My Memorial Day

As I rest in the grass, I watch my eleven year-old carrying a pail of water.
He brings it to his younger brother who is helping their mother arrange lilacs in a vase.
I lie back in the grass and stare up at the sky. It is a beautiful day.
A gentle breeze brings the faint scent of lilac as I gaze at endless blue.

My oldest son did not die in a war. His battles were fought in a hospital as an infant.
And yet, on this Memorial Day, we take a moment to remember him.
We pause from the sometimes hectic routines of our lives to acknowledge one who is not here.

At times like this, I realize what a selfish, greedy person I am.
My family is beautiful and I love them dearly.
I am inspired and uplifted daily by them.
And I thank God for them.
Yet, like a spoiled child, I long for more, for what I cannot have.

Today, as I sit in the grass with my wife and two sons,
I can't help but wish that I was at a park with my wife and three sons,
Instead of the cemetery.

Norge

With the advent of warmer weather, I've noticed that a lot of the kids around campus like to find a nice spot of lawn to sit on while they eat lunch or study.  This is fine, I guess.  I've already remarked in the past that I find a bench more comfortable, but to each their own.  I have, however, noticed a troubling trend recently.  It seems that much of today's fashion isn't really designed for sitting cross-legged in the grass and I've been seeing a bit more of the student body than I'd care to.  I'm referring specifically to the region in the back between the bottom of the shirt and the top of the pants.  When one sits down in the grass, one's shirt and pants tend to migrate in opposite directions.  I don't mind if there's a little exposed skin - I mean, I understand that sometimes things ride up, or down, or whatever.  If it was just a little skin, I'd be fine.  When it gets to the point where there are shadows, that's when I feel uncomfortable - those shadows that portend a larger chasm lurking below, just out of sight.  I saw one fellow who was well beyond the shadow stage.  He was bent over, working on a laptop, with half his bahooney exposed to the world.

I'm just glad I wasn't having egg-salad for lunch.

Confession

I have a confession to make.  I know this isn't politically correct and I hope you won't think less of me for admitting it, but blind people make me a little uncomfortable.  I think I'm worried that I'm going to be inadvertently touched.  I don't want to be inadvertently touched, by a blind person or anyone else for that matter.  It just seems more likely to happen with a blind person.

I was out walking last week and I noticed a blind woman coming towards me.  She was moving very quickly, obviously in a hurry.  She was flailing her white cane somewhat wildly in front of her as she made her way.  As she approached, I did what I always do in that situation - I gave her as wide a berth as physically possible and I cleared my throat.

I always clear my throat or cough around blind people.  I'm naturally a very quiet person and I'm usually alone.  I know that with their other heightened senses, blind people can probably detect my presence.  Still, just to be safe, I like to make a little casual noise.  Sometimes, I just scuff my feet a bit on the sidewalk.  I want to be certain that they are aware that I am there.  I try to be subtle, so as not to startle.  There was one time when I don't think the guy knew I was there until I coughed.  He tapped the side of my leg with his cane as soon as he heard me, as if he couldn't believe there was really someone there.

Anyway, I hope this doesn't make me a bad person.

My Sleep Disorder

I awoke to the faint sound of crying this morning.  At least, that's what I initially thought it was.  It was high-pitched and wailing and it permeated my dreams for awhile until I finally came to.  Once awake, I realized that the clock-radio alarm had gone off.  The "crying" was actually someone singing.  I have the radio volume set very low so I don't disturb anyone else.  I have no idea what station it is set to - apparently one with a wailing format.  Even though I always set the alarm when I know I'll be getting up early, I usually wake up before it goes off.  This morning, I got up at 4:30 so I could get to the gym when it opened at 5:00.  Even on the 4:30 days, I usually get up before the alarm.  Today was an exception, probably because I didn't get to sleep until after midnight.

I really don't like being awakened by an alarm.  I dislike it so much that on nights when I know it's set, I'll wake up multiple times, checking to see if it's close to going off.  On non-gym days, I typically get up around 5:30 - I don't need an alarm for that.  Even on Saturdays, the one day when I could sleep in, I rarely stay in bed past 6:00.  I wish I was able to sleep in more but I'm just not wired that way.  I blame my parents and their parents and all the rest of my farming ancestry.  I think I am genetically disposed to get up early.  I just don't have any cows to milk or chickens to feed.  Instead, on weekdays I enjoy a little "me time" - give me a coffee pot and a newspaper and I'm happy.

On Saturdays, I spend my morning alone time watching TV.  I tend to look for old sci-fi or detective shows.  Earlier this year I was pleased when one of the networks ran a few of the old Sherlock Holmes movies.  These were the ones with Basil Rathbone playing Holmes and Nigel Bruce playing Watson.  In my mind, whenever I think of Sherlock Holmes, it's Basil Rathbone I picture.  I think if we were ever to get a dog, I might lobby to name it Basil Rathbone.  It kind of sounds like a dog name to me, especially if it was a hound.  Nigel, on the other hand, sounds like something more fitting for a cat.

Differences

Last night was N's first official baseball game, something that he had been dreading for a couple of weeks now.  Last winter he expressed an interest in trying baseball this year and so we signed him up.  Since then his attitude toward the sport has changed greatly.  He didn't want to go to the first practice, claiming we'd forced him into doing baseball when he never really wanted to.  I told him that we'd already paid for him and that he was going to try it.  He was very indignant about this, accusing me of forcing him to go.  I told him that if he wanted to view it that way, that was fine but he was still going to participate.  The first practice went fine, N had a good time - so good he wanted to sleep in his uniform.

I thought we were over the hump with the whole baseball thing, but as the first game day approached, N was once again troubled.  We talked about it and I learned that he was worried because he was unsure of all the rules of the game.  He was also uncertain as to what he was supposed to do in certain game situations.  This, along with his perception that all the other kids knew exactly what they were doing, made him understandably nervous.  We talked about some of the basics of the game and I assured him that the coaches would be helping a lot.  On game day, I could sense that he was still scared but he was also resigned to the fact that he would have to do it.

The game itself went great.  N had fun.  His league is truly an instructional league - no one was ever really out, they just batted through the order.  He was able to hit the ball as well as those other kids.  On defense, he played in the outfield and second base and there were coaches right out there with him.  In those types of situations, N is like a sponge, soaking up everything the coaches tell him.  I'm sure it's mostly driven by his fear of doing something incorrectly.  Still, by the end of the game, he was covering second base like he'd been doing it for years.

I've had people remark to me that B and N seem so similar.  It's true that they share many traits (intelligent, kind, gentle), but there are parts of their personalities that couldn't be more different.  B is seldom afraid to try something new.  He just assumes he'll be able to do it, and goes with it.  It's one of his traits that I admire most.  On the downside, sometimes this assumption of ability leads to a less than ideal learning attitude.  I mean, why practice or listen if you already know what you're doing? N, on the other hand, is often reluctant to try new things for fear that he will fail or look foolish.  I can tell you right now, he gets this from his father.  Because he's worried about doing something wrong, he listens pretty carefully - a coach's dream.  This difference between the two boys manifests itself in their schoolwork as well.  B has always had messy handwriting - he has his own way of making certain letters rather than following the method taught in class.  The result is something that is barely legible although B does not seem overly concerned about this.  N, on the other hand, follows the rules of letter-making precisely and produces text that looks like it came from the handwriting primer.  You would think with such nice handwriting that journal time would be a favored activity for N.  Instead, he dreads it, unsure of what he should write.  I can't remember a time when B was ever worried about what he was going to write.  So different from his brother.

All of this means that many of the tricks and tips we've learned along the way with B are largely useless or unnecessary with N.  Instead, we're learning new approaches and tactics.  I think the important thing is just recognizing where they are different.

To-kay

I often get lunch at Subway.  I mostly stop there because it's conveniently located and relatively healthy depending on what you put on your sandwich.  It's a pretty nifty idea for a restaurant, really.  All Subway needs to do is provide reasonably fresh ingredients.  The rest is up to you.  You can build your sandwich however you wish.  Of course, a certain amount of responsibility comes with this level of control.  If your sandwich tastes like crap because you decided to mix the vinaigrette with the mayo and the mustard, well, that's your problem.  No one behind the counter is going to stop you from doing something stupid.

I would be a horrible Subway employee, especially if I was doling out the condiments.  I've watched other sandwiches being built, and I cannot believe how much junk people want squirted on their sandwiches.  If I was working the line, I'm sure I'd be hearing "More, more" all day long.  It's like some people are trying to suffocate the vegetables.  I would have trouble just blindly following orders without muttering a few "are you serious?" remarks.

My favorite part about the Subway near work is the lady with the funky accent.  She always works next to the one who slices the bread.  I've only ever heard her say a single word, but she has the weirdest accent.  It's fun to watch customers who haven't been there before when she smiles at them and says "to-kay?".  I wonder how many times she has to repeat herself in a given day.  She always has a big bright smile.  When she repeats "to-kay?", she usually gestures to the toaster oven.  Most people clue in right there that "to-kay?" equals "toasted?".  There was one guy that just could not figure it out.  After about four attempts, someone next to him in line helped him out.  The entire time, she kept her happy smile and made no attempt to alter her pronunciation.

Well, it's lunch time.  I think we know where I'm headed.

Haircut

A couple of weeks ago, N brought home a letter from school alerting us that someone in the first grade had head lice.  Just reading the letter made my head itch.  Somehow, we've managed to get both boys through a few years of school now without any infestations.  Frankly, I'm a little amazed N hasn't caught something.  He and his friends are big fans of dressing up in various costumes, most of which include hats.

When we got the letter, we asked N about it.  He said everyone had to get checked.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: "So, you got checked at school?"
N: "Yeah, they checked us - three people at a time."
Me: "Who did you get checked with?"
N: "Talia and Frances."
Me: "And none of you had head lice?"
N: "Dad, nobody in our whole class had head lice."
Me: "Oh, well that's a good thing."
N: "Yeah, but Danny had to go home and get a haircut."  (Pause)  "It's kind of weird.  My hair is longer than Danny's, but they didn't make me get mine cut."

Anyway, just typing this makes my head itch.

Yeah, right.

I just got an email informing me that this was my last opportunity to sign up for the Lake Minnetonka Half-Marathon.  I like the fact that somewhere out in cyberspace I'm on a mailing list for people that might do that sort of thing.  It makes me feel all healthy inside - call it fitness by association.

Anyway, it was good for a chuckle.