My job requires me to travel. In fact, there have been times when I have felt like the George Clooney character (I had hoped that I may also resemble the megastar, but my wife laughed at that idea) in the movie, Up in the Air, spending more than my fair share of time in airports and hotels. While I have developed a system that has made travel as painless as possible, loading onto an airplane still poses challenges.
The first and most obvious challenge is that these trips create time and space away from my family. Now I could joke around and tell you that the traveling is a welcome reprieve from the challenges of family life, but the truth is I need a bumper sticker that says, “I’d rather be at home.” Every time I pack my luggage for another trip, it creates sadness in my heart. Although we have bought webcams and downloaded Skype (software that allows you to speak to a person over your computer, much like a telephone call, but with video) and I can see my family every day while I am traveling, it simply cannot replace the touch of a hug or a kiss on the cheek. I always miss my family when I am gone.
However, a less obvious challenge is simply dealing with my travel comfort. Let’s ignore the delays, the flight changes, the cancellations, and the hustling through terminals to reach my gate in time and let’s start with me. For those of you whom I have never met and may not be aware, I am not a small man. I am over 6 feet tall, I am over 200 pounds, and I have fairly broad shoulders. Now I have no idea who designed the seats in most airplanes, but I can tell you this, they did not have me in mind when they did. Finding my seat is always an exercise full of anxiety as I hope for the 98 lb. Olsen twin wannabe that will allow me some space and the ability to stretch my cramped legs. Unfortunately, in what I believe is a conspiracy by the airlines against those of us in the “plus size” category; I typically find a mirror image of me in the seat immediately adjacent to mine (big, bulky, and uncomfortably jammed into a seat too small for his XL frame). That moment when we lock eyes and we realize we are seat mates and we will be invading each other’s personal space for the next couple hours, you can literally feel the disappointment. To add salt to the wound, that 98 lb. Olsen twin wannabe I had hoped would be assigned to the seat next to me, will almost always sit in the seat directly in front of me, teasing me with what could have been.
Ultimately, we wiggle, squeeze and jam ourselves into the seats designed for someone half our size and use every means of technology and print media (magazines, newspapers, iPods, and even Sky-Mall Magazine) to help distract us from the fact that our elbows have declared war in an effort to gain control of the coveted, high-value real estate called the armrest. Despite my discomfort (and the ongoing elbow battle), the flight eventually takes off and my thoughts wander forward to my return home and time passes more quickly. When my flight lands on the return trip, nearly all of the challenges of travel disappear as I will soon be reconnected with my family. All I need now is for my luggage to arrive with me.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Marriage 101 - Class is now in session
My wife and I recently celebrated a benchmark in our marriage as another anniversary has passed. We have traditionally participated in activities that would celebrate this event, but this year we did more than that this year as we took a walk down memory lane and the lessons learned from those experiences.
So, I am sure you are asking yourselves, what have I learned? Well, the first thing I learned was that I eat cereal loudly. You may be wondering how, exactly, can a person eat cereal loudly? I don’t know, but apparently I do and it also seemed to annoy my wife to no end. I have made a concerted effort to improve the volume of my cereal consumption, but to no avail. Now I simply schedule my morning eating habits at times where my wife is in another room.
What else? I learned I would not have this column (or at least I’d have a lot less material). I believe it would be much more difficult to sell the idea of a bachelor having a weekly column journaling the ups and downs of family life. I also know that I would be missing so many moments that fill my heart with joy. The feeling that grows within you when someone says, “I do” on your wedding day is indescribable. As your family grows, the feeling of hearing your children say, “Daddy, I love you.” goes even further as you realize you have created a family, a family based on love and support.
But that is not all I have learned, my wife is an outstanding teacher from whom I have learned much; I learned that a duct tape wallet is not nearly as cool as I thought it was. I learned that some people like milk in their macaroni and cheese. I learned that some people get dizzy and headaches from watching the way I flip channels with the remote control. I learned my feet are not pretty (I think the term she uses is hideous, but I think that might be just a tad harsh). I learned that my daily time in the bathroom is excessively long. I learned that not everyone loves survival television shows. I learned that some people think it is strange to set the alarm clock on odd numbers only. I learned that blowing your nose in the shower is disgusting. I learned that I actually do snore (although I have seen no actual physical evidence of this alleged fact). And I have been ACCUSSED of not being a good listener, but my list of lessons learned above would suggest otherwise.
In summary, what have I learned from this relationship, this marriage? In spite of the aforementioned annoyances, I know my wife loves me “warts and all.” And all kidding aside, the most important thing I have learned, not only in my marriage, but in my life, is that when we have the right people surrounding us, whether they are friends, co-workers, family, or a spouse, we can become better people, inspired to reach new heights, challenged to think differently and from new perspectives, and to love something beyond ourselves. I learned that marriage can be a wonderful gift, as well as an incredible learning experience.
So, I am sure you are asking yourselves, what have I learned? Well, the first thing I learned was that I eat cereal loudly. You may be wondering how, exactly, can a person eat cereal loudly? I don’t know, but apparently I do and it also seemed to annoy my wife to no end. I have made a concerted effort to improve the volume of my cereal consumption, but to no avail. Now I simply schedule my morning eating habits at times where my wife is in another room.
What else? I learned I would not have this column (or at least I’d have a lot less material). I believe it would be much more difficult to sell the idea of a bachelor having a weekly column journaling the ups and downs of family life. I also know that I would be missing so many moments that fill my heart with joy. The feeling that grows within you when someone says, “I do” on your wedding day is indescribable. As your family grows, the feeling of hearing your children say, “Daddy, I love you.” goes even further as you realize you have created a family, a family based on love and support.
But that is not all I have learned, my wife is an outstanding teacher from whom I have learned much; I learned that a duct tape wallet is not nearly as cool as I thought it was. I learned that some people like milk in their macaroni and cheese. I learned that some people get dizzy and headaches from watching the way I flip channels with the remote control. I learned my feet are not pretty (I think the term she uses is hideous, but I think that might be just a tad harsh). I learned that my daily time in the bathroom is excessively long. I learned that not everyone loves survival television shows. I learned that some people think it is strange to set the alarm clock on odd numbers only. I learned that blowing your nose in the shower is disgusting. I learned that I actually do snore (although I have seen no actual physical evidence of this alleged fact). And I have been ACCUSSED of not being a good listener, but my list of lessons learned above would suggest otherwise.
In summary, what have I learned from this relationship, this marriage? In spite of the aforementioned annoyances, I know my wife loves me “warts and all.” And all kidding aside, the most important thing I have learned, not only in my marriage, but in my life, is that when we have the right people surrounding us, whether they are friends, co-workers, family, or a spouse, we can become better people, inspired to reach new heights, challenged to think differently and from new perspectives, and to love something beyond ourselves. I learned that marriage can be a wonderful gift, as well as an incredible learning experience.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wishing to be a journalist
I wish I was a journalist. In particular, I wish I was a political journalist, covering today's most important events. OR, I wish I was a sports journalist, they probably get great tickets to all the biggest events. OR, even better, I wish I was a Tour de France journalist, this is the event I would most want to cover.
Unfortunately, I cannot write. I do not have good grammer and I cannot spell worth a darn (thank you Spell Check), but if you've read this blog this far, you've probably figured this out already. My problem is this - I have a lot to say. I have so much to say in fact, that I can't get it out at home. I decided I should teach a law class as an adjunct instructor so that I had more talk time. Apparently that wasn't enough, so I found 3 more classes to teach over the course of year. Now I've got my normal "at home" talk time, as well as 4 college level course I am teaching (if you are interested in registering for any of these courses simple go to . . . who am I kidding, nobody wants that). I guess I needed more talk time, so I took on several public speaking engagements a year, speaking on topics ranging from school safety to bullying. To add to my talk time I recently was interviewed on a local talk radio show for a couple of hours. Again, that wasn't enough, so I sought out our local newspaper (The Cleveland Daily Banner) and started a weekly column (this week is my 164th week - wow, that seems like a lot). THAT wasn't enough so I started this blog (I started this primarily for my out of town fans, who can't read the Banner and want access to my weekly column - so I post my weekly column on here along with other thoughts).
Now you may have caught the fact that I used the term "fans", which is simply ridiculous and actually makes me laugh out loud (not the "lol" you see the kids texting, but a real belly busting, pee my pants, laugh out loud). So, before some of my friends call or text making fun of my new found ego growth, I don't believe I have fans, but I do believe what I write, sometimes hits a chord (hear is an example of my spelling problems - "chord" or "cord", spell check doesn't help here!) with some of the people who read this column/blog. Therefore, I will keep writing, teaching, public speaking, and blogging until you ask me to stop (or at least until MANY of you tell me the stop becuase I have emails begging to stop weekly, I just figure they are in the minority). However, since writing has become my access point to the largest audience, boy do I wish I was a journalist, if only I didn't have that darn grammer problem.
Unfortunately, I cannot write. I do not have good grammer and I cannot spell worth a darn (thank you Spell Check), but if you've read this blog this far, you've probably figured this out already. My problem is this - I have a lot to say. I have so much to say in fact, that I can't get it out at home. I decided I should teach a law class as an adjunct instructor so that I had more talk time. Apparently that wasn't enough, so I found 3 more classes to teach over the course of year. Now I've got my normal "at home" talk time, as well as 4 college level course I am teaching (if you are interested in registering for any of these courses simple go to . . . who am I kidding, nobody wants that). I guess I needed more talk time, so I took on several public speaking engagements a year, speaking on topics ranging from school safety to bullying. To add to my talk time I recently was interviewed on a local talk radio show for a couple of hours. Again, that wasn't enough, so I sought out our local newspaper (The Cleveland Daily Banner) and started a weekly column (this week is my 164th week - wow, that seems like a lot). THAT wasn't enough so I started this blog (I started this primarily for my out of town fans, who can't read the Banner and want access to my weekly column - so I post my weekly column on here along with other thoughts).
Now you may have caught the fact that I used the term "fans", which is simply ridiculous and actually makes me laugh out loud (not the "lol" you see the kids texting, but a real belly busting, pee my pants, laugh out loud). So, before some of my friends call or text making fun of my new found ego growth, I don't believe I have fans, but I do believe what I write, sometimes hits a chord (hear is an example of my spelling problems - "chord" or "cord", spell check doesn't help here!) with some of the people who read this column/blog. Therefore, I will keep writing, teaching, public speaking, and blogging until you ask me to stop (or at least until MANY of you tell me the stop becuase I have emails begging to stop weekly, I just figure they are in the minority). However, since writing has become my access point to the largest audience, boy do I wish I was a journalist, if only I didn't have that darn grammer problem.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Perfect Card for the Perfect Mother
Mothers’ Day recently passed and like any good husband I waited till the Saturday before to get her a card (in my defense, I also took her out to dinner, got her breakfast in bed, and made a concerted effort to commit my entire weekend to the family, but I digress). So, I walk into the living room to draft my son into assisting me in selecting a card at our local drug store. He is sitting on the couch with my wife so I of course smoothly slide into speaking into father/son code, "Son, I need some help running errands and moving stuff, wanna help?"
"No thanks daddy."
I obviously have not properly trained him in the father/son code, so I try again. "Seriously, son, I need your help."
"Thank you, but I'll stay here with mommy." Still not getting it.
"Son, I don't want to go alone."
Then comes the response of the day, "You won't be alone daddy, Jesus is with you."
Two things ran through my mind at this point. First, an incredible, overwhelming amount of pride in my son and his understanding of our Lord. My wife and I have worked hard to raise our children in a Christian home and this was one of the first indicators that he is applying these Christian principles to his life. However, after that moment of teary-eyed pride, the second point rushed into my mind, shoving the first point to the side . . . my son didn't want to go with me. Now I could do one of two things in this situation; 1) I can pout and run my errand alone, feeling sorry for myself the entire time; or 2) force him to come with me. I chose option #2.
This is where the adventure began. We arrived at the card aisle only for me to feel mildly overwhelmed with the choices (they have cards for EVERYTHING). However, my son knew what he wanted. He immediately went directly to a card with a bulldog's face with Cheetos in the position of its eyebrows and a mustache (two of his most favorite things, dogs and Cheetos). He said, "This is the one I want to get mommy." I opened the card to find it said, "It's your day, you can be as silly as you want - Happy Birthday!" I insisted we keep looking, giving him several choices of funny and meaningful Mothers' Day cards, but as you have probably already guessed, he insisted on buying the bulldog birthday card, so we bought it.
When we brought the card home, I had the children use their beautiful scribbled handwriting to sign it (which included a total lapse in my brain and resulted in me momentarily misspelling both children’s names . . . seriously) in crayon. When they gave it to my wife, her face lit up and she loved it, it didn’t matter that it was actually a birthday card, it was a card the children had picked out specifically for her. It was the perfect card for the perfect mother.
"No thanks daddy."
I obviously have not properly trained him in the father/son code, so I try again. "Seriously, son, I need your help."
"Thank you, but I'll stay here with mommy." Still not getting it.
"Son, I don't want to go alone."
Then comes the response of the day, "You won't be alone daddy, Jesus is with you."
Two things ran through my mind at this point. First, an incredible, overwhelming amount of pride in my son and his understanding of our Lord. My wife and I have worked hard to raise our children in a Christian home and this was one of the first indicators that he is applying these Christian principles to his life. However, after that moment of teary-eyed pride, the second point rushed into my mind, shoving the first point to the side . . . my son didn't want to go with me. Now I could do one of two things in this situation; 1) I can pout and run my errand alone, feeling sorry for myself the entire time; or 2) force him to come with me. I chose option #2.
This is where the adventure began. We arrived at the card aisle only for me to feel mildly overwhelmed with the choices (they have cards for EVERYTHING). However, my son knew what he wanted. He immediately went directly to a card with a bulldog's face with Cheetos in the position of its eyebrows and a mustache (two of his most favorite things, dogs and Cheetos). He said, "This is the one I want to get mommy." I opened the card to find it said, "It's your day, you can be as silly as you want - Happy Birthday!" I insisted we keep looking, giving him several choices of funny and meaningful Mothers' Day cards, but as you have probably already guessed, he insisted on buying the bulldog birthday card, so we bought it.
When we brought the card home, I had the children use their beautiful scribbled handwriting to sign it (which included a total lapse in my brain and resulted in me momentarily misspelling both children’s names . . . seriously) in crayon. When they gave it to my wife, her face lit up and she loved it, it didn’t matter that it was actually a birthday card, it was a card the children had picked out specifically for her. It was the perfect card for the perfect mother.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Using the Bike to Deliver the Message
I read an article in my local paper about a young woman, a professional mountain biker, Grace Ragland, who is using the bike in a similar fashion to our American hero Lance Armstrong. Now granted, Ragland has not reached the same heights that Tour de France Champion Lance has, but she has fought and been victorious in a similar, life-altering fight. You see, Ragland was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (commonly known as MS) in 1980, 30 years ago. At the time she was diagnosed, there were no medications to treat the symptoms of MS. It wasn't until 1998 that she was able to take medication to alleviate the symptoms.
Unfortunately, the side affects of the medications made it difficult to live the life she wanted, so she stopped the treatments and ultimately suffered one of the worst relapses in her life. That is when she tried a new drug called COPAXONE. COPAXONE made her feel better and she has since won several races, all while battling MS. Once reading the article about this inspiring story, I felt compelled to contact Ragland and received an immediate response. In fact, despite this incredible testimony and her professional mountain biking success, she is still humble, responding to my request for contact with a laugh (as if she had no idea why anyone would want to celebrate her accomplishments). While I have yet to meet Ragland in person, I look forward to the opportunity how she has impressed me as a inspiring figure on the bike. The quote she uses on her Facebook page, "Don't let what you can't do interfere with what you can do", sums up the depth of her character.
It seems the bike draws these types of inspirational characters; Greg LeMond (after being shot in the legs, wins the Tour de France), Lance Armstrong (after battling cancer, wins the Tour de France 7 consecutive times), Eldon "aka - The Fat Cyclist" Nelson (famously and couragously blogging about his wife's battle with cancer while preparing and riding the Leadville Trail 100 Mountain Bike Race), and Ragland. For every story of blood doping you might hear, there are 10 stories of challenges overcome and barriers knocked down. I am proud to be a part of the fraternity, this community we call cyclists - the best part is that the membership fee is cheap, just jump on a bike and start peddling.
Keep the rubber side down and keep pushing those peddles!
Unfortunately, the side affects of the medications made it difficult to live the life she wanted, so she stopped the treatments and ultimately suffered one of the worst relapses in her life. That is when she tried a new drug called COPAXONE. COPAXONE made her feel better and she has since won several races, all while battling MS. Once reading the article about this inspiring story, I felt compelled to contact Ragland and received an immediate response. In fact, despite this incredible testimony and her professional mountain biking success, she is still humble, responding to my request for contact with a laugh (as if she had no idea why anyone would want to celebrate her accomplishments). While I have yet to meet Ragland in person, I look forward to the opportunity how she has impressed me as a inspiring figure on the bike. The quote she uses on her Facebook page, "Don't let what you can't do interfere with what you can do", sums up the depth of her character.
It seems the bike draws these types of inspirational characters; Greg LeMond (after being shot in the legs, wins the Tour de France), Lance Armstrong (after battling cancer, wins the Tour de France 7 consecutive times), Eldon "aka - The Fat Cyclist" Nelson (famously and couragously blogging about his wife's battle with cancer while preparing and riding the Leadville Trail 100 Mountain Bike Race), and Ragland. For every story of blood doping you might hear, there are 10 stories of challenges overcome and barriers knocked down. I am proud to be a part of the fraternity, this community we call cyclists - the best part is that the membership fee is cheap, just jump on a bike and start peddling.
Keep the rubber side down and keep pushing those peddles!
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Trains, Planes, and Automobiles
So today, despite the downpour of rain, high winds, and the threat of tornados, we went to see Thomas the Train. My 4 year old son is a rather large fan of this English immigrant, although I am not sure where Sodor Island is (this relatively obscure reference confuse you? Take 10 minutes to watch the beginning of any Thomas the Tank Engine episode for clarity.) and not sure what country this little island would claim association. But we went beyond just seeing Thomas, we bought tickets to RIDE Thomas (this is the "Trains" in the title of this blog). This is an experience that a train lover like my son could not forget. We went last year when Thomas came to Chattanooga and we had a similar experience and my son never stopped talking about it. However, driving to and from this event was not an exercise in entertainment as we traversed the 26.2 miles (according to the precise measurements of Mapquest.com) of slightly flooded roads and blinding, horizontal rain (this experience represents the "Automobiles" in the title of this blog). But the best part of it all was the fact that I was there with my family. Not just my wife and kids (one train addicted boy), but my mother-in-law, father-in-law, brother-in-law (the famous rock star for those of you who know my family. If you don't know the name of his famous band, visit Genesis 4:2 NIV and add the word "Saving" after the word "brother" and you'll see the name of his band - cheap way to get you to open your Bible), sister-in-law, and their child. It was a spectacular day and unbelievable weekend. As far as the "Planes" in the title of this blog . . . boy, it would be tough to fly a plane in this weather (sorry, it was the best I could do.)
Monday, April 19, 2010
The crack of the bat, the smell of the grass, it's opening day!
Spring brings new life, warm weather, and baseball. I remember as a child, sleeping with a baseball and my mit at night. I can remember faithfully praying through the threat of rain in hopes of avoiding a raining-out of my games. I loved baseball. However, I didn’t want to be one of those dad’s who pushes his longing for his own glory days onto his son. But one day recently, my son said, “Daddy, I want to play baseball.” So we signed him up.
Last week was opening day. I was excited, especially since my son ended up being drafted by the Braves, my favorite team. When I say “drafted”, what I mean is he was placed on the team named the Braves, nonetheless, I felt it was fortuitous.
Well, the Braves batted first and my son was placed third in the batting order. The third spot in the order is normally reserved for the best hitter on the team. Considering this was tee-ball, and the attention span of a bunch of 4 year olds was 5 minutes ago, my guess is he was the third closest child to the coach when she made out the order. His turn at bat quickly came about, and even though I was recruited to serve as the third base coach, there was only one thing on my mind, my son’s first at bat. To his credit, he hit the ball on the very first swing and he hit it hard, it actually crept into the outfield. As I watched the ball and cheered with our family and friends, my son was doing the same, watching the ball and still standing at home plate.
As you might guess, in the world of 4 year old baseball, this scene is not uncommon, in fact, it is the norm. Nearly every at bat featured the same scene. The child (after knocking over the tee several times) would hit a slow dribbler onto the field only to send the defensive team into a mad scramble with every child launching at the ball resulting into a pile of 4 year olds nearly 3 feet deep. You have dads spread throughout the infield attempting to coach the children, but more realistically acting as a babysitter. Kids playing in the dirt, picking grass, picking noses, putting mits on their heads, and generally becoming distracted.
About halfway through the first inning we started seeing players peeling off. A little girl refused to swing because she was deep in tears (maybe she felt she would hurt the ball), another boy on our team refused to run, so mom picked him up and rounded the bases with him. Our son actually made it through one full inning (for those of you who are keeping score, one inning took 50 minutes), before I heard, “Daddy, I want to go home.” We convinced him to bat again and although the tee took a beating this time, he had another big hit (2 for 2, batting 1.000 for the season), but that was it. We couldn’t make it another inning. He was tired, hungry and just done with baseball.
Maybe baseball isn’t the best game for a 4 year old with a short attention span, but it is America’s past time (and if he never plays again, his career batting average is perfect).
Last week was opening day. I was excited, especially since my son ended up being drafted by the Braves, my favorite team. When I say “drafted”, what I mean is he was placed on the team named the Braves, nonetheless, I felt it was fortuitous.
Well, the Braves batted first and my son was placed third in the batting order. The third spot in the order is normally reserved for the best hitter on the team. Considering this was tee-ball, and the attention span of a bunch of 4 year olds was 5 minutes ago, my guess is he was the third closest child to the coach when she made out the order. His turn at bat quickly came about, and even though I was recruited to serve as the third base coach, there was only one thing on my mind, my son’s first at bat. To his credit, he hit the ball on the very first swing and he hit it hard, it actually crept into the outfield. As I watched the ball and cheered with our family and friends, my son was doing the same, watching the ball and still standing at home plate.
As you might guess, in the world of 4 year old baseball, this scene is not uncommon, in fact, it is the norm. Nearly every at bat featured the same scene. The child (after knocking over the tee several times) would hit a slow dribbler onto the field only to send the defensive team into a mad scramble with every child launching at the ball resulting into a pile of 4 year olds nearly 3 feet deep. You have dads spread throughout the infield attempting to coach the children, but more realistically acting as a babysitter. Kids playing in the dirt, picking grass, picking noses, putting mits on their heads, and generally becoming distracted.
About halfway through the first inning we started seeing players peeling off. A little girl refused to swing because she was deep in tears (maybe she felt she would hurt the ball), another boy on our team refused to run, so mom picked him up and rounded the bases with him. Our son actually made it through one full inning (for those of you who are keeping score, one inning took 50 minutes), before I heard, “Daddy, I want to go home.” We convinced him to bat again and although the tee took a beating this time, he had another big hit (2 for 2, batting 1.000 for the season), but that was it. We couldn’t make it another inning. He was tired, hungry and just done with baseball.
Maybe baseball isn’t the best game for a 4 year old with a short attention span, but it is America’s past time (and if he never plays again, his career batting average is perfect).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)