated from the dump down by the creek (over which mom would have had a heart attack).
God forbid my daughter has a porn stash. I definitely would have a heart attack, especially if it's better than mine.
I just wanted to spend a little quality time, ya know? Damn it, I came all the way from California to see her! Spend time with her! I hadn't seen her since December. I may not see her again until March.
She was not touched or impressed.
Just when kids start to get interesting and you can actually have a conversation with them, they quit talking. Well, not really. They talk to seemingly everyone else -- on the phone, online -- but not to a parental unit WHO TRAVELED ALL THE WAY FROM CALIFORNIA!
I think I owe my parents an apology. And no one should have a porn stash until they are at least 18.
Check that. My daughter will be 18 in just over 4 years.
Let's make that 21. And let's hope I'm in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's by then. And if she ever bring up cock rings, regardless of her age, I will have a stroke.
Lord have mercy.
I think I'm going to go to my room now.
Parenthood
Well, sort of.
Mostly I got to see the outside of her closed bedroom door.
She has definitely become a teenager. And I'm not too fond of it.
Oh, I understand. I spent 1978 through the summer of 1984 either in my bedroom, or anywhere my motorcycle -- or later a car -- would take me that was were my parents or brothers weren't. I had a lock on my door, austensibly to keep my younger brothers out. But it offered a little valuable warning if a parent was at the door so I could stash the Robin Williams tape (of which mom would never have approved) or the Playboy and Penthouse magazines I liberated from the dump down by the creek (over which mom would have had a heart attack).
God forbid my daughter has a porn stash. I definitely would have a heart attack, especially if it's better than mine.
I just wanted to spend a little quality time, ya know? Damn it, I came all the way from California to see her! Spend time with her! I hadn't seen her since December. I may not see her again until March.
She was not touched or impressed.
Just when kids start to get interesting and you can actually have a conversation with them, they quit talking. Well, not really. They talk to seemingly everyone else -- on the phone, online -- but not to a parental unit WHO TRAVELED ALL THE WAY FROM CALIFORNIA!
I think I owe my parents an apology. And no one should have a porn stash until they are at least 18.
Check that. My daughter will be 18 in just over 4 years.
Let's make that 21. And let's hope I'm in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's by then. And if she ever bring up cock rings, regardless of her age, I will have a stroke.
Lord have mercy.
I think I'm going to go to my room now.
Parenthood
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