I was out late with my sister last night, and Ian tried to wait up for me, but wound up falling asleep on the couch. It was around two in the morning and I tried to gently wake him, just enough so that he could stumble towards the bedroom, and as he started to get up he asked me, quite seriously, "Do you think that when his mom isn't home that Jeter really doesn't get his food mashed up the right way?"
"Who," I needed to know to get the bigger picture, "is Jeter?"
"Skeezix's buddy," he sighed, just short of rolling his eyes at me.
Well, of course, it all makes sense.
"Daisy is his girlfriend," he muttered as he stumbled down the hall. "Skeez's. Not Jeter's."
I'm glad I know that little factoid.
"She's a model."
It took a few moments for the whole thing to sink in; he wasn't talking about people, he was talking about some of his favorite cat bloggers. And while I enjoy a few of the cat blogs, too, I don't beleive I've ever had them quite so firmly on my mind.
Deep down, I think he really wants to know, though. Just how well mashed up is Jeter's food? ;)
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Knot tying
Char's sister, Nika, is getting married in October. What started out as them just wanting to get a few people together and run to Vegas to make it official and to party has turned into a small family affair complete with everyone having to rent formal wear or shop for the perfect dress, and a post-ceremony reception in which there will be an annoying DJ, dancing, and a buffet.
This isn't what Peter and Nika had planned on, but when the discussion over Vegas and would kids be included or not, would there be pre-ceremony drinking or not, Brad got very, very quiet, so quiet that it was hanging in the air and slapping everyone upside the head.
I didn't get to be there when your sister got married, and I was damned sure I'd never be there to see you get married. Since I get to see it, I'd like to see it done right.
“Right” in his eyes means the wedding dress, the giving away of the bride, and a minister overseeing it all, not an Elvis impersonator.
The couple has been living together for a few years and don't really care; they just want to finally make it legal. If Brad wants to see his little girl get married with, as he puts it, style and class, then that's what they're going to do.
What he didn't implicitly say, but Char and I both realized, was that he's actually a little ticked off that we rushed into getting married, and didn't take the time to have a “real” wedding ceremony. He would have flown across the country for it; at the time we didn't think he wanted to. So there's some guilt brewing around here, but there's nothing we can do about it now.
If there's going to be a real wedding, there's going to be a best man, matron of honor, bridesmaids, groomsmen, and a honeymoon. And all of that, too, has become a family affair.
Somehow, in the middle of talking about it all, Char and I wound up agreeing to go on Nika and Peter's honeymoon.
The whole concept of a honeymoon is a little outdated, don't you think? We just want to take a short vacation. Come on, this will be fun!
I don't find the concept outdated; I think it's not only normal but important for a newly married couple to celebrate their nuptials privately, no matter how many times they've already seen each other naked. I agreed to the vacation, but only if we meet up with them a couple of days later.
The kids are staying home; they're not happy about it, but hell, they'll get over it. Brad was invited, but that invitation was met with a snort of derision. He'd prefer to stay home and corrupt his grandkids.
It's something to look forward to, anyway. A few days away with Char, in a nice hotel room, even if I do have to place nice with the in-laws. That's a hardship, you know. Spending time with those people. Maybe I'll spend it drunk ;)
This isn't what Peter and Nika had planned on, but when the discussion over Vegas and would kids be included or not, would there be pre-ceremony drinking or not, Brad got very, very quiet, so quiet that it was hanging in the air and slapping everyone upside the head.
I didn't get to be there when your sister got married, and I was damned sure I'd never be there to see you get married. Since I get to see it, I'd like to see it done right.
“Right” in his eyes means the wedding dress, the giving away of the bride, and a minister overseeing it all, not an Elvis impersonator.
The couple has been living together for a few years and don't really care; they just want to finally make it legal. If Brad wants to see his little girl get married with, as he puts it, style and class, then that's what they're going to do.
What he didn't implicitly say, but Char and I both realized, was that he's actually a little ticked off that we rushed into getting married, and didn't take the time to have a “real” wedding ceremony. He would have flown across the country for it; at the time we didn't think he wanted to. So there's some guilt brewing around here, but there's nothing we can do about it now.
If there's going to be a real wedding, there's going to be a best man, matron of honor, bridesmaids, groomsmen, and a honeymoon. And all of that, too, has become a family affair.
Somehow, in the middle of talking about it all, Char and I wound up agreeing to go on Nika and Peter's honeymoon.
The whole concept of a honeymoon is a little outdated, don't you think? We just want to take a short vacation. Come on, this will be fun!
I don't find the concept outdated; I think it's not only normal but important for a newly married couple to celebrate their nuptials privately, no matter how many times they've already seen each other naked. I agreed to the vacation, but only if we meet up with them a couple of days later.
The kids are staying home; they're not happy about it, but hell, they'll get over it. Brad was invited, but that invitation was met with a snort of derision. He'd prefer to stay home and corrupt his grandkids.
It's something to look forward to, anyway. A few days away with Char, in a nice hotel room, even if I do have to place nice with the in-laws. That's a hardship, you know. Spending time with those people. Maybe I'll spend it drunk ;)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
40
Char began and is ending her birthday the same way: just a little bit drunk. Last night she and her sister went out with a few friends to start the celebrating a little early, and celebrate they did. She called home twice; the first time it was to let me know they had changed their plans and would not be going to a movie after dinner, and the second time to let me know that her dad makes the most BITCHIN' Long Island Iced Teas, and that the new backup bartender has BOOBS OUT TO HERE, and I really might want to drive over and take a look for myself, because, she's is so totally hot that I just might switch teams, but you can come watch.
She denies this now.
She was greeted this morning with a chorus of Happy birthday! from all three kids at once (hell, yes, they knew she'd be hung over) and after that she swore she was never drinking again (that lasted until Brad started making daiquiris.)
What she wanted most out of her birthday was a day with family; she didn't want a bunch of stuff (but don't look at me like that, because I bought her a motorcycle a couple of weeks ago and she threatened my junk if I bought anything else), she just wanted to spend it with the people who matter to her. (When she said that, she wasn't counting on having a hangover, but after some Motrin after breakfast and a really tall daiquiri she felt muchbetter.) We fired up the grill, watched the kids play in the pool, had several mock arguments over who got to hold the baby (her birthday, she won), and just enjoyed the day.
But right now she's a little bit tipsy and she and her sister are sitting out by the pool, having fits of laughter over Brad's girlfriend tripping over her own feet and falling into the pool this afternoon (they don't exactly like the woman) and Travis toddling around all afternoon pointing at people and squealing “You hotstf!”
(Hot stuff; when pressed to tell how he learned that, Erin just glared at Miko.)
Granted, Char isn't happy that she's forty, but then again, she is.
I just hope today was exactly what she wanted.
She denies this now.
She was greeted this morning with a chorus of Happy birthday! from all three kids at once (hell, yes, they knew she'd be hung over) and after that she swore she was never drinking again (that lasted until Brad started making daiquiris.)
What she wanted most out of her birthday was a day with family; she didn't want a bunch of stuff (but don't look at me like that, because I bought her a motorcycle a couple of weeks ago and she threatened my junk if I bought anything else), she just wanted to spend it with the people who matter to her. (When she said that, she wasn't counting on having a hangover, but after some Motrin after breakfast and a really tall daiquiri she felt muchbetter.) We fired up the grill, watched the kids play in the pool, had several mock arguments over who got to hold the baby (her birthday, she won), and just enjoyed the day.
But right now she's a little bit tipsy and she and her sister are sitting out by the pool, having fits of laughter over Brad's girlfriend tripping over her own feet and falling into the pool this afternoon (they don't exactly like the woman) and Travis toddling around all afternoon pointing at people and squealing “You hotstf!”
(Hot stuff; when pressed to tell how he learned that, Erin just glared at Miko.)
Granted, Char isn't happy that she's forty, but then again, she is.
I just hope today was exactly what she wanted.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Every breath she takes...
If I sleep tonight, I'll be surprised. If I sleep tomorrow night, I'll be very surprised. I fully expect that I'll sit up in bed all night long, listening to the sound of breath being inhaled, breath being exhaled. I expect it because all day I have been consumed with the realization that around 10 a.m. tomorrow, it will mark one year since Char drove through an intersection and was very nearly killed by a drunk driver going nearly 80 miles an hour.
Undoubtedly, the driver's family is going through their own agony, remembering that he blew through a red light at nearly 80 miles an hour, and like a bad game of craps, tossed down the dice that would forever alter the trajectories of two families. I don't dwell on them, to be honest. I'm sure that him being dead sucks, but had he lived it might suck worse. All I care about is what he did, and what he did was change my wife's life forever. He ripped her away from the path she was on and slammed her down violently onto another. She had no choice in the matter, but she will live with the consequences of his choices for the rest of her life.
Don't get me wrong; I am grateful beyond my ability to convey that she lived through it and that the aftermath was not far worse than it was. I waited for that other shoe to drop, ready to dive and catch it, but it never did fall. She handled the resulting nightmares well, she powered her way past a few paralyzing memories, and proved to me again and again that she is far stronger than I will ever be, and that she has more grace of forgiveness than I ever will. But as grateful as I am that she wasn't killed and that we have the hope of many, many years to come, I am still angry that it happened in the first place. I am angry that so many choices were taken from her.
She would tell me to let it go; she has told me to let it go, but that hasn't been something I've been able to do. The truth is, if the other driver hadn't killed himself, I probably would have had to be physically restrained from causing him permanent physical harm. I'm not proud of that. But the heartburn of anger has made me realize that my capabilities to cause great harm could likely not be held in check.
Char usually brushes the changes off as nothing; she reminds me that our lives are, in the dying wake of the accident, better than they were. The kids are happier; they're thriving in the new neighborhood and in the availability of both of their parents. I am, aside from unexpected moments of being pissed off, a much calmer person than I was before. Char is more direct with me; she says what she wants and she makes sure I understand how important some things are to her.
But she had to give up a lot. She says it just isn't as important as it was, but I know she misses teaching TKD. She misses jogging with me; hell, I miss her jogging with me and as a result don't get out nearly as often as I did. She hates the reactions she gets from people who haven't seen her since the accident, and she hates the lingering pain. We all hate that the pain is likely permanent.
So yes, I am still angry about it. I haven't been able to let it go, give it over to the universe, whatever. While I am grateful that she was able to create so much good from the turmoil, bringing our family even closer together, I still resent the way it happened.
I resent the hell out of the grandiose selfishness the idiot who hit her must have had.
But, I am grateful. And a year later I am amazed at how far she's come, how far we've all come, and how worth it the fight to get here has been.
She spent her 39th birthday in ICU, too drugged up to speak, in too much pain for more than moderate awareness. This year, her 40th, when she probably would have been complaining about it being forty, we're all celebrating that she gets to turn forty. The woman could have anything she wanted, I would do anything she wanted to mark the occasion, but all she wants is her family around her. she wants to spend the day with the kids, her father and sister and almost brother-in-law, and with our niece and grandkids and You're-Here-Again? Dack and Theresa and TK. So that's what she's getting; she doesn't want stuff, she wants us.
And cake. A very large spice cake sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar, and God help anyone who get in between it and the birthday girl.
But tonight, there's a very good chance I will sit up in bed to listen to her breathe, and trust me, I will treasure every breath she takes.
Undoubtedly, the driver's family is going through their own agony, remembering that he blew through a red light at nearly 80 miles an hour, and like a bad game of craps, tossed down the dice that would forever alter the trajectories of two families. I don't dwell on them, to be honest. I'm sure that him being dead sucks, but had he lived it might suck worse. All I care about is what he did, and what he did was change my wife's life forever. He ripped her away from the path she was on and slammed her down violently onto another. She had no choice in the matter, but she will live with the consequences of his choices for the rest of her life.
Don't get me wrong; I am grateful beyond my ability to convey that she lived through it and that the aftermath was not far worse than it was. I waited for that other shoe to drop, ready to dive and catch it, but it never did fall. She handled the resulting nightmares well, she powered her way past a few paralyzing memories, and proved to me again and again that she is far stronger than I will ever be, and that she has more grace of forgiveness than I ever will. But as grateful as I am that she wasn't killed and that we have the hope of many, many years to come, I am still angry that it happened in the first place. I am angry that so many choices were taken from her.
She would tell me to let it go; she has told me to let it go, but that hasn't been something I've been able to do. The truth is, if the other driver hadn't killed himself, I probably would have had to be physically restrained from causing him permanent physical harm. I'm not proud of that. But the heartburn of anger has made me realize that my capabilities to cause great harm could likely not be held in check.
Char usually brushes the changes off as nothing; she reminds me that our lives are, in the dying wake of the accident, better than they were. The kids are happier; they're thriving in the new neighborhood and in the availability of both of their parents. I am, aside from unexpected moments of being pissed off, a much calmer person than I was before. Char is more direct with me; she says what she wants and she makes sure I understand how important some things are to her.
But she had to give up a lot. She says it just isn't as important as it was, but I know she misses teaching TKD. She misses jogging with me; hell, I miss her jogging with me and as a result don't get out nearly as often as I did. She hates the reactions she gets from people who haven't seen her since the accident, and she hates the lingering pain. We all hate that the pain is likely permanent.
So yes, I am still angry about it. I haven't been able to let it go, give it over to the universe, whatever. While I am grateful that she was able to create so much good from the turmoil, bringing our family even closer together, I still resent the way it happened.
I resent the hell out of the grandiose selfishness the idiot who hit her must have had.
But, I am grateful. And a year later I am amazed at how far she's come, how far we've all come, and how worth it the fight to get here has been.
She spent her 39th birthday in ICU, too drugged up to speak, in too much pain for more than moderate awareness. This year, her 40th, when she probably would have been complaining about it being forty, we're all celebrating that she gets to turn forty. The woman could have anything she wanted, I would do anything she wanted to mark the occasion, but all she wants is her family around her. she wants to spend the day with the kids, her father and sister and almost brother-in-law, and with our niece and grandkids and You're-Here-Again? Dack and Theresa and TK. So that's what she's getting; she doesn't want stuff, she wants us.
And cake. A very large spice cake sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar, and God help anyone who get in between it and the birthday girl.
But tonight, there's a very good chance I will sit up in bed to listen to her breathe, and trust me, I will treasure every breath she takes.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Just so there's not an entire month without a post
We've been busy. Not mega-busy in the sense that we barely have time to breathe let alone sit down and blog, but busy in the sense that we're all more wrapped up in family time and the sheer joy of not having a ton of stuff hanging over us, that to be honest, blogging never occurs to either of us.
I have stray thoughts of I should blog that when the kids do or say things, but it never seems to make it past that transient thought.
Still, the summer so far in a nutshell:
I have stray thoughts of I should blog that when the kids do or say things, but it never seems to make it past that transient thought.
Still, the summer so far in a nutshell:
- Alex's plans for a summer semester of college fell through when the classes he had enrolled in were cancelled. He was upset and unhappy for a day or two, until he realized that the free time meant potential employment and more time to hang around the pool with Steph, and 500 of their friends.
- Alex is working for his grandfather two days a week; his job is mostly to scrub the hell out of the restrooms at the bar, move stock from one spot to another; anything away from the alcohol, and he's the scut slave. So far, he loves it; he's saving for a car.
- Rachel is living life with her cell phone glued to her hand, texting so much I think she's developing calluses. Because, OMG, not seeing anyone for five full minutes requires IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. Half of what she texts is still to SETH! who seems to spend an inordinate amount of time here.
- Kevin is entrenched in the dance school; I don't think he's stepped foot into the dojang since school let out. He's taking every dance class available to him, and survived a week of Dance Camp. He was also very disappointed that one does not go away to a sleepover dance camp, it's more of a day camp type thing.
- This house is crawling with teenagers and tweenagers every damned day. If there are fewer than 6 kids that don't live here, I'm surprised. If there are 10 or more, I'm not surprised. They all at least call before they show up, but Char has an open-house policy for the kids' friends when we're home, so they're always welcome. But frak, they eat like crazy and were feeding them all
- The sheer volume of kids was a good excuse to buy a bigger grill.
- Char turns 40 in one week. There must be a party for that ;)
Friday, May 28, 2010
(this one was written with some Thumpa-help, to be honest.)
The oldest two have been grounded this week; while arguing is not forbidden here, getting physical is, and I walked in just as Rachel tried to kick Alex in the groin and as he blocked the kick and shoved her back. I don't care what the fight was about; I care that they struck out at each other. So their first week of summer vacation was spent grounded.
They were pissed off for the first day, but settled into the fact that they weren't going anywhere they wanted to go and they weren't texting, emailing, or talking on Facebook with their friends. They each got one text to let Stephanie and Seth know that they would be out of touch for the week, but that was it. The only way out of the house was with a parent, and any incoming phone calls resulted in Char or me taking messages.
I have to admit, they were pretty well behaved for a couple of grounded teens, and the level of drama in this house was fairly low for the entire week. But with the sheer amount of time that they had, without the distractions for friends and homework, when boredom set in they started paying attention to their parents, and they started asking questions.
Several nights ago Kevin spent the night with Brad, and the other two decided they wanted to play board games with us. Scrabble. I don't relish this game with Alex, because he wins every time I wind up feeling a little bit stupid for the difference in his and my vocabulary. That night was no different; he played the board like a master and created words that I was sure were made up but weren't.
On the other hand, I know I'm going to lose to him, so I tend to relax and just let it happen; when I relaxed, so do the kids, and they start talking. We got to hear about that last week of school, the fun injected into classes after the exams were over, and the friends who wouldn't be returning to school next year because they were either moving or transferring to public schools.
Eventually, they wanted to know about the friends we had when we were growing up. Were we still friends? Did we keep in touch? And since then I've been thinking a lot about high school and the people who mattered.
The reality is that I only keep in touch with one person from my youth. There would be two, but the person I connected with the strongest, and who was my best friend from eighth grade on, died when I was 20 years old. For a long time I was sure that my first born son would be named after him, until the time came to actually ponder baby names and the only other person from those days convinced me he would have hated that.
Anyway, the kids wanted to know about him. What he was like, why we were friends. Did I think we would still be friends even today? Would they have liked him? Did I still miss him?
Yes.
Truth be told, it's not as if I think about him every day. I still miss him, but it's been 29 years and the pain of losing my best friend has faded from sharp to wistful. I don't doubt that we would still be friends today; I strongly suspect that he would have followed the same paths I took in life, although he came weighed down with a lot more baggage.
As the kids picked my brain about him, I realized that his life was a good lesson for them. He represents the sharp divide between having been loved and searching for love. He was adrift in his own family, virtually abandoned to raising himself, and because of it, he made choices that he otherwise wouldn't have.
In intellect, Alex reminds me a lot of him. By our junior year he was emancipated from his parents and living in the dorms at a local university, having graduated early. But he ached for family, and what he couldn't have by right, he tried to create. When he was sixteen, newly emancipated, he got his sometimes-girlfriend pregnant, and in trying to do what was right, he married her.
Yeah, at sixteen.
He wasn't in love, but he wasn't going to walk away from his child, not after having been left behind by his own parents. But he was just sixteen, and struggled. He dropped out of school and scrambled for jobs that didn't pay enough for rent let alone food for his new family. He lived on adrenaline and the generosity of his friends' parents.
Even so, he had a future. He hit bottom and was climbing his way back up with a job that gave some relief, and after the birth of his son he was offered a scholarship. There was hope.
And then there was a horrific car wreck that ripped his family from him. Where he wasn't in love when he got married, he did love his young wife, and his son was like breath to him. He was seventeen years old, and lost everything.
He could have given up, but after nearly a year of agony, during which he had hidden himself away from life so well that we all really did think he'd gone off somewhere to die, he resurfaced, determined to live. He still wanted what he had been cheated out of twice, he wanted a family. He wanted to grow up more, finish school, get the golden job, and then find someone.
When I started college, he transferred and had stepped onto that path with me; we had the same terms to our scholarships and the promise of post-college emoployment. By my sophomore year, his junior, he had solid plans. He knew what he wanted, and he was pretty sure how he wanted to get it. And an idea of with whom.
We were nineteen, and we had everything to look forward to.
He was nineteen, and he felt a lump. And he ignored it. He never mentioned it to anyone, not until it was of a size that was so uncomfortable that he had to tell someone. He went to my father first, and didn't fight it when my mother dragged him off to see a doctor.
Nineteen. He'd been abandoned by his parents, married, fathered a child, been widowed and had his son ripped from his life, and he was suddenly looking at a diagnosis that gave him only six more months to live.
If he had paid attention to that lump and asked for help early on, he would probably be alive today, because even then testicular cancer had a high cure rate.
I do think of him often enough that the unfairness of his life stings; He died when he was just twenty, and his son should have been three and a half. But I also don't think of him often enough that when I do, I feel a little guilty. He wanted what I have; he deserved what I have.
None of that even comes close to saying why we were friends, and the kids are still picking my brain about him, looking for stories about why we were friends and what we did to get into trouble together.
But where things fell short for him, that's what I've been thinking about.
I want the kids to grasp how much promise he had, and how a few bad choices made getting anywhere hard as hell, and I want them to see how hard it was for him to get to the few places he was able, and how horribly things can go wrong. Because when you're sixteen and you crave love that badly, you just don't see how anything can go wrong.
They were pissed off for the first day, but settled into the fact that they weren't going anywhere they wanted to go and they weren't texting, emailing, or talking on Facebook with their friends. They each got one text to let Stephanie and Seth know that they would be out of touch for the week, but that was it. The only way out of the house was with a parent, and any incoming phone calls resulted in Char or me taking messages.
I have to admit, they were pretty well behaved for a couple of grounded teens, and the level of drama in this house was fairly low for the entire week. But with the sheer amount of time that they had, without the distractions for friends and homework, when boredom set in they started paying attention to their parents, and they started asking questions.
Several nights ago Kevin spent the night with Brad, and the other two decided they wanted to play board games with us. Scrabble. I don't relish this game with Alex, because he wins every time I wind up feeling a little bit stupid for the difference in his and my vocabulary. That night was no different; he played the board like a master and created words that I was sure were made up but weren't.
On the other hand, I know I'm going to lose to him, so I tend to relax and just let it happen; when I relaxed, so do the kids, and they start talking. We got to hear about that last week of school, the fun injected into classes after the exams were over, and the friends who wouldn't be returning to school next year because they were either moving or transferring to public schools.
Eventually, they wanted to know about the friends we had when we were growing up. Were we still friends? Did we keep in touch? And since then I've been thinking a lot about high school and the people who mattered.
The reality is that I only keep in touch with one person from my youth. There would be two, but the person I connected with the strongest, and who was my best friend from eighth grade on, died when I was 20 years old. For a long time I was sure that my first born son would be named after him, until the time came to actually ponder baby names and the only other person from those days convinced me he would have hated that.
Anyway, the kids wanted to know about him. What he was like, why we were friends. Did I think we would still be friends even today? Would they have liked him? Did I still miss him?
Yes.
Truth be told, it's not as if I think about him every day. I still miss him, but it's been 29 years and the pain of losing my best friend has faded from sharp to wistful. I don't doubt that we would still be friends today; I strongly suspect that he would have followed the same paths I took in life, although he came weighed down with a lot more baggage.
As the kids picked my brain about him, I realized that his life was a good lesson for them. He represents the sharp divide between having been loved and searching for love. He was adrift in his own family, virtually abandoned to raising himself, and because of it, he made choices that he otherwise wouldn't have.
In intellect, Alex reminds me a lot of him. By our junior year he was emancipated from his parents and living in the dorms at a local university, having graduated early. But he ached for family, and what he couldn't have by right, he tried to create. When he was sixteen, newly emancipated, he got his sometimes-girlfriend pregnant, and in trying to do what was right, he married her.
Yeah, at sixteen.
He wasn't in love, but he wasn't going to walk away from his child, not after having been left behind by his own parents. But he was just sixteen, and struggled. He dropped out of school and scrambled for jobs that didn't pay enough for rent let alone food for his new family. He lived on adrenaline and the generosity of his friends' parents.
Even so, he had a future. He hit bottom and was climbing his way back up with a job that gave some relief, and after the birth of his son he was offered a scholarship. There was hope.
And then there was a horrific car wreck that ripped his family from him. Where he wasn't in love when he got married, he did love his young wife, and his son was like breath to him. He was seventeen years old, and lost everything.
He could have given up, but after nearly a year of agony, during which he had hidden himself away from life so well that we all really did think he'd gone off somewhere to die, he resurfaced, determined to live. He still wanted what he had been cheated out of twice, he wanted a family. He wanted to grow up more, finish school, get the golden job, and then find someone.
When I started college, he transferred and had stepped onto that path with me; we had the same terms to our scholarships and the promise of post-college emoployment. By my sophomore year, his junior, he had solid plans. He knew what he wanted, and he was pretty sure how he wanted to get it. And an idea of with whom.
We were nineteen, and we had everything to look forward to.
He was nineteen, and he felt a lump. And he ignored it. He never mentioned it to anyone, not until it was of a size that was so uncomfortable that he had to tell someone. He went to my father first, and didn't fight it when my mother dragged him off to see a doctor.
Nineteen. He'd been abandoned by his parents, married, fathered a child, been widowed and had his son ripped from his life, and he was suddenly looking at a diagnosis that gave him only six more months to live.
If he had paid attention to that lump and asked for help early on, he would probably be alive today, because even then testicular cancer had a high cure rate.
I do think of him often enough that the unfairness of his life stings; He died when he was just twenty, and his son should have been three and a half. But I also don't think of him often enough that when I do, I feel a little guilty. He wanted what I have; he deserved what I have.
None of that even comes close to saying why we were friends, and the kids are still picking my brain about him, looking for stories about why we were friends and what we did to get into trouble together.
But where things fell short for him, that's what I've been thinking about.
I want the kids to grasp how much promise he had, and how a few bad choices made getting anywhere hard as hell, and I want them to see how hard it was for him to get to the few places he was able, and how horribly things can go wrong. Because when you're sixteen and you crave love that badly, you just don't see how anything can go wrong.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Countdown to Thursday
A cliche as it is, the last 10 days have been busy as hell. Between work on my dad's house, field trips, dance and TKD classes, and helping Alex and Rachel prepare for finals, we're tired enough that ten o'clock rolls and around and we just fall into bed. This is the last week of school, though, and today is the last field trip to chaperon. I went on three last week, two with Kevin's class (zoo and museum) and one with Rachel's class (museum) but Ian went today: to the amusement park. He agreed to go, I think, because 1) there's a ton of junk food there and 2) Rachel really wanted him to.
He also went because the Parent In Charge asked him to, specifically. Seventh grade boys aren't all that intimidated by the moms that typically go on the field trips, but they're usually wary of Ian and do what he says. The kids like him because he lets them get away with a lot, but he's physically intimidating enough that when he tells them to do something or stop doing something, they listen. Not that they don't complain, but they listen.
I may wish later I'd tagged along, but frankly after last week, I've had enough for this school year. The field trips were fun, but wrangling all those kids is very tiring, and it just makes a person realize that there's no amount of money good enough for the teachers who deal with them 5 days a week.
He also went because the Parent In Charge asked him to, specifically. Seventh grade boys aren't all that intimidated by the moms that typically go on the field trips, but they're usually wary of Ian and do what he says. The kids like him because he lets them get away with a lot, but he's physically intimidating enough that when he tells them to do something or stop doing something, they listen. Not that they don't complain, but they listen.
I may wish later I'd tagged along, but frankly after last week, I've had enough for this school year. The field trips were fun, but wrangling all those kids is very tiring, and it just makes a person realize that there's no amount of money good enough for the teachers who deal with them 5 days a week.
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