Let me be the first to say it: As years go, 2010 was Bingo Night at the retirement home lame. It was like the Millard Fillmore of years. It was like lumpy, tepid oatmeal, with no brown sugar or cinnamon. It was like playing Crazy Eights with your parents on Friday night. In fact, it was so uneventful, I couldn’t even come up with a Top Ten list for it. Seriously, I got to like four and just gave up.
Admittedly, there were a few highlights sprinkled throughout the year. Lady Gaga set a new record for video views, an honor previously held by that Numa Numa guy. Companies learned that if you slap the word “green” on any product people will pay two and a half times as much for it. And, there were only about seven vampire-themed movies released this year - one of which was a spoof of vampire-themed movies. So, there’s that.
But overall, relatively speaking, 2010 was pretty much a snooze-fest.
2010 was no 1969, or 1945, and 2010 couldn’t hold a candle to 1988. Or 1993. I was there in ‘93, I remember ‘93, and 2010 was no 1993.
Census figures were released in December, and the quote, unquote big news was the so-called “red shift” - that is, people moving from traditionally Democratic states to ones which tend to vote Republican. Whoop-de-do. They also revealed that only one American in seven knows their state’s two-letter postal designation (and three out of five thought Michigan’s was MN).
In science news, someone apparently discovered the “shocking truth” about something called the Acai berry. On the technology front, the most popular smart phone app for 2010 is one which makes flatulence sounds, and in pop culture news, there seems to be some unspoken agreement that all “tweener” instant celebrities must go to rehab at least once before they turn 17. Ho. Hum.
Twenty-ten, as it was clumsily labeled, was about as lukewarm and humdrum as it gets. It was so pathetic that an estimated 18.500 people actually died from sheer boredom. It was a fatally soporific year. It was like sugar-free gelatin and vanilla wafers. Like Fraiser re-runs. Like the Detroit Lions.
Yep, in the annals of incredibly tiresome years, I predict 2010 will be tucked in there between 1976 and either 2003 or 1954. But, what’s done is done. So, bring on 2011, I say!
And let’s turn out the lights on this denim jacket wearing, minivan driving, PTA meeting of a year.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Letter to My Sons (and Daughter)
With apologies to those who have much more eloquently poured out their hearts to their children in books and poems and letters over the years, I humbly submit my letter to my sons and daughter. Such as it is:
Time has stolen many memories, but some linger. That of a child parading through the house in Daddy’s boots and hat. Another, in full military garb, guarding the back yard perimeter; still another, dutifully putting his Matchbox cars away or carefully writing down his “Blue‘s Clues“. The birthdays and other special occasions are foggy, and for that - that I can no longer retrieve those memories at will - I am truly sad. Rather it is the everyday moments I still recall glimpses of, and not all of those pleasant. The look of disappointment when I was too tired to play catch, or too busy to look over your math homework. The resignation in your voice when I had another call coming in that I had to take.
I knew the day would come when you would figure out I wasn’t Superman (or the Incredible Hulk, or the handsome prince, or Johnny Cash). At some point, you saw that I was flawed and vulnerable. I dreaded that moment when I was younger; now I find it liberating.
I know I’ll never be nominated for Father of the Year - it was never my goal. My intention, rather, was to instill in you some of what’s in me; some of that imparted to me in love, more learned along the way, occasionally at a horrific price.
And so, while I have no silver or gold, or deeds or titles to pass along to you, I give you this, such as it is:
As you grow older, you’ll learn that the most important things in life are not how much money you make, or how many friends you have, or how big your house is. It’s whether or not you can look yourself in the mirror every morning, without turning away in shame.
It’s knowing that you can - and should - put other people’s happiness ahead of your own, and expect nothing in return. It’s knowing that - in the end - we have but two choices in life: To be hard-hearted or broken hearted. And knowing that hearts can be broken again, and again, and again. It’s forgiving yourself for being human, and fallible. It’s realizing that nothing lasts forever, save for the recording of our deeds in the memories of those we hold dear.
You’ll learn that happiness really is a choice, and that misery and self-pity will age you prematurely, and alienate those around you. You’ll learn that it’s okay to cry, and - okay if you don’t.
You’ll question yourself. You’ll wonder if you’re on the right path; if the price is too high, or the alternative too dreadful. Like me, you’ll wonder where we came from - and where we’re going. You’ll doubt yourself, and you’ll marvel at the injustice and coldness and inhumanity you’ll encounter along your journey, but also in the warmth and beauty and heroism and unfathomable love. In times of tragedy or dire need, you’ll surprise yourself by what you’re capable of.
You’ll tuck your own children in, and tip-toeing away, be haunted by thoughts of things you meant to do for them that day. And, in those moments, you will feel very small. And you will silently vow to do better.
You’ll look back in anger, and forward in determination. You’ll live, you’ll laugh, you’ll love, and one day - as must we all - you’ll die.
But know this: None of you have ever shed a tear that I wasn’t aware of, or ever felt pain that I didn’t feel. And - as long as there is breath in me - you will never take a breath without my love.
Such as it is.
Time has stolen many memories, but some linger. That of a child parading through the house in Daddy’s boots and hat. Another, in full military garb, guarding the back yard perimeter; still another, dutifully putting his Matchbox cars away or carefully writing down his “Blue‘s Clues“. The birthdays and other special occasions are foggy, and for that - that I can no longer retrieve those memories at will - I am truly sad. Rather it is the everyday moments I still recall glimpses of, and not all of those pleasant. The look of disappointment when I was too tired to play catch, or too busy to look over your math homework. The resignation in your voice when I had another call coming in that I had to take.
I knew the day would come when you would figure out I wasn’t Superman (or the Incredible Hulk, or the handsome prince, or Johnny Cash). At some point, you saw that I was flawed and vulnerable. I dreaded that moment when I was younger; now I find it liberating.
I know I’ll never be nominated for Father of the Year - it was never my goal. My intention, rather, was to instill in you some of what’s in me; some of that imparted to me in love, more learned along the way, occasionally at a horrific price.
And so, while I have no silver or gold, or deeds or titles to pass along to you, I give you this, such as it is:
As you grow older, you’ll learn that the most important things in life are not how much money you make, or how many friends you have, or how big your house is. It’s whether or not you can look yourself in the mirror every morning, without turning away in shame.
It’s knowing that you can - and should - put other people’s happiness ahead of your own, and expect nothing in return. It’s knowing that - in the end - we have but two choices in life: To be hard-hearted or broken hearted. And knowing that hearts can be broken again, and again, and again. It’s forgiving yourself for being human, and fallible. It’s realizing that nothing lasts forever, save for the recording of our deeds in the memories of those we hold dear.
You’ll learn that happiness really is a choice, and that misery and self-pity will age you prematurely, and alienate those around you. You’ll learn that it’s okay to cry, and - okay if you don’t.
You’ll question yourself. You’ll wonder if you’re on the right path; if the price is too high, or the alternative too dreadful. Like me, you’ll wonder where we came from - and where we’re going. You’ll doubt yourself, and you’ll marvel at the injustice and coldness and inhumanity you’ll encounter along your journey, but also in the warmth and beauty and heroism and unfathomable love. In times of tragedy or dire need, you’ll surprise yourself by what you’re capable of.
You’ll tuck your own children in, and tip-toeing away, be haunted by thoughts of things you meant to do for them that day. And, in those moments, you will feel very small. And you will silently vow to do better.
You’ll look back in anger, and forward in determination. You’ll live, you’ll laugh, you’ll love, and one day - as must we all - you’ll die.
But know this: None of you have ever shed a tear that I wasn’t aware of, or ever felt pain that I didn’t feel. And - as long as there is breath in me - you will never take a breath without my love.
Such as it is.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Obama Challenges Kim Jong-il to Game of One-on-One Basketball
Washington, D.C. Citing a need to “calm tensions” and bring an end to the enmity between the two nations, President Obama today challenged North Korea’s reclusive leader to a game of “make it, take it, half-court, in-your-face roundball” as a way to settle their differences.
“Many of you are too young to remember”, the President said, resplendent in a Chicago Bulls “home” jersey, “but the U.S. and China achieved great strides using what was termed ping-pong diplomacy in the 1970‘s. My sincere hope is that we can repeat that success with North Korea - from the three-point line.”
While political pundits have questioned the fairness of such a competition, White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs reminded the media that the Stalinist dictator is something of a basketball buff himself, who often watches NBA action. “We would have preferred to sit down and discuss the many issues which impact our nations in a calm, rational manner”, Gibbs continued, “but the fact is, this guy is straight-up loopy”.
While there is no reliable data on the exact height of the militaristic Jong-il - who is never seen in public wearing less than two inch heels - estimates range from 5’ 4” to 5’ 7’’. At 6’1”, President Obama would have a considerable advantage.
“He should have thought of that before he lobbed all those shells onto that (South Korean) island”, the President and Commander-in-Chief of the most powerful military in the world said, crossing his arms and “posing” defiantly. “Any neutral court, anywhere in the world. Well, except maybe Afghanistan”.
“Not that it will make any difference (where the competition is held)” Obama continued, his arms outstretched and shaking his head, his handlers gingerly urging him away from the microphone, “that nut-job will be picking basketball out of his teeth for weeks. What I mean, I’m gonna school his [unintelligible]”.
While there has been no direct response to the challenge, the North’s official propaganda outlet KCNA today did accuse “the war-mongering imperialist empire” of mining Haeju harbor, plotting the violent overthrow of the DPRK, and rigging the Celtics - Sixers game, costing the diminutive despot $200.
“Many of you are too young to remember”, the President said, resplendent in a Chicago Bulls “home” jersey, “but the U.S. and China achieved great strides using what was termed ping-pong diplomacy in the 1970‘s. My sincere hope is that we can repeat that success with North Korea - from the three-point line.”
While political pundits have questioned the fairness of such a competition, White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs reminded the media that the Stalinist dictator is something of a basketball buff himself, who often watches NBA action. “We would have preferred to sit down and discuss the many issues which impact our nations in a calm, rational manner”, Gibbs continued, “but the fact is, this guy is straight-up loopy”.
While there is no reliable data on the exact height of the militaristic Jong-il - who is never seen in public wearing less than two inch heels - estimates range from 5’ 4” to 5’ 7’’. At 6’1”, President Obama would have a considerable advantage.
“He should have thought of that before he lobbed all those shells onto that (South Korean) island”, the President and Commander-in-Chief of the most powerful military in the world said, crossing his arms and “posing” defiantly. “Any neutral court, anywhere in the world. Well, except maybe Afghanistan”.
“Not that it will make any difference (where the competition is held)” Obama continued, his arms outstretched and shaking his head, his handlers gingerly urging him away from the microphone, “that nut-job will be picking basketball out of his teeth for weeks. What I mean, I’m gonna school his [unintelligible]”.
While there has been no direct response to the challenge, the North’s official propaganda outlet KCNA today did accuse “the war-mongering imperialist empire” of mining Haeju harbor, plotting the violent overthrow of the DPRK, and rigging the Celtics - Sixers game, costing the diminutive despot $200.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Fatalism (or, Swimming Against the Current)
As a child I ran across a Twilight Zone comic book. Among the stories was the tale of a man who was informed by a fortune teller that he would die on a certain date - we’ll say it was August 15th. Obviously traumatized, he wracked his brain to figure out a way to escape his destiny. Finally it hit him - he would charter a small aircraft, have it fly to the International Date Line, and fly right on the line (where it would be the 14th on one side, and the 16th on the other) for 24 hours, thereby cheating fate. As the journey neared it’s end, the man heard a thump from the front of the plane and went to investigate. The sound he heard was that of the plane being re-fueled, but in moving from the center of the plane he “crossed the line” onto the fateful day. You can guess how the story ends.
Technical inaccuracies aside (the International Date Line separates two calendar dates, not three), it was my first lesson in fatalism. Defined as a doctrine that all events are predetermined, that we really have no control over our destinies, I’d guess that most people don’t really believe in it. Or, say they don’t.
In observing those around us, however, you’d think some of us embrace the doctrine whole-heartedly. Take Nadine, for example. Her father left when she was a young child, and her Mother sank into a deep, alcohol-fueled depression. Nadine was left to envision a world where families stay together and love and harmony abounds, and vowed she would one day live in such a world. Fast-forward twenty years. Nadine, married at 19, sees her world slipping over the precipice, into the void of her youth. With a young child of her own, her marriage is crumbling and the future looks bleak. In spite of all efforts to the contrary, her fate is about to come full circle to that place she thought she’d left forever.
Or consider the case of Van, an over-achiever and honor roll student who became a VP at a prestigious marketing firm. With a very comfortable life, replete with family and friends and scads of money in the bank, Van was miserable. Throughout high school and college, his plan was to work his behind off until he could afford to retire, then spend his days surfing and his evenings hanging out at beachside calypso bars. But again, fate intervened. Van found that there was always another goal to attain, another check to write, another rung of the ladder to climb. Alas, Van has come to the sobering conclusion that he’ll never escape the prison he himself built, and resigns himself to his fate.
Could it be that fate is like a black hole, constantly drawing us in, but at an imperceptibly slow rate? A gravitational force perpetually pulling us away from our goals and dreams? Are we all just swimming against the current of some invisible energy form - some immutable karma?
Or, do we subconsciously sabotage our own best laid plans? Did Nadine see something in the darkness of her youth that was strangely inviting, even comforting? Did Van feel guilty, deeply ashamed for wanting what some would view as a frivolous, irresponsible existence? Are we all destined to fall prey to some strangely twisted, unspoken, self-fulfilling prophecy?
Like the airplane in the story, many of us crash and burn when we seem to hold so much promise. Those left to mourn us stand off to the side, wringing their hands, wondering what went wrong as we sleepwalk through our lives, numb with misery, and eventually self-destruct.
“It’s fate”, we say, as we resume our swim against that current.
Technical inaccuracies aside (the International Date Line separates two calendar dates, not three), it was my first lesson in fatalism. Defined as a doctrine that all events are predetermined, that we really have no control over our destinies, I’d guess that most people don’t really believe in it. Or, say they don’t.
In observing those around us, however, you’d think some of us embrace the doctrine whole-heartedly. Take Nadine, for example. Her father left when she was a young child, and her Mother sank into a deep, alcohol-fueled depression. Nadine was left to envision a world where families stay together and love and harmony abounds, and vowed she would one day live in such a world. Fast-forward twenty years. Nadine, married at 19, sees her world slipping over the precipice, into the void of her youth. With a young child of her own, her marriage is crumbling and the future looks bleak. In spite of all efforts to the contrary, her fate is about to come full circle to that place she thought she’d left forever.
Or consider the case of Van, an over-achiever and honor roll student who became a VP at a prestigious marketing firm. With a very comfortable life, replete with family and friends and scads of money in the bank, Van was miserable. Throughout high school and college, his plan was to work his behind off until he could afford to retire, then spend his days surfing and his evenings hanging out at beachside calypso bars. But again, fate intervened. Van found that there was always another goal to attain, another check to write, another rung of the ladder to climb. Alas, Van has come to the sobering conclusion that he’ll never escape the prison he himself built, and resigns himself to his fate.
Could it be that fate is like a black hole, constantly drawing us in, but at an imperceptibly slow rate? A gravitational force perpetually pulling us away from our goals and dreams? Are we all just swimming against the current of some invisible energy form - some immutable karma?
Or, do we subconsciously sabotage our own best laid plans? Did Nadine see something in the darkness of her youth that was strangely inviting, even comforting? Did Van feel guilty, deeply ashamed for wanting what some would view as a frivolous, irresponsible existence? Are we all destined to fall prey to some strangely twisted, unspoken, self-fulfilling prophecy?
Like the airplane in the story, many of us crash and burn when we seem to hold so much promise. Those left to mourn us stand off to the side, wringing their hands, wondering what went wrong as we sleepwalk through our lives, numb with misery, and eventually self-destruct.
“It’s fate”, we say, as we resume our swim against that current.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
