Grief and Fog and Learning

I have always been such a pragmatic person-- an Ecclesiastes 3 sort of adult, “there is a time to sow, a time to reap.” My uncle’s passing has shook so much of that off me. I find myself thinking those trite things that every person who talks about a sudden death of a loved one talks about. Just yesterday in the kitchen, while dipping my spoon into a jar of almond butter, his absence hit. “I can’t believe he isn’t here.” A thought repeated in my mind numerous times over the past two weeks, but still so stark and distinct-- a single tree against a pink dusk sky. This grief that I find myself treading through is unlike one I have known before. Have I grieved before? I have been sad. I’ve felt heartache; I have broken a heart. I’ve been aimless, unmotivated, and lost for words, but now in this moment of my life, this is grief.

It is a fog. It lifts. It returns. It is seen, but does not blind. It slows, but does not stop. It is cool against my skin, but leaves nothing lasting. It billows over me, then is carried away in the light breeze of my son’s laugh, the hand of my wife upon my back. It is just a different sadness than I have known. I have had family die before. Friends from high school, students I have taught--each distinct and awful in its own way, but this loss of my Uncle has been so profoundly different. It has been hard for me to know why though. I loved my uncle dearly; he was at our house often. I spent weeks at he and my aunt’s house in the summers; we took my children on day trips together. But he wasn’t my confidant, he wasn’t a second dad, he didn’t raise me. He was a sweet, beautiful uncle, fun, kind, and generous. The pain from his passing has been a deep wedge inside of me.

I have always dealt with emotional blows and disappointments quickly in my life. Although an idealist, I would not consider myself a dreamer. I know how life is. I understand the nature that often we don’t get what we want, that people will not be for us what we want them to be. But this I can not shake easily. The absence of his physical presence is a sombre fact of my life. I’ll be lying in bed with my daughter, reading her Calvin and Hobbs, saying prayers, singing something like “I don’t know why, the sky is so blue, I don’t know why, I’m so in love with you,” and she will simply ask, “Why can’t Uncle John come visit us from Heaven?” Or maybe she says, “Why did Uncle John’s heart have to get sick?” and there in that moment, the words choke, eyes well, and the grief is there: stares at me like some mangy dog on the sidewalk waiting to be fed. And, I do. I hold out my hand and give over the memories of this man and my children. Him walking her down our macadam street; the sun setting in front of them; her skipping and holding his hand. He on his back in our floor; knees pulled up, our son reclined against them, laughing as his fingers danced over the boy’s ribs. I know feeding the stray mutt only hastens his return, but what else is there to do?

At 36 years old, I am learning a new lesson. I have been given a puzzle to hold, examine, and I am finding new wrinkles, grooves, and etchings in the surface and layers of this grief that I had not noticed before. I know there will be more lessons to come. The thoughts sneak in about my parents, my wife, my kids. I pray prayers pleading with God to never let the inevitable happen, and lock those thoughts in a black box and heave it into a deep and dark river; let them float away. My son grabs my cap off my head; places it sideways on his own, his laugh visits in a cool breeze against my mind. My daughter sits across from me, wearing my uncle’s Central Hardin ball cap she found in his truck. My wife laughs at something her dad says about country radio. We eat and we laugh. I rest in the sun, the light of this moment--the fog burnt away, waits for another day.

Still Shocked

My instant response to the shootings of Roanoke news anchor Alison Parker and her cameraman Adam Ward was one of complete shock. I sat there at my computer, mouth open, jaw dropped, mumbling an internal prayer for them and their families, wondering what had I just witnessed. Was it a random shooting of a live news report? Was it a heart broken ex? A vindictive former employee? Did it matter? Instantly, my mind went through images of my baby girl, my boy, my Mel. I wondered what family they had. How impossible it would be to give news like that to a loved one. But more than anything, simple, normal, shock at what had just happened.

I don’t know how I, or we as a culture, can still be shocked by things like this. Our news is inundated with stories about shootings, beatings, riots, and violence every day. There is an army of militant fundamentalists killing Christians and minorities in Syria everyday; black men (the innocent and guilty alike) are murdered on our streets; angry white men killing random police officers who only wanted to help them. I witnessed the Twin Towers fall on my tv. I remember the space shuttle explosions, and the images of American hostages hanging from raptors in Iran.

And yet, I, and we are still shocked at events like this. Hundreds of shootings every day, and yet somehow each individual one causes ripples and waves of emotion and reaction in our country. There is an undeniable and innate force within us that wants us to hope, believe in the goodness of each other, and yet, there is an obvious other force active in the world seeking to destroy that hope, that forgiveness, that ability to see through the black and the bleak and the broken, and leave us only to revel in the terrible realities that our world pools at our feet.

I often find myself staring at my kids when I think about events like this. My whole heart wrapped there in the preciousness of their faces, the joy and effervescence of their laughs. I wonder what their world will be like. Will it be worse than this? I even sometimes, when I walk to the edge of the deepest dark crags of my mind, wonder if I have done them a disservice by bringing them into all of this? Was I simply selfish wanting something to love as much as I love them and my Mel.

And yet here I am still shocked at what I watched on my Twitter feed today. My innate faith that ultimately the good will win over and defeat this world wins my own conscious over as well. I think of my kids, my school kids, the walk I took with my wife last night, the lake reflecting the dying light, a cool breeze at our backs, the fisherman’s line arching against the black silhouette of maples and pines. I think of these things and know that they are my reality. I think of these things and say thankful prayers that they are my reality, and that no matter what happens in this world, the goodness of these things, these people, that I have been given can not be turned black. It is almost more shocking how good the world can be in the face of all the shocking evil we see.

So, I will say more prayers for the families of all the world’s victims. My silent and hopeful flags raised into the prevailing winds of calamity and chaos, ever hopeful the one who brings light and hope will bring peace to these families and times. I will pray that I will forever be shocked by what evil is capable of, that my soul will never be deadened to the hope and goodness that does exist amidst everything else.

The Mindset of Summer

I teach high school. Essentially, I have been in school for 30 years between my own education and my education of others. My body has become very in tuned to the ebbs and flows of the school calendar. I think we teachers and students think in terms of our own calendar; a 9.5  month calendar with this 2.5 month nebulous region where time doesn't really count; as our bodies start sensing the signs that this season is coming (the stretch of shadows from maple trees across the evening yard; Instagram pictures of waxy red cherries atop fluffy whip cream and Sonic cups, the clang of 4 seam fastballs against metal bats) a small joy rises up inside of us-- unexplained smiles, a certain glint of the eye. Even my friends who work jobs on a normal calendar feel the imprint of the coming summer on their souls. Years of conditioning from growing up on the school calendar has allowed them too, to experience this early summer phenomenon: the slowing of time, the enjoying of an outdoor dinner, letting their kids stay up late and watch movies stacked like blocks on their living room floor.

 For those who can, and for those who allow themselves, there is just something special about the start of summer. There is a slow rhythm, a sway to the movement of life. We excuse unsolicited and unquestioned fun, "Oh, it's summer, it doesn't matter."  (In my mind this is how the Scandinavians live year round, with their long light days and short nights, except with more herring and waffles.) I've noticed that my neighbors wave to me more often than in fall or winter (maybe because they are outside more). I stress less about my kids sleep patterns; my own sleep patterns. I listen to more country music--the only time of year this really happens.  We visit all the places we think about visiting during the year: the zoo, Barnes and Noble, a train museum, relatives-- most of these things are less than an hour away, what stops us from going on a normal fall weekend?

There is just something about the summer, no matter your age or profession. It is as if the world puts its hand out-- palm up and out, straight in our face-- and commands us to slow down, to breathe deeply, live slowly for a few weeks and take in the good measure of our lives. I am thankful for that hand, these moments of time. But I ask myself, why I can't stay in that mindset throughout the year? My wife and I read an article the other day about "slow parenting": the purposeful slowing down of time you spend with your children, allowing them time to stop and look at things, to determine their schedule by the parent purposefully not scheduling things for them. Essentially, you let your kids be kids and take their time doing things which they naturally want to do. Isn't this just how people lived back in the day per say? There is no good answer. It's all on me, us, those of us who let anxiety creep in because we feel that we need to do X amount of work, to get X amount of sleep, to schedule X amount of activities so our kids will be smart and skinny and have impressive details to tell our friends. The best details might just be that we are happy. We spend time together--that Maeve got to feed cows at Poppy's farm, or that Cormac loves lying on the floor wrapped in his blue blankey and wallowing like a pig. Albert Camus was pretty well known philosopher in his time, and he said a lot of stuff I don't quite agree with and some stuff that I don't really understand at all, but I do know he was concerned about the effects of technology on society, and I do know that he asked himself these same questions about time and leisure and life, and the answer he provided is so true," In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer." We have the power to make our lives live at this pace. We have the power to make changes and still have enough money to live on, to still have time to teach our kids what they need to know to be well adjusted and successful. It doesn't all have to be done in a day. This will be the challenge for me, for us--to hold onto this lighthearted awareness of our lives when the schedules kick back in, and the sun sets earlier, and the light falls in different directions, but I think it is worth it. No matter the amount of what needs to be done, the mindset of summer can still be held in me. I am already on Wikipedia reading about Swedish culture, prepping the eternal summer in my heart.

Spring Is Actually Coming

Spring is coming. I know it's hard to believe. We just spent three weeks living like mole people, tunneling our ways to each other's homes and appointments. Snow days almost ruined the blue and gold dress rave, but thankfully we fought through to completely wreck the internet with it.  Already in my neighbor's yard, I saw tiny little purple crocuses popping up and some yellow daisies as well--the snow a tiny halo around their crowning heads. 

I can't help but think about new beginnings every spring and Linton season.  My parents have a cattle farm, and my dad has been out a lot of nights helping the new little calves to their feet and to their mommas as they staggered through all the snow.  I have friends buying puppies; my mom ordered some new chickens; you kids are getting "promosed" to every day, and girls are investing in their Cheetos skin  and sequined dresses as we speak. The fact is, we as people love spring. We love the idea of sun and a fresh start. Our grandmothers love the idea of spring cleaning, raising the windows and sweeping out all the dust and cobwebs of the long winter.  

And although its hokey, I think there is a lot of good ideas in that sentiment we as a people can learn from. We live in a society where the re-creation of ourselves is continually possible. Just look at the likes of Brittany Spears, Miley Cryrus, Darius Rucker, to name a few. All have re-created themselves in ways that have launched themselves to new and differing success. Of course, they are celebrities with lots of money and resources, and it would be easy to say that they can recreate themselves, but lowly peons like us can't.  

I would disagree with that. We have the power to be whatever type of person we choose to be, no matter what we have done in the past, or how we have been labeled by others, or how our actions have been perceived by others. Thankfully, we determine the life we live, and we determine our happiness. It is never too early or too late to start making the decisions about who we want to be, about how we want to be thought of, about what we want to put and project into this world.  

We all need to examine ourselves and decide what dirt and cobwebs we need to get rid of within ourselves or from our lives. This is hard--looking at ourselves and really looking through our motivations, our hurts, our bad qualities is difficult. Then trying to rid ourselves of them, is even worse. It means we have to be honest with ourselves. Who likes that?  I am speaking from experience when I say that being honest about oneself is not glamorous or easy. Thirty-five years into my life, I have started myself down my own path of making important changes in myself about how I act and what I value. I had to admit that I had hurt people and myself. I have had to think about my motivations, and why I do and act the way I do sometimes.  It isn't fun, but it is worthy work. 

No matter what you have done, or what you have been labeled, there is always time to change. Whether you have been deemed a "slut", a "jerk", a "snob": whether you are the guy that uses girls for their bodies and runs them over emotionally, whether you are the girl who calls all the other girls ugly and laughs at their clothes; whether your parents have broken you down into someone who doesn't believe they will ever accomplish anything-- no matter anything-- YOU get to determine how your life will turn out.  Spring is here--always a great time for fresh start. 

My Kids, My Gems, My Struggle

The world is going to beat up our kids. I have been trying to prepare myself for this realization--this fact for the past few months, but it isn't really something you can prepare yourself for. My daughter is 3 and half now. Although it is fun and amazing watching her age, get smarter, and become more well spoken, it is also hard. Along with her brain developing concepts with math and language, it is also helping her become more aware of the world, and unfortunately being aware of the world can and will be a hurtful thing. The world is going to beat up our kids, and unfortunately it is probably necessary.

Mel's beloved 99 year old grandmother passed away this week. She was a sweet woman, out spoken, and mischievous. Maeve had only been around her a few times in the past 3 years, but they were good visits, and she knew that Maw had fish at "her house" (the rehab and nursing facility where she lived.) We had a very short debate about what and whether to tell her of Maw's passing--that it was the reason Mama was sad. We told her. She asked a few questions, she pretended to be sad with her mama (which was kind), and then she went back to playing with her Palace Pets and building towers. She had heard about death before. Oscar the farm cat had died at my parent's farm last year. For a few months every visit with my parents started off with my little blonde haired cherub saying, "Oscar's died. He died, died, died." My mother would well up with tears; I would quickly launch into my "He's in heaven" rebuttal and we would move on. I always thought of myself as one of those parents that would force their kids to face the truth; grab their chin in my hand and forcefully turn their face to the sun. But I have found my heart not into it. I am that parent that quickly lets his mind scan the plot events of Brave before letting his kid watch. I am the one dashing past the news channels as to be sure no images can even quickly or imperceptibly crawl into her beautiful little mind. I find myself wondering what type of kids she will be around on the 3 year old soccer team I am going to coach; and, I, one who truly believes in the public school system I teach in, and know with authority that it has good schools that produces successful kids, find myself daydreaming and pricing the costs of a private education, lying to myself that kids in those schools will be nicer, more excepting, less judgmental. 

I was made fun of in school like everyone else. I was pudgy for parts of it. I had a weird voice compared to other guys in high school. I was considered smart, even though I really was just intuitive. I learned how to roll with the punches, deflect hurtful comments, find invisibility, stand up for myself occasionally. I went to funerals when I was young. My parents made me watch the news which made me smarter in some ways, even if it also made me painfully aware of the things that happened in the world. I know all of these things shaped me into the person I am, and eventually gave me the confidence that I could handle most any situation-- that I could recover, both emotionally and physically from life's events. BUT, I wasn't my own kid. Maeve and Cormac are mine, and like any parent (or really just aware person) knows we have a longing inside ourselves to protect them from any and everything no matter what. I will see an awful story on the news about a child being attacked in some dreadful way, and I find myself having the dark thought, " I would kill that person, if that had been my daughter or son." Our natural instinct is to protect, bubble wrap, disinfect, and neutralize--to with one little finger knock that kid down that pulls your daughters hair ( a double wrapped curl around one finger is clearly malicious). 

But we don't and we can't always do that. We have to let the world, the people and events in it, refine our children. Kids have to be taught how to deal with things through practice. We parents have to learn those same lessons. Our kids will get dumped. Our kids will get bullied. Our kids will be the bullies. Their hearts will break, harden, and learn to open up again. We will be learning all these lessons over again vicariously through them, wishing we could be the puppet master of our beautiful and precious marionettes.  I've tried to convince myself that life will be like one of those large gem polishers that the geologist put that ugly chunk of rock in and 20 minutes later a bright shiny emerald pops out. But we already have the bright shining emerald. They are given to us vibrant and flawless. I don't have a good metaphor for how life is to our kids. It's more like we have this precious gem that we try with all our might to hold onto and protect while a 1000 different people try to rob it and steal it. Thankfully, love is a great protector, and love covers a multitude of sins. So, I will choose to try and teach my beautiful kids to love the people in the world--to engage it and not be fearful of it. I will go against my base instincts to keep them locked up and removed and force them and myself to live fully, loudly, to love their Lord and believe that they are capable of even the craziest dreams. It won't be easy, but what's the point of having a beautiful gem if no one gets to know its beauty but me?

What is the Point? (Originally published in the Feb. addition of the Central Times)

What Is The Point? 

I am already preparing myself for the endless Tweets of loneliness and haters this Valentine's day. It is sort of the cool thing to do. Even for kids who don't really even care that they are single, they still find it fun to locate the most obscure single meme and post it on Twitter, or to falsely threaten to kill themselves or throw up when seeing little couple do the whole gift exchange in the hallways.  

Honestly, I find both sides, the Valentine's haters and the Valentine's embracers equally entertaining. What is hard for me to find entertaining is when I see you kids taking these youthful relationships and making them a chance to act out your (what only can be described as Univision telenovela inspired) melodramas.  The yelling, the crying, the angry texts, the huddled friend groups feigning support--how you come to class ready and desperate to share every single shred of gossip you can about your OWN relationship just loud enough for the whole class to hear. Coincidence? Or a need to feel as if you matter? I don't know. I do know that many of you all date simply because you can, and that many of you all date simply to have something to complain and talk about. For a young person, I really suppose this isn't too big of a deal, but a lot of times you young people don't leave things at simple melodramatics. Your need to feel important leads to rushing into physical intimacy. And I hear you kids talking, and mimicking this post-modern post Carrie Sex In the City junk; talking about "side chicks' and "f@#$boys" and "main hoes" and all I can really think is that even though their intentions are to sound mature, because they can talk the lingo and play the game of "love" well, they really sound immature.  Feelings and love aren't a game. The damage you do to yourself now and what you do to others now, has a lasting impact. We learn social habits, relationship habits at a young age. Many of you all are learning bad habits, and setting yourselves up for future drama, real money costing drama, like unplanned children, divorce, court dates, etc. 

If it were up to me, you kids would only go on chaperoned dates to a PG or lower rated movie. You girls would only be allowed to wear oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants with no makeup, and you guys would have to wear special glasses that only let you see your date from the neck up. But until my Erudite people rise up and take control of the government, this is not possible. So in the mean time, you kids need to keep in mind the point of dating at this age. It is to learn about yourself, your behaviors, your preferences, your weaknesses in a relationship, and to learn about others: what you need from a companion, what qualities are deal breakers for you, how to forgive… 

If you're dating because you are bored, or because you need to feel loved, or because you think it makes your life more exciting and gives you something to gossip about, then you may want to reconsider your motivations. If your relationship brings out the worst parts of you: the angry, hateful, distrusting, mean liar, then maybe cut your losses and take some time to figure yourself out.  Hopefully your relationship makes you want to be a better version of yourself. Hopefully it isn't drama prone; it is easy; it helps you learn how to work things out, practice mercy and kindness.  Hopefully it feels like a safe place to be yourself , while also being a safe place to be challenged for positive personal change.  

Your youth is practice for your adult life kids. I won't say it isn't real life and that you aren't in the real world. You are. You are in a more real world than I had to be in at your age. Take the time to practice good relationship and dating habits, just as you would practice good hygiene-- don't let your relationship be the body odor of your life.  

A Christmas Present to Yourself: Don't date that guy or girl

It's that time of year, where we all sit around thinking about the things we want and need under our Christmas trees and in our stockings this season. I myself would love to find a stocking full of Diet Cokes, Combos, and scratch off lottery tickets. Hopefully Santa comes through for me. Of course, I am going to stuff your kids stockings with the best idea for a present I could come up with. Give yourself the gift of not dating the wrong types of people.

Girls, don't date that guy. You know that guy that worries more about what his friends think, and about what his social media image looks like, than he does about you, or his grades, or his family. He's the guy who tries to use "squad" as a way of sounding hard. He takes 1000 selfies with the middle finger up in half of them, and he comments and likes other girl's pics, but acts like you're a moron for getting mad about it. If he acts differently around his friends, than he does when he is just around you--Merry Christmas--don't date him.

If he is mean to his mom--don't date him.

If he researches cough syrup and jolly ranchers on the internet--don't date him.

If he tells every girl he dates that he loves them--don't date him.

If he expects you to skip practices or family functions to hang out with him--Don't date him. (That one can apply to undatable girls too).

If he implies you need to be physical quickly, and that it is just because he cares about you--Don't date him.

If he asks for pics--don't date him. If he has asked other girls for pics, but you think he is different now--he isn't. Don't date him.

Don't worry guys, I haven't forgotten you either. As many versions of "that guy" that exists in the world, there are just as many of "that girl" out there too, and I am here to give you the gift of identifying that girl.

If while in the course of "talking" to her, she makes some other guy her #MCM or whatever you call it--don't date her.

If she posts pictures that tiptoes on the line of being inappropriate on her social media--don't date her, even if you do like the pics.

If she wants the attention of your friends, just as much as she wants your attention--don't date her.

If she talks in a higher pitched, slower way when she is around you, compared to her friends--don't date her.

If she lets you win at stuff, or if she acts like you are smarter than her when you aren't--don't date her.

If she expects you to pay for everything, even though you aren't dating yet--don't date her.

If she talks about other guys while on a date with you--take her home--date over.

Now having given you all these gifts of wisdom, I have to qualify these statements some. Obviously, everyone has a bad day, so one red flag in a field of green ones doesn't have to ruin anything. BUT, a red flag is a red flag, and once one is raised, it is important to think about the bigger picture. Is this a sign of something bad to come, or is it an isolated incident. Also, people who do these things aren't bad people, but just because someone isn't a bad person, doesn't mean they are a good choice to date either. You should be picky when it comes to dating. The patterns you establish now in relationships, will be the same patterns you often repeat through college and beyond. It is better to fix them now, then try and fix them later. So give yourself a gift this Christmas season and invest in your friendships and family. Be a "scrooge to love and dating". Wait for the right person to melt that ice cold heart and avoid all of those that girls and that guys out there in the world.