It seems I usually write something on Christmas, in the form of one of those Facebook "Notes." Those are so old fashioned and not nearly important enough, because I am now a blogger. That makes me at least twice as but no more than five times more important than I was before. But then all this shit happened, and I decided I wasn't gonna to write. But then one thing in particular happened, and I'm also listening to Shakira and Celia Cruz and the Bangles so I'm practically dripping with sentimentalism, and I've been playing NHL14 Hockey on the PS3, and my hands are drawn to the keyboard like so many moths to the flame, and I'm eating this delicious gouda cheese (I f***ing love gouda cheese) with pretzels and a caffeine free Coca Cola, so I'm gonna write.
Just one disclosure: I'm not really SURE the one thing that happened, happened. I mean, I'm pretty sure, and for your, the readers' (all 8 of you--I've gained one) sake, I recommend you ignore the disclosure, and just go on assuming it happened, because it will (probably) make more sense that way. But I try to cover all the angles....
*****
Of course, even without this thing, my Christmas season has been lovely. I make a big hugabaloo about the Holidays, but really, there is very little for me to be unhappy about. Sonia does all the grunt work (willingly, I emphasize) so I worry not a wit about presents. I get two weeks off work, much more than about 80% of the working population. That's what allows me to stay up late, drink Coke, and listen to Jewell. For the first time, I believe, ever, we are home for BOTH Christmas and Thanksgiving. I've missed seeing my family, but it is certainly nice to nest, especially in this freaking weather. Plus, my sister and her family were here last night and today, and it was great. (Guns n' Roses' "November Rain" now fomenting nostalgia). As usual, my wife provided an excellent bounty for my children and myself. And my sister-in-law provided a wonderful dinner.
This is all wonderful but becoming sort of par for the course. And I didn't think I had it in me to produce another original, illuminating piece of prose for this holiday. But it's funny, I just checked Facebook for--well, God knows what reason, we just do it, it's akin to breathing these days, no?? And I was jolted out of my complacency.
*****
For those of you who don't know, I traveled to Spain a few years ago for what was optimistically called a "Course for teachers of Spanish in other subjects"--i.e., teaching science, social studies, math, etc. in Spanish to non-Native Spanish speakers. It was two weeks and I learned a ton, although much of it had nothing to do with Spanish teaching, but with me meeting the world (or at least Europe). (For more information, see a Facebook note from August 13, 2010). Of course, at the end of the session, we all exchanged Facebook info and swore we'd stay tight. And we did, for a while. Human nature. As the visceral memories fade due to time and distance, it's not nearly as important.
There was one particular woman with whom I bonded. We kept the correspondence up for quite a time...a couple times a month for a while, then once a month, pretty soon a quick heads up when one of us had a couple extra minutes. We had a common interest in writing--she writes well, I pretend to write. Since last summer, we've maybe talked twice, maybe a cursory "How are things" or a smartass remark to something the other wrote.
*****
Soraya plays now. For all your Spanish speakers, this is a little known woman who grew up in New Jersey of Colombian parents and simply drives straight to the heart. Anyway, I was getting ready for a snack tonight, and thought I'd check out the FB real quick before settling in for a book. And it was the weirdest timing--I saw a picture of my friend, with her husband, and she appears to have a baby bump, and there's baby booties on the Christmas tree, and he has her hand on her tummy. So I'm pretty sure she's expecting (disclosure applies here, and quite probably loss of a friendship if I'm wrong). And I felt this completely unexpected wave of happiness washing over me, it was literally 10 minutes before Christmas day ended in Iowa, and things sort of clicked. She's probably real busy with this change in her life, and I thought "So, this is why I haven't heard anything in so long. She's getting ready for the biggest moment of her life". No matter how many times it happens, a loved one's expecting never loses that impact--that hope, that joy, that happiness that a real good person gets the chance to make his or her impact on another little life, even if (and maybe especially if) the person is a long ways away, and you hear very little from them. A special Christmas gift, from 7000 miles away.
*****
Sheryl Crow. "Strong Enough". Lie to me...I promise, I'll believe...Lie to me....Just please, don't leave.... And the hits just keep on coming....
*****
So since I decided if I'm gonna write anyway, I've gotta tell this one story that is, to me, Christmas.
The eight regular readers of this column know that I have certain problems with the way education is practiced nowadays. In particular, I have an issue with the way certain practices can lead to situations in which we view students as test score numbers rather than children growing up. Now, as a credit to my colleagues, this is something that is minimalized in my school. But still I don't like where it's headed.
I have a student. She has been selected for reading intervention. Does she need it? That is an open question. Is she benefitting? Another question worth exploring. But try as I might, I struggle doing the appropriate paperwork and keeping up the checks I am expected to do. I know she's behind, but she's also a normal ten year old; she likes keeping up with her friends and likes to tell me I'm not cool (all in good fun--I think....). I can't help but think instruction, not multiple assessments, may do her more good than said assessments....
*****
On Friday, the last day before Christmas Break, I received a call from my wonderful office manager, Pamela Romero. Seems that my student's brother, off for basic training at Ft. Benning, Georgia, was making a surprise visit home for the holidays. He wanted to surprise her at school. The young man wore his fatigues and walked in while my student was swapping candies with a classmate. She looked up, saw first her mom, wondered what was going on, and then jumped out of her seat and bear hugged her brother.
Fuck numbers. That's a little girl who misses her brother. And I can't think of a better image of Christmas, and I hope I keep it in my head for a long, long time.
*****
"Green Eyes" by Coldplay will, more than likely, close out my evening. I came here with a load...and it feels so much lighter, now I met you....and honey you should know....that I could never go on without you....
The Green Eyes have been different things to me, at different times. Tonight, they'll be the spirit of Christmas, the spirit of every day, Them Sheeyits, seeing me to bed on my 37th Christmas, and promising that I'll feel lighter if and when I give my will over to them, instead of imposing my world on the world.
Besos minha gente...la quiero mucho....Mark
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
Of hard-boiled eggs and the true spirit of Christmas
I consider myself one of those people perpetually trying to improve my diet but in the end just breaking even. I'm trying to stock the house with whole grains, have a glass of milk every night before I go to bed, eat oatmeal for supper (instant; I tried the real stuff but it just wasn't the same). I buy fruit for snacks, drink straight black coffee instead of soda for my morning caffeine hit, have a tin of almonds in my desk for unexpected hunger bouts.
Trouble is, every time I improve in one thing, I let something else go. Like today: no soda all day at school, then I slammed a twenty ounce coke and now I'm working on another one. It's SO f***ing good. Or I work it out so I can have two pieces of whole wheat cinnamon toast in the morning with my coffee, but many times just get too "rushed" to make it....but still have no problem finding the time to stop by the gas station for Hostess Chocolate Cupcakes (nothing like pure unadulterated sugar in the morning).
I'm actually pretty impressed by my latest effort. Every morning, when the kids go out for recess, I've taken to eating a precooked hard boiled egg, seasoned generously with Lawry's Seasoning Salt. It's a substantial source of protein and fills me up until lunch time. And up to now (knock on wood), I haven't changed compensated this act of good nutrition with another one. A step in the right direction? We'll see....
*****
I teach fourth grade and work alongside a team of five other people. These five people are fucking amazing. We're a family all on our own, and pretty well aware of what's going on in everybody's lives, even when it involves fairly mundane dietary choices. Everyone approved of my move and one woman, in particular, was impressed. She is also a healthy eater but she's a real healthy eater, not nearly as wishy-washy as me. So I said (apparently, last Friday) that I would bring her a hard-boiled egg, too. I thought it was a fairly innocuous chance to bond over morning snacks.
However, it is generally (though not always) the case that my wife boils my egg for me in the morning. I asked her to prepare two for tomorrow.
"Why?"
"I told my friend I'd bring her one."
"I am not cooking for another woman!"
"Why not?"
"Because first it's an egg, then it's dinner, then it's who knows what?"
The conversation continued, and "dinner" was correlated with other activities, but the final result was sealed from the get-go. No hard-boiled egg for my friend. I'll break the news tomorrow...hopefully she doesn't shed too many tears....
*****
This conversation, and this blog, occur between the sounds and visuals of Sonia's television program. I generally avoid television, with the large exception of sports, and better than average sitcoms like "The Bing Bang Theory". But it's nice to be in the same room although we are doing different things. She's watching all these detective shows, where there are several attractive men and women, an older man, and an alternative, chubby woman working the computers. I don't mind the shows so much--after all they're all pretty much the same (except Law and Order. Don't touch my f***ing Law and Order).
What I'm hearing tonight, though, more that the shows, are the f***ing commercials. I must admit, I'm doing better this Christmas season than in the last few. I've really been working on accepting life on life's terms, and although I'm not quite there, I sense progress. (It helps that, as teachers, we get two weeks off). But still, and I know this is SO f***ing hipster, I'm so damn sick of the commercialism. There is a large part of the population that only sees this last month as the last chance to turn their books to black, putting ever more pressure on us to keep buying, to buy a gift for our aunt's husband's stepdaughter because, well, if you're in the Christmas spirit, you should want to.
Sometimes I want to say, "Fuck it. Fuck Christmas."
But that'd get me a divorce faster than the hard-boiled egg.
*****
Seeing upper middle class families buy expensive video games and iPads and laptops and even cars is even harder in the context of my current job. The current percentage of students receiving free or reduced lunch in my sons' school is 54%; it's even higher in West Liberty. I do recess duty twice a week and kids don't have boots, they have old, worn down jackets. They don't have stocking hats. Most of them handle it with impressive stoicism, walking around to keep warm and not complaining. I dress with an extra layer of pants and a hundred dollar jacket. I tell them to stick it out.
*****
A few weeks ago a couple of teachers stood up at a faculty meeting and said, "Listen, guys, we've got to do something. We've been here fifteen years and never seen it like this. The poverty is "in your face" (their words). And all these dumbass school reformers, all they want to talk about is fucking test scores. It's been accepted principle for decades in the education world that a child (or an adult, for that matter) must have certain needs taken care of before they can focus on the relatively inapplicable things we learn in school. You go to work when you're hungry, when you're sleep deprived, when you're home life is patas arriba. When you're cold, when parents aren't home at night because they're each working two jobs. It's called "Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs" (google it if you haven't heard of it). Some of the worst culprits in this are the teachers themselves.
Anyway, off my soapbox. Some brainstorming was done and they came up with this idea where kids would bring in all the change they could and we'd make a contest out of it to see which grade raised the most money. We called it the Penny Wars. First grade won, but that's not really the point (except for maybe the first graders....) In five days, around 500 1st-5th graders managed to raise over $1500, money that would go straight to our backpack program, in which backpacks of ready to prepare food goes home with needy kids every single weekend. So simple, so beautiful. So inspired. It's a public school, but I think the Holy Spirit might be among us.
*****
Despite my most virulent anti-Christmas intentions, real-world events are weakening me. Not sure I'll be Kris Kringle yet, but after church yesterday morning I feel my heart, like the Grinch, growing three sizes. Our interim pastor, in perhaps one last act of impetuousness (or revolution), emptied our discretionary fund and divided it into fifty dollar bills. At the offertory, when we usually offer our gifts to God, we were to take the fifty dollars and take them into the community, to those who might be able to use them, to spread the good news of Christ. I'd never seen or heard anything like that.
When the basket got back to me (we were in the back), there were still to fifty dollar bills. I thought about West Liberty. I thought about the need and I thought about the Penny Wars and the thin jackets and the free and reduced lunches and I thought that finally, a church got it right. Money, straight money, where it needs to go, no strings attached.
$1500 is a lot of money. $1600 sounds even better. Why look around the world when you can look around the hallways?
*****
Christmas fast approaches. I'm anxious for it to pass, to stop hearing the f***ing commercials, and to stop being told to be happy whether I feel like it or not. But things feel better this year. Things feel real.
Maybe, just maybe, that little baby that probably wasn't really born in a barn, and probably wasn't born of a virgin, and most probably never received any visits from any supposed "Wise Men", up in Heaven at the Right Side of the Father (according to the Catholics, at least), maybe he's smiling. Maybe he's saying, these Earth people are finally getting the hang of it.
I only claim to speak for myself. But right now, that's good enough for me.
Feliz Navidad, minha gente, y beijinhos, beijinhos, beijinhos.
Plum
Trouble is, every time I improve in one thing, I let something else go. Like today: no soda all day at school, then I slammed a twenty ounce coke and now I'm working on another one. It's SO f***ing good. Or I work it out so I can have two pieces of whole wheat cinnamon toast in the morning with my coffee, but many times just get too "rushed" to make it....but still have no problem finding the time to stop by the gas station for Hostess Chocolate Cupcakes (nothing like pure unadulterated sugar in the morning).
I'm actually pretty impressed by my latest effort. Every morning, when the kids go out for recess, I've taken to eating a precooked hard boiled egg, seasoned generously with Lawry's Seasoning Salt. It's a substantial source of protein and fills me up until lunch time. And up to now (knock on wood), I haven't changed compensated this act of good nutrition with another one. A step in the right direction? We'll see....
*****
I teach fourth grade and work alongside a team of five other people. These five people are fucking amazing. We're a family all on our own, and pretty well aware of what's going on in everybody's lives, even when it involves fairly mundane dietary choices. Everyone approved of my move and one woman, in particular, was impressed. She is also a healthy eater but she's a real healthy eater, not nearly as wishy-washy as me. So I said (apparently, last Friday) that I would bring her a hard-boiled egg, too. I thought it was a fairly innocuous chance to bond over morning snacks.
However, it is generally (though not always) the case that my wife boils my egg for me in the morning. I asked her to prepare two for tomorrow.
"Why?"
"I told my friend I'd bring her one."
"I am not cooking for another woman!"
"Why not?"
"Because first it's an egg, then it's dinner, then it's who knows what?"
The conversation continued, and "dinner" was correlated with other activities, but the final result was sealed from the get-go. No hard-boiled egg for my friend. I'll break the news tomorrow...hopefully she doesn't shed too many tears....
*****
This conversation, and this blog, occur between the sounds and visuals of Sonia's television program. I generally avoid television, with the large exception of sports, and better than average sitcoms like "The Bing Bang Theory". But it's nice to be in the same room although we are doing different things. She's watching all these detective shows, where there are several attractive men and women, an older man, and an alternative, chubby woman working the computers. I don't mind the shows so much--after all they're all pretty much the same (except Law and Order. Don't touch my f***ing Law and Order).
What I'm hearing tonight, though, more that the shows, are the f***ing commercials. I must admit, I'm doing better this Christmas season than in the last few. I've really been working on accepting life on life's terms, and although I'm not quite there, I sense progress. (It helps that, as teachers, we get two weeks off). But still, and I know this is SO f***ing hipster, I'm so damn sick of the commercialism. There is a large part of the population that only sees this last month as the last chance to turn their books to black, putting ever more pressure on us to keep buying, to buy a gift for our aunt's husband's stepdaughter because, well, if you're in the Christmas spirit, you should want to.
Sometimes I want to say, "Fuck it. Fuck Christmas."
But that'd get me a divorce faster than the hard-boiled egg.
*****
Seeing upper middle class families buy expensive video games and iPads and laptops and even cars is even harder in the context of my current job. The current percentage of students receiving free or reduced lunch in my sons' school is 54%; it's even higher in West Liberty. I do recess duty twice a week and kids don't have boots, they have old, worn down jackets. They don't have stocking hats. Most of them handle it with impressive stoicism, walking around to keep warm and not complaining. I dress with an extra layer of pants and a hundred dollar jacket. I tell them to stick it out.
*****
A few weeks ago a couple of teachers stood up at a faculty meeting and said, "Listen, guys, we've got to do something. We've been here fifteen years and never seen it like this. The poverty is "in your face" (their words). And all these dumbass school reformers, all they want to talk about is fucking test scores. It's been accepted principle for decades in the education world that a child (or an adult, for that matter) must have certain needs taken care of before they can focus on the relatively inapplicable things we learn in school. You go to work when you're hungry, when you're sleep deprived, when you're home life is patas arriba. When you're cold, when parents aren't home at night because they're each working two jobs. It's called "Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs" (google it if you haven't heard of it). Some of the worst culprits in this are the teachers themselves.
Anyway, off my soapbox. Some brainstorming was done and they came up with this idea where kids would bring in all the change they could and we'd make a contest out of it to see which grade raised the most money. We called it the Penny Wars. First grade won, but that's not really the point (except for maybe the first graders....) In five days, around 500 1st-5th graders managed to raise over $1500, money that would go straight to our backpack program, in which backpacks of ready to prepare food goes home with needy kids every single weekend. So simple, so beautiful. So inspired. It's a public school, but I think the Holy Spirit might be among us.
*****
Despite my most virulent anti-Christmas intentions, real-world events are weakening me. Not sure I'll be Kris Kringle yet, but after church yesterday morning I feel my heart, like the Grinch, growing three sizes. Our interim pastor, in perhaps one last act of impetuousness (or revolution), emptied our discretionary fund and divided it into fifty dollar bills. At the offertory, when we usually offer our gifts to God, we were to take the fifty dollars and take them into the community, to those who might be able to use them, to spread the good news of Christ. I'd never seen or heard anything like that.
When the basket got back to me (we were in the back), there were still to fifty dollar bills. I thought about West Liberty. I thought about the need and I thought about the Penny Wars and the thin jackets and the free and reduced lunches and I thought that finally, a church got it right. Money, straight money, where it needs to go, no strings attached.
$1500 is a lot of money. $1600 sounds even better. Why look around the world when you can look around the hallways?
*****
Christmas fast approaches. I'm anxious for it to pass, to stop hearing the f***ing commercials, and to stop being told to be happy whether I feel like it or not. But things feel better this year. Things feel real.
Maybe, just maybe, that little baby that probably wasn't really born in a barn, and probably wasn't born of a virgin, and most probably never received any visits from any supposed "Wise Men", up in Heaven at the Right Side of the Father (according to the Catholics, at least), maybe he's smiling. Maybe he's saying, these Earth people are finally getting the hang of it.
I only claim to speak for myself. But right now, that's good enough for me.
Feliz Navidad, minha gente, y beijinhos, beijinhos, beijinhos.
Plum
Saturday, December 7, 2013
A Night Out With The Boys (and some girls)
First of all, my most deepest apologies to all seven people who actually read this blog and realized I hadn't written anything since October 1. I will make that excuse that just seems to work for everything: Life has been crazy. Seems to me whenever we don't see each other for whatever reason, either party can simply say "Life's been crazy", and everything is forgiven.
Everybody's life is crazy; I realize that. It's part of what makes these years magical. Two little kids, two full time jobs, two steps forward and one step back. I'm doing good just to go through a week and not have any cars stolen. My parents did it; their parents did it; and my boys will do it (should any woman, of course, accept them). Life.
*****
So. Weekends, especially since soccer season ended in October, have become a sacrosanct time in our household. We get caught up on eating, cleaning. And another wonderful development this fall: my boys have fallen in love with college football. Over the last few weeks, a routine has set up on Saturday mornings. The kids get up early (goddamn, do they get up early!) and play NCAA Football in preparation. If I'm on my game, I get to the gym before we settle in. 11:00 games, 2:30 games, 6:00 games, 7:00 games, 9:00 games, 10:30 games. Sonia gets fed up but she doesn't object to the bonding.
Niko hast taken an especially strong interest in the football endeavors of the University (if you can call it that) of Alabama. You see, Alabama is rated number 1 in the video game and Niko knows every single player on the team. He has learned to create himself as a player and plays several different positions. We hear ALL about EVERY game; every catch; every throw; every rush; every tackle. And we always find out who the Player of the Game is; he's especially thrilled if it's Niko Plum.The boy is in love.
Last week we settled in at 2:30 for the Iron Bowl. Auburn-Alabama. Number 4 vs. Number 1. Winner quite possible goes to the National Championship. I, of course, want Alabama to lose with every single bone in my body but don't want Niko to know this. The game is a wild one, with the wildest possible finish: Alabama goes for a last second field goal that would win the game. It's short. Auburn fields the kick, and returns it 108 yards for a touchdown with no time on the clock. Game over. I'm jubilant but can't express that in front of my child. So I rave about the play itself, the absolute craziness of it all. Niko watched the replays, forlorn. Five or ten minutes passed. Then he walked into the red room, not saying a word, found his mom, and began to cry.
*****
As special as all this has been to me, I have had a yearning for several weeks that, due to my caretaker responsibilities, has gone unfulfilled. Tradition dictates that I spend a few Saturdays each fall watching the game out with some buddies. Usually it's the Hawkeyes but not always; it doesn't particularly matter. It's the custom, the act of going out and having five games happen around you, the bullshitting about football and life. This weekend, Sonia finally said she felt good enough to have the boys, and me and the boys went out. Iowa's done, but there were several conference championships running, and plenty to see on TV: the last weekend of the college football dance. We ate, we talked about nothing. My God, did it feel good!!
As luck would have it, I ran into a friend of mine who said they were also getting together at another establishment, to celebrate the birthday of an ex-colleague of mine in the Department of Spanish. So, me and the guys moved our football watching to that bar, where I had the chance to reconnect with several friends from the Department WHILE watching football. Heaven, I tell you. It is a special feeling when you see these people, and they all miss you, and in some ways you feel light years removed but at the same time I feel like I could head straight back and draw syntactic trees until I became dizzy. In particular, I enjoyed the opportunity to talk with my friend celebrating her birthday; one of those people you're very close to and then POP, you change lives, and that's that. At least we agreed to get coffee in the near future...
In short, I needed tonight to remind me that I can still watch the ballgame, toss around the bullshit. I don't know if it's trying to "relive the glory days"; I'm not sure how glorious football games and Joes Place are, anyway. But I'm at that age where people do that, I suppose, and it's important.
*****
Around 10:30 tonight, I had a little time to myself, and I remarked to myself how late it was getting, while my college friends began to plan their next bar. They would be dancing. I would most definitely not be.
Around that time, Michigan State began to pull away from the Buckeyes in the Big Ten Championship. I remarked on this to my buddies and then realized I still needed to talk to someone else about it. But he was at home, in bed, sleeping. And I had that moment that I've had before, but somehow more acutely this time, the moment that all parents have from time to time, when suddenly that trip out to get your own space is interfering with something bigger, where YOUR space doesn't seem as important as OUR space.
*****
I've sworn up and down and back up again that I will never play that game, that guilt game that so many American parents seem to be plagued by, that absolute fear that any time devoted to themselves is somehow child-raising blasphemy, I know it is absolutely 100% healthy for Mom to have time for Mom, Dad to have time for Dad, Mom and Dad to have time for Mom and Dad. And it is healthy for the kids to see this, and recognize this.
And I did enjoy my time tonight. I'm glad I got to celebrate a birthday with a friend, even if (or especially if) I don't get to see her, hardly ever. And I'm glad I got to watch the game with my friends.
But it's one thing to say the words, and another thing to fully feel them. Tonight was great, but it wasn't perfect. Perfect would have been a five minute visit to Niko. "What a game, hey, buddy!! The Spartans got it done. What was your favorite part of the game? Who do you think the Player of the Game should have been?" And then I tuck him in, and kiss him goodnight, and transport myself back to Joes.
Impossible, I know. I sense many such situations in the future...
To Niko and Orlando, Wiley and Jeremy, Fernando y Emily, Anastasia y Asma, and of course Sonia, and all those who ride along with me in this life....
Everybody's life is crazy; I realize that. It's part of what makes these years magical. Two little kids, two full time jobs, two steps forward and one step back. I'm doing good just to go through a week and not have any cars stolen. My parents did it; their parents did it; and my boys will do it (should any woman, of course, accept them). Life.
*****
So. Weekends, especially since soccer season ended in October, have become a sacrosanct time in our household. We get caught up on eating, cleaning. And another wonderful development this fall: my boys have fallen in love with college football. Over the last few weeks, a routine has set up on Saturday mornings. The kids get up early (goddamn, do they get up early!) and play NCAA Football in preparation. If I'm on my game, I get to the gym before we settle in. 11:00 games, 2:30 games, 6:00 games, 7:00 games, 9:00 games, 10:30 games. Sonia gets fed up but she doesn't object to the bonding.
Niko hast taken an especially strong interest in the football endeavors of the University (if you can call it that) of Alabama. You see, Alabama is rated number 1 in the video game and Niko knows every single player on the team. He has learned to create himself as a player and plays several different positions. We hear ALL about EVERY game; every catch; every throw; every rush; every tackle. And we always find out who the Player of the Game is; he's especially thrilled if it's Niko Plum.The boy is in love.
Last week we settled in at 2:30 for the Iron Bowl. Auburn-Alabama. Number 4 vs. Number 1. Winner quite possible goes to the National Championship. I, of course, want Alabama to lose with every single bone in my body but don't want Niko to know this. The game is a wild one, with the wildest possible finish: Alabama goes for a last second field goal that would win the game. It's short. Auburn fields the kick, and returns it 108 yards for a touchdown with no time on the clock. Game over. I'm jubilant but can't express that in front of my child. So I rave about the play itself, the absolute craziness of it all. Niko watched the replays, forlorn. Five or ten minutes passed. Then he walked into the red room, not saying a word, found his mom, and began to cry.
*****
As special as all this has been to me, I have had a yearning for several weeks that, due to my caretaker responsibilities, has gone unfulfilled. Tradition dictates that I spend a few Saturdays each fall watching the game out with some buddies. Usually it's the Hawkeyes but not always; it doesn't particularly matter. It's the custom, the act of going out and having five games happen around you, the bullshitting about football and life. This weekend, Sonia finally said she felt good enough to have the boys, and me and the boys went out. Iowa's done, but there were several conference championships running, and plenty to see on TV: the last weekend of the college football dance. We ate, we talked about nothing. My God, did it feel good!!
As luck would have it, I ran into a friend of mine who said they were also getting together at another establishment, to celebrate the birthday of an ex-colleague of mine in the Department of Spanish. So, me and the guys moved our football watching to that bar, where I had the chance to reconnect with several friends from the Department WHILE watching football. Heaven, I tell you. It is a special feeling when you see these people, and they all miss you, and in some ways you feel light years removed but at the same time I feel like I could head straight back and draw syntactic trees until I became dizzy. In particular, I enjoyed the opportunity to talk with my friend celebrating her birthday; one of those people you're very close to and then POP, you change lives, and that's that. At least we agreed to get coffee in the near future...
In short, I needed tonight to remind me that I can still watch the ballgame, toss around the bullshit. I don't know if it's trying to "relive the glory days"; I'm not sure how glorious football games and Joes Place are, anyway. But I'm at that age where people do that, I suppose, and it's important.
*****
Around 10:30 tonight, I had a little time to myself, and I remarked to myself how late it was getting, while my college friends began to plan their next bar. They would be dancing. I would most definitely not be.
Around that time, Michigan State began to pull away from the Buckeyes in the Big Ten Championship. I remarked on this to my buddies and then realized I still needed to talk to someone else about it. But he was at home, in bed, sleeping. And I had that moment that I've had before, but somehow more acutely this time, the moment that all parents have from time to time, when suddenly that trip out to get your own space is interfering with something bigger, where YOUR space doesn't seem as important as OUR space.
*****
I've sworn up and down and back up again that I will never play that game, that guilt game that so many American parents seem to be plagued by, that absolute fear that any time devoted to themselves is somehow child-raising blasphemy, I know it is absolutely 100% healthy for Mom to have time for Mom, Dad to have time for Dad, Mom and Dad to have time for Mom and Dad. And it is healthy for the kids to see this, and recognize this.
And I did enjoy my time tonight. I'm glad I got to celebrate a birthday with a friend, even if (or especially if) I don't get to see her, hardly ever. And I'm glad I got to watch the game with my friends.
But it's one thing to say the words, and another thing to fully feel them. Tonight was great, but it wasn't perfect. Perfect would have been a five minute visit to Niko. "What a game, hey, buddy!! The Spartans got it done. What was your favorite part of the game? Who do you think the Player of the Game should have been?" And then I tuck him in, and kiss him goodnight, and transport myself back to Joes.
Impossible, I know. I sense many such situations in the future...
To Niko and Orlando, Wiley and Jeremy, Fernando y Emily, Anastasia y Asma, and of course Sonia, and all those who ride along with me in this life....
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