I am in a bad mood and short on time. And then I am sitting down at my computer and I come across this: http://rivals.yahoo.com/highschool/blog/prep_rally/post/Top-soccer-team-booted-from-playoffs-for-strange?urn=highschool-wp7674
What the fuck is wrong with adults? Seriously. So this team from NY, the Holland High Dutchwomen, went 15-2 this year in their season. Thats a pretty impressive record in high school, college, or at Under 10. However, they dont qualify to play in the NY state tournament. Why? I mean, 15-2 they should be seeded like 1st or 2nd, right? WRONG!
You see, some egghead in NY decided varsity teams cannot play more than 16 games in a season. An honest mistake was made by the Holland High Athletic Department. The girls played 17 games. So what is the proper punishment? A ban from the postseason. Seriously? Who comes up with these bullshit rules?
You know what the punishment is? Its supposed to fit the "crime." The crime was playing an extra game. Change their record to 14-2 and give one of their opponents an extra win. Easy. Drop their seed so they aren't seeded 1st and they are seeded 5th. Fine. Explain to them that a mistake was made and they still get to play BECAUSE THE GIRLS DID NOTHING WRONG.
I mean this is a joke. Who is in charge in NY? Oh, I know. Some guy who makes too much money at his job, has a ridiculous pension, and has never played organized sports a day in his life. How do I know this? Because anyone who has played organized sports knows that you want a chance to prove you are the best. Win, lose or draw, you want your shot. And, whoever wins the postseason "championship" wins it knowing that they didn't play Holland High.
How would that feel? Congratulations, East West High of NY. You won but one of the best teams in the state didn't get a chance to play in the tournament so we don't really know how good you are. You might be the best. But the girls from Holland might be better. We dont know and we will never know.
I dont care if you go to Holland High, or like me, you don't know where Holland High is located. I don't think I could pick it out on a map of NY with only two places listed and one of them being Manhattan. I know that as a competitor, an athlete, I want to play the best. I want to show I am the best. Isnt that what this should be about?
Sure, lets get on the Holland High administrators. Maybe they think 15+2 is 16 in that new math that they teach. Fine. 10 lashes with a wet noodle for them. Maybe they think that no one would catch on. Maybe they just plain old fucked up. I am fine with that and with some sort of "punishment" for the adults. But to sit here and punish these girls for something they didn't do is simply wrong. Plain and simple. The state of NY should get its act together and let these girls play.
By the way, go "like" their facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Justice-for-Holland-Girls-Varsity-Soccer/256170881101445#!/pages/Justice-for-Holland-Girls-Varsity-Soccer/256170881101445 And if you are up to it, email the jackasses who are ruining it for these girls.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Some thoughts - just thoughts
I dont know sometimes. I am sitting here in my kitchen, sad, alone. Physically alone. I have friends and family and they are great. But sometimes I still feel alone. Part of that is me. I dont open up very well. I know. Its a character flaw. Part of it is life. I just dont want to talk about everything. Thats why I have this.
So I sit here sad. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. I probably have the flu. I know I have stress. Tums tastes like crap. I have music playing, but idiot Jon decides it would be good to listen to depressing music. Yep, thats me. When you are sad, of course you should listen to sad music. What fucking kind of idiot am I? I dont know. Maybe I wouldnt be sad if I listened to upbeat music. Hmmm.....I should try that some day. Not now. Some day.
I guess its insecurity. I wish it wasnt, but it is. It has to be. Am I going to fail? How badly am I going to fail? Was my fucking high school guidance counselor right? Should I have joined the Army and not gone to college? Was my dad right? Did it matter that I didnt know what I wanted to do with my life at 14, 15, 16? Hell, I didnt know what I wanted to do with my life at 24, 25, 26.
I dont know why I do what I do. I practice law because I like helping people. A friend of mine said I do God's work. I dont know about that. Maybe I do have a Napolean syndrome. Maybe growing up short made me want to show people I am some big tough guy. But Im not. I get that. Its not me. I can huff and puff with the best of them. Dont get me wrong. But I dont want to. I dont need to show someone that I have a bigger dick.
I am sensitive. I care. Its a fucking flaw in an attorney. I know that. Youre not supposed to care about your clients. Youre supposed to be a jackass who is cold and calculating and can show everyone what a smart guy you are. My problem: I aint that smart. Fuck, I was smart I wouldnt listen to the Commodores or Dan Fogelberg when I am not in a great mood. Well, maybe I am not a compete idiot since I did just change the music to Eminem. Yep, I admit it, I like white rappers. The guy may have other issues in life, but he can put together a song.
I guess we all have issues. I dont know what your issues are. I dont know that I need to know. Maybe its none of my business. I know I dont share my issues. 3, 4, 5 people maybe. Men in my family dont discuss our problems. I guess its my dad's fault or his dad's fault. Its just not what we do. We keep it inside.
So, I admit it, I keep things in me. And there are times they come out. Maybe its not the best time. I do know that I speak with passion when these things are inside me. I have been told by other attorneys it comes across as caring too much, being emotional. But is that so bad? Its me. Its how I am. I remember my closing argument in every case. Not word for word, but I do remember how they went. Every one of them had some emotion in it. Is that so bad?
Does this make me soft? Does it make me a wuss? I dont know. I leave that to other people. You only get one shot. Yes, I stole that from Eminem. It came on and it seemed to fit.
So, fine, lets say I am soft, or emotional or whatever? So what? Does that make me weak? Does it come across like you can bully me? I dont know. Maybe. I guess I have never cared enough about what other people think. I know who I am. I am the short bald guy who cares, thinks that there is actually good and evil in the world, and believes at the end of the day, if you do the right thing, you can fuck up quite a bit, but you still come out okay.
I also know I fight. A lot. I dont want to. I am more than happy to get along with everyone, resolve differences and move on with life. I like that. It makes my life so much easier. But fuck with me and try to bully me and I push back. I just do. Its how I am wired. Maybe its from growing up. Maybe its from not standing up for other people when I was growing up. Maybe its just that I really am a jackass. I dont know.
All I know is I am tired of people assuming that my caring, my emotion is a sign of weakness. I am sure its not. Its a sign of me. Its a sign that I am comfortable with who I am, what I am. I genuinely believe that people are good. I genuinely believe people should get a second chance. I genuinely believe that we all fuck up. You dont think you do? Really? I know my fuck ups can't be counted on one hand, two hands, or 100 hands. Hell, most of my first 16 years were screw ups. I accept that. Its my fault.
That doesnt make me a bad person. Someone I know recently admitted to making a mistake and didnt seem to be getting a second chance. Thats wrong. To err is human, right? Well, to err is human and to learn from your mistakes makes you a damn good person.
I guess I need some sort of end to this. Some sort of resolution. I dont think I have it. I think my resolution is this: I am going to go forward for the next 38 years (a man can hope, right?) and learn from the mistakes I have made over the last 38 years. I am not perfect. I am not a saint. I am a man, a flawed man. I will continue to make mistakes. I will continue to learn from them. I will NOT make the same mistake twice. I will continue to care. I will continue to believe people are good. I will continue to believe people should get a 2nd chance, a 3rd chance, even. I will continue to defend what I think is right, to do what I think is right, and to stick up for those who can't stand up for themselves. And if you continue to push me, to bully me, to try to take advantage of me, I will push back, hard. It may not always be the perfect response, but its how I am wired. Maybe that is the one mistake I wont learn from, but I dont see it as a mistake, I see it as me. While I will apologize when I am wrong, I will not apologize for being me.
So I sit here sad. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. I probably have the flu. I know I have stress. Tums tastes like crap. I have music playing, but idiot Jon decides it would be good to listen to depressing music. Yep, thats me. When you are sad, of course you should listen to sad music. What fucking kind of idiot am I? I dont know. Maybe I wouldnt be sad if I listened to upbeat music. Hmmm.....I should try that some day. Not now. Some day.
I guess its insecurity. I wish it wasnt, but it is. It has to be. Am I going to fail? How badly am I going to fail? Was my fucking high school guidance counselor right? Should I have joined the Army and not gone to college? Was my dad right? Did it matter that I didnt know what I wanted to do with my life at 14, 15, 16? Hell, I didnt know what I wanted to do with my life at 24, 25, 26.
I dont know why I do what I do. I practice law because I like helping people. A friend of mine said I do God's work. I dont know about that. Maybe I do have a Napolean syndrome. Maybe growing up short made me want to show people I am some big tough guy. But Im not. I get that. Its not me. I can huff and puff with the best of them. Dont get me wrong. But I dont want to. I dont need to show someone that I have a bigger dick.
I am sensitive. I care. Its a fucking flaw in an attorney. I know that. Youre not supposed to care about your clients. Youre supposed to be a jackass who is cold and calculating and can show everyone what a smart guy you are. My problem: I aint that smart. Fuck, I was smart I wouldnt listen to the Commodores or Dan Fogelberg when I am not in a great mood. Well, maybe I am not a compete idiot since I did just change the music to Eminem. Yep, I admit it, I like white rappers. The guy may have other issues in life, but he can put together a song.
I guess we all have issues. I dont know what your issues are. I dont know that I need to know. Maybe its none of my business. I know I dont share my issues. 3, 4, 5 people maybe. Men in my family dont discuss our problems. I guess its my dad's fault or his dad's fault. Its just not what we do. We keep it inside.
So, I admit it, I keep things in me. And there are times they come out. Maybe its not the best time. I do know that I speak with passion when these things are inside me. I have been told by other attorneys it comes across as caring too much, being emotional. But is that so bad? Its me. Its how I am. I remember my closing argument in every case. Not word for word, but I do remember how they went. Every one of them had some emotion in it. Is that so bad?
Does this make me soft? Does it make me a wuss? I dont know. I leave that to other people. You only get one shot. Yes, I stole that from Eminem. It came on and it seemed to fit.
So, fine, lets say I am soft, or emotional or whatever? So what? Does that make me weak? Does it come across like you can bully me? I dont know. Maybe. I guess I have never cared enough about what other people think. I know who I am. I am the short bald guy who cares, thinks that there is actually good and evil in the world, and believes at the end of the day, if you do the right thing, you can fuck up quite a bit, but you still come out okay.
I also know I fight. A lot. I dont want to. I am more than happy to get along with everyone, resolve differences and move on with life. I like that. It makes my life so much easier. But fuck with me and try to bully me and I push back. I just do. Its how I am wired. Maybe its from growing up. Maybe its from not standing up for other people when I was growing up. Maybe its just that I really am a jackass. I dont know.
All I know is I am tired of people assuming that my caring, my emotion is a sign of weakness. I am sure its not. Its a sign of me. Its a sign that I am comfortable with who I am, what I am. I genuinely believe that people are good. I genuinely believe people should get a second chance. I genuinely believe that we all fuck up. You dont think you do? Really? I know my fuck ups can't be counted on one hand, two hands, or 100 hands. Hell, most of my first 16 years were screw ups. I accept that. Its my fault.
That doesnt make me a bad person. Someone I know recently admitted to making a mistake and didnt seem to be getting a second chance. Thats wrong. To err is human, right? Well, to err is human and to learn from your mistakes makes you a damn good person.
I guess I need some sort of end to this. Some sort of resolution. I dont think I have it. I think my resolution is this: I am going to go forward for the next 38 years (a man can hope, right?) and learn from the mistakes I have made over the last 38 years. I am not perfect. I am not a saint. I am a man, a flawed man. I will continue to make mistakes. I will continue to learn from them. I will NOT make the same mistake twice. I will continue to care. I will continue to believe people are good. I will continue to believe people should get a 2nd chance, a 3rd chance, even. I will continue to defend what I think is right, to do what I think is right, and to stick up for those who can't stand up for themselves. And if you continue to push me, to bully me, to try to take advantage of me, I will push back, hard. It may not always be the perfect response, but its how I am wired. Maybe that is the one mistake I wont learn from, but I dont see it as a mistake, I see it as me. While I will apologize when I am wrong, I will not apologize for being me.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Mental Illness and Idiots
Dear Grant Napear:
You are an idiot. Not just any idiot, a fucking dumbass idiot. You talk without knowing anything. You seem to think you are smart, which makes you even dumber. I am pretty sure Patrick "We make a lot of money, but we spend a lot of money" Ewing is smarter than you.
So, on tonight's "show" and I use that word loosely, Dumbass was talking about Brandon Marshall. Now, Brandon Marshall plays in the National Football League. He plays wide receiver for the Miami Dolphins. To borrow from the basketball players, dude can ball. But, he has had some issues. Turns out, he is suffering from borderline personality disorder. What is that? Good question. NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, describes it here: http://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=By_Illness&Template=/TaggedPage/TaggedPageDisplay.cfm&TPLID=54&ContentID=44780
So Brandon Marshall made a comment tonight. From ESPN:
You are an idiot. Not just any idiot, a fucking dumbass idiot. You talk without knowing anything. You seem to think you are smart, which makes you even dumber. I am pretty sure Patrick "We make a lot of money, but we spend a lot of money" Ewing is smarter than you.
So, on tonight's "show" and I use that word loosely, Dumbass was talking about Brandon Marshall. Now, Brandon Marshall plays in the National Football League. He plays wide receiver for the Miami Dolphins. To borrow from the basketball players, dude can ball. But, he has had some issues. Turns out, he is suffering from borderline personality disorder. What is that? Good question. NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, describes it here: http://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=By_Illness&Template=/TaggedPage/TaggedPageDisplay.cfm&TPLID=54&ContentID=44780
So Brandon Marshall made a comment tonight. From ESPN:
"I'm not joking. I'm serious," Marshall told the South Florida Sun Sentinel. "They're going to fine me. It's probably going to be like a $50,000 fine. But that quarter and a half that I'm out there, I'm going to play like a monster.
"I might get in a fight with Bart Scott. (Antonio) Cromartie, we pretty much matured our relationship and grew a little bit. We used to fight in Denver and San Diego. If that happens, it happens, so we'll see."
So dude is saying he is going to get in a fight and is going to get kicked out of the game. Not the best thing to say. He is part of a team. It takes all 11 of them to win. That's kind of how team sports work. And if you want to win, you play as a team. I think we all know that. Brandon Marshall getting thrown out would not be a good thing for his team.
Now that you have the background, Douche-pear, er, Napear, gets on his "Grant's Rants," which is just a poor ripoff of Jim Rome's entire show, and goes on and on about how Marshall is an idiot and dumb. So I sent a text explaining Marshall has a mental illness and this idiot reads it and then says that if its true (and its a FUCKING FACT that anyone who knows about sports knows) then maybe Marshall shouldn't be playing in the NFL.
Whoaa Nellie............because someone has a mental illness they shouldn't be allowed to play professional sports? Let me guess, they shouldn't be lawyers or doctors or construction workers or anything else, right? Is this the 1930s? Should we put people with mental illness in rooms with padded walls?
Lets analyze this for a minute. Is having a mental illness different than being a minority of any other kind? Is it any different than being black, brown, yellow, red or blue? Is it different than being gay? Is it different than being a woman? Do we really think that these things are any different than having a mental illness? Do we think Brandon Marshall or anyone else with a mental illness has chosen to have it? These folks do not wake up one day and say "Gosh, I wish I was bipolar today." Or, "Hmmm......being OCD sounds like a good plan for this week." You are born with mental illness.
We don't limit what other people can do. If Brandon Marshall can play in the NFL with mental illness, then hats off to him. Dude should be a role model. You, too, can have a mental illness and still be at the pinnacle of your profession. There are 32 NFL teams. Each one has 5 receivers, maybe. So this guy is one of the best 150 in the WORLD at what he does. And he does it while fighting something that most of us can never understand. We are going to say he shouldnt do that? We are going to say he is dumb or an idiot? I am not going to.
I don't get it. I really dont. Why does some local, full of crap radio DJ, and he is a DJ, a glorified sit around and talk to yourself DJ, think its okay to call this guy names? I mean, if we are going to think snaps is how we want to deal with this, then I say we start with piece of crap local DJs. For example, Napear is so dumb that he can't figure out how to pronounce his own fucking name. It used to be "Na-pee-ar." Now it is "Na-peer." No, dude, you are so bad, you don't have any peers. Go back to Na-pee-ar. Actually, drop the Na and the ar and you are at the right spot. After all, you say some of the dumbest shit I have heard in my adult life and you get paid for it. I am still trying to figure out why.
You know, I used to look at people with mental illness and shake my head. Then, I became a father to a kid with mental illness. I actually had to grow up and stop pretending I was smarter than everyone else. It hit me - life is hard for some people. My kid says things that don't make sense. He says things that make me cringe sometimes. But he doesnt know better. His brain doesn't work like ours. I get that now. Its not because he is dumb, an idiot or needs someone to tell him what to say. Its because he is himself. I wouldnt trade him for the world. I sure as hell wouldnt trade him for some piece of shit New Yorker who still thinks its the 1950s and doesnt understand modern society - and that New Yorker's fake attitudes disappeared 10 years ago.
We can only hope that one day this loudmouth, no good, glorified DJ will grow up, get some stones, and learn about things before he starts running his horse mouth. Maybe he should grow up and stop being such a whining douche.
Or, as is more likely, he probably will continue his stupid show and make his dumb comments because his bosses don't have the balls to call him out and stand up for those people who can't stand up for themselves. Wusses!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
A dragon lives forever
but not so little boys. If you don't understand, go watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qu_rItLPTXc Even if you do understand, go watch that.
I know. I know. Its a song about drugs. Or so everyone says. Paper is rolling paper for joints. Dragon doesnt mean dragon - it means dragging on a joint. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save it. I havent believed that in the last 30 years and you arent going to convince me now.
Ironic, isnt it? A song about the loss of innocence and here I stand trying to believe in the song's actual meaning. Maybe if I lose my belief in Puff and its meaning, then I lose something too. I dont know. Maybe, and there is strong evidence to support this, I am a fucking idiot. I am pretty sure you can find half a dozen people who agree with that. Or half a million.
I dont know. I hold these truths to be self evident: people are good; people try; people care; good beats evil; truth prevails over lies; good people make mistakes; people can change; people deserve a second chance, and sometimes a third.
I also know Everlast was right: I've seen a rich man beg/I've seen a good man sin/I've seen a tough man cry/I've seen a loser win/And a sad man grin/I heard an honest man lie/I've seen the good side of bad/And the down side of up/And everything between
Sometimes we think that life can only have heartbreak. It can have pain. It can suck. But I think we forget about Puff. Puff enjoyed life because he frolicked. When is the last time we frolicked? Thankfully, I frolicked last night with my baby. Fine, shes my toddler. She is always going to be my baby.
One day, for each of us, Jackie Paper has to grow up. But not now. At least, I hope not now.
I know. I know. Its a song about drugs. Or so everyone says. Paper is rolling paper for joints. Dragon doesnt mean dragon - it means dragging on a joint. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save it. I havent believed that in the last 30 years and you arent going to convince me now.
Ironic, isnt it? A song about the loss of innocence and here I stand trying to believe in the song's actual meaning. Maybe if I lose my belief in Puff and its meaning, then I lose something too. I dont know. Maybe, and there is strong evidence to support this, I am a fucking idiot. I am pretty sure you can find half a dozen people who agree with that. Or half a million.
I dont know. I hold these truths to be self evident: people are good; people try; people care; good beats evil; truth prevails over lies; good people make mistakes; people can change; people deserve a second chance, and sometimes a third.
I also know Everlast was right: I've seen a rich man beg/I've seen a good man sin/I've seen a tough man cry/I've seen a loser win/And a sad man grin/I heard an honest man lie/I've seen the good side of bad/And the down side of up/And everything between
Sometimes we think that life can only have heartbreak. It can have pain. It can suck. But I think we forget about Puff. Puff enjoyed life because he frolicked. When is the last time we frolicked? Thankfully, I frolicked last night with my baby. Fine, shes my toddler. She is always going to be my baby.
One day, for each of us, Jackie Paper has to grow up. But not now. At least, I hope not now.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
More on Fathers and Sons
(This is unedited and I held back on the language, but it involves death so there is some profanity. If that offends you, stop reading here.)
Today is 9 years since I got that phone call. Its one of those calls that you know is bad when the phone rings. I was 29. I didn't know what to do or how I was supposed to react. So I cried. A lot. I can't think of too many things that rank up there with losing one's father for a man. Losing mom......losing a spouse......losing a child. Those all suck. Losing a father sucks a lot.
I know I am not the first to lose a dad in my 20s. I know I won't be the last. I get it. There are people who have dad die when they are 5, 8, 10, 12, whatever. I am sure it sucks then too. I don't know. I can only speak of my experiences and what I have learned.
We dropped off the kids and flew to San Diego. I got there and had to help out my mom pick out a casket. Talk about creepy. Casket "shopping" is absurd. Who the hell likes that crap? We had a funeral the next day. Somehow, some way, I made it through the funeral. I guess its an honor to be a pall bearer.............but I don't know. It sucks. You don't really want to be a pall bearer because it means someone close has died. After all, has a stranger's family ever asked you to be a pall bearer? I doubt it.
After the funeral, we went back to my mom's house. I had to answer the phone when someone called. They asked for my dad. It hurt so much to have to say he had died. Its one of those things that you always remember. People came and were nice. They wanted to share stories. I wanted nothing to do with it. Then I had to listen to my aunt, my mom's sister, talk about how this was a blessing, how he wasn't suffering anymore.
Don't ever fucking say that to anyone. There is someone, somewhere who doesn't think its a blessing. Maybe you do. Maybe someone else does. I swear there is someone who doesn't think its a blessing. And if you do say that, the person who doesn't find it a blessing has my permission to kick the living crap out of you.
How the fuck was this a blessing for me? I was 29. I had just graduated from law school. I had two kids - who knew two more were on the way? Worse of all, I didn't return my dad's last call to me. Yep, that's me, the fuck up who didn't pick up the phone to call my dad back when he left me a message from the hospital. Why not? Why the hell would I? My whole life, my dad had Parkinson's. He was in the hospital for all kinds of weird things, including hurting his back sleeping on a bed. Seriously. This was some stomach blockage. He was supposed to be discharged. It wasn't a big deal. Then he had a heart attack - and gone. Just like that. No chance to talk to him, no chance to say goodbye. Nothing.
We had a little service, I guess, at the retirement home. People came and talked more, hugged, and drank. It was a celebration of a guy who made friends everywhere he went. I can't think of one person who didn't like my dad.
So I think about that a lot. And this year, its my year to make September better. So maybe the guilt should be gone. Maybe its time to say it: I fucked up. I can never get that time back. Its my biggest regret in life. I own it. I did it. No one else made me. In my list of fuck ups in my life, and I have some doozies, there is none bigger than this one. I should have picked up the damn phone, dialed his number and talked to him. It doesn't matter if I had nothing to say. It doesn't matter if he wanted to ask me about his computer, which he usually did, or his fantasy football team or the fucking weather, 70 and sunny in San Diego 300 days out of the year. None of that matters. I should have picked up the fucking piece of crap phone and called him. I didn't. Its my fault. I get it.
So what have I learned? I don't know. I was out on the soccer field today. The weather was nice. Cool, a bit of sun. Green grass. White lines. And I was thinking what the hell am I doing out here? I am 38 years old. I have one screwed up knee and one on the way. I am old. I am out of shape since I can't exercise with my bad knee. I am way over matched by these 20 somethings who come out there, are faster, bigger, stronger, and younger.
But, its my connection to my dad. And its all I have left. As long as I am on the field, playing the way he taught me to play, I have some connection. At some point, it will end. I know. I can't play forever. 10 years? 12 years? Maybe less, maybe a few more.
But today we were out there playing. Last 5. I was tired. I was sore. I didn't feel so good. And it didn't matter. For 9 years, I have picked up a piece of grass, kissed it and thrown it into the air. (Yeah, make fun of it, I dare you. A guy did a few years ago in our pick up league. 10 yards I sent him on a clean shoulder charge.) Its my thing. We called last 5 and I did it again today. The other team didn't score. I could feel my dad there with me.
I know. Its crazy. He wasn't there. He isn't there anymore. He can't be. But he is. And not just on the soccer field.
I know he is there when I am with my kids. I know he is there when I am in court. Sometimes, when a debt collector is really pissing me off, he is there. He is there when I am up speaking in front of a group. He encouraged me in my speech and debate. He was there when the damn Toyota Lexus won my first extemporaneous speech tournament.
He also taught me a lot of things and he is there with me when I remember those. He taught me that each generation should try to do better than the prior. Its why he valued education so much. My grandparents weren't educated. My grandfather sold toilet fixtures then worked on bombs in WWII. Then back to selling toilets. My dad put himself through school - bachelor's, masters and a PhD in pharmaceutical chemistry. I think 3 people know what that is.
(As an aside, the guy knew more about chemistry than anyone else I know. He couldn't teach me freaking high school chemistry. I barely passed. Dang good thing the teacher was 25, cute and I wanted her to think I was smart. But he could calculate present value in his head but couldn't teach me how to make H20.)
He passed on the value of education to me. Bachelor's degree, CPCU, law school. He saw me graduate. He talked to me after I took the bar exam. He never saw me sworn in as an attorney. He never had the chance to watch me practice law. Of course, there is a negative side to this. I could never have gone into business. I didn't want to have to compete with his legacy. Stupid, yes. But that is how I saw it.
Now, pushing 40, I look back and I realize its not a competition in terms of who makes more money, who has more things. He wanted me to learn from his mistakes. He was gone a lot. He traveled for business and wasn't home for more than 2 weeks at a time until I was in high school. I realize that there is more to being successful than making money. You have to figure out how you define a success and then reach for that. So while I will never have a PhD in anything, while I will never invent anything or have any patents or buy any companies, I don't need to. I realized that doing better means being there for my kids. Being around for them when they need me. Spending time with them doing things that they like - acting class, dance class, boy scouts, whatever.
He taught me that each generation also has it harder than the prior. My grandparents dealt with the great depression. My parents dealt with the cold war. My generation has Iraq, 9/11, drugs in school. My kids have issues that I haven't even figured out yet. But I could talk to my dad about these things. At first, we talked when he drove me to high school. Then we talked when I would come home from college for visits. Then over a game of pool at the retirement community. I know its my obligation to find that time with my kids.
He taught me to enjoy life. He always told me that if we got an inheritance it would be because he died before he could spend it all. I thought he was joking, but you never really knew. I remember he fired his first financial planner in San Diego. The guy was a jackass, but that isn't why he was fired. He was fired because he told my dad to stop buying diamonds. Yep. He thought my dad shouldn't buy my mom diamonds. My dad fired him. He had his toys. He went from his dream car, an 84 Corvette to a Chrysler LeBaron convertible with a 5.0 engine AND a turbo. Yeah, that thing went fast. Then a 72 Buick Skylark - that went faster. He liked his fast cars and his toys.
He passed that on to me. I don't know whether it was driving the LeBaron in high school and going way too fast, or driving that Skylark cross country with my dad and my brother. Somewhere along the way, he passed on his love of cars to me. He didn't work on them. He just admired them - and drove them. Delaware is still a blur when he and I were driving alone to a soccer tournament in the Corvette. I like my toys. I admit it. I got that from him. I realize, especially now, that life is too short. You should enjoy it. I don't buy into this idea that you should buy some $10,000 car if you really want, and can afford, the $20,000 car. Get it if you can afford it and enjoy it. I assure you my dad enjoyed everything he had and hasn't enjoyed anything in the last 9 years. He can't.
So here I am - 9 years almost to the hour when my dad passed away. I have learned that I have to go back to San Diego. I need to revisit some of those places that I enjoyed with my dad. I made some progress this year. In June, I took my kids to Nick's at the Beach, a place my dad loved, Del Mar beach, where I learned to boogie boards on Wednesday nights in the summer while he bbq'd with his friends. I visited the cemetery. I drove past my old house, past his retirement community.
And I sit and cry sometimes. Not often. I still miss him, but I have learned that its part of life. We live, we grow, we die. Those of us who live have to remember those of us who died and the lessons we learned. I am going to pass on those lessons to my kids and try to let the guilt go.
I miss you dad. I love you dad. I know someway, somehow, you are up there and looking out for me. I appreciate that and I hope I make you proud. I love you.
Today is 9 years since I got that phone call. Its one of those calls that you know is bad when the phone rings. I was 29. I didn't know what to do or how I was supposed to react. So I cried. A lot. I can't think of too many things that rank up there with losing one's father for a man. Losing mom......losing a spouse......losing a child. Those all suck. Losing a father sucks a lot.
I know I am not the first to lose a dad in my 20s. I know I won't be the last. I get it. There are people who have dad die when they are 5, 8, 10, 12, whatever. I am sure it sucks then too. I don't know. I can only speak of my experiences and what I have learned.
We dropped off the kids and flew to San Diego. I got there and had to help out my mom pick out a casket. Talk about creepy. Casket "shopping" is absurd. Who the hell likes that crap? We had a funeral the next day. Somehow, some way, I made it through the funeral. I guess its an honor to be a pall bearer.............but I don't know. It sucks. You don't really want to be a pall bearer because it means someone close has died. After all, has a stranger's family ever asked you to be a pall bearer? I doubt it.
After the funeral, we went back to my mom's house. I had to answer the phone when someone called. They asked for my dad. It hurt so much to have to say he had died. Its one of those things that you always remember. People came and were nice. They wanted to share stories. I wanted nothing to do with it. Then I had to listen to my aunt, my mom's sister, talk about how this was a blessing, how he wasn't suffering anymore.
Don't ever fucking say that to anyone. There is someone, somewhere who doesn't think its a blessing. Maybe you do. Maybe someone else does. I swear there is someone who doesn't think its a blessing. And if you do say that, the person who doesn't find it a blessing has my permission to kick the living crap out of you.
How the fuck was this a blessing for me? I was 29. I had just graduated from law school. I had two kids - who knew two more were on the way? Worse of all, I didn't return my dad's last call to me. Yep, that's me, the fuck up who didn't pick up the phone to call my dad back when he left me a message from the hospital. Why not? Why the hell would I? My whole life, my dad had Parkinson's. He was in the hospital for all kinds of weird things, including hurting his back sleeping on a bed. Seriously. This was some stomach blockage. He was supposed to be discharged. It wasn't a big deal. Then he had a heart attack - and gone. Just like that. No chance to talk to him, no chance to say goodbye. Nothing.
We had a little service, I guess, at the retirement home. People came and talked more, hugged, and drank. It was a celebration of a guy who made friends everywhere he went. I can't think of one person who didn't like my dad.
So I think about that a lot. And this year, its my year to make September better. So maybe the guilt should be gone. Maybe its time to say it: I fucked up. I can never get that time back. Its my biggest regret in life. I own it. I did it. No one else made me. In my list of fuck ups in my life, and I have some doozies, there is none bigger than this one. I should have picked up the damn phone, dialed his number and talked to him. It doesn't matter if I had nothing to say. It doesn't matter if he wanted to ask me about his computer, which he usually did, or his fantasy football team or the fucking weather, 70 and sunny in San Diego 300 days out of the year. None of that matters. I should have picked up the fucking piece of crap phone and called him. I didn't. Its my fault. I get it.
So what have I learned? I don't know. I was out on the soccer field today. The weather was nice. Cool, a bit of sun. Green grass. White lines. And I was thinking what the hell am I doing out here? I am 38 years old. I have one screwed up knee and one on the way. I am old. I am out of shape since I can't exercise with my bad knee. I am way over matched by these 20 somethings who come out there, are faster, bigger, stronger, and younger.
But, its my connection to my dad. And its all I have left. As long as I am on the field, playing the way he taught me to play, I have some connection. At some point, it will end. I know. I can't play forever. 10 years? 12 years? Maybe less, maybe a few more.
But today we were out there playing. Last 5. I was tired. I was sore. I didn't feel so good. And it didn't matter. For 9 years, I have picked up a piece of grass, kissed it and thrown it into the air. (Yeah, make fun of it, I dare you. A guy did a few years ago in our pick up league. 10 yards I sent him on a clean shoulder charge.) Its my thing. We called last 5 and I did it again today. The other team didn't score. I could feel my dad there with me.
I know. Its crazy. He wasn't there. He isn't there anymore. He can't be. But he is. And not just on the soccer field.
I know he is there when I am with my kids. I know he is there when I am in court. Sometimes, when a debt collector is really pissing me off, he is there. He is there when I am up speaking in front of a group. He encouraged me in my speech and debate. He was there when the damn Toyota Lexus won my first extemporaneous speech tournament.
He also taught me a lot of things and he is there with me when I remember those. He taught me that each generation should try to do better than the prior. Its why he valued education so much. My grandparents weren't educated. My grandfather sold toilet fixtures then worked on bombs in WWII. Then back to selling toilets. My dad put himself through school - bachelor's, masters and a PhD in pharmaceutical chemistry. I think 3 people know what that is.
(As an aside, the guy knew more about chemistry than anyone else I know. He couldn't teach me freaking high school chemistry. I barely passed. Dang good thing the teacher was 25, cute and I wanted her to think I was smart. But he could calculate present value in his head but couldn't teach me how to make H20.)
He passed on the value of education to me. Bachelor's degree, CPCU, law school. He saw me graduate. He talked to me after I took the bar exam. He never saw me sworn in as an attorney. He never had the chance to watch me practice law. Of course, there is a negative side to this. I could never have gone into business. I didn't want to have to compete with his legacy. Stupid, yes. But that is how I saw it.
Now, pushing 40, I look back and I realize its not a competition in terms of who makes more money, who has more things. He wanted me to learn from his mistakes. He was gone a lot. He traveled for business and wasn't home for more than 2 weeks at a time until I was in high school. I realize that there is more to being successful than making money. You have to figure out how you define a success and then reach for that. So while I will never have a PhD in anything, while I will never invent anything or have any patents or buy any companies, I don't need to. I realized that doing better means being there for my kids. Being around for them when they need me. Spending time with them doing things that they like - acting class, dance class, boy scouts, whatever.
He taught me that each generation also has it harder than the prior. My grandparents dealt with the great depression. My parents dealt with the cold war. My generation has Iraq, 9/11, drugs in school. My kids have issues that I haven't even figured out yet. But I could talk to my dad about these things. At first, we talked when he drove me to high school. Then we talked when I would come home from college for visits. Then over a game of pool at the retirement community. I know its my obligation to find that time with my kids.
He taught me to enjoy life. He always told me that if we got an inheritance it would be because he died before he could spend it all. I thought he was joking, but you never really knew. I remember he fired his first financial planner in San Diego. The guy was a jackass, but that isn't why he was fired. He was fired because he told my dad to stop buying diamonds. Yep. He thought my dad shouldn't buy my mom diamonds. My dad fired him. He had his toys. He went from his dream car, an 84 Corvette to a Chrysler LeBaron convertible with a 5.0 engine AND a turbo. Yeah, that thing went fast. Then a 72 Buick Skylark - that went faster. He liked his fast cars and his toys.
He passed that on to me. I don't know whether it was driving the LeBaron in high school and going way too fast, or driving that Skylark cross country with my dad and my brother. Somewhere along the way, he passed on his love of cars to me. He didn't work on them. He just admired them - and drove them. Delaware is still a blur when he and I were driving alone to a soccer tournament in the Corvette. I like my toys. I admit it. I got that from him. I realize, especially now, that life is too short. You should enjoy it. I don't buy into this idea that you should buy some $10,000 car if you really want, and can afford, the $20,000 car. Get it if you can afford it and enjoy it. I assure you my dad enjoyed everything he had and hasn't enjoyed anything in the last 9 years. He can't.
So here I am - 9 years almost to the hour when my dad passed away. I have learned that I have to go back to San Diego. I need to revisit some of those places that I enjoyed with my dad. I made some progress this year. In June, I took my kids to Nick's at the Beach, a place my dad loved, Del Mar beach, where I learned to boogie boards on Wednesday nights in the summer while he bbq'd with his friends. I visited the cemetery. I drove past my old house, past his retirement community.
And I sit and cry sometimes. Not often. I still miss him, but I have learned that its part of life. We live, we grow, we die. Those of us who live have to remember those of us who died and the lessons we learned. I am going to pass on those lessons to my kids and try to let the guilt go.
I miss you dad. I love you dad. I know someway, somehow, you are up there and looking out for me. I appreciate that and I hope I make you proud. I love you.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
On birthdays and aging
Am I better off dead?
Am I better off a quitter?
With apologies to The Script. Birthdays are odd. I recently had one. It was my first since my mom passed away. Odd that it got to me a bit. She hasn't called me on my birthday in 5 or 6 years. She just hasn't. We weren't that close. I loved her. She loved me. We didn't talk on birthdays. Heck, she didn't call me on Fathers Day. Why? Because I wasn't her father. Odd, but that is how we were.
So it felt odd on my birthday. She wasn't there. Not that it was different, but it was different. It felt odd. It felt strange. My wife did a great job making it a good day and I did my best to make it a good day. But it was off.
Getting older sucks. I am now pushing 40 - closely. 40 seems old. Not old like I need to go to a nursing home. But old like are my days on the pitch numbered? Am I going to be able to run anymore? I know I can, but it hits me as odd that time is passing me.
I have been more nostalgic lately. I have thought back about my childhood, about growing up. When I was getting frozen yogurt, or frogen yozurt as it was called at Penguins when I was in high school, I heard a song that my parents used to listen to. I was 14. We were driving to Las Vegas. It was my first trip there. Circus Circus.
And I have been thinking about the future. With apologies to Live: I don't need no one to tell me about heaven/I look at my daughter, and I believe. I see my kids and I see a future. I see Brooklyn, my little miracle. I see Miles, he was born after my dad passed away, but he is my dad - or as close as possible. I see Kyle, my mini-me, who doesn't share my DNA, but I now know how I frustrated my parents so much.
And I see Tyler. He missed my birthday. For the first time since 2000, I didn't have my first born with me. I miss him. I love him. And he wasn't here. And it sucks. It sucks beyond words.
It was an interesting birthday. There was good - it was better than in the last several years. But it was sad, my mom was gone and Tyler wasn't with me. I think, though, that this sums it up best:
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, Goodbye
Goodbye
Yeah, I have those photos, and even the ones that aren't on paper, aren't on the computer, they are in a place where they can't be destroyed by water, by fire, by a crashed computer. My mind. I still see my birthday party at McDonalds. I still see my first birthday with Tyler. Those are the memories I will remember as my 30s end, my 40s begin.
And despite what those sports guys say, my soccer days aren't over yet.
Am I better off a quitter?
With apologies to The Script. Birthdays are odd. I recently had one. It was my first since my mom passed away. Odd that it got to me a bit. She hasn't called me on my birthday in 5 or 6 years. She just hasn't. We weren't that close. I loved her. She loved me. We didn't talk on birthdays. Heck, she didn't call me on Fathers Day. Why? Because I wasn't her father. Odd, but that is how we were.
So it felt odd on my birthday. She wasn't there. Not that it was different, but it was different. It felt odd. It felt strange. My wife did a great job making it a good day and I did my best to make it a good day. But it was off.
Getting older sucks. I am now pushing 40 - closely. 40 seems old. Not old like I need to go to a nursing home. But old like are my days on the pitch numbered? Am I going to be able to run anymore? I know I can, but it hits me as odd that time is passing me.
I have been more nostalgic lately. I have thought back about my childhood, about growing up. When I was getting frozen yogurt, or frogen yozurt as it was called at Penguins when I was in high school, I heard a song that my parents used to listen to. I was 14. We were driving to Las Vegas. It was my first trip there. Circus Circus.
And I have been thinking about the future. With apologies to Live: I don't need no one to tell me about heaven/I look at my daughter, and I believe. I see my kids and I see a future. I see Brooklyn, my little miracle. I see Miles, he was born after my dad passed away, but he is my dad - or as close as possible. I see Kyle, my mini-me, who doesn't share my DNA, but I now know how I frustrated my parents so much.
And I see Tyler. He missed my birthday. For the first time since 2000, I didn't have my first born with me. I miss him. I love him. And he wasn't here. And it sucks. It sucks beyond words.
It was an interesting birthday. There was good - it was better than in the last several years. But it was sad, my mom was gone and Tyler wasn't with me. I think, though, that this sums it up best:
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it
Time to say it
Goodbye, Goodbye
Goodbye
Yeah, I have those photos, and even the ones that aren't on paper, aren't on the computer, they are in a place where they can't be destroyed by water, by fire, by a crashed computer. My mind. I still see my birthday party at McDonalds. I still see my first birthday with Tyler. Those are the memories I will remember as my 30s end, my 40s begin.
And despite what those sports guys say, my soccer days aren't over yet.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
On Soccer
I played my weekly soccer game today. Its nothing formal. Just a group of guys (sometimes women, but not often) who get together on Sunday afternoon and play soccer. It may be 3 on 3 or 4 or 4 or 10 on 10. We play with small goals and no goalies. Its a pretty diverse group ranging from late teens to over 50. I was thinking about soccer while we played.
Its such a simple game. You use any part of your body other than your hands (and arms) to get the ball into your opponent's goal. Each goal is 1 point. Its not like tennis with scoring that makes no sense (Love, 15, 30, 40 - apparently they can't count) or football (try explaining the scoring to someone who has never watched the game before - not rocket science, but you can score more times and still lose). Its easy. Anyone can play. Unlike baseball, you don't need special equipment. We have played with a ball and bags for goals. Its a simple game.
And it affects your life. I grew up playing soccer. I still email and correspond with some of those guys. We are friends on facebook and we share memories of growing up playing. Remember that time Dean dropped me on my head? We had the shortest team I think ever for our age. And, I am not sure I was the shortest - Adam may have been shorter. We had birthday parties together - I threw up on Jeff's dad's boat. We spent a lot of our childhood together. Those are some great memories.
And it stays with you. My "new" soccer friends are a diverse group. White, black, yellow. Some are old, some are young, some are tall, some aren't. Okay, I am the not tall one. Some of us are nice, well, most of us are nice, some are complete assholes. Really, just 1 guy. Most assholes play with us for a week or two and realize that they don't fit in so they stop coming. We like that. Some are Americans, some are from Ghana, South Africa, Mexico, Canada.
We have celebrated good times with each other. The birth of my baby. Engagements. Weddings, graduations. I have watched some guys grow up from high school kids who may have been a bit awkward to college guys who could run like the wind to married guys or engaged guys who are responsible, productive members of society.
We have shared tragedies. We lost a member of our group several years ago. In a touching moment, we had a moment of silence and then some folks said some prayers. We put up a bench in his memory and, once in a while, when the game is right, you can see something and think "There's Troy again."
Its a unique game. Its the beautiful game. When its played well, there is nothing like it. The sound of a clean, crisp pass. The ball whizzing past your head on a perfectly hit cross. The sounds of a team cheering a goal. People running up and down the field, looking like its chaos when, if done right, everyone knows exactly where he is supposed to be.
Then there is the bad side of soccer. Primarily youth soccer. Parents who yell constantly knowing nothing about the game. Coaches were insist on running drills from the 1970s. Leagues where politics are more important than the teaching of the game. Organizations trying to put other organizations out of business and not realizing that its about getting people to play the damn game. That is for another night.
Soccer brings people together like nothing else. Take a walk by a park where there is a soccer game. Bring some cleats and ask to play. They will let you play. Its who soccer players do it. We are a community. We accept others, even if they talk funny, look funny or just are funny. We teach the game to new people. We want to see everyone get better and enjoy the game.
The soccer community is a pretty special place. I want to thank my friends from my childhood for those memories of a lifetime. And my current soccer friends for memories that will continue on as we play the beautiful game.
Its such a simple game. You use any part of your body other than your hands (and arms) to get the ball into your opponent's goal. Each goal is 1 point. Its not like tennis with scoring that makes no sense (Love, 15, 30, 40 - apparently they can't count) or football (try explaining the scoring to someone who has never watched the game before - not rocket science, but you can score more times and still lose). Its easy. Anyone can play. Unlike baseball, you don't need special equipment. We have played with a ball and bags for goals. Its a simple game.
And it affects your life. I grew up playing soccer. I still email and correspond with some of those guys. We are friends on facebook and we share memories of growing up playing. Remember that time Dean dropped me on my head? We had the shortest team I think ever for our age. And, I am not sure I was the shortest - Adam may have been shorter. We had birthday parties together - I threw up on Jeff's dad's boat. We spent a lot of our childhood together. Those are some great memories.
And it stays with you. My "new" soccer friends are a diverse group. White, black, yellow. Some are old, some are young, some are tall, some aren't. Okay, I am the not tall one. Some of us are nice, well, most of us are nice, some are complete assholes. Really, just 1 guy. Most assholes play with us for a week or two and realize that they don't fit in so they stop coming. We like that. Some are Americans, some are from Ghana, South Africa, Mexico, Canada.
We have celebrated good times with each other. The birth of my baby. Engagements. Weddings, graduations. I have watched some guys grow up from high school kids who may have been a bit awkward to college guys who could run like the wind to married guys or engaged guys who are responsible, productive members of society.
We have shared tragedies. We lost a member of our group several years ago. In a touching moment, we had a moment of silence and then some folks said some prayers. We put up a bench in his memory and, once in a while, when the game is right, you can see something and think "There's Troy again."
Its a unique game. Its the beautiful game. When its played well, there is nothing like it. The sound of a clean, crisp pass. The ball whizzing past your head on a perfectly hit cross. The sounds of a team cheering a goal. People running up and down the field, looking like its chaos when, if done right, everyone knows exactly where he is supposed to be.
Then there is the bad side of soccer. Primarily youth soccer. Parents who yell constantly knowing nothing about the game. Coaches were insist on running drills from the 1970s. Leagues where politics are more important than the teaching of the game. Organizations trying to put other organizations out of business and not realizing that its about getting people to play the damn game. That is for another night.
Soccer brings people together like nothing else. Take a walk by a park where there is a soccer game. Bring some cleats and ask to play. They will let you play. Its who soccer players do it. We are a community. We accept others, even if they talk funny, look funny or just are funny. We teach the game to new people. We want to see everyone get better and enjoy the game.
The soccer community is a pretty special place. I want to thank my friends from my childhood for those memories of a lifetime. And my current soccer friends for memories that will continue on as we play the beautiful game.
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