"Wearing my 6-shooter, riding my pony on a cattle drive."
For my "country" friends out there, you might recognize the line from a Toby Keith song by the same name. No, I don't think I should have been an actual cowboy, although I do have some experience with cows, milking and general farming. My statement actually refers to yet another example of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Anyone who has read older posts of mine might recall that I dabbled in things such as music (playing piano and trumpet) and singing along my way to responsible adulthood, and know that I sometimes wonder if my concerted efforts had been directed elsewhere besides academics, would I be in a different place in the world. I also often lament that my timing in life was about 10 years ahead of the reality t.v. craze, having already found my "Mr. Right" and started a family before being on The Bachelor was the "hip" thing to do.
I recently ran across another example of my life's poor timing - live rock n' roll concerts. Yes, I believe that to some extent, I missed my calling on this as well. I was not really exposed to live music until law school, when Rob and I started dating. Before that, I could probably count on my two hands the number of shows I had been to (and that number included the Jets at the Ohio State Fair when I was a kid, the Bobby Brown show (with Mary J. Blige) and a few Barenaked Ladies shows in Rochester when I was in college. My first really "big" concert was the Pearl Jam show in Rochester, and even then I'm not sure I had a clear concept of what I was experiencing.
Since those lowly days, my horizons have been exponentially expanded, and I have experienced live music in countless venues - some small and some big, some famous (such as the Hollywood Bowl and the Troubadour) and some the epitome of "hole in the wall" (i.e. the Glass House in Pomona.) My ticket book overflows with stubs of shows by icons, up-and-comers and those never to be heard from again. I have seen two of Garth Brooks "retirement" shows and have danced in the aisles to Billy Joel, Tina Turner, Rod Stewart and Elton John. Just the same, I have stood in small clubs and listened to groups and individuals who never hit the "big" time or whose time has already come and gone.
When I was in grad school, one of my roommates mentioned that her brother had taken a year off of work to travel around the U.S. and follow one of his favorite bands. At the time, I was not sure what to think, since I did not have that strong of a connection to a particular band. I remember wondering how he could afford it, but I did not understand wanting to see a band's show that many times. Over the next few years, I would find myself at a lot of Goo Goo Dolls shows, but even then, I'm not sure I would have followed them around on tour.
Unfortunately, these days my concert going time is limited. Back in the day, it was not uncommon for us to see several shows in a week, sometimes seeing a band one night in L.A. and a week later in Anaheim. Now with kids in school, it is hard to justify staying out late (and paying for a babysitter) and then having to get up early to get kids to school, just to see a band play.
Just last summer, I went to Vegas for a weekend and saw an amazing (to me) show that included Lit, Everclear, Sugar Ray and Marcy Playground - all bands that helped shape my high school and college years with their music. Standing on the Beach at Mandalay Bay and listening to those songs, I was instantly transported back to those "simpler" times. As soon as the show was over I realized that I missed those days of being able to go to a show whenever the mood struck. Maybe this whole "family" and "real world" stuff isn't all that it is cracked up to be?
A few weeks after the show in Vegas, I received an alert that Lit was playing in Anaheim a few weeks later. Unfortunately, it was a Wednesday night. Where we once would have not given a second thought to buying tickets and heading down there after work, we now have to consider what else is going on that week, and where we have to be the next morning. It is at times like this that I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if my path had been different. Would I still be following bands even now, as 40 creeps up on my ever so swiftly? Or would I still have settled down at some point, leaving the "road" to the younger ones and finding a quiet place to rest my pounding eardrums.
One thing is certain, there is no "re-do" in life. The choices we make, for better or worse, are what they are. We have our reasons at the time we choose and we must live with them. I say this not to be overly serious, but because it helps keep things in perspective. I'm sure I would have loved to chuck it all and follow a band around the country (who wouldn't!) but the reality is that I barely had the money to pay for school and rent and if I had not been in school, I would have had even less (student loans were a wonderful thing back then.) So I made my choices.
Just the same, as an "adult," I am still constantly making choices, only now, I have more people to consider, even "little" ones, whose well-being factors into my decisions. All the same, when September 19, a Wednesday, rolled around, you could have found me in Anaheim, without my kids, rocking out with Lit and Buckcherry with some girl friends. (Rob stayed home with the girls.) It keeps me young and for a few hours, a bit happier and quite possibly, a bit more sane.
Post Script: I wrote this in early September, but did not post it at the time. I'm posting now, with some minor changes to fix the timing. Strange timing, but another concert is coming up on March 9, one that Rob will be going to without me this time - to see Buckcherry. As much as I like some of their music, I'm opting out of this one, because it is a record-release party, which means there will be music I don't know as well being played. I also was not that impressed with some of their fans at the last show. This time, I'm choosing to hang at home with the girls and maybe I'll get in a few solid hours of scrapbooking once the girls go to bed.
Disneyland Family 5K -2014
Friday, March 1, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Glory days, in the blink of a young (wo)man's eye...
As some of you know, I'm a bit of a weekend warrior these days. I play basketball in a league on Sundays, sometimes going the rest of the week without working out and sucking wind on the following Sunday because of it. Most of you probably remember that I played hoops in high school, for one of the best teams in the county, under the tutelage of a great coach (Coach Rod Holmes). I also played in college, under a coach who, at the time, had one of the best records in the NCAA, across all divisions, men or women.
Despite my seemingly auspicious beginnings, the WBNA did not come calling and scouts were not following me every where I went. When my knees went bad 2 years into college, I switched to volleyball and hung up the high tops. (Except to give a few guys a schooling here and there in pick-up games.)
These days, I'm happy to be back on the court. There is something comforting about the sound of the ball bouncing on the hardwood, or the swish of the hoop as the ball passes through, and yes, even the way the gym smells after a day of games. But at the same time, I have to laugh at some of what I see in the younger generation of players. Although I don't consider myself "old" by any means, I think I have achieved a certain level of understanding that comes with being 20 years out from the intense days of high school or college competition: the knowledge that, at the end of the day, there are things that are more important than this game.
I had this realization just this past Sunday night. It has been a few weeks in coming, but this last game helped clarify things for me. We have several players on our team that are younger, by 10 or even 15 years. They are much closer in time to their "glory days" of high school. They feel the pinch of losing much more acutely than I do, and they seem to almost rebel against it. Don't get me wrong, I hate to lose as much as the next guy. But there is a time and place for things, and I get to a point where I simply lack the patience to deal with some of these women ( not my teammates, but players on other teams) who forget that this is a game and forget that at the end of our hour on the court, we go back to our "real" lives. Perhaps it is age or experience or just being taught a different way, but I reached a point in that last game, where I thought "it just isn't worth it."
At one point in the game, we were down by 15 points and the other team was challenging our inbounds pass on their end of the court (a full court press.). Excuse me? You are up by 15 and you are pressing? This is where lessons learned on Coach Holmes' court kicked in. My first thought was that the other team had crossed the line into "bush" league. Maybe other coaches taught things differently, but you just don't pour on the press when you are leading by 15. (I should also note that these games typically top out at around 40 or 50 points for the winning team - they are not what you would call "high scoring" games.).
I have to wonder how much of that "win at all costs" attitude comes from a lack of education in the sport, or possibly from playing for a coach who was ruthless or had a "win at all costs" mentality. Those coaches rarely included class in their missives. It could also be that some of these women never played "organized" ball and so don't realize that you can't hug someone when playing defense or that to set a proper screen, you have to plant your feet (and can't stick your knee out to trip the defense.). These things must be taught and maybe these poor souls weren't as lucky as I was to have the fundamentals drilled into their heads over many years.
It could also be that for some of these ladies (and yes, I use that term loosely), this is their moment in the sun, and for them, the "glory days" are not over. They believe that someone is still looking for them, or their moment in the sun is just around the corner. (Sadly, it isn't coming in the Sunday league at the rec gym in Burbank California.). I have to laugh when some of these teams come out guns blazing, running designed plays. For what? If you win the league, you might get a pat on the back and if you're lucky, a t-shirt. Woo hoo! For that, let's put someone's eye out! No thank you.
In the midst of Sunday's chaos, I missed jumpers and had some rebounds that did not fall. One of my teammates (who is still in her 20s and displays a normal to slightly high dislike for losing) came up to me at the foul line and said "you're so much taller than them, just gather yourself and go up." I smiled at her -probably a goofy grin- because my brain couldn't come up with a quick enough crack about my age and because I've heard those words somewhere in my past, and then I just let it go. A few seconds later I trudged back down the court.
I smiled because what she doesn't yet realize (and hopefully will someday) is that there are things more important than killing myself to win that game. For me, those "things" are aged 2 and 7. I want them to see me play with class because I want them to grow up and play the same way. I don't want them to see me whining to the refs or taking cheap shots under the basket when no one is watching. (But I will teach them to take a charge and that free throws can win games, and remind them that you can't teach height.)
By the time my teammate made the comment to me, we were about 30 minutes into the (40 minute) game and I had scrapped for a jump ball and smashed up my finger, I had tried to take a charge and been knocked on my ass, and I'd been grabbed and held and knocked around so much under the basket that I was done. That is not to say that I quit, or gave up, or didn't get back on "D" or run the court right up to the end. (I even drained a 3 pointer to bring us within 4, and I still maintain that the scorekeeper messed up and gave them 2 extra points.) But I was done with the drama and the swearing (the other team) and the feigned surprise at being called for a foul (also the other team).
I do feel bad for some of the younger girls on our team, and I can sense the frustration over losing that seems to come more often than we would like. (Although we have been doing better since we added to "younger" girls who like to run the court.) But at the same time, I just don't have the same energy I had 15 or 20 years ago.
This last week, my girls got to watch me play hard, sink a few shots and do pretty well for an "old" lady. In the end we lost, but I can walk off the court knowing that I did my best and have nothing to be ashamed of and even this far removed from high school and college, I still played with class. If my little ones decide to follow in my footsteps in that regard, I guess I'm doing o.k.
Despite my seemingly auspicious beginnings, the WBNA did not come calling and scouts were not following me every where I went. When my knees went bad 2 years into college, I switched to volleyball and hung up the high tops. (Except to give a few guys a schooling here and there in pick-up games.)
These days, I'm happy to be back on the court. There is something comforting about the sound of the ball bouncing on the hardwood, or the swish of the hoop as the ball passes through, and yes, even the way the gym smells after a day of games. But at the same time, I have to laugh at some of what I see in the younger generation of players. Although I don't consider myself "old" by any means, I think I have achieved a certain level of understanding that comes with being 20 years out from the intense days of high school or college competition: the knowledge that, at the end of the day, there are things that are more important than this game.
I had this realization just this past Sunday night. It has been a few weeks in coming, but this last game helped clarify things for me. We have several players on our team that are younger, by 10 or even 15 years. They are much closer in time to their "glory days" of high school. They feel the pinch of losing much more acutely than I do, and they seem to almost rebel against it. Don't get me wrong, I hate to lose as much as the next guy. But there is a time and place for things, and I get to a point where I simply lack the patience to deal with some of these women ( not my teammates, but players on other teams) who forget that this is a game and forget that at the end of our hour on the court, we go back to our "real" lives. Perhaps it is age or experience or just being taught a different way, but I reached a point in that last game, where I thought "it just isn't worth it."
At one point in the game, we were down by 15 points and the other team was challenging our inbounds pass on their end of the court (a full court press.). Excuse me? You are up by 15 and you are pressing? This is where lessons learned on Coach Holmes' court kicked in. My first thought was that the other team had crossed the line into "bush" league. Maybe other coaches taught things differently, but you just don't pour on the press when you are leading by 15. (I should also note that these games typically top out at around 40 or 50 points for the winning team - they are not what you would call "high scoring" games.).
I have to wonder how much of that "win at all costs" attitude comes from a lack of education in the sport, or possibly from playing for a coach who was ruthless or had a "win at all costs" mentality. Those coaches rarely included class in their missives. It could also be that some of these women never played "organized" ball and so don't realize that you can't hug someone when playing defense or that to set a proper screen, you have to plant your feet (and can't stick your knee out to trip the defense.). These things must be taught and maybe these poor souls weren't as lucky as I was to have the fundamentals drilled into their heads over many years.
It could also be that for some of these ladies (and yes, I use that term loosely), this is their moment in the sun, and for them, the "glory days" are not over. They believe that someone is still looking for them, or their moment in the sun is just around the corner. (Sadly, it isn't coming in the Sunday league at the rec gym in Burbank California.). I have to laugh when some of these teams come out guns blazing, running designed plays. For what? If you win the league, you might get a pat on the back and if you're lucky, a t-shirt. Woo hoo! For that, let's put someone's eye out! No thank you.
In the midst of Sunday's chaos, I missed jumpers and had some rebounds that did not fall. One of my teammates (who is still in her 20s and displays a normal to slightly high dislike for losing) came up to me at the foul line and said "you're so much taller than them, just gather yourself and go up." I smiled at her -probably a goofy grin- because my brain couldn't come up with a quick enough crack about my age and because I've heard those words somewhere in my past, and then I just let it go. A few seconds later I trudged back down the court.
I smiled because what she doesn't yet realize (and hopefully will someday) is that there are things more important than killing myself to win that game. For me, those "things" are aged 2 and 7. I want them to see me play with class because I want them to grow up and play the same way. I don't want them to see me whining to the refs or taking cheap shots under the basket when no one is watching. (But I will teach them to take a charge and that free throws can win games, and remind them that you can't teach height.)
By the time my teammate made the comment to me, we were about 30 minutes into the (40 minute) game and I had scrapped for a jump ball and smashed up my finger, I had tried to take a charge and been knocked on my ass, and I'd been grabbed and held and knocked around so much under the basket that I was done. That is not to say that I quit, or gave up, or didn't get back on "D" or run the court right up to the end. (I even drained a 3 pointer to bring us within 4, and I still maintain that the scorekeeper messed up and gave them 2 extra points.) But I was done with the drama and the swearing (the other team) and the feigned surprise at being called for a foul (also the other team).
I do feel bad for some of the younger girls on our team, and I can sense the frustration over losing that seems to come more often than we would like. (Although we have been doing better since we added to "younger" girls who like to run the court.) But at the same time, I just don't have the same energy I had 15 or 20 years ago.
This last week, my girls got to watch me play hard, sink a few shots and do pretty well for an "old" lady. In the end we lost, but I can walk off the court knowing that I did my best and have nothing to be ashamed of and even this far removed from high school and college, I still played with class. If my little ones decide to follow in my footsteps in that regard, I guess I'm doing o.k.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Don't Forget Me
For the past week or so, I've been thinking quite a bit about places I have been and things that I have done. Some parts of my life I have literally left behind, moving across the country for school and to pursue my career. With Facebook, it has become much easier to reconnect with the past, with parts of our lives we thought completely left behind and no longer reachable. We can now reconnect with people in parts of the world we may never visit again.
As part of that reconnecting, I have found my way back to a piece of me in high school. Not just through my classmates (many of whom are on Facebook,) but through the basketball program. A guy who was a local sports writer when I was in high school was a great friend of our basketball program and an unofficial assistant coach - of sorts. He would come to all of the practices and games, and even ran drills and played pick-up with us. He is still involved with the program (I think he even became an "official" assistant at one point) and now posts from time to time about the current team and players and our coach. There is also now a separate page for the girls' basketball program, where updates and pictures are posted.
It was a picture in one of those recent posts that struck me. It was a picture of our friend, Don, being carried by several players, to a birthday celebration. It looks like the picture was taken in a cafeteria, but having never been in the new school building, I can't be sure. What struck me at that moment, was that the high school that I attended - the physical building - was gone. Thomas Wolfe said "You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time – back home to the escapes of Time and Memory." In this instance, that quote could not be more true, since part of my childhood no longer exists.
I went back to Jefferson last summer, for my 20th high school reunion. My best friend and I drove to the high school and wandered around the new football stadium and peeked into some windows of the new school. (It sits on a spot that was an overgrown field 20 years ago.) The spot where our school building stood is now mostly a parking lot. There are no markers, no sign of what was. I can never go back to that building, its layout etched forever in my mind, and wander the halls. I can't go back to my old locker and see if the combination is still the same: 20-32-10. I can't poke my head into Mr. Mizer's biology class and see if he is still torturing students with frog dissection. (I was his teacher's aide senior year and used to come in every morning with a can of Pepsi and a pop-tart and laugh at the kids in his bio class.) This is one situation when I cannot go back, even if I really wanted to. (And sometimes, I really want to.)
As I looked at the picture in the recent post, of life continuing on at the "new" school, I was a bit sad and I wondered - does anyone there remember me? Is there anything at the "new" school that marks me or my class - that we passed through? Do those kids even know about us?
It is human nature, I think, to expect that people feel the same way about us that we feel about them. When we leave and miss someone, we expect and hope and believe that the other person feels the same way as we do, and misses us just as much. Unfortunately, of course that is usually not the way "life" goes. Consider a couple that breaks up. The girl may move on, thinking that there is something better out there for her and has no plans to come back to the guy. She picks up and moves on. But at the same time, if he moves on and starts dating someone else, she might get angry or jealous. Even though she is moving on, she expects him to sit around and wait. She hopes that she meant so much to him that when she is gone, his life ceases and he must sit and wait for her to come back, in order for his life to begin again.
In some ways, I find myself hoping that the same is true for places that I've been. I left Jefferson, Ohio 21 years ago. I packed my car for college and aside from the usual trips home for the holidays, I did not look back. While I know that life moved on, a small part of me almost wishes that the clocks had all stopped the day I left. For in that, wouldn't it prove just a tiny bit of worth on my part? Would it mean that I was important to someone or something there? That I had just as much impact on the place and time, as the place and time had on me?
I have also reconnected with many friends from college - those 4 brief years that I spent in upstate New York. So much living and so many experiences crammed into 48 short months, and then I packed my car again - this time to LA, where I still am. It has been 17 years, and I have been back twice. And yet, when I see my old friends from college posting about their lives and I see postings on the school's alumni page, I can't help but feel that same tiny bit of a question - what about me? Do you remember me? Does anyone there today know what we went through in that place?
Some of my nostalgia these days could also be blamed on my playing basketball again. Last year I got connected with the Lady Lawyer's League - a group of women from Georgetown Law, who had all played ball in college and decided that it didn't have to end with graduation. They set up leagues and began playing on a regular basis. When some of the group moved to other parts of the country, the league followed. The LA branch had set up a tournament, and I decided to play. (Crazy, considering it had been a few years since I had played.) It only took a few minutes for all of the memories to start washing over me, the smell of the gym, the sound of the ball hitting the hardwood, and the words of the coach ringing in my ears. (Although I played ball in college, I think my high school coach had much more of an impact on me and it has been his lessons that have stuck with me.) I was asked to join the team that I was matched with, for their regular Sunday leagues and have been playing most of the last year. It is almost like riding a bicycle, coming back to play after so many years. There are some things you just never forget.
Going back to my high school team - Don posted a link today to an article he wrote, about the end of the Winter sports season and that feeling for seniors, when you know it is the last time you will be on that floor, with that team, those people, those friends. You can see his article here: http://starbeacon.com/
I have grown up in the 21 years since that picture was taken and have experienced more loss and heartbreak, some of which has been public and some not. I've moved more times than I can remember and have made friends in many places. I can only hope that the people I've met remember me as fondly as I remember them, and that in some small way, each of the places that I have been is changed for my having been there and, without me, won't ever be quite the same again.
As part of that reconnecting, I have found my way back to a piece of me in high school. Not just through my classmates (many of whom are on Facebook,) but through the basketball program. A guy who was a local sports writer when I was in high school was a great friend of our basketball program and an unofficial assistant coach - of sorts. He would come to all of the practices and games, and even ran drills and played pick-up with us. He is still involved with the program (I think he even became an "official" assistant at one point) and now posts from time to time about the current team and players and our coach. There is also now a separate page for the girls' basketball program, where updates and pictures are posted.
It was a picture in one of those recent posts that struck me. It was a picture of our friend, Don, being carried by several players, to a birthday celebration. It looks like the picture was taken in a cafeteria, but having never been in the new school building, I can't be sure. What struck me at that moment, was that the high school that I attended - the physical building - was gone. Thomas Wolfe said "You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time – back home to the escapes of Time and Memory." In this instance, that quote could not be more true, since part of my childhood no longer exists.
I went back to Jefferson last summer, for my 20th high school reunion. My best friend and I drove to the high school and wandered around the new football stadium and peeked into some windows of the new school. (It sits on a spot that was an overgrown field 20 years ago.) The spot where our school building stood is now mostly a parking lot. There are no markers, no sign of what was. I can never go back to that building, its layout etched forever in my mind, and wander the halls. I can't go back to my old locker and see if the combination is still the same: 20-32-10. I can't poke my head into Mr. Mizer's biology class and see if he is still torturing students with frog dissection. (I was his teacher's aide senior year and used to come in every morning with a can of Pepsi and a pop-tart and laugh at the kids in his bio class.) This is one situation when I cannot go back, even if I really wanted to. (And sometimes, I really want to.)
As I looked at the picture in the recent post, of life continuing on at the "new" school, I was a bit sad and I wondered - does anyone there remember me? Is there anything at the "new" school that marks me or my class - that we passed through? Do those kids even know about us?
It is human nature, I think, to expect that people feel the same way about us that we feel about them. When we leave and miss someone, we expect and hope and believe that the other person feels the same way as we do, and misses us just as much. Unfortunately, of course that is usually not the way "life" goes. Consider a couple that breaks up. The girl may move on, thinking that there is something better out there for her and has no plans to come back to the guy. She picks up and moves on. But at the same time, if he moves on and starts dating someone else, she might get angry or jealous. Even though she is moving on, she expects him to sit around and wait. She hopes that she meant so much to him that when she is gone, his life ceases and he must sit and wait for her to come back, in order for his life to begin again.
In some ways, I find myself hoping that the same is true for places that I've been. I left Jefferson, Ohio 21 years ago. I packed my car for college and aside from the usual trips home for the holidays, I did not look back. While I know that life moved on, a small part of me almost wishes that the clocks had all stopped the day I left. For in that, wouldn't it prove just a tiny bit of worth on my part? Would it mean that I was important to someone or something there? That I had just as much impact on the place and time, as the place and time had on me?
I have also reconnected with many friends from college - those 4 brief years that I spent in upstate New York. So much living and so many experiences crammed into 48 short months, and then I packed my car again - this time to LA, where I still am. It has been 17 years, and I have been back twice. And yet, when I see my old friends from college posting about their lives and I see postings on the school's alumni page, I can't help but feel that same tiny bit of a question - what about me? Do you remember me? Does anyone there today know what we went through in that place?
Some of my nostalgia these days could also be blamed on my playing basketball again. Last year I got connected with the Lady Lawyer's League - a group of women from Georgetown Law, who had all played ball in college and decided that it didn't have to end with graduation. They set up leagues and began playing on a regular basis. When some of the group moved to other parts of the country, the league followed. The LA branch had set up a tournament, and I decided to play. (Crazy, considering it had been a few years since I had played.) It only took a few minutes for all of the memories to start washing over me, the smell of the gym, the sound of the ball hitting the hardwood, and the words of the coach ringing in my ears. (Although I played ball in college, I think my high school coach had much more of an impact on me and it has been his lessons that have stuck with me.) I was asked to join the team that I was matched with, for their regular Sunday leagues and have been playing most of the last year. It is almost like riding a bicycle, coming back to play after so many years. There are some things you just never forget.
Going back to my high school team - Don posted a link today to an article he wrote, about the end of the Winter sports season and that feeling for seniors, when you know it is the last time you will be on that floor, with that team, those people, those friends. You can see his article here: http://starbeacon.com/
I have grown up in the 21 years since that picture was taken and have experienced more loss and heartbreak, some of which has been public and some not. I've moved more times than I can remember and have made friends in many places. I can only hope that the people I've met remember me as fondly as I remember them, and that in some small way, each of the places that I have been is changed for my having been there and, without me, won't ever be quite the same again.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Put me in Coach, I'm ready to play!
Have you ever noticed how former athletes carry the lessons learned on the field into their professional lives? I don't think that I could say that everyone does it, but I think in general terms, most competitive athletes continue to feel that competitive drive in everything they do after sports. The lessons learned stick with them. It is easy to see a football player ruthlessly pursuing a target and taking it down - whether that target is a business deal to be closed, or a receiver to be tackled. A basketball player will keep taking those shots, over and over - whether it is by grabbing a rebound and putting it back up, or by continuing to make plans and close deals.
But what about the baseball player? How does someone who did not play a contact sport turn drive or determination into their business. I would offer the argument that it is different, and in some cases, a former baseball player might lack the killer instinct required in some settings.
A few thoughts on the sport before I close the loop on this analogy. Baseball is the only sport where you do NOT control the ball when you are on offense. When you are on defense, you might spend quite a bit of time just standing around, waiting for something to happen. Baseball is not a contact sport. Yes, you might run into the catcher when there is a play at the plate or slide into the second baseman when you are stealing, but there is not real contact. Similarly, there is no real opportunity for retaliation or self preservation. In basketball, if someone on defense elbows you when you are going for a lay-up, you have a few options. You can elbow them back right then, or you can elbow them when you are on defense. The response can be almost immediate and depending on how closely the refs are looking, can be quite satisfying. In the "paint" (or the "key") you can be jostling for position - you can actually feel yourself moving others around and the struggle for position is palpable. You can feel it. Nothing quite like that happens in baseball.
Baseball is certainly a more sedate game. People often complain that they don't like to watch baseball because it is boring. Long stretches of time pass with nothing happening. When you are playing the game, you sit when your team is on offense, every half inning, unless you are up to bat - and even then your at bat could take mere minutes if you can't connect. What other mainstream sport allows you to win a game by sitting on your butt? And how about retaliation? If a pitcher thinks that you are crowding the plate and buzzes you, you have no immediate recourse. You can't throw the ball back and "buzz" the pitcher. You can't do anything, except wait until the other team is up to bat and your pitcher can then buzz someone else. (You don't even get the opportunity to retaliate for yourself.) Of course, one way to get back at the pitcher might be to hit it out of the park, or even drive a come-backer right down his throat, but for the most part, you don't get to have your own revenge, and there is no real jostling for position.
The reason I bring this up is because I was a basketball player. I believe that I have a killer instinct. I turned that killer instinct toward the law and now get paid to argue and fight for a living. For the most part, I fight with words and on paper, but every once in awhile, I go to court and argue with other attorneys in front of the judge. I get pumped up just like I used to when playing sports, and I like it. I like the rush of adrenaline that comes with knowing my position is the right one, and believing that I am going to win. Even when dealing with my own clients, I tend to approach things aggressively. I do sometimes have to remember to slow down and change tactics, as aggression does not suit every circumstance, but I would say that generally speaking, I like to attack. I think that this instinct comes, at least in part, from my days of playing sports (and more specifically, basketball.)
Unfortunately, I think that some athletes missed that boat, based solely on their sport of choice. Baseball. I have a friend who played baseball competitively and is now an attorney. There is a situation developing that needs a response. I look at the situation and see the need for a swift and aggressive response - whether the response is directed at the client, or at the opposing side. I feel that action, immediate action (i.e. a retaliatory elbow to the nose) is appropriate. My friend is choosing to take a few steps back and look at the situation (perhaps more calmly assessing things than I would), and is even considering the outcome of things down the road. My feeling is that you deal with the "here and now" in the "here and now" and worry about the rest later. If the guy elbows you now and you don't respond, he will continue to elbow you every time down the court, until you establish your position on the court, by getting your own elbows out... and using them. Some might argue that where the "other guy" is your client, you want to be more conservative in your approach. I would certainly never discount that position, but I think it also depends on the situation.
Yes, I'm definitely more aggressive. I would not say that my friend's approach to this problem is a bad one or the wrong one, or that my approach is a better one or the "right" one. I mention them only as different ways to approach an issue, and highlight the fact that I think our approaches are in some respects, a result of our backgrounds in sport. There is no way to know how this situation will play out, until the final buzzer (or until the third out in the 9th is in the books.) In the meantime, I'll be over in the corner, sharpening my elbows, ready to attack when needed.
But what about the baseball player? How does someone who did not play a contact sport turn drive or determination into their business. I would offer the argument that it is different, and in some cases, a former baseball player might lack the killer instinct required in some settings.
A few thoughts on the sport before I close the loop on this analogy. Baseball is the only sport where you do NOT control the ball when you are on offense. When you are on defense, you might spend quite a bit of time just standing around, waiting for something to happen. Baseball is not a contact sport. Yes, you might run into the catcher when there is a play at the plate or slide into the second baseman when you are stealing, but there is not real contact. Similarly, there is no real opportunity for retaliation or self preservation. In basketball, if someone on defense elbows you when you are going for a lay-up, you have a few options. You can elbow them back right then, or you can elbow them when you are on defense. The response can be almost immediate and depending on how closely the refs are looking, can be quite satisfying. In the "paint" (or the "key") you can be jostling for position - you can actually feel yourself moving others around and the struggle for position is palpable. You can feel it. Nothing quite like that happens in baseball.
Baseball is certainly a more sedate game. People often complain that they don't like to watch baseball because it is boring. Long stretches of time pass with nothing happening. When you are playing the game, you sit when your team is on offense, every half inning, unless you are up to bat - and even then your at bat could take mere minutes if you can't connect. What other mainstream sport allows you to win a game by sitting on your butt? And how about retaliation? If a pitcher thinks that you are crowding the plate and buzzes you, you have no immediate recourse. You can't throw the ball back and "buzz" the pitcher. You can't do anything, except wait until the other team is up to bat and your pitcher can then buzz someone else. (You don't even get the opportunity to retaliate for yourself.) Of course, one way to get back at the pitcher might be to hit it out of the park, or even drive a come-backer right down his throat, but for the most part, you don't get to have your own revenge, and there is no real jostling for position.
The reason I bring this up is because I was a basketball player. I believe that I have a killer instinct. I turned that killer instinct toward the law and now get paid to argue and fight for a living. For the most part, I fight with words and on paper, but every once in awhile, I go to court and argue with other attorneys in front of the judge. I get pumped up just like I used to when playing sports, and I like it. I like the rush of adrenaline that comes with knowing my position is the right one, and believing that I am going to win. Even when dealing with my own clients, I tend to approach things aggressively. I do sometimes have to remember to slow down and change tactics, as aggression does not suit every circumstance, but I would say that generally speaking, I like to attack. I think that this instinct comes, at least in part, from my days of playing sports (and more specifically, basketball.)
Unfortunately, I think that some athletes missed that boat, based solely on their sport of choice. Baseball. I have a friend who played baseball competitively and is now an attorney. There is a situation developing that needs a response. I look at the situation and see the need for a swift and aggressive response - whether the response is directed at the client, or at the opposing side. I feel that action, immediate action (i.e. a retaliatory elbow to the nose) is appropriate. My friend is choosing to take a few steps back and look at the situation (perhaps more calmly assessing things than I would), and is even considering the outcome of things down the road. My feeling is that you deal with the "here and now" in the "here and now" and worry about the rest later. If the guy elbows you now and you don't respond, he will continue to elbow you every time down the court, until you establish your position on the court, by getting your own elbows out... and using them. Some might argue that where the "other guy" is your client, you want to be more conservative in your approach. I would certainly never discount that position, but I think it also depends on the situation.
Yes, I'm definitely more aggressive. I would not say that my friend's approach to this problem is a bad one or the wrong one, or that my approach is a better one or the "right" one. I mention them only as different ways to approach an issue, and highlight the fact that I think our approaches are in some respects, a result of our backgrounds in sport. There is no way to know how this situation will play out, until the final buzzer (or until the third out in the 9th is in the books.) In the meantime, I'll be over in the corner, sharpening my elbows, ready to attack when needed.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Today's Mental Gymnastics
Happy New Year!
Yes, you read that right. It is January 31 and I'm saying "Happy New Year." Ugh.... I feel so behind. I had the best of intentions to get our office "holiday" cards in the mail at a "decent" time. We specifically looked for and purchased New Year's cards, because our firm didn't actually start up until January 1. As I sit here now on the 31st, finally putting them into envelopes and stamping them, I wonder if it is too late. Why did we not get them out sooner? Because the graphics guys working on our post cards (which have our contact information) forgot to grammar check and they had to be reprinted, setting us back a week. Grrrrr. Needless to say, I was not very happy with that. Of course, in looking back over the cards, I realized that they say something like "Happy Holidays and all the best in 2013" - but since the "2013" is the biggest thing on the page, I'm hoping everyone will gloss over the "holidays" stuff. I'll try and do better next year.
Waste Not, Want Not.
I've been struggling lately with the idea of "waste" in my kitchen. When I was a kid, we spent the summer growing lots of fruits and vegetables, the autumn was spent canning and freezing all of our fruits and vegetables, and in the winter, we ate them. (In the spring, we went back out and tilled the ground to replant.) I can remember my mom making dinner each night, something in a pan or pot, enough to feed a family of 5 (one of which was nicknamed the "hollow leg" and another known as the "Human garbage can.") Every few days, or once a week would be "left over night" and she would heat up and serve all of the little pieces and parts of the dinners from the week that had not yet been finished. I do not remember throwing out food that had gone bad, or meat that had sat in the fridge too long before being cooked. We went to the store once a week (or once every two weeks) and loaded up on food to get us through.
The reason I'm struggling with this lately is because I find myself throwing food away and it drives me crazy. I try to make dinners in smaller portions, so that we don't have too much in the way of leftovers, but we sometimes do. I faithfully put things in containers and into the fridge, but will inevitably toss them out a week (or two) later. I buy lettuce and it sits until it turns brown and then I cringe as a I toss it. I'm not sure if it is because I'm buying the wrong things, or just buying too much. But I struggle with this. No, I don't expect you to have an answer, I just want you to shake your head in agreement and tell me that you understand. Moving on.
My Right to Bare Arms
Yes, I realize that I spelled "bare" the way I did. I believe that we all have the right to bare arms, when the weather is good and you don't have any tattoos that are misspelled. Seriously though - I have said it before and I'll say it again - I try not to get too political on my blog or my Facebook page, because generally speaking, I don't have time to keep up with the legal wrangling on either side of the aisle and half the time, I cannot follow what people are arguing for or against. These days, there has been a lot of talk about gun control, especially after the shootings at the elementary school. I will say that as a parent of a 2nd grader and one in preschool (at a Jewish Day School, some of which have also been targets of shooters in the past), I cannot even imagine the horror and pain that those parents went through. I will also say that if someone standing post with a gun all day in front of the building would mean that my girls come home to me safe, every day, then I am all for it. But at the same time, I think this situation calls for the most outspoken 2nd amendment protectors to take a step back and consider the whole situation.
I grew up in a house with guns. My dad was a Vietnam veteran and we lived on a farm. The combination resulted in several pistols and rifles around the house. I don't remember seeing them all that much, Dad usually kept them out of the way, in the garage or in the barn. Many of my friends growing up were hunters. There was never a problem of children playing with guns and shooting themselves, because at a young age, kids were taught to respect the weapons in the house (and how to clean them, and how to shoot them.) In any event, I only recall a few times when Dad would bring a gun out - usually when there was a large rodent or pest of some kind to chase off, and once or twice - I think - some wild dogs running around out property.
There were no "assault" weapons or machine guns, no "Uzis" or guns that shot countless bullets in a short period of time. The guns that I grew up around were not designed to wipe out dozens of people with one swipe.
These days, Facebook and other social media are rampant with photos and posts about gun control and how it is wrong, and posts about the 2nd amendment and our right to bear arms and how the new proposed legislation is stomping on those rights. But again, I think that the argument needs to be put into perspective. When the 2nd Amendment was added to the bill of rights, the Founding Fathers were armed with muskets that could shoot 1 bullet at a time (in the shape of a ball), and that took some 30 to 60 seconds to load. (My time might be off, but you get the point.) If the powder was wet or if the gun was loaded improperly, it did not shoot.
But let's look closer at the amendment, which states:
If you Google the 2nd amendment and its origins, you will find that it dates back to the 17th Century in England, when men owned guns, and sometimes were even required to, because the King did not have a standing army. In times when soldiers were needed, the King would call up his male subjects, who would report for duty, carrying their own guns. When the settlers arrived in the "New World," they brought guns because they did not know what dangers awaited them. The "right to keep and bear arms" comes from an understanding that a militia might be needed from time to time, to protect the individuals, or in some cases, to protect the kingdom. These days, there is no King demanding that his subjects muster together with their guns to protect his lands or holdings. Instead, we have an army and the wars they fight are on foreign soil, with guns that are provided to them.
Another point to consider - as far as I know, nothing in the proposed legislation would prevent your average, red-blooded, American male, who drinks a few beers with his buddies on the weekend and goes hunting from time to time, from going to his local store and purchasing a new hunting rifle or pistol. I'm pretty sure that if you keep your nose clean, no one is going to prevent you from legally purchasing a weapon. Yes, you may have to wait a day or two or seven, but in the end, you will get your weapon. It is my understanding that the laws being sought would prevent the sale of assault guns, which - in my limited understanding - shot a heck of a lot more bullets, much quicker than your average hunting rifle. Correct me if I'm wrong, but most people do not go deer hunting with an Uzi. Why kill a spider with a sledgehammer when you can step on it with your shoe instead? (To my friends who do not like spiders, I understand, but please focus on the point I'm trying to make.)
Some of the posts have argued against a requirement of registration of guns, claiming that it is leading to "Big Brother" knowing too much about what we've got going on at home. But when you purchase a car, you are required to register it and pay a fee to the state. How is that different? And if you really want to freak out about what the government has their noses in of your personal business, try reading some of the recent banking laws.
But I digress. Another post I've been seeing is about how the President supposedly said something about guns not being necessary to protect people (children?), but he is surrounded by Secret Service who all carry weapons. Interesting thing about that. The Secret Service (part of the Treasury Department) was not originally tasked with protecting the President or his family, or other politicians. It was not until a few of them were shot (by people with guns) that someone in government decided it was a bag thing for our Head of State to get killed, and decided to protect them (with people who carry guns.) Yes, it could be a circular argument, but in this case, I think the wackos with guns (the chicken) came before the bodyguards with guns (the egg).
One final point and then I will leave you. Based on the posts I have seen on Facebook, it seems to me that most of my friends who are up in arms (pun intended) about the 2nd amendment, are those who already have guns and who tend to use them for the purpose they were intended (hunting, protection of things close to home, etc.) and not those who plan to go out, buy an assault rifle and shoot up some place filled with innocent people. So why are they so angry? If the wackos that shoot innocent people are giving all gun owners a bad name, shouldn't the current gun owners, who use them for a lawful purpose, want the wackos to be limited or even stopped? And wouldn't these new laws help stop the wackos, so that the law-abiding gun owners could go about their business?
I honestly do not have an answer to that, because again, I have not looked that closely at the proposed legislation and have not taken the time to read up on both sides of the argument. My comments are just meant to inspire thought, and possibly to highlight the idea that maybe neither side of the issue is as "black or white" as some might think it to be.
Yes, you read that right. It is January 31 and I'm saying "Happy New Year." Ugh.... I feel so behind. I had the best of intentions to get our office "holiday" cards in the mail at a "decent" time. We specifically looked for and purchased New Year's cards, because our firm didn't actually start up until January 1. As I sit here now on the 31st, finally putting them into envelopes and stamping them, I wonder if it is too late. Why did we not get them out sooner? Because the graphics guys working on our post cards (which have our contact information) forgot to grammar check and they had to be reprinted, setting us back a week. Grrrrr. Needless to say, I was not very happy with that. Of course, in looking back over the cards, I realized that they say something like "Happy Holidays and all the best in 2013" - but since the "2013" is the biggest thing on the page, I'm hoping everyone will gloss over the "holidays" stuff. I'll try and do better next year.
Waste Not, Want Not.
I've been struggling lately with the idea of "waste" in my kitchen. When I was a kid, we spent the summer growing lots of fruits and vegetables, the autumn was spent canning and freezing all of our fruits and vegetables, and in the winter, we ate them. (In the spring, we went back out and tilled the ground to replant.) I can remember my mom making dinner each night, something in a pan or pot, enough to feed a family of 5 (one of which was nicknamed the "hollow leg" and another known as the "Human garbage can.") Every few days, or once a week would be "left over night" and she would heat up and serve all of the little pieces and parts of the dinners from the week that had not yet been finished. I do not remember throwing out food that had gone bad, or meat that had sat in the fridge too long before being cooked. We went to the store once a week (or once every two weeks) and loaded up on food to get us through.
The reason I'm struggling with this lately is because I find myself throwing food away and it drives me crazy. I try to make dinners in smaller portions, so that we don't have too much in the way of leftovers, but we sometimes do. I faithfully put things in containers and into the fridge, but will inevitably toss them out a week (or two) later. I buy lettuce and it sits until it turns brown and then I cringe as a I toss it. I'm not sure if it is because I'm buying the wrong things, or just buying too much. But I struggle with this. No, I don't expect you to have an answer, I just want you to shake your head in agreement and tell me that you understand. Moving on.
My Right to Bare Arms
Yes, I realize that I spelled "bare" the way I did. I believe that we all have the right to bare arms, when the weather is good and you don't have any tattoos that are misspelled. Seriously though - I have said it before and I'll say it again - I try not to get too political on my blog or my Facebook page, because generally speaking, I don't have time to keep up with the legal wrangling on either side of the aisle and half the time, I cannot follow what people are arguing for or against. These days, there has been a lot of talk about gun control, especially after the shootings at the elementary school. I will say that as a parent of a 2nd grader and one in preschool (at a Jewish Day School, some of which have also been targets of shooters in the past), I cannot even imagine the horror and pain that those parents went through. I will also say that if someone standing post with a gun all day in front of the building would mean that my girls come home to me safe, every day, then I am all for it. But at the same time, I think this situation calls for the most outspoken 2nd amendment protectors to take a step back and consider the whole situation.
I grew up in a house with guns. My dad was a Vietnam veteran and we lived on a farm. The combination resulted in several pistols and rifles around the house. I don't remember seeing them all that much, Dad usually kept them out of the way, in the garage or in the barn. Many of my friends growing up were hunters. There was never a problem of children playing with guns and shooting themselves, because at a young age, kids were taught to respect the weapons in the house (and how to clean them, and how to shoot them.) In any event, I only recall a few times when Dad would bring a gun out - usually when there was a large rodent or pest of some kind to chase off, and once or twice - I think - some wild dogs running around out property.
There were no "assault" weapons or machine guns, no "Uzis" or guns that shot countless bullets in a short period of time. The guns that I grew up around were not designed to wipe out dozens of people with one swipe.
These days, Facebook and other social media are rampant with photos and posts about gun control and how it is wrong, and posts about the 2nd amendment and our right to bear arms and how the new proposed legislation is stomping on those rights. But again, I think that the argument needs to be put into perspective. When the 2nd Amendment was added to the bill of rights, the Founding Fathers were armed with muskets that could shoot 1 bullet at a time (in the shape of a ball), and that took some 30 to 60 seconds to load. (My time might be off, but you get the point.) If the powder was wet or if the gun was loaded improperly, it did not shoot.
But let's look closer at the amendment, which states:
If you Google the 2nd amendment and its origins, you will find that it dates back to the 17th Century in England, when men owned guns, and sometimes were even required to, because the King did not have a standing army. In times when soldiers were needed, the King would call up his male subjects, who would report for duty, carrying their own guns. When the settlers arrived in the "New World," they brought guns because they did not know what dangers awaited them. The "right to keep and bear arms" comes from an understanding that a militia might be needed from time to time, to protect the individuals, or in some cases, to protect the kingdom. These days, there is no King demanding that his subjects muster together with their guns to protect his lands or holdings. Instead, we have an army and the wars they fight are on foreign soil, with guns that are provided to them.
Another point to consider - as far as I know, nothing in the proposed legislation would prevent your average, red-blooded, American male, who drinks a few beers with his buddies on the weekend and goes hunting from time to time, from going to his local store and purchasing a new hunting rifle or pistol. I'm pretty sure that if you keep your nose clean, no one is going to prevent you from legally purchasing a weapon. Yes, you may have to wait a day or two or seven, but in the end, you will get your weapon. It is my understanding that the laws being sought would prevent the sale of assault guns, which - in my limited understanding - shot a heck of a lot more bullets, much quicker than your average hunting rifle. Correct me if I'm wrong, but most people do not go deer hunting with an Uzi. Why kill a spider with a sledgehammer when you can step on it with your shoe instead? (To my friends who do not like spiders, I understand, but please focus on the point I'm trying to make.)
Some of the posts have argued against a requirement of registration of guns, claiming that it is leading to "Big Brother" knowing too much about what we've got going on at home. But when you purchase a car, you are required to register it and pay a fee to the state. How is that different? And if you really want to freak out about what the government has their noses in of your personal business, try reading some of the recent banking laws.
But I digress. Another post I've been seeing is about how the President supposedly said something about guns not being necessary to protect people (children?), but he is surrounded by Secret Service who all carry weapons. Interesting thing about that. The Secret Service (part of the Treasury Department) was not originally tasked with protecting the President or his family, or other politicians. It was not until a few of them were shot (by people with guns) that someone in government decided it was a bag thing for our Head of State to get killed, and decided to protect them (with people who carry guns.) Yes, it could be a circular argument, but in this case, I think the wackos with guns (the chicken) came before the bodyguards with guns (the egg).
One final point and then I will leave you. Based on the posts I have seen on Facebook, it seems to me that most of my friends who are up in arms (pun intended) about the 2nd amendment, are those who already have guns and who tend to use them for the purpose they were intended (hunting, protection of things close to home, etc.) and not those who plan to go out, buy an assault rifle and shoot up some place filled with innocent people. So why are they so angry? If the wackos that shoot innocent people are giving all gun owners a bad name, shouldn't the current gun owners, who use them for a lawful purpose, want the wackos to be limited or even stopped? And wouldn't these new laws help stop the wackos, so that the law-abiding gun owners could go about their business?
I honestly do not have an answer to that, because again, I have not looked that closely at the proposed legislation and have not taken the time to read up on both sides of the argument. My comments are just meant to inspire thought, and possibly to highlight the idea that maybe neither side of the issue is as "black or white" as some might think it to be.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Sneaky, Sneaky....
There was a little bit of craziness at Casa Cohen this morning, something I don't think I'm prepared for. It actually started this past weekend when B put a tank top on under her t-shirt, thinking she was hiding it from us. Then again, yesterday afternoon when I volunteered in B's classroom, I noticed that she was wearing a shirt that I had not seen when she left the house. I tucked the information away, not realizing that I would need it later.
This morning, she came into our room to say good morning, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a t-shirt underneath. Thinking something was up, I checked under the t-shirt and found the very same tank top she had worn yesterday. After you get past the "ewwww" and "yuck!" factors, it gets better. I then noticed that she was wearing the same jeans she had worn yesterday .... and several times over the weekend.
Things went downhill from there, with parental demands that she change her clothes and tears (hers) and yelling (everyone.) The basics that we got out of her, was that she "promised" her friend that she would wear that particular pink tank top to school again today. I'm not sure why, but there you have it. I'm sure she knew we would not want her to wear the same shirt twice (she plays hard at school and gets dirty!), and so she tried to sneak it.
I'm not ready for a sneaky child. I thought that I might have to deal with this at some point, a child who hides clothes in a bag or keeps make-up in a locker because it is forbidden at home, but I did not think I would have to deal with it at age 7. Part of me wants to shake her, to make her understand that this behavior is not acceptable. Part of me is scared stiff of what she will hide in the years to come, if she is already hiding clothing under layers. Where do children get these ideas?
Unfortunately, this discovery comes at a price to Mom and Dad. Where we thought we could give her a little more freedom, to get herself dressed in the mornings, we now have to go back to the old ways of setting out clothes on Sunday for the whole week. We now have to police everything that goes out the door, checking under layers and under coats to make sure that nothing is being snuck past us. I would like to say that we will be able to trust her again, but it will be a long time in coming. Maybe we gave her too much responsibility. Once again, this parenting thing does not come with an instruction book, so we get to figure things out at as we go.
(I won't even get into the part where she was more upset about promising the friend that she would wear the shirt then she was about getting in trouble or about Mommy and Daddy being upset. That's a whole different Oprah!)
Until our next adventure...
This morning, she came into our room to say good morning, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a t-shirt underneath. Thinking something was up, I checked under the t-shirt and found the very same tank top she had worn yesterday. After you get past the "ewwww" and "yuck!" factors, it gets better. I then noticed that she was wearing the same jeans she had worn yesterday .... and several times over the weekend.
Things went downhill from there, with parental demands that she change her clothes and tears (hers) and yelling (everyone.) The basics that we got out of her, was that she "promised" her friend that she would wear that particular pink tank top to school again today. I'm not sure why, but there you have it. I'm sure she knew we would not want her to wear the same shirt twice (she plays hard at school and gets dirty!), and so she tried to sneak it.
I'm not ready for a sneaky child. I thought that I might have to deal with this at some point, a child who hides clothes in a bag or keeps make-up in a locker because it is forbidden at home, but I did not think I would have to deal with it at age 7. Part of me wants to shake her, to make her understand that this behavior is not acceptable. Part of me is scared stiff of what she will hide in the years to come, if she is already hiding clothing under layers. Where do children get these ideas?
Unfortunately, this discovery comes at a price to Mom and Dad. Where we thought we could give her a little more freedom, to get herself dressed in the mornings, we now have to go back to the old ways of setting out clothes on Sunday for the whole week. We now have to police everything that goes out the door, checking under layers and under coats to make sure that nothing is being snuck past us. I would like to say that we will be able to trust her again, but it will be a long time in coming. Maybe we gave her too much responsibility. Once again, this parenting thing does not come with an instruction book, so we get to figure things out at as we go.
(I won't even get into the part where she was more upset about promising the friend that she would wear the shirt then she was about getting in trouble or about Mommy and Daddy being upset. That's a whole different Oprah!)
Until our next adventure...
Monday, December 17, 2012
I'll Be Home for Christmas, if only in my dreams
The holidays are a strange time for me. I am filled with the wonder and excitement that I felt as a child, but also filled with the stress and worry of gift-giving and time management and wondering how I will get it all done. Gifts for the kids and their teachers, for the gardener and the pest control man, cookies for the neighbors and crossing guards - and what do you mean I need to get my husband a gift? It can get very crazy.
Each year, I feel a little tug, a small desire to go back to the "simple" times of sitting down at the dining room table with the big Sears catalog, and making my list for Santa (with the Barbie Dream House at the top.) Of course, I know that those days are gone - Sears doesn't put out that catalog anymore, I don't think, and Barbie now has a condo- but that doesn't stop me from wishing for them from time to time. As adults, there is so much more to the holidays than sitting up late waiting for Santa, or the unbridled joy of ripping through all that paper in the morning. As adults, we grow and we change, circumstances and situations change and life moves on. Perhaps that is what makes the holidays a struggle for me, even through the happiness and wonder.
Some of my friends know and will remember that I converted to Judaism about 12 years ago. Up to that point, I had always struggled with religion, wondering how a merciful and loving G-d could take parents away or cause "good" people to get diseases. The idea of "Hell", quite frankly, scared the Hell out of me. As a young child, I was often disturbed by sermons in church of a vengeful G-d and had nightmares of war and fire. I studied religions in school, read the Bible cover-to-cover several times, even attended Catholic mass and still wondered. In college, I took a course on Islam and found a more peaceful side of religion, but still did not feel that it was right for me. It was not until I met Rob and began to study Judaism that things clicked into place. This was a religion that made sense to me. Someone told me shortly after I converted that she hoped "He was worth it," meaning Rob. The truth was that he was just the icing on top, that I did not convert for him, but because it made sense to me, for my spiritual journey and on my path to G-d.
As I was going through the classes and conversion process, there was a support group for our class. Someone who had converted many years before opened her home to a few of us and we talked about the process and how things went. My biggest concerns and questions had to do with Christmas. I asked her how difficult it was to let that holiday go. She said that she took it in pieces and dealt with each aspect on its own, after figuring out what about it she would miss the most. For example, she loved to bake holiday cookies and decided that she could still do that, and give them to friends or make them for Hanukkah. She also liked to sing carols, and could continue to do that as well. As I moved forward on my journey, I began to look at the holidays in that respect, trying to parse out the pieces that were most important to me.
What has become apparent to me over the years, is that the holidays never held very much religious significance to me. Before you all begin preparations to tar and feather me on this point, I'll ask you to point out where Santa appears in the Bible. Oh, that's right, he's not there. So when Santa visited my house, it wasn't because we were religious. I'll also remind you that the 3 Wise Men supposedly showed up when Jesus was 3, in Egypt, not at the birth in Bethlehem (it took them that long to find him) and that many scholars believe the birth was not even in December. I believe that the world over the years has taken the story of the birth of Jesus and turned it into what suits them (each respective group) the most. BUT, again, before you tar and feather me, this blog is not intended to be a theological discussion of the origins of Christmas. This is about ME (duh.) As I was saying - for me, I don't recall much religious significance in the holiday. Yes, we did Christmas Eve services, and yes, we sang carols, and yes, we had a nativity scene. But those all seemed to get wrapped up into the total package of presents and other things, and the religious side of it (and perhaps, G-d) got lost.
What I did find, in looking back over the years, and considering what the holidays meant to me, was family. Above all else, family is what I recall about all of those holidays over the years. My dad was one of 11 kids, the 2nd oldest, and my mom the oldest of 6 kids. All have married over the years and most have kids. I was the 4th oldest of 26 (I think) grandkids, just on one side. Many of my aunts and uncles stayed local to Jefferson Ohio, which means that Grandma's house was packed to the gills for holiday dinners. Yes, there were a ton of gifts when we were kids, but the things I remember most are the smell of Grandma's house, and the sound of all of those people - the sound of silverware clanking on plates, dishes being washed, and feet running up and down the stairs. (Oh, and of course, all of the red stockings hanging up and down the sides of the staircase in the basement.) Those are the things I remember, and those are the things I miss the most.
Before you ask why I can't still have the family connection, I will say that I can, but it is much more difficult. I moved across the country for graduate school and in doing so, removed myself from much of my extended family. Rob's family is small, both of his parents are only children, and so holiday gatherings much smaller and quieter and more reserved. In celebrating with his family, I have come to realize how different those celebrations are (all religion aside) and find myself more and more missing those moments in a warm house, packed with people, all talking and eating at once. I did have a moment, last Saturday, at my in-laws house, during Hanukkah dinner. There were 12 of us there, I think, along with the girls and my nephew Arthur (who is 9 months.) At a random point in the evening, I looked around and saw chaos - the girls were out of their seats and running around and Arthur was chattering away, the adults having several different conversations and plates and silverware clanking. I stopped for a minute and just smiled. For that briefest of moments, I was back in the middle of Grandma Wolf's house at Christmas and it made me smile.
I still find ways to celebrate, in my own small way. I put up holiday lights on my house, although they are blue and white lights (traditional Jewish and Israeli colors) and lit bears holding "Happy Hanukkah" signs. I still have candles in my windows, but they are in a menorah. I still play Christmas music (check out my list below) and I still put up some decorations. (With small kids, how can you not?) I have all of the santa ornaments that Aunt Sue has painted, and they go up across my mantle every year. And I bake cookies. A lot of cookies. Some day, I may even venture into the world of "Hanukkah bushes" but for now, I'm contenting myself with Winnie the Pooh's winter village on my dining room table.
And now for some lighter fare - one of my most vivid holiday memories is from my senior year of high school. The year before, we had spent several hours of Christmas Eve at a friend's house down the street from my mom's house, playing board games and just being kids. My senior year, we were back for a bit of the same. At the end of the evening (well past midnight,) we left our friend's house to wander back up the street to our house. We came outside and it had snowed. The street was covered (there were no cars around at that hour) and everything was white. It was beautiful.
Some more random, lighter, holiday banter. My favorite holiday songs? I'll give you the top 3: (1) I'll be Home for Christmas (duh.) (2) All I want for Christmas is You, and (3) O Holy Night. (Seriously, I don't care what you celebrate, Mariah Carey's version of this song is just beautiful. Straight no Chaser has a pretty good version as well.) Honorable mention - I'm dreaming of a White Christmas - particularly the intro that is not even in most versions, about the sun shining and the grass green and orange and palm trees sway. Yes, I still listen to Christmas music. I have it on my iPod and my car radio is tuned to the Sirius holiday station. It does not make me any less Jewish to listen to Christmas music. Especially the one about something being stuck in the chimney, or the Redneck 12 Days of Christmas. Those just make me smile.
A few of you asked me last year around this time (probably in response to a post about the holidays then), what some of the differences were between Hanukkah and Christmas. I promise I will get that posted here soon (maybe even before this Christmas.)
Regardless of what you are celebrating, I wish you the joy of family this season, and peace. I hope you all have a warm and dry place to sleep and someone to snuggle with (whether 2 legs or 4) and I wish you all a very happy holiday season.
Each year, I feel a little tug, a small desire to go back to the "simple" times of sitting down at the dining room table with the big Sears catalog, and making my list for Santa (with the Barbie Dream House at the top.) Of course, I know that those days are gone - Sears doesn't put out that catalog anymore, I don't think, and Barbie now has a condo- but that doesn't stop me from wishing for them from time to time. As adults, there is so much more to the holidays than sitting up late waiting for Santa, or the unbridled joy of ripping through all that paper in the morning. As adults, we grow and we change, circumstances and situations change and life moves on. Perhaps that is what makes the holidays a struggle for me, even through the happiness and wonder.
Some of my friends know and will remember that I converted to Judaism about 12 years ago. Up to that point, I had always struggled with religion, wondering how a merciful and loving G-d could take parents away or cause "good" people to get diseases. The idea of "Hell", quite frankly, scared the Hell out of me. As a young child, I was often disturbed by sermons in church of a vengeful G-d and had nightmares of war and fire. I studied religions in school, read the Bible cover-to-cover several times, even attended Catholic mass and still wondered. In college, I took a course on Islam and found a more peaceful side of religion, but still did not feel that it was right for me. It was not until I met Rob and began to study Judaism that things clicked into place. This was a religion that made sense to me. Someone told me shortly after I converted that she hoped "He was worth it," meaning Rob. The truth was that he was just the icing on top, that I did not convert for him, but because it made sense to me, for my spiritual journey and on my path to G-d.
As I was going through the classes and conversion process, there was a support group for our class. Someone who had converted many years before opened her home to a few of us and we talked about the process and how things went. My biggest concerns and questions had to do with Christmas. I asked her how difficult it was to let that holiday go. She said that she took it in pieces and dealt with each aspect on its own, after figuring out what about it she would miss the most. For example, she loved to bake holiday cookies and decided that she could still do that, and give them to friends or make them for Hanukkah. She also liked to sing carols, and could continue to do that as well. As I moved forward on my journey, I began to look at the holidays in that respect, trying to parse out the pieces that were most important to me.
What has become apparent to me over the years, is that the holidays never held very much religious significance to me. Before you all begin preparations to tar and feather me on this point, I'll ask you to point out where Santa appears in the Bible. Oh, that's right, he's not there. So when Santa visited my house, it wasn't because we were religious. I'll also remind you that the 3 Wise Men supposedly showed up when Jesus was 3, in Egypt, not at the birth in Bethlehem (it took them that long to find him) and that many scholars believe the birth was not even in December. I believe that the world over the years has taken the story of the birth of Jesus and turned it into what suits them (each respective group) the most. BUT, again, before you tar and feather me, this blog is not intended to be a theological discussion of the origins of Christmas. This is about ME (duh.) As I was saying - for me, I don't recall much religious significance in the holiday. Yes, we did Christmas Eve services, and yes, we sang carols, and yes, we had a nativity scene. But those all seemed to get wrapped up into the total package of presents and other things, and the religious side of it (and perhaps, G-d) got lost.
What I did find, in looking back over the years, and considering what the holidays meant to me, was family. Above all else, family is what I recall about all of those holidays over the years. My dad was one of 11 kids, the 2nd oldest, and my mom the oldest of 6 kids. All have married over the years and most have kids. I was the 4th oldest of 26 (I think) grandkids, just on one side. Many of my aunts and uncles stayed local to Jefferson Ohio, which means that Grandma's house was packed to the gills for holiday dinners. Yes, there were a ton of gifts when we were kids, but the things I remember most are the smell of Grandma's house, and the sound of all of those people - the sound of silverware clanking on plates, dishes being washed, and feet running up and down the stairs. (Oh, and of course, all of the red stockings hanging up and down the sides of the staircase in the basement.) Those are the things I remember, and those are the things I miss the most.
Before you ask why I can't still have the family connection, I will say that I can, but it is much more difficult. I moved across the country for graduate school and in doing so, removed myself from much of my extended family. Rob's family is small, both of his parents are only children, and so holiday gatherings much smaller and quieter and more reserved. In celebrating with his family, I have come to realize how different those celebrations are (all religion aside) and find myself more and more missing those moments in a warm house, packed with people, all talking and eating at once. I did have a moment, last Saturday, at my in-laws house, during Hanukkah dinner. There were 12 of us there, I think, along with the girls and my nephew Arthur (who is 9 months.) At a random point in the evening, I looked around and saw chaos - the girls were out of their seats and running around and Arthur was chattering away, the adults having several different conversations and plates and silverware clanking. I stopped for a minute and just smiled. For that briefest of moments, I was back in the middle of Grandma Wolf's house at Christmas and it made me smile.
I still find ways to celebrate, in my own small way. I put up holiday lights on my house, although they are blue and white lights (traditional Jewish and Israeli colors) and lit bears holding "Happy Hanukkah" signs. I still have candles in my windows, but they are in a menorah. I still play Christmas music (check out my list below) and I still put up some decorations. (With small kids, how can you not?) I have all of the santa ornaments that Aunt Sue has painted, and they go up across my mantle every year. And I bake cookies. A lot of cookies. Some day, I may even venture into the world of "Hanukkah bushes" but for now, I'm contenting myself with Winnie the Pooh's winter village on my dining room table.
And now for some lighter fare - one of my most vivid holiday memories is from my senior year of high school. The year before, we had spent several hours of Christmas Eve at a friend's house down the street from my mom's house, playing board games and just being kids. My senior year, we were back for a bit of the same. At the end of the evening (well past midnight,) we left our friend's house to wander back up the street to our house. We came outside and it had snowed. The street was covered (there were no cars around at that hour) and everything was white. It was beautiful.
Some more random, lighter, holiday banter. My favorite holiday songs? I'll give you the top 3: (1) I'll be Home for Christmas (duh.) (2) All I want for Christmas is You, and (3) O Holy Night. (Seriously, I don't care what you celebrate, Mariah Carey's version of this song is just beautiful. Straight no Chaser has a pretty good version as well.) Honorable mention - I'm dreaming of a White Christmas - particularly the intro that is not even in most versions, about the sun shining and the grass green and orange and palm trees sway. Yes, I still listen to Christmas music. I have it on my iPod and my car radio is tuned to the Sirius holiday station. It does not make me any less Jewish to listen to Christmas music. Especially the one about something being stuck in the chimney, or the Redneck 12 Days of Christmas. Those just make me smile.
A few of you asked me last year around this time (probably in response to a post about the holidays then), what some of the differences were between Hanukkah and Christmas. I promise I will get that posted here soon (maybe even before this Christmas.)
Regardless of what you are celebrating, I wish you the joy of family this season, and peace. I hope you all have a warm and dry place to sleep and someone to snuggle with (whether 2 legs or 4) and I wish you all a very happy holiday season.
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