Reality Bites

Tags

college visit, dad and daughter

At Taylor University in Indiana with our daughter, Alyssa, right now.  She is interviewing for a scholarship tomorrow, staying in the dorm tonight.  We had dinner at the college tonight, then I left her to the first meeting for her scholarship and won’t see her again until tomorrow.  Felt real weird when it was time to say good bye tonight.. like my baby isn’t a baby any more.  Sigh.  The reality bite is kind of sobering.

That was my Facebook post a few minutes ago, unexpected tears filling my eyes as I wrote those last few words.  I really didn’t expect those tears, didn’t realize what I would be facing this weekend while taking my daughter to visit the college she will be attending this coming August.

I kind of feel old all of a sudden.  I miss her in some stupid way.  And I am so proud of her I can hardly describe it.

Taylor University is about a three and a half hour drive from our house.  Not too far away but far enough for her to be out of reach.  Being out of reach is not really an issue because Taylor is a Christian college with a unique community, a place where she can develop a faith that prepares her for eternity, perhaps more important than the education she will receive.  Our trip today was just me and her, another reason I looked forward to our trip, a dad and daughter day, maybe one of the last times I will get my little girl to myself.

I say “little girl” for a reason.  This is an orientation weekend, with around 700 parents and future students here, some visiting for the first time, some to find out more, some with students already accepted and here to interview for scholarships.  It started at six with a dinner, then parents and students went separate ways for various scheduled activities.  I looked at Alyssa, realized she was going off on her own, worried that she would be anxious about spending the night with people she had never met, in a college dorm.

“Dad, remember you left me at drum major camp by myself last summer and I didn’t know anyone then.  I was fine.  I am fine tonight.  Don’t worry.”

And she was right.  I was a bit embarrassed.  I am not the worrying type or at least not the type to show it.  She walked away, looked back at me to wave, and left with a student chaperone.  I was left with the other parents, all of us with various stages of concern on our faces.

I went to a small Q & A dessert at a professor’s home, listened to other parents ask questions, gave my story when my turn came during the introductions.

“My daughter has known she wanted to come to Taylor since she was a freshman in high school, known she wants to be a teacher since she was a little girl.  She took it easy on me when it came to visit colleges, had me visit two — first another college and then Taylor, and the other college visit was just to show me how good Taylor really is.”

It’s true.  During that introduction and time with the other parents was when I felt the weight of how real this is.  My girl is not my little girl any more.  She has been ready to grow up for a long time and maybe, just maybe, she is ready to do that now.

Dang it.  Dang it.  Just dang it.  Why does she have to grow up?  No.  I want it to happen and I don’t.  And I feel silly for feeling that way.  Real, real silly.

Today’s trip was so good.  So good.  She has so much of me in her, just enough of her mother, but so much of me that I feel alone thinking about not having her around full time any more.  I have until August.

I am going to be a basket case on August 22.

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Valentines Thoughts

The chocolate and card is ready.  Beyond that not much else is expected.  So it goes on Valentines day for a well weathered couple after twenty two years of marriage.  I know what may happen when I walk through the door with my offering to her tonight — surprise and OH CRAP (my Baptist spouse will not likely use the word CRAP).  Why?  I know my wife.  She has been playing the “will he get something for me?” guessing game all week.  I will present my offering, she will thank me, then run out the door to buy a response at Walgreens.

Junior Mints, please.

Oh, yes, you can borrow my debit card.

A lot more interesting than my own “love” life will be seeing how this Valentines goes for my 17 year old daughter.  This year there is no boyfriend in the picture.  However, there are several suitors drooling in the wings.  She has been leading one boy around by the nose for several months now, the pitiful soul rushing to her whenever she calls.  The kid trips over himself.  He rescued her last year when her boyfriend broke up with her a few days before the homecoming dance and took her to the dance.  Ever since he has been following her around like a puppy dog.  Thing is that my daughter is just leading him on.  She is not interested in him at all.  But he doesn’t care how much she abuses him.  The other day he came over to take her somewhere, sat on the couch and watched while I played Call of Duty, sucking up to me so much that I almost said something (I held it in — but I just felt like advising the boy to dial it down a few notches). 

It’s funny to see that scenario from the dad end rather than from the suck up side.

 

Icy Thoughts

Tags

bikes, cars, winter

Below zero temperatures have been the norm this Winter, as has been snowfall, phenomena that should not be all that unusual for northern Illinois and Chicagoland.  We have been spoiled in a way the past few years with mild Winters.  Last year, for instance, Nate had played several rounds of golf by now, the grass around here greening early and the transition from Winter to Spring barely an event.  2011 was the same way, the money I paid for indoor bicycle training classes seemed a waste by February because the weather was already suitable for riding outside, with so little precipitation that the roads were clear for riding.

Living with my PT Loser is always a challenge, especially during the Winter months.  When it is cold, there usually is barely enough cranking power left in the battery to turn the engine over much, so if the engine doesn’t fire after a few cranks I am usually resigned to using the jump start battery.  I don’t even keep the battery in the trunk any more.  It is on the floorboard of the back seat where I can get to it faster.  There is a power draw somewhere in the car, so I also keep the negative battery terminal loose and disconnect the cable when I get out of the car.  I am not sure how many times coworkers have come up to me to let me know that my hood isn’t latched.  My CAR hood….

The PT Loser doesn’t get to live in our garage.  The much favored family van lives there, as does the ping pong table and eight bicycles.  That is tough on a car, so I try to cut my old car a bit of slack when I go out to start it on cold mornings like today’s -4 degrees F.  This morning I went through the normal routine — lift the hood, push the negative battery terminal down on the battery, drop the hood, climb in behind the wheel while speaking soothing words to my car as I slip the key in the ignition.

“You can do this, buddy.  I know you can.  Just fire for me.”  My breath comes out a frozen fog of vapor as I plead with the PT.  I swear I see an eyebrow raise over the left front headlight, as if my car is expressing its doubts.  I expect it will try to start.  As much of a mechanical wreck my car is, one redeeming quality of the PT Loser is its heart.  At 105K miles it still runs well.  And when there is enough juice in the battery, especially if I go out and start it before going to bed, it usually fires when I turn the key.  This Winter has been incredibly hard on any car, definitely hard on a car that sits outside all of the time, so the PT Loser has had it’s share of non-starts.

I turned the key, expecting a slow cold cranky complaint in return.  Instead the engine fired almost simultaneously with the turn of the key, as if the PT Loser was anticipating the command.  I chuckled incredulously at the pure impossibility of the event, surprised at my good fortune, amazed as the engine hummed smoothly as if it were a warm Summer day.  My car earned a few extra points, saved itself a few future tire kicks.

Winter will breathing its last gasps in a few weeks.  On Saturday, I loaded my road bicycle into the back seat of the PT and took it to a friend’s bike shop for a thorough going over and tune up.  The shop took the bike completely apart, cleaned all of the parts, checked the chain, trued the wheels, replaced worn spokes, adjusted the brakes and shifting, and even put new red handlebar tape on.  It’s read to ride, waiting for me on its hanger in my garage.  I will ride my back up bike on the indoor trainer, get out on the mountain bike, until the Winter muck is off of the roads and my white steed can be safely subjected to the outdoors.

I like the Winter and snow.  I know it is about gone, so I can tolerate a few more weeks of cold, ice, and white landscape.  Unlike the past few years, the transition from Winter to Spring will be a true event, a celebration that everyone around here has been anticipating.

Heck, maybe this year should be celebrated by a naked bike ride?

 

Hummenna

Tags

crushes, meetings, old fools

Hi.  Hello.  Heh.  Yeah.  Uh huh.  Snow.  White.  Cold.  Is that a bagel I am eating?  Oh no, guess not.

First Tuesday of the month was last night.  For me, that means I get the privilege of giving back to my community and go to the monthly meeting for the city commission I serve on.  Yippee.  Someone throw some confetti.

It was the shortest meeting I have attended roughly forty minutes long, if that.  And all because of Natalia.

Hi.  Hello.  Heh.  Yeah.  Uh huh.  Ummm.  What was I saying?

Oh yeah.  Nataliaaaaaaaaaa.  Efficient Natalia, who replaced Lee as the city representative to our commission while he is on sick leave.  Tall Natalia in a tight short skirt, who turned our all male commission into a group of babbling numbskulls when she walked into the meeting room, fools barely able to contain our puppyish enthusiasm.  Russian accent Natalia, who read the city report and the otherwise boring OMA garbage in a way that left us incapable of speech.  Although, I swear we asked questions just so we could hear her talk.  It didn’t hurt that our agenda was short, but having Natalia there helped us zoom through the meeting with little fanfare, just rapt bliss.  At one point I looked around the room at the faces of my fellow commissioners, all with silly deer in the headlights grins on their faces.

We’re all hoping Lee a long recovery.  Take your time, buddy.

Would You Read This?

For years I have wanted to find out if I can write a story, testing the waters now and then, sticking my toe in then pulling it out.  For a while, I wrote little short stories from my blog (not this one) and had a lot of fun with it.  Three times I have put myself through the experiment called NaNoWriMo, culling one marginally usable story from that experience.

Someone encouraged me once to begin by telling my own story, that other stories would come from telling my own experiences.  In a way, that is what blogging has been for me.  Really that is what it has become.  I like to tell stories, seem to have a lot to tell.

So that is what I am going to do.  I am going to start with my own story and see where that takes me.  The characters have already been written.  I know them and their colors are in my mind.

I don’t have much yet, but here is the intro I wrote over the weekend.  Would you read this if I kept going with it? —

My childhood was spent mostly blissfully unaware, blind to the troubles and worries the world have brought to my adult self, hooded in the aura of small town life and a family strength that simply prevented life from swallowing me up.  Maybe that does not make sense to someone who has not experienced what that is like, missed out on the opportunity so to speak.  For me it is impossible to imagine my childhood being lived any other way, barefoot memories mixed pleasantly amongst carefree days on a bicycle, roaming the neighborhood on bubbly black tarred gravel streets, the sting of the thick tar oblivious to the calloused toughness of my perpetually bare feet even on the hottest summer day, a baseball glove hooked on the handlebar of my bicycle and a basketball tucked under my arm.  Pictures from those days show me shirtless, tanned, a boy with a butch haircut.  Usually my brother, Mark, squatted next to me with that I-know-something-you-don’t smirk on his face, stocky and strong, deceptively stoic.  Oddly enough he is still that same boy today, a bit of an adult his entire life.  He was my companion and best friend, not that I knew it then, a year younger than I but his practical strength part of the reason I survived through those naïve days.  Family made us both stronger, not just the family Mark and I were born into, but also neighbors and church who knew us in a way only possible with the familiarity small town life brings.  Looking back, that was what defined my childhood – family, church, neighbors, and St. Louis Cardinal baseball – a carefree freedom that shaped me into the person I am today, however good or bad that may be.  I like it.

A Weekend In My Briefs

Hanes.  Tighty whities.

The kids left for a winter church youth group retreat at Lake Geneva on Friday evening.  They were not going to get back until Sunday afternoon.  Yeahhhhhh babeeeeeee!!!!!  Time to roam the house like Tom Cruise in Risky Business.  I popped my Bob Seeger in the CD player, ready to par-tay.

Mir looked at me like she always does.  Steve is nuts, kooky, off kilter, goofing on Elvis (or Seeger in this case).

The Xbox was mine all mine.  Mir chilled on the couch reading a book while I saved the world one video bit at a time.  We took a break to hit the hard stuff — Blizzards at DQ (Reeses for Mir, Heath Crunch for me).  Mir did something she rarely does, she went to bed early.  I did something I rarely do, which is stay up past ten PM.  I kept saving the world until almost 3 in the morning. 

Mir slept in.  I got up at 8, which is sleeping in for me.  Peace.  I took in new snow that had fallen over night, brewed a pot of coffee, enjoyed a sweet bowl of Cream of Wheat, settled in with a book and took an occasional break by looking at used cars on the internet.  No hurry.  No dad taxi required all day.  I had done the checkbook Friday night, so that was done.  Nothing.  All.  Day.  When it came time to shower, I left the bathroom door open, walked the house in the pink, did the humpty hump for Mir as I grabbed some clean tighties for the day.

We did our own thing all day yesterday.  Enjoyed an evening of dinner, cards and a movie with Mir’s sister and her sister’s boyfriend (Arvind).  Actually watched an R rated movie (Rush) without worrying about the occasional nudity in the movie.  This was a wild time for us.  And we went to bed at the same time, something that happens so rare that I can’t remember the last time that happened.

Not a bad weekend.  Not bad at all.

My Head Exploded

Tags

migraine, Sick

Now wouldn’t that be cool if that actually happened?

Shup, Sandy.  And Lacey.  And Mattie.  And Riete.  And… well, EVERYBODY!!

One month into the brand spanking new year, fresh with 5 sick/personal work days anew, and I have burned three already.  Boss, I really really tried to make it in yesterday.  I did.  Head burning with a cruel migraine haze, I dragged myself out of bed with plenty of time to get ready for work.  Showered.  Put on most of my clothes.  Went downstairs, pulled my shoes from the shoe rack, sat down on the couch to put them on. 

Do not puke.  Do not.  I moaned like a whimpering dog as I said those words out loud. 

Coffee will take care of this.  Just make yourself get out the door.  Thing was that there was no way I was going to be able to stand long enough to grind the coffee beans and start a pot brewing.  I moaned again, even thinking made me feel ill.

I’m pretty sure it was one of the worst migraines I have experienced.  I laid back, aware that I could close my eyes for another five minutes and still make it to work with time to spare.  One thing that kept me from doing that was the growing sensation in my gut, telling me that the inevitable was about to occur.  I stumbled upstairs to our bathroom, where the inevitable did indeed occur.  Yellow bile telling me that indeed this was a migraine, probably stress induced from yet again another problem with the family van the night before, an evening where I had superdadman again (successfully).

No way was I going to make it to work.  I rinsed my mouth out, returned to the bedroom, slid into bed, pulled the covers over my face to reduce the evil light that was adding to the pain.

Oops.  Call your supervisor, Steve.  Do it now before you go to sleep.  I dialed the phone and got his voice mail.  He had taken Friday off of work.  Oh crap, now I have to find someone to talk to in the building so they know I am taking a personal day.  My only real choice was my supervisor’s boss, my boss, and I hate talking to him.  He likely was not in his office, anyway.

My cell phone rang from its perch on my nightstand, rousing me from the deep sleep that was rescuing me from my headache.  I rolled over — to see a clock that announced that is was 11:30 AM.

“You coming in, Steve?”  The tone was not sympathetic, my new boss, not my supervisor, a kid who is not exactly the most… ummm… let’s just say he will never be someone I will confide in.  “I see you called your supervisor at 8, but you didn’t leave a message.  You taking a personal day?”

“Is it 11:30?”

“Yeah”

“I have a migraine.  Definitely taking a personal day.  Sorry.”

“Next time make sure you talk to someone before 9.”  Click.

Ain’t looking forward to Monday.