Just Write

Don’t ask me to tell you what that headline means because I don’t know if I understand it. What I know for certain is limited and what I hope for hasn’t yet arrived so I can’t speak to that yet either.

What I can tell you is that twelve months ago I wasn’t in the place I am in now. I don’t really know if it was better than this one but sometimes hindsight colors our vision and consequently that is what I see.

Better. It was better, but I could be wrong about that.It is possible that my frustration with the lack of progress in some areas is coloring my view and turning bright colors into dull shades of gray. There is no doubt that life is not what I want it to be but there is also no doubt that I am doing all that I can to make things change.

The Grass Is Always Greener

My son plays for the school soccer team. We had an away game today against another private school. It is a beautiful campus that sits upon a hill, or should I say multiple hills. It is really more of a compound. You’ll think I am name dropping because I am, but it is where the Beckhams send some of their children and it is where lots of other famous people send their kids.

I don’t think that I would send my children there. I know parents who do and it is supposed to be a fabulous education but I don’t think it is for us. We don’t rent out studios and aquariums for birthday parties nor do we have drivers take our children to school, but that is neither here nor there.

Last week I watched my son play his best game of soccer ever. His coach named him player of the game and I couldn’t have been prouder. Today I wanted to see how he would follow up on his success. I wanted to see if he would play hard and he most certainly did.

I looked across the field at the parents of the other side and spotted a retired NBA player. He went to UCLA for college and when I was a boy I saw him play there. I thought he was huge. He still is. The difference in height isn’t quite  two feet any more, but he still is around a foot taller than I am.

His son wasn’t hard to pick out. He was the tall kid with the mop of hair. He isn’t a foot taller than my son, but he has six inches on him. I watched them compete against each other and thought about how different their lives are in some ways and how similar they must be in others. At least I think they are similar. His father was there watching him play as was I. His father sent him to private school to get a better education, as did I.

His dad is a famous NBA player and my son has a father who is a famous daddy blogger, or maybe not.

Drowning In Sorrow But Powered By Intuition

I am not really drowning in sorrow. While I am sometimes sad that is not my defining characteristic. I think I laugh more than I feel sad but frustration is a consistent, if unwelcome companion.

Powered by intuition refers to my doing many things based on my gut. Some of them aren’t necessarily things my head says to do, but I have felt the need to try a different way, to take a different path. The old way hasn’t been working so well so might as well try something different.

So I am building my newsletter list and asking people to sign up. You can find the form to subscribe on my Facebook Fan page or at the bottom left of this page. I am working on writing my ebooks and doing all that I can to create opportunity.

The story that I am working on continues to grow and develop. I keep hearing good things about it so I guess it is fair to say that many people like it. And I just joined two more tribes on Triberr. In theory that pushes my reach to more than a million people on Twitter.

If it works out the way I want it to it will be because I created opportunity and changed where I was going. Right now I am going to bed. It is almost 1 am and I stayed up to write one more post so that I could participate in Just Write.

A drowning man jumped on my head today or maybe it was a woman- I am not really sure. I just know that someone tried to save themselves by trying to suck me into their private darkness.

I didn’t appreciate it much. In fact I found it less than neighborly and downright irritating. I have my own darkness to contend with and there are already ten people standing on my shoulders.

There is a reason why I was given a massive set of shoulders and hands that look like meat paws. It is because I know how to keep going when the going gets tough. I never stop moving forward because once you lose that forward motion it is a bitch to start moving again.

But as I tell my children sometimes the unstoppable object meets the immovable and something has to give.

Using Art To Speak

Those four words above are both subhead and hyperlink. They’ll take you back to a post where I tried to use Wordle images to help tell some tells. There are several there but the one that grabs my attention now is this one.

It is from a post called The Bearer of Bad Tidings- One Less Set of Footsteps and it is about the death of my paternal grandfather. But really there is so much more tied up in it, far more than I can impart in these few words here.

I had to tell my father that his grandfather died. Several years before I had to tell my father that his little brother had died. Neither one of those were easy, but when my uncle died I also had to tell my grandfather that his son had died.

It is a horrible experience telling a parent that they have lost a child and obviously the memory has stuck with me. What can I say other than these are/were some of the most important me in my life. I don’t ever recommend making your grandfather cry.

The Important Things In Life

Grandpa died on June 24, 2006 and I can say that it was the beginning of massive changes in my life that I still feel to this day. There are lots of reasons why this is so and plenty of evidence to suggest that many of those changes are positive, but not all.

It was a moment where my online friends reached out and helped support me. A moment when I recognized the power of the blogosphere and the people within. Sometimes I forget about that. Sometimes I get lost in my own world and I forget about you.

But I like to think that I have gotten better about acknowledging that I am not alone here and that there are many others on this journey with me.

Maybe that is because it took time for me to realize how heavily my parents had begun to lean upon me. That is not a bad thing nor a complaint, but an acknowledgement of my recognition that they weren’t the same superheroes of my youth.

Yet in many ways they still are and that is the contradiction of being a grownup with aging parents. One day my own children will be old enough to really see me. One day they’ll see that I have always been this flawed individual who did his best but didn’t always get it done.

And if they don’t then the words I share here will probably shine some light on that, or maybe not. Maybe they’ll see this as nothing more than one daddy bloggers words.

Old Posts

Cruising through the blog I have stumbled onto some old posts that make me cringe and others that make me laugh. My kids may kill me but things like She Broke My Penis and My Penis is Sad are classic. Serendipity makes me smile too.

Some Days I Feel Broken and  The Cries Of the Broken Hearted take me other places and remind me of so many things. And these words, they resonate with me in ways that I can’t explain

So I am closing down the shop for a bit and hoping that you understand. The dreams of the past can meet the echoes of the future but only if I deal with the reality of today.

Just write my friends, just write.

Eight years later I read the words I wrote while you lay unconscious and incapable of breathing and remember how you fooled the doctors. Dad, they told me that you were going to die and that I needed to be prepared.

I remember the noises that machine made, you know the one that kept you alive. I remember the docs who told me that I shouldn’t pay attention to the bells, beeps and whistles because they would confuse me.

They weren’t trying to be mean, rude or irritating. They were just trying to help but that didn’t help me. How could it. My father lay on this bed I was standing next to. You don’t know these things the way that I do because it wasn’t you who stood there. It was me.

It wasn’t you who had to figure out what to say to everyone- it was me. I had to think about what to say to grandpa. I was the one who told him and grandpa about Uncle dying. I made him cry. I told him that his son had died and I made him cry. That is not supposed to happen.

I had to think about how to tell my sisters, mom and everyone else. I had to think about what I would tell your grandchildren. You don’t have any other sons. My sisters have lots of stories and good ones, but the male line ends with me. I am the start and the finish.

That doesn’t mean that your daughters aren’t important because they are critically important, but I am the one that everyone says is just like you. I am the one who has a million and one of your mannerisms. I am the one who will have to take on a role others won’t.

You made it. You beat the odds and you kicked death in the balls and threw his bony ass out the door. I was and still so thankful.

When I think back upon the seven months we went through I wonder how it is I still have hair. I remember taking the big lug in that photo with me on lots of walks and a run or two.

I didn’t say much of anything to anyone about what I felt. I told one person and the lug. But years later it is easy for me to say that I was scared and nervous. You had a triple bypass two days before my daughter was born.

Two days. Do you know what that was like. Do you know how crazed I felt, worried that we would end up at the hospital while some man was cutting open your chest. Talk about torn loyalties.

I did what you would do. I picked my children first because it had to be done- but goddammit dad, I was scared and angry with you. And now I am angry again.

Angry because you aren’t taking care of yourself the way you should. I know all the reasons why. There isn’t any substance abuse here, never has been. That is good but it is one more reason why I am angry because you are too fucking smart to do this.

You dropped all that weight years ago and now you are putting it back on. I told you that I won’t watch in silence. I told you that I can’t sit by but I can’t stop it either.

I am Not You

When I was younger it was important for me to say that I am not you because I wanted to prove I was my own man. I don’t have to do that now. I am you in so many ways. You have a million good qualities and I am still trying to become as good a father, but let’s not lie to anyone.

You can tell me that I have weight to drop and I will say you are right. So what. I don’t have nearly as much as you do and I am 26 years younger. I exercise more than you ever have and I don’t give up on this.

But you can do this too.

You can turn this around. You don’t have to give into the stress this way. I write. I work out on the heavy bag. I lift weights. I walk/run on the treadmill and I play basketball twice a week.

My two biggest challenges are my diet and my age. I am not old, but I can’t pretend that I am 25 anymore. So I adapt. I adjust and I overcome. There has to be more than force of will.

But the thing is that even though I know you have to make these changes- if you don’t and the worst happens I will feel guilty. I will feel responsible. I will wonder if I could have done anything different.

I won’t say these things to you because I won’t add that to your list of things to worry about. This is where I’ll let it out because I can’t carry it.

It is not hard to understand your concerns or why you feel as you do. I get it. I understand. It makes sense to me. All I ask is that you fight this battle in a different way. Don’t punish yourself this way because that is how I see it. Your are punishing yourself.

You know you don’t have to worry about me because I always land on my feet. And you know that I’ll always help mom and my sisters- not even a question. So let go a little bit.

Just start exercising again and I promise things will look different than they do now.

This was part of the just write project.

It is well past midnight and I am back here trying to do what that headline suggests I should do:

Write dangerously.

It is a constant battle and a quest for the sort of brutal honesty where you are stripped bare of all that you hide behind. There is no pretension, no bravado and no mask to prevent those who stand outside from looking in.

The words that I write here are not like they once were. I don’t write with the same reckless abandon and the deft touch that I once wielded is muted by outside influences.

Some of that is by choice and some by chance. Some by loss of innocence and concern about who will do what with my words.

They have been used against me on more than one occasion and I wonder will it happen again.

It is not my nature to sit back this way. It is not my nature to do things differently because there is concern about what could happen. I want to say that the choices I make now are based solely on wise words and wisdom gained from experience but it wouldn’t be entirely true nor completely false.

So I strive to write dangerously and break down the walls that stand before me. I take advantage of Heather’s Just Write projectand dance in the fire that forever burns in the places that I don’t show…most.

– Far better is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the grey twilight that knows not victory nor defeat. Theodore Roosevelt – The Man in the Arena

Johnny Cash is playing in the background and I am remembering moments in time, people, places and things that have happened. You who read these words on a regular basis know these songs and remember that in some ways they are like hymns that I sometimes sing along in silence with.

I Hung My Head

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

In My Life

I finish listening and decide to listen to Johnny sing One,  Hurt and If You Could Read My Mind. Not entirely sure why I go this route but it feels appropriate and I figure WTF.

If I am going to truly dance in the fire than I might as well turn up the heat until it burns so brightly I cannot stand to look at it without a shield for my eyes. This is part and parcel of how I have come to write the tale I tell here.

This story surprises me. I never would have guessed that this is what I would work on or that it would be the focus of my first attempt at a book but it is that. It is proof to me that truth is stranger than fiction and life is one hell of a ride.

I hadn’t intended to use that picture of Johnny but I am experiencing technical difficulties. The blog refused to save my post and crashed twice and I have optimized the database with the hope that it prevents the loss of continuity that keeps coming from the crash.

So I need to take a moment to try to recreate and reconnect which is why I am sharing this video with you:

Every time I hear that version I remember listening to Tears For Fears sing it. I was in high school and there was a girl who loved that song. She used to play it on a tape cassette player, the kind that my children refer to as old fashioned or ancient technology.

I wonder when they will be old enough to appreciate that their dad made a sea change in his forties and decided that he didn’t like the life he was living and decided to turn it upside down and inside out. I wonder whether it will take them a ton of life experience to appreciate the who, what and why.

They see me as this over grown kid. I chase them around the house and growl like a big dog or monster. My girl shrieks and pretends to run from me but she always slows down so that I can catch her.

And my son, well he slows down so that we can wrestle. His smile lights up the room and he tells me that this time he is going to win.

Death At The ATM

Later on I hear about a man who was shot and killed at an ATM. I don’t know this man but I knew someone else who was murdered at an ATM. A man took his life for forty dollars. I remember seeing his girls after they found out and now I see them decades later, mothers.

Tonight at my basketball game one of the guys tells me that he went to say Kaddish for his mother. I ask him if it is because of Shloshim and he says no, she died three years ago. She was 59.

That girl who liked Tears For Fears used to write sad poetry. She would sometimes ask me why I was so silly and how come I laughed so hard. I told her that if you didn’t laugh hard there was no point in laughing. I still believe that.

When I really laugh my whole body shakes. Some people try to tease me about that but I don’t care. What is the point of laughing if your body doesn’t laugh with you and your sides don’t ache.

That tape recorder reminds me of the one that I had and one that I think I still have. I know that I have lots of cassettes. Some of them contain mixes I made and some contain words. I haven’t listened to my words in forever but I hope to one day. And I hope that when I do I find that I spoke dangerously.

I am on a quest and a journey whose end isn’t yet in sight. It is somewhere in the distance, off in the misty mountains and I am good with that. What is the point of life if everything is just given to you.

I don’t know if this post did what I wanted but I know that I tried to write dangerously. I wonder how many people actually read it.

It is almost 1 am and I just spent more than one hour breaking and fixing my blog. I am tempted to kick my own ass for the sin of deciding to wander into deeper waters after 11:30 at night.

WTF was I thinking?

I am glad that you asked because I want to answer. I don’t like the way this place looks and I got a bug up my behind that said I might be able to tweak a free theme into looking the way that I want.

You see a while back I moved from Thesis to Headway. When I made the move it was with the understanding that Headway was about to roll out a major redesign and that I would be able to take advantage of the additional functionality at a lower price. Made good sense to me to join up and I have no regrets.

Headway Themes also announced that as part of the roll out they would provide some child themes at no additional cost. They aren’t ready yet and I got impatient so I tried to make some temporary changes and in the process I broke the blog.

For a short time it was completely inaccessible and then I went storming into the logs to find the bug that was creating the issue. Well I found it and I squashed it. I definitely broke this SOB but I fixed it too.

I am pretty damn proud of myself for figuring that out. It is more proof that tinkering and the ability to read make for a good combination. They are also dangerous because it gives me confidence to take on a bit more than I should, but that is ok.

If you want to learn than you need to do, just ask Kaarina. OTOH, Jayme might suggest hiring a professional and that is not a bad idea. Her redesign is beautiful.

One Writing Tip- Make the Reader Relate To You

Sometimes people ask me if I can give them insight into how I am able to blog every day. I think if you asked my friend Jens he would say you just do it. When I talk to other parent bloggers they usually tell me that if they focus on their children they can always find something to write about.

There is a lot of truth in that. I have been outraged and angry about the shooting in France. My children attend a Jewish Day School. Sometimes people ask me if I think I am making them into targets by sending them there.

I say no and I mean it. I think that there is danger everywhere…if you look for it that is. There is a greater chance of them being involved in a serious car accident than a terrorist incident. Does that mean that I ignore it? Hell No.

Sometimes I think about it. Sometimes I remember when my son was very little and he told me that if bad people came to our house I needed to “kill them dead.” Last year my daughter asked me if I would kill someone who was trying to hurt them and I said yes without hesitation. It is not a question. I am their father and that makes me the shield, the knight and the superhero.

But I made a point to talk to her in great detail about her question. I wanted to understand what prompted it. Turned out that she had heard some story on the news so I wanted her to know that if someone broke into the house I would protect her. She asked me how and I told her not to worry about it. Just trust that I will.

It was enough for her and she went to sleep. Haven’t heard a peep about it in almost a year now.

Did You Catch The First Writing Tip?

That first writing tip was simple- make the reader relate to you. I don’t mean to sound like an arrogant jerk but I am betting that many of you have been nodding your heads while reading this post. That is because so many of you are bloggers and parents.

You recognize the challenge of trying to make a blog look nice and probably relate to some of the technical challenges I listed.

If you are a parent you understand the horror of something happening to our children. There isn’t anything worse. But I am willing to be that if even if you aren’t a parent you could relate to that story. I am willing to bet that you understand the need and desire to protect those we love most.

But Wait There is More!

Just when you thought that you had received an enormous amount of value from this post I come back and give you one more tip. It is not as cool as The Ginsu knife but it is pretty neat.

One of the best ways to make readers connect with you is to pretend that you are writing a letter to one person. I have done a lot of that with the stories in this post. I have pictured a few people and written the story as if it was a letter to them.

It helps me set the tone and to create a mental image in my head.

And now I must go to sleep. I am up much later than I meant to be all because I broke my blog. And since I broke it I figured I had to blog about it for the Just Write project. Go visit Heather and tell her that I said thanks for organizing this each week.