Love and Fear
August 8th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
The statement was so striking. The context? Not so much. I can’t remember where we were or even if I heard him say it. As my Father was formulating his parenting philosophy, he reckoned that he had to make a choice. As a father he could either be feared or loved, not both. Believing his two boys were in greater need of discipline than warm fuzzies, he chose to be feared. As far as I know, it was a conscious choice. And as one of two subjects upon whom this parenting philosophy was tried, I’d like the record to show, he did fine job adhering to his philosophy. He was feared alright. If the idea was to make me feel uneasy around him so as I don’t act the fool, then mission accomplished.
The execution was flawless. Where I think he got it wrong was in the formulating. The philosophy was and remains whack. I contend that fear and love are not always mutually exclusive; a choice does not have to be made. Now, if you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, … yeah, you, back there … you might be saying, “Wait a minute. Didn’t you write that fear is the enemy of love?” (Group Hug 4/30/2012) Yes I did. In almost every case, it is.
It’d be like if all mushrooms were poisonous except one. I’m making this up … indulge me a minute. So, let’s say only one variety is not poisonous. Why bother then with the one? What if that one was so good, and good for you? It prolonged your life – guaranteed. Magic mushrooms! (Alright, alright, that shroom joke funny. Haha) It’d be worth figuring out how to distinguish that one from the poisonous ones, that magic mushroom. But you’d have to be careful ’cause, like I said the rest are poisonous.
I think it’s the same with fear. All fear is toxic, save one. That one is tied in with love. It’s like awe, like admiration and respect. Instead of running and hiding, this fear draws you in. I might go as far as to say that love is incomplete without this one type of fear.
My Dad got it wrong. You don’t have to choose between love and fear. In fact, I say you mustn’t.
Peeing with Hugh
August 6th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
I peed next to Hugh Hefner. It was a few years ago. I walked up to the only open urinal at an LAX men’s room, and assumed the awkward lean. Whilst keeping the appropriate eye-level visual field, I caught in my periphery the diminutive figure to my right. A feeble old man slouched over some focused work. “That sure looks like Hugh Hefner,” I told myself. Double take. “That’s definitely Hugh Hefner.”
The Playboy himself. He was gray and disheveled. The brash purveyor of men’s fantasies in his clichéd silk robe, the pipe and slippers? Well, he was nowhere to be found. The dark, slicked hair was gone. Gone too was the “Can you believe how good I have it?” smirk. The old man was ashen, grim. And since he was there when I pulled up, and still there when I backed out, it appeared the plumbing had gone the way of everything else. The man who had not denied himself a thing his eyes desired, peered down at his limp spigot thinking, “What I’d give to take a good leak?”
Have you ever stood next to greatness? I have. But it wasn’t that day in that LAX men’s room peeing with Hugh.
If you don’t, someone else will
August 2nd, 2012 § Leave a Comment
“I’ve got to discipline my child. If I don’t, someone else will. And that someone will not love my child the way I do.” My wife
Marriage Mondays
July 30th, 2012 § 2 Comments
Strange Love
There was this co-ed sleepover. It was back in ’79 or thereabouts. I was nine, maybe ten. It was innocent enough. I can’t remember everyone in the room – my older brother, couple/three girls, I think. The oldest was maybe twelve. At some point that night, talking in our beds with the lights off, I confessed that I had a thing for one of those girls. Her name was Nancy. If I remember correctly, her response to my confession was less than reciprocal. Nancy screamed and dove under the covers. I should’ve known right then that love is a battlefield.
What is love anyway? For a nine year old kid, it was a strange feeling I had. For whatever reason, I liked this girl. I noticed her – wanted to be around her. And as I got older, the definition really didn’t change. Love more than anything was a wanting: To have someone. And the “better” she was the better off I was. If she wanted me too, then yeah, I must be somebody. Cheap Trick sings, “I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I’d love you to love me …” It’s the anthem of the co-dependent, infantile conception of love. It’s the one I confessed to Nancy back in ’79, the one I held into most of my adult life.
A couple years ago, I was sitting in Southern California traffic. I looked around at all the people sitting in their cars around me, and thought, “Everyone wants something … real bad. Everyone.” Then I thought, I live on a planet of 6 billion and change of people of wants. Most of us can hardly spare a moment from our pursuits to consider what another wants, what another needs. It’s no wonder that love is a battlefield. Hell, it’s a wonder that love exists at all.
I had mistaken this wanting as love for so long that love strikes me as strange. “Wait, you mean, love is surrendering my wants to give another what they want, what they need? This is love? I don’t know. Hmm … strange love, man. Strange.”
Fantasy Fridays
July 27th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
Tight Ends Continued
Something to consider here is in most leagues there’s only one spot for the tight end. Like Quarterbacks, Kickers, and D/ST, the one spot start has to factor into value on draft day. Conversely, Running Backs and Wide Receivers, if your league has a flex spot make up five spots on your starting line-up. If you have one solid TE, you’re good. Even with two solid RB/WRs, your screwed. Taking this one step further, a TE can only give one spot’s difference against an opponent. So, as you look across the aisle at your opponent and his Jimmy Graham, you can take some comfort in knowing Jimmy alone can only do so much. While even a marginal advantage at RB/WR just by virtue of the number of start spots can result in a 30 pt thrashing.
I’ve heard of leagues that start two QBs. If I’m in one of those, I’m drafting a QB number one. I’m not, so I won’t. Likewise, until I can start two TEs, I’m not drafting one early.
At the very top, there’s not much mystery. The Gronk will probably go number one. Jimmy Graham, number two. I think they’re the same guy, and actually I like Graham better because there’s no Hernandez in New Orleans. And then you got the second tier: Witten, Davis, Gates, Finley, Hernandez, Gonzo maybe. You’ll have to grab them fairly early, but you know what you’re getting. Since I’m planning on going bargain hunting at TE, here are some intriguing dudes.
1. Jacob Tamme – Comes over to Denver with Manning. Manning loves the TE. Have you heard of Dallas Clark? A converted WR, he’s faster, more agile, and has better hands than most TEs. Two seasons ago, when Clark went on IR with a wrist injury, Jacob Tamme was the no. 3 TE rest of the way. Wow! Right?
2. Dallas Clark – Curtis Painter. Okay, that’s all I gotta say. Now, Josh Freeman will be throwing him the ball. He’ll not rekindle the magic that was Manning to Clark, but I think he’ll be a great value in this year’s draft.
3. Greg Olson – Lots of hype around him last season because the Chudzinski. Who’s Chudzinski you ask? He is Carolina’s O Coordinator. He was the TEs Coach in San Diego. You know, Antonio Gates. Olson disappointed finishing 17th amongst TEs. Combine the scoring of Olson and Shockey, the other Carolina TE, you get the number 3 TE last season. Shockey is no longer in Carolina. Chudzinski? He’s still there.
Other intriguing deals: Celek (Phi), Davis (Wash), Cook (Tenn), Fleener (Indy), Kendricks (St Louis), Moeaki (KC)
It’s a Girl!
July 25th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
With our first two, we didn’t find out their gender. We wanted to be surprised. With our second, we got what we wanted. There are all kinds of “hokus pokus” theories on determining gender – day of conception, morning sickness patterns, the positioning of the baby, and so on. Everyone who had an opinion on my wife’s second pregnancy was convinced that this one too was going to be a boy. When people get excited and tell you what they think, especially when it’s something as whimsical as a guess on the gender of your wife’s pregnancy, you smile, you nod, and give the look, “Oh, that’s nice. Maybe you’re right.” But there was this lady. We were walking through an outdoor mall. My wife was about eight months pregnant. An older lady, Middle-Eastern, a shawl framing her wrinkled, sage-like face walked up to us. “Your baby. It’s a boy,” she said in an ancient accent, and walked away.
We were convinced. So, convinced that in the delivery room, upon hearing, “It’s a girl!” we looked at each other with the same expression: “What? It’s a girl?” I’ll never forget it. Literally, my wife’s first expression – the very moment she pushed our daughter out, her feet still in the stirrups – was, “What?” In fact, we weren’t even settled on a name. We had a boy’s name. It took us a couple days to choose between two girl names, neither of which we thought we’d use.
I had heard the thing about a girl, “There’s something about a girl.” It’s true. They unlock something reserved, deep inside a father. A girl somehow highlights the beauty and the precious fragility of a baby. And I don’t think it ever really goes away. She was beautiful. I remember the long fingers and toes, the fuzzy ears, head full of dark hair, a crooked scowl, and a single dimple on her lower right cheek. I remember holding her and wanting like I’d never wanted anything before to protect her from the world. She’s still beautiful.
Like all the rest, the old lady was wrong. Twelve years later, I can’t tell you how glad I am that she was.
Marriage Mondays
July 24th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
The Disappointment
I think the thing that gets you in the end is the disappointment.
Wants are often presentably disguised demands. What a husband wants, really what he demands of a wife? No way she “cleans and jerks” that kind of weight. She doesn’t know it at first, but eventually a day comes along when she realizes she’s standing on stage, holding her breath, violently quaking under the weight of your demands. Looking across at you, your unwilling hand hovering over the “approval buzzer”, she wonders “How the hell did this become an evaluation anyway?”
Listen, what you want, what you think you’re entitled to in a wife, no woman can lift. The whole she’s the ONE – the savior (I refer to this in the post, If you want to live, let go). The “You complete me …” mythology, that’s already a load. Heap on it fantasies spun by everyone from knuckleheads like Nicholas Sparks who pander “love” stories of forever young, beautiful people doing other worldly things for love, for amor to fools like Hugh Hefner who demean something as beautiful as sex down to a vice – using for pleasure. Then the weight is just impossible. Man, fantasy is heavy. But that’s not all; it’s plenty, but there’s more. The worst yet is comparison. And it’d be bad enough if the comparisons drawn were remotely fair; they’re not. In this day of unprecedented access to info, the line of women to which you compare her is endless: Photos, film, internet, Facebook, … everywhere. Population density. Google Earth. Real life has no chance against snapshots, vignettes, and hypotheticals. You end up with the law of probability saying, “Good chance you missed The One. There’s got to be somebody better.” Now, she’s done.
The disappointments I’ve experienced in my 14+ years of marriage have very little to do with my wife. She’s nobody’s disappointment. I came to this thing with a lifetime of inability to look squarely at what marriage was. Inability? Unwillingness? Probably both. Now, along with those, I deal with a good measure of reluctance. And not just marriage, but with what love is. Really, what life is.
Ah, to be able to look squarely. Then I’d remove the weights; I’d escort her off the stage. Then I’d live in the truth: “‘Disappointment?’ No. She’s the One.”
Fantasy Friday
July 20th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
Wide Receivers Continued
Alright, I’ve laid out my skepticism about taking a wide receiver early. Just gives me the heeby-jeebies, man. Last year, I took Vincent Jackson in the 2nd. I reasoned: “He’s playing for a contract – probably the last “pay day” of his career. Rivers loves to throw it down field. Big, fast. I need VJax to anchor my WR corps. He’s a lock.” Wrong. In fifteen games, he went double digit a meager five times. Seven of the ten in which he went single, he went sub 5. VJax was about as reliable as a T-Mobile connection through the Mojave Desert.
So, yeah, I might be sitting there at our draft forced to choose between Marshawn Lynch and Andre Johnson. And I might be compelled to take the Houston wide out, but I won’t be happy about it. I’ll walk away feeling my hand was forced. If you suffer from the same aversion to wide outs as I do, you’ll have to go looking for some bargains. The undervalued. Here are a few I like:
1. Stevie Johnson – Inked a new deal. Buffalo looking to make a move. And he’s a tough competitor. Last year, played the whole season with a pulled groin, and still managed solid games on his two trips to Revis Island.
2. Hakeem Nicks – Victor Cruz took some of the luster off Nicks. Still #1 option on a increasingly pass heavy offense. Huge mits; best red zone option.
3. Miles Austin – Injury plagued year. Still the same hard working, good route running WR on a team that likes to throw. Bryant means the safety can’t cheat.
4. DeSean Jackson – Nothing gets a secondary clinching butt cheeks like DeSean with the ball. Happily signed, he can have a monster year. Again, Maclin keeps safety honest.
5. Brandon Lloyd – I know, I know. After Ocho, can you really trust any WR in New England other than Toby Maguire? I do think he fits better than Chad, and somebody needs to be single covered, right?
6. Randy Moss – When Moss respects the head coach, he plays. Played for Belichick, think he plays for Harbaugh. I think. Don’t quote me on that.
7. Kenny Britt – Was going to put him higher, but as of this morning, he’s been busted for DUI. The dude can’t stay out of trouble.
Who doesn’t like a bargain? Yeah, there are some chips, and you can’t expect to get the exact color and style. But if it’s not the centerpiece of your team, it makes sense to take a clearance item home and see if it works. When it comes to shopping for wide receivers, I love a bargain.
Smile a little
July 19th, 2012 § 2 Comments
So, I thought, “A small step I can take toward laughing into the darkness is to smile a little.” Smile at my kids. You know, a child should grow up with their father smiling on them. Don’t you think? I decided when I see my kids, I’m going to smile. Really. When I see them in the morning, I smile when I say, “Good morning.” When I peak into their room to ask what they’re up to, I smile. At night, I send them off to bed with a smile. Don’t worry; it’s not that fake, forced smile – the frightening, conflicted face in which the eyes resist what the mouth is trying a little too hard to do. No, it’s a real smile. And if you try this I recommend you try to be genuine too.
If you do, I suspect you’ll experience an unexpected gift. Interestingly, as I told myself to smile at my kids, I was reminded that I am happy with them. Sure, it’s complicated. They worry me and often drive me crazy. These things – the worries, the challenges – they’re the darkness. A small part, yes. But a part none-the-less. And the darkness that tries and mostly succeeds in crushing us, it makes us forget all the good. And maybe that is when we begin to crumple, when we forget, when all we see is painted over by fear.
So, smile a little. Take a small step to demonstrate to your kids that you are happy with them. Abandoning yourself to tell them that they make you happy might end up reminding you, you’re happy after all.
Laugh into the Darkness
July 18th, 2012 § 5 Comments
I got my Dad to laugh once. It was the one and only time I got him to laugh. It was thrilling. So thrilling, that that moment is etched in my mind. We were driving somewhere close to my Uncle’s shop near Alvarado and 8th. A warm, sunny afternoon. It had to have been summer. We were headed west with the late afternoon sun flooding the car with that dreamy glow. My parents were talking about my Uncle’s new home which came with a built in sauna room. Both my Dad and his younger brother were slight of build. I commented from the backseat that if my Uncle spent any time in his sauna, he’d pass out. My Dad busted up – his face in a wrinkled scrunch. Bearing all his teeth, he did this rapid hissing laugh. The whole car: my Mom, my Bro, me, we all broke into laughter – the rest of us, I think more in wonder at my Father’s laugh than at my comment.
My Father seldom laughed. He rarely smiled. What’s so funny anyway? Like I mentioned in an earlier post Old Photo, by the time I came around, my Father had seen a few things. Life has a way of crushing a man. It doesn’t have to be particularly tragic. We all see loss, experience uncertainty, unmet expectations. It seems nothing of worth is gained without a fight. A struggle. And right when you’re trying to concentrate on the fight, there’s that background drone of meaninglessness. “Is this it?” Then there’s death. A couple years after that fleeting moment of sunlight, my Father went into surgery for kidney stones and came out with cancer. After beating him up for two years, that cancer killed him.
A couple years ago, one of my kids mimicked my expression. “This is Dad.” And did a serious scowl.
“Really, that’s how I look?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t smile much, huh?”
“No.” (All three of them in unison)
You know what I’ve wondered since? I have to overcome. It is a father’s job to laugh into the darkness. “Hah! That ain’t nothing. Let’s go kids. It’s going to be okay. And with a little work, it can really be beautiful.”
