Month: February 2015

Start with trying too hard.

It is my experience that students are often like feral cats. They are used to doing things their own way and independently, so when you try to cage them into a way of thinking, acting, and working that is foreign to them the result is often catastrophic. Establishing simple, easy to follow rules and developing a rapport is the teaching equivalent of leaving that bowl of milk out in front of the door every night. They’ll come around and start to appreciate what you’re serving up.

Of course, things can be complicated if it was never your class to begin with. Following that (soon to be convoluted) metaphor of the milk, the cat also gets used to the owner of the bowl and learns to expect that person. When you are not that person–say when someone else is suddenly there and the person you’ve come accustomed to expecting is not–then it restarts that long trust courtship. If you truly seek failure you ought to also appear as infrequently and on a irregular schedule as possible. Show up 10 minutes early one day, on time the next two, late one day, and not at all a couple of times. See what happens then.

All of this is reflective of my true experience this semester. I came in with the highest of hopes and life decided to kick me in the balls. Between divorce, sick and misbehaving kids, traffic accidents, and a slew of unexpected (and unintended) responsibilities I’ve been a shadow of the person I intended to be. I’ll slog through, of course. I am nothing if not a fighter. However, this represents a missed opportunity that could have lasting damage both in terms of reputation and more than a few relationships.

Every action has consequences.

Some Thoughts:

1. I’m still in the ‘slogging through’ phase of things, though I am at the point where I can glimpse that light somewhere far down the tunnel. Things are less than perfect, but that is nothing new. What is new is the excitement I feel when I think about how much I am learning from all of this and how the woes of the semester will, eventually, settle on me in a way that hardens me into a better person.
2. Wrestling is still simple and juvenile and poorly scripted. I’ve been watching with the boys and see echoes of McMahon’s early 80’s wrestling plot lines and clearly drawn good vs. Evil facades.
3. The eldest started tackle football. More on that this waiver wednesday…

I finally recognized the rhythm to the Walking Dead. If you watch the half-seasons back to back you can spot a cadence all the way down to the music. The show comes at you in waves. One season is punched drunk with action and happenings while the next focuses on the internal actions and emotional suffering of the people involved. The first half of the new season was all about action and mystery and now we are in that pregnant pause where the characters have a chance to recognize their actions and losses. I do wonder if life models art in that sense. It can be hard for us all to take time from our busy lives in to reflect and consider the impact of our actions. However, while it is important, it makes for bad TV.

The Walking Dead has not lost its luster. It is the kind of show that rewards you for waiting through the slow parts, and if the last preview is any indication, this slow season is building towards something quite a bit more epic than finding out the little girl you were hunting all season is—I’m going to let those who haven’t started figure that stuff out on their own.

In the wake of Comic Con lite (the big one happens in a few months). I know that my kids are more interested in the spectacle and merchandizing than in the comic books themselves. I don’t think we touched a comic or spoke to an artist. In fact, I watched one of the boys walk past Rob Liefeld and even after I pointed him out there was this sense of ‘and..?’ that was repeated with even more disdain when I pointed out the actual Power Rangers.

These dudes just wanted to see sick costumes and wreck some randoms on Super Smash Bros. I cannot be mad at that. After being talked into a set of Batman throwing stars I recognize that I’m not too far off from that myself. I did at least collect the business cards of the costumers and snap some sweet photos to inspire the summer (and halloween) costume.

I’m going for an original merc look. I’ve been checking out harnesses and BB guns galore to go along with swords and a utility belt. I lack the hard armor seen on so many cosplayers, but that hard armor never quite works for their physiques.

I’m rambling here, so I’ll stop. Here’s what I learned: Comic Con is a place where people go to pretend to be someone else and in doing so slip even more into their own skin. Here you can dress in skimpy clothes, or full battle armor, or as a straight up Brony and the only judgement you will receive is on how well you manage to get fully into the representation of character that is actually a representation of you.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. I’m writing this now because I am fabulously frustrated with my writing. The project I’ve been working on has been a nightmare–not so much because of the content of the work but because of the content of my life and how that affects my work. Some days are good and I can write. Some days are sad and I cannot.

 

Change came when I turned to a coach I know from another team and said, “Tell me what I’m missing.” His answer spoke volumes. He came over and sat with us during the game and talked about some options we could try in order to max out the skills our small players have. It worked. Over the course of the game w merged what we’ve been trying to do with his offensive ideas and it was magic. We were sustaining drives, we were confident in our approaches, and we were distributing the ball. Everything clicked on both sides of the ball and the 10-12 Broncos went on to put up their first win of the season.

Here’s what I realized: I don’t know everything about the age group and I need to remove linear thinking from the equation entirely. This group is about confusion and taking advantage of groupthink–not creating individual match ups. It is about building momentum and frustration in order to create easy opportunities for a few yards. We can’t win by chucking the ball downfield. We bring death by 1,000 needles.

As for the 8-9 and 6-7 teams: Domination. My mid-kid really stepped up and had a great game and the kids all played well together. The littlest Talislegger didn’t have his best game but the kids played well as a team and were able to really turn it on in the second half on the way to a victory against a team (and coach) that complained so much that it made the game not fun.

Afterwards we all went out for snacks and hung out. It was a good day and a series of very good moments.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. Real good chance I dropped the ball on tackle this year–trying to get a hold of coaches, etc. Hasn’t been the greatest experience so far. Lets hope the Monday night practice goes better–or happens at all at this point.

My reflection yesterday dovetailed into a pretty awesome coincidence: Comic Con AZ is happening this weekend. As a kid I always wanted to go to a comic convention. I didn’t have the kind of parents that supported that sort of behavior. I was however allowed to read comics and even wrote a few in my time. Lately, at night when I slip in the kids’ room to see if they’re actually asleep, I’ve been finding comic books strewn all over the ground. They got around to checking out my stash and apparently liked what they saw. Sunday is kid’s day at the convention, which is an awesome opportunity to show them a con…. or is it?

Tonight I had a surprisingly deep conversation with my boys on the way home from football practice. The topic of Dad’s and sports came up and we talked about how sometimes parents try to get their kids to really focus and excel at a specific sport because they themselves wanted to play it, or failed it, or want to create a legacy, etc. My eldest asked me what sport I was trying to get him to play for that reason and I thought about my dad and my failure to be a basketball player and said, “Basketball”. My son shrugged and said, “That one’s okay.” I thought about it for a second and told him he should never play a sport or do a job to please me. The three boys all responded, “then can we all be pro wrestlers?!”

I love their innocence and jubilance and will for individuality. I worry that I am trying to make them tiny versions of me. They play football, they play video games, and they’re about a year away from straight up RPG action. I don’t want them to be me, but I want them to know me and know what I lived and loved and experienced. I’m taking them Sunday, but I’m letting them decide what they want to see.

Between sessions today I got some time to think about what it means to be in the moment and apart from it. My thinking started earlier in the day when I was talking to some students about metacognition and the importance of finding time to self-reflect. Personally I rarely have the time to do that. Much of my daily energy is spent trying to accomplish goals and what I have left is largely devoted to the bottomless pools of need and excitement called kids. None of this is bad. It is typical of the people I know. We each spend ourselves in daily pursuits and never have the time to step back and consider those pursuits or what it could look like to actually change or improve aspects of our lives outside of the traditional ‘make more to be more’ state of change. I am blessed with a moment to step back today. The kids are handled, and far far away. The trappings of my daily existence are removed, so I am forced to break routine and think about the routine itself.

 

Among the things I intuited from this experience is that routine itself can be a damaging thing. There is a monotony in doing the same things day in and day out, especially if those things that are being done are fiercely mundane. Wake up, brush teeth, eat breakfast, go to video games, watch kids play, go to school… it goes on and on. I think a lesson that I can take from this is that I have the power to break the routine and through that inject some sense of wonder into their day to day lives. This is all part of learning to be a father—the remembering that the way you lived and the way you want to live and act and be and draw up routines isn’t necessarily right or wrong or even what your kids need. In fact, what I think my three need is that daily moment of recognition that life can be what they chose it to be for themselves.

 

That just sounds fantastic.

On the day that I show blue eye/brown eye to my sociology students I learn about a possible hate crime triple murder near Chapel Hill. The victims were all Muslim and the alleged killer alledgly posted this to the victims: “When it comes to insults, your religion started this, not me. If your religion kept its big mouth shut, so would I.”

It echoed my class conversation where we talked about the power of symbols and how a symbol has different meanings for different viewers. To some Muslim means 9/11 and the connection to terrorism. It has a different meaning to different groups. For some it is a symbol of peace and forgiveness.

I think that dance between what it means to them and what it means to you is an important dichotomy that replays itself in everything symbolic. For example, 50 Shades of Gray represents excitement and sexual freedom for some. To me 50 Shades of Gray represents (symbolizes) trendiness and the very real between cultural understanding and commercial consumption.

That’s all I have to say about that.

I’ve come around to doing these either when I just wake up or in the moments before I begin my writing in earnest. It is an opportunity to get myself in that headspace to create or to pull on those raw emotions that make the writing worthwhile. I’ve been nothing but emotion lately, and I’ve been quick to understand who and where the people are who will stand by me and those whose acquaintance is far more casual. This too is a hard lesson, as I am someone who gives of my heart freely.

My one question to myself is: how will my experiences over the past year change the way I share myself with others? It is too soon to answer that particular question. One I have better knowledge of now is, what are my limitations? Lately I’ve been pushing up against the wall and hard pressed to do what is needed in the time frame and quality I am capable of. I’m trying and working and struggling to find the proper headspace. Sometimes I come to it and sometimes I don’t.

Here’s one thing I’ve learned through all this: I deserve to be happy. I’m not the guy who sits around like a wart on the world’s ass. I’m the guy who tries to help the people around him be better. I’m the guy who loves his kids and his friends and will do anything to help a friend. So, forgive me for being a bit angry and a bit tired of sustaining this disappointment. I’m ready to make something better.

I’m not really used to stress being a thing I worry about. I get stressed as much as the next guy, but I have a tolerance for such things that comes in part from living in NYC and in sum from living with mother. Still, the events of the past year really have tested my tolerance for stress and definitely affected my taste for it. Wanna Get Away? I do wish those commercials would come back. As I find myself in the oft familiar position of doing far too much for far too little capital I am left to wonder if this is how it is going to be. I keep returning to that pivotal question I first heard in a movie As Good As it Gets back in the Paleozoic era of 1997, “What if this is as good as it gets?”

To quote one friend in my life, ‘Then it isn’t worth it.’ I keep believing and striving for things to be better—in my daily life, in my personal life, in my teaching life, in my writing life—often falling into the rhythms of old Melvin Udall who said, “So never, NEVER interrupt me, okay? Not if there’s a fire. Not even if you hear the sound of a thud from my home, and one week later, there’s a smell coming from there that can only be a decaying human body, and you have to hold a hanky to your face because the stench is so thick that you think you’re gonna faint – even then, don’t come knocking.”

I don’t want to become myopic or nearsighted or forget the amazing things in life that there are to enjoy or to miss a sunset or to miss my kids laughing or to forget what they heck I’m doing this all for. I don’t want to be the guy who leaves too soon and missed all the good stuff or the guy who did so little that he never let his best stuff bubble to the surface. I don’t want to be the guy who could have been great or the one who buried his head in the sand or let the work control his life or let his life control the work.

I want to be the balanced one. The one who believes. The one who comes out on top and knows that life isn’t zero sum but the sum of all things that you do and you don’t do and that were done to you. That guy isn’t angry or sad that he screwed up; he sees it as a moment of growth, a twist down the road or into and alley and back out again. That guy oozes ‘life is beautiful’ and deals with the bad stuff as he does the good. That guy isn’t real. But he’s in everyone I know—bits and pieces scattered across a sea of upturned faces all looking for a better tomorrow. Only, the forecast calls for rain.

Turns out I’m really just sick.

I thought I was overtired from the stress and heat and lack of sleep, but it is all those things and more. I’m unwell. This is yet another sign that I need to take better care of myself. Going to the Spartan Race today was another sign as well. Rarely in AZ have I been in the presence of so many fit people in such a small space. I’m more used to the Walmart crowd. I loiter near the snack aisles and drift, debris like, along the pastry stations. I ought to spend more time near cross fit studios or at least the local gym. I ought to use the  kids’ practices for something more than mastering my whistle skills. In short, I need to join the cult of Aroo!

The sound is a war cry from the start of a Spartan Race. The adults do it. The kids do it better. In fact I watched my 3 boys rip through a mile and half mile Spartan courses in muddy succession all the while showing true grit and desire to compete and be fit. Yeah, I had that as a kid and even in college for a while, but I fell in love with Lemon bread and the rest is history… or high cholesterol.

It takes a certain breed of human to remain fit for that long and a few can do such a thing in isolation. In many ways it requires a cult to continue being physically active after the age of ‘I don’t give a shit’. That age varies but tends to erupt soon after the age of ‘I have a career where I sit down a lot’. So maybe it is time for me to join a cult, or support system, or whatever. I know my job has one. They are quite nice and fit and helpful. I ought to do something. 85% body fat (give or take a few percent) is no good for anyone.