If someone asks you "what time is it?" there are a lot of ways you could respond to that question. You could, of course, respond with the appropriate time. You could simply respond with some southern saying about when a dog hunts, or when a frog croaks. You could enthusiastically respond "GAME TIME!" There are so many traditional ways you could respond to this very simple question. Not in my house, not when I was growing up.
If you ever make the "mistake" of asking my parents "what time is it?" they will answer your question, but not until they sing the entire Howdy Doody theme song.
11 year old me: Dad, what time is it?
Dad (with Mom joining in from somewhere in the house): It's Howdy Doody time, it's Howdy Doody time, Bob Smith and Howdy Do, sing Howdy Do to you. So give a rousing cheer, cause Howdy Doody's here. Its time to start the show, so kids lets go!" It is 2:43.
This happened every. single. time. It still happens to this day. I would make it a point to not ask my parents what is the time, just so that I don't have to listen to this song. I would rather take a picture of the sun's position in the sky, find an old encyclopedia and chart the sun compared to the picture, run outside and check our sun dial (yes we had one), than ask them that doomed question.
So this morning we are sitting around the counter celebrating Baylor Grace's birthday. One of my girls asks me that all important question.."Dad, what time is it?" Then it hit me, that moment when you realized you have turned into your parents.
I know how annoying it was to hear that damned song. I know how much it drives me crazy to this day. So what did I do when I was prompted by my child about the time? I sang the entire damned theme song.
It was actually a pretty cool moment. I went into the explanation of what/who Howdy Doody was, how my parents used to do this to me all the time, etc.
Me: This was a show your grandparents used to watch in the 50's when they were kids.
Caroline: Like in the 1500's?
Me: No, Caroline, they aren't that old.
As I was leaving the house this morning, I gave all 5 girls a kiss and wished them well for the day. Taking my last steps out of the house I heard one of them singing the Howdy Doody theme song, a song they had just heard for the first time.
Baylor Grace asked me in the car ride home about the time, with this really anticipatory look on her face, hoping I would sing the song. A song that her and Reagan sang along with. When I got home, Caroline was signing the darned song too. I hear them upstairs in the shower, singing this song. It haunts me.
I suppose it could have been worse. Its kind of funny that when they sing it it doesn't bother me like it did when Mom and Dad would sing it. You win (again) Mom and Dad, you win again.
When Brooke and I moved into our first house as a married couple in December of 2003, my mother gave me a bird feeder. It was a pretty basic feeder, but I loved it. I always enjoyed watching the birds come and eat from it, I enjoyed watching the squirrels trying to get at, and the many other various animals who came to the buffet.
When Brooke, Reagan, and I moved to Lexington, the feeder came with us. It wasn't new when I got it, and it was constantly getting beat up. Bad storms, fat animals, high winds, all would knock it to the ground and break it even more. When time game for all us to move to Chicago, the feeder came with again. Winters and wind are hard here in Chicago, and after a few weather induced falls the feeder was destroyed. I was actually a little disappointed when I had to toss it a last fall.
The last weekend I was home (at the end of March) Reagan and I were outside bumming around, and I mentioned that when I returned I wanted to go with her to pick out a new feeder. She didn't really say much when I said that, in fact I wasn't sure she heard me. In between my hectic travel schedule, I was recently home for about 15 hours. Before she left for school, Reagan said she had a surprise for me. She got this long box and gave it to me. The smile on her face was ear to ear, it looked very much like the one on the top of this page. She was very proud of herself about something. I opened the box and inside was this new bird feeder. She told me that she helped Mom (Brooke) pick it out. I thought it was a nice gesture, and I do love the new feeder. I will hang it up when I get home on Sunday. I come to find out from Brooke, that there is more to the story. Reagan actually paid for the feeder with her own money. She went to Brooke and asked her mother to help her buy me a new bird feeder. She works hard around the house to get money. She doesn't get it for just consuming oxygen. She saves and saves every penny she ever makes. Most of the money she gets goes directly to her bank account, but she does keep some in her piggy bank. This is the money she wanted to use it to buy her Daddy something. Brooke and I are fairly sure that this is the first gift I have ever gotten from the girls that was purchased with their own money. It really warmed my heart when Brooke connected those dots of me, it made me feel really good. Thank you, Reagan-I love it. I just wished I had realized all this when you gave it to me.
My first bird feeder came from my mother. It traveled to multiple cities and weathered many storms. At some point it just gave out. Maybe it was fate that kept me from picking one up on my own, maybe just luck. Regardless, having Reagan give me (with her own money) one is pretty darn cool. I'll never forget the smile on her face when she gave it to me. I think her Mamaw would be proud to pass this torch to Reagan.
One of the hardest things for Brooke and I to do is carve out time just for us. We have to really work at it to have time where we aren't distracted by life. I'm sort of proud that we are getting better and better at this, and I think it has been really healthy for our relationship. It was just a few weeks ago, when we were just sitting around talking when I had an eureka moment.
Here is my confession. I was not a good husband early on. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't awful, but I have come to realize that I was not as mature as I thought I was. I still sort of had the college mentality, but I was living in "the real world." Brooke and I were too young when we got married. Well at least I was. I have only recently realized this, and its not an admission that I am proud of. When I got married in 2003, I didn't actually have a true grasp on what it meant to be a man. I certainly didn't understand what it meant to be a husband. Without question, I didn't know what it meant to be a true partner. Would I do it all over again? Absolutely. Ask Brooke the same question, she might tell you something different. That's a joke, I think. In retrospect, would I do certain things differently and handle life differently? Absolutely. Truth be told, I didn't start growing up until Reagan came. Then we moved to Lexington and Caroline came. Then Baylor Grace, then Hadley Blaine. At that point we moved to Chicago and we were really on our own for the first time. This is significant because it made me realize how much I lean on Brooke, and how important she is to me. Ive heard the saying that kids make a good marriage better, and a bad marriage worse. It is absolutely accurate to say they have made our marriage better. However, I think a reason for that is because they made me better. They made me realize I needed to grow up. The girls made me realize I needed to be more careful with how I acted. The girls made me realize I needed to be better with how I was to Brooke. The girls made me realize how important my conduct really was. I now know I need to take better care of myself physically, mentally, and spiritually. They are always watching me. While I am proud that Caroline thinks its fantastic that she farts like her Daddy, I realize now what I need to do for them. The greatest thing I can do for my girls is love their mother.
I have no idea why I was the way I was back then. For the record, my parents raised me better than that. I am probably harder on myself than anyone else is, but I am deeply disappointed in myself for those early years. I can never have those years back, I can never give Brooke those years back. I guess it is all part of life's maturation process, even the parts you are disappointed in. I'm lucky to have survived those early years when I was not the man I should have been. I am even luckier to have Brooke be blessed with the patience of a Saint. Life isn't about doing it perfectly. Its about doing it better than you did the day before.
I thought I would go way back for my #TBT (throw back Thursday) today. This picture is one I am particularly proud of, one that probably guides me in my everyday work more than I realize. It is a picture from the late 1940s in Kentucky. What you are looking at, is a restaurant that my Great Grandfather worked at. Delbert (who is in the foreground) worked at this place with his brother in law, my Great Great Uncle (who is in the background). It was that side who owned the store, not my Great Grandfather. This picture might not mean much to you, but I ask that you to put the picture in its historical context. This was in the segregated South, during the height of the Jim Crow laws. Not only was "separate but equal" rarely enforced, it was often ignored. My GGF had no reservations about serving African-Americans. In fact, as a result of their reputation, 90% of their clientele were African-American. All my ancestors in this picture were raised on the Tennessee border. They are just removed from grandparents who fought for the Confederacy. I don't claim they were perfect, but at a time when it was excused by society to treat a particular section of the society as second class citizens, my family did not. I am very proud of that.
The next decade, late 50's early 60's, their business interests moved to more of a general store. It was a store in the front of a "shotgun" house. Again, my family's reputation preceded them, and much of their loyal clientele was African-American. Not only did they proudly serve any person who came in the door, they even offered credit to the African-Americans. This is something else that seems routine in today's world, I assure it was not back then. They knew their clients, they treated them with respect, and they trusted them. In return, my Great Grandfather was trusted, treated with respect, and had a loyal customer base. He also had very little problems collecting on the debts that were owed to them. That is what happens in a reciprocal relationship built on trust.
Again, they weren't perfect. While Delbert served in the Navy during WWI and fought off the Kaiser's men, I am told he liked the ponies a little too much. Despite all that, he didn't tolerate someone being treated as a second class citizen. Delbert's daughter in law was a fiery red haired Irish Catholic (God rest her sainted Irish soul). Her family knew all too well, both in the homeland (Ireland), and here in America, how poorly Irish Catholics were often treated.
I can't tolerate it either. I don't care if you're African-American, Homosexual, Hispanic, Muslim, Jewish, or even a pledge. Second class citizenship in America, in SAE, is unacceptable. We are better than that as Americans, and we are better than that as SAEs. Many of y'all may think I am crazy, maybe I am? You may also think that its a leap to make some of the comparisons in the above sentence. I assure you it is not. At some point in time you have to take a stand, even if it makes you uncomfortable, even if it leaves you vulnerable. At the end of the day, there is never a wrong time, to do the right thing.
It has been a while since I last wrote a blog, I feel it is time to blow the dust off this keyboard and get to blogging. Brooke asked me why I hadn't blogged in a while, I told her its because I feel like my mother is the only one reading them. She is probably 50% of the people who regularly comment. Regardless, I realized that I probably need to get cracking, I have a lot of stories to tell.
I have been extremely busy with work lately, we are on the cusp of doing some amazing things. The holidays came and went, and I had a fantastic time with my girls (and family). We even got (another) trip to Disney, and the girls were surprised by Aunt Brooke, Aunt Callie, and Baby Brayden joining us. It has been a crazy few months since I last wrote. Not too mention, its literally snowed about 70 inches here in Park Ridge. I have not seen the ground here in Chicago since prior to Christmas. Seriously. Im not sure grass even exists any more. We have to google image "grass" just to prove to Hadley that grass once did surround us all. Im not really sure there is light at the end of the winter tunnel, I feel like we moved to a prison camp run by the Gulag. Welcome to "Chiberia."
Speaking of Gulag, there are a lot of reasons to dislike Sochi. I don't care much for the Winter Olympics to begin with, but Sochi is terrible. Not only do they have a ridiculous anti-gay law, they are going around killing all the stray dogs. On top of that, the hotels are not finished, the infrastructure was never completed, they have practically manufactured a city for this Olympics. I can't imagine what it will look like 6 months when the circus leaves town. I also love NBC's converge of this charade, as they mentioned the "pivotal experiment" of Soviet Russia. It is all a sh*tshow. Below is a picture of the tap water, don't drink it or wash your face with it. Seriously. You can get really close to the person using the toilet next to you, and don't worry about that live wire in your shower.
Here is the funny thing about the Winter Olympics....as much as I loathe the vast majority of sports (anything having to do with cold weather except maybe a hot tub), I have a soft spot for the entire ceremony. Why you ask? It is because of two nights spent 8 years ago. If memory serves me correct, the Olympics were in Italy that year. Due to the time difference, a lot of the live action was shown at night. I remember I couldn't sleep those two nights in February. You may think that is normal for me, since I suffer from sever anxiety and can't sleep now. Truth be told. that wasn't always the case. I used to be able to sleep with relative ease, and not spend my nights worrying about everything. Those two nights, I couldn't. Not only was it nerves, it was also because I couldn't get comfortable. I feel like I was sleeping on a plastic chair, that every time I moved, sounded like polar bear chewing on a gigantic rubber tire. Truth be told, I was actually "sleeping" on a plastic chair, and the tv was my only company. Well, I also had the regular, somewhat hypnotic, beeping from Brooke's machine. We were in the hospital waiting for baby Reagan. I had no idea what to expect. Being a parent for the first time, having a little girl, I wasn't sure exactly how much my world was about to be turned upside down. I can recall watching so many horrible sporting events those nights because it was (literally) the only thing on. Those Olympics that I once hated, actually helped pass the time. I can't watch them now and not think of those two nights. I actually have grown to appreciate the WO, and its all because I feel like we bonded for about 48 hours. No matter what, when you associate something with such a positive emotion like my love for Reagan, how can you not have a soft spot for it?
Brooke once told me that Reagan would be the best thing to every happen to me, I've blogged about that before. Yesterday, we went to downtown Chicago for breakfast at The American Girl store to celebrate her 8th birthday. This past Friday, I watched Reagan dance her butt off with her friends, as if I wasn't even there. It hurt a little bit, but thats okay. She is getting to be a young girl, but she would eventually come back to me at the dance (I hope she always does, come back to her daddy). No one was more excited for me winning the dance off as Reagan was. She thought I roped the moon that night. I couldn't get over how big she looked on the dance floor. I can't believe how fast the time has flown by. I would give anything to hold my baby Reagan again, or have her yell out "sit next to me Daddy" as soon as we get to the restaurant. She is changing, and if I want to remain part of her life, I must change, too. I consider myself Lou Gehrig for having those 4 girls, and it all started with Reagan.
This morning we watched Father of the Bride together, I warned her it was going to make me cry. She said I cry a lot, which is true. This scene gets me no matter how many times I watch it. I told her I will probably embarrass her on her wedding day, I'll be such a mess. I love seeing Reagan come downstairs in her princess dress in the morning, just as Steve Martin talked about in the movie. I will cherish those little moments forever.
So here we are, the week that my BFF turns 8. It has been an incredible 8 years. I am a better man because that little girl is in my life. I know that in the same amount of time that has already passed, I will be teaching her to drive. Im not ready for her to grow much more. We want her to stay little forever, and we know that can't happen. So, I will embrace the fact that I have a front row seat to the greatest movie I have ever seen. Thanks for letting me be your Daddy, Reagan. I love you "more than all the stars in the sky, and fish in the sea." Happy 8th birthday, my love.
This past Monday, the coldest day in the history of the world, I went downtown to have surgery on my eyes. I chose to have PRK instead of the commonly selected LASIK. I didn't want to go the rest of my life with two flaps on my eyeballs that could at any time be reopened. Most people choose LASIK because that prior mentioned possibility will probably never happen, and because there is a lot less pain. I admit to have a very low tolerance for pain, but there were some tense moments after the surgery. The first 36 hours were the worst. I just had to keep the end goal in sight, so to speak, that by the end of the week I would be able to see.
The first night was interesting. I had to spend most of my time in the basement where it is always dark. Reagan wanted to sleep in the bed with me down there, she wanted to take care of me. She knew that I couldn't watch the BCSNCG, so she sat down there with my iPad and gave me the play by play. That was pretty interesting in of itself, having a 7 year old tell you whats going on in a football game. Every time I would move in bed, even at 2 in the morning, I would hear Reagan say "are you okay, Daddy?" The next evening, when the pain was at its worse, she would sit on the couch with me and just rub my back. As I rocked back in forth, my eyes literally unable to open, watering uncontrollably, she sat there in silence and comforted me. It would probably be worth a blog on its own. A father being taken care of by his little girl.
As the week went along, I could see better and focus more. I still have a hard time with small print (like computers- so yes this blog is a struggle), but I can see big picture pretty well. On Thursday I could finally watch TV again which couldn't have come at a better time.
One of my favorite books of all time is Lone Survivor. I read it about 2.5, 3 years ago. I have even given the book to people I work with as a gift. I gave it to my father this past year for his birthday. Its a book about leadership, sacrifice, belief, love, and loss. I cannot tell you how excited I was for the movie. I have waited, and waited, and waited for it to come out. I was excited that Lone Survivor would be the first thing I tested my new eyes out on.
So I went to the movies to see it by myself. Keep in mind I know what happens (as if the title didn't give it away). I read the book so many times that I remember a lot of the specific details. I knew I wasn't watching a biography or actual footage of the battle. I knew the actors from different movies. I knew it was filmed in New Mexico. I knew that everyone in the movie would actually be okay. I knew all this, but I was still completely lost in this movie.
I love history, I love war movies, as much as you can love movies about war. This one hit home, this one was different. This wasn't a movie about a war fought long ago, by people who I couldn't really relate to. I realize that this was the first war movie with people my age. People who were married like me, people who had kids like me. People who looked like me. People who had a lot more courage than I could ever dream of having, some who gave their last full measure of devotion for our country. Its the first war movie where many of my friends, ex roommates, and fraternity brothers, had been over there (are currently over there) doing very much the same as what I saw on the screen. I take a lot of pride of saying I know people like Cheno, Joey, Truelove, and Seth. All SAEs who served our country over there. Here am I at the movies, by myself, knowing the outcome of the movie, and I found myself crying at about 4 different times in the movie. Not an ugly face, snot waterfall sob, but a cry just enough to pull at the heart strings. I didn't care who saw, I wasn't the only grown man who this happened to. I couldn't help but laugh at myself for the "pain" I was struggling with earlier in the week, versus what I was watching on the big screen. I wanted desperately for those men to make it out of the valley. I wanted desperately for those men to return to those who they loved. I wanted desperately for those men who were suffering to have it end quickly. For the most part, that didn't happen. I knew going into it that it wasn't going to happen, yet I hoped it would anyway.
I cried at the end of Field of Dreams. I get emotional during Gettysburg when Lou Armistead is talking to Longstreet about his friend on the other side. Other than that, I don't get too emotional with movies (Old Yeller aside). This one got to me, and I knew what was going to happen. It is a rare time when even if you have read the book that the movie enhances the experience. Maybe someday I will be fortunate to meet Marcus, the Lone Survivor. You never are out of the fight.
Its been a strange week. It started with my 7 year old acting like a parent for her Daddy, and ending with the Daddy getting lost in a movie he had waited years to see. When I got home, Brooke asked (in a somewhat sarcastic tone) "was it all you wanted it to be?" I told her "you have no idea."
I got new eyes this week, and in some ways I am seeing things differently than I ever have before.
I don't normally talk politics or religion on my blog, I don't wish to anger people with something I really want to be a positive and emotional journey. Please excuse me for talking about religion today.
I have to say, I have been rather impressed with Pope Francis. He has been a total breath of fresh air. From the very start, he made it clear that he was a normal dude. He refused the massive Papal apartment. He doesn't wear the funny Pope shoes, or generally any other of the Liberace like garb. His car that he drives himself around in has over 300,000 miles on it. He once swept floors for a job, and he was even once a bouncer to earn a little cash. He is challenging the local establishment, and apparently has a belief that there is changes within that are needed. Working for a fraternity, I understand the desire for men to resist change (sometimes), and we are only 157 years old. The church, being thousands of years old, REALLY resists change. Im excited about where he is going to lead us.
There have been a lot of mistakes, and some tragedies, caused by the Catholic Church. One new Pope, won't change (or erase) all that, but he is off to a fantastic start. Outside of the US military, I believe the Catholic Church is one of the greatest forces for good, worldwide. Despite the mistakes that have been made, when done right, few can rival the positive impact on poverty that the Church has had. I think they have a man at the helm who will go back to this original focus. He seemingly wants to return the Church to the Catholic mission of love all, peace, and servitude, no matter what.
I travel a lot because of work and meet a lot of fantastic people. I was traveling somewhere recently when the conversation of Pope Francis came up. My friend is very opposite of me in a lot of ways. If not for SAE (which this is one of the great aspects of any fraternity), Im not sure he and I would naturally be friends. Our differences are most extreme by our politics. My friend, is also a homosexual. One thing we do have in common is we are both Catholics. A while back I asked him what he thought of this new Pope. His answer was "Boomer, I love Pope Francis." Which for me, was a very powerful answer. I felt moved by this because I thought that if Pope Francis can make us (who are very opposite) agree on something, he must be doing some good things. Shoot, even my brother is taking notice of Pope Francis. I was watching a morning show this morning, and they were even talking about how "cool" Pope Francis is. The words "let me tell you how much I love Pope Francis" were used. Church attendance is up across the world, and much of has been attributed to Pope Francis and his common person views of things.
Who knows what will happen from here? The Church is an organization that has been very important to my father (my hero), his mother, and is with Brooke and I. Its so fulfilling to have someone at the top who says things that we have said for a long time. I believe that every organization, regardless of the scope or size, needs a leader they can believe in. They need someone who they have faith will make the right decisions no matter the difficulty. They also have to believe that leader will remain calm during stormy waters. Pope Francis is someone I can look up to. I think he is someone, regardless of your faith, we all might be able to look up to. Lets hope so anyway, thats why they call it "faith."
