When I was in high school, we read The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail. It's a dramatization of the price Thoreau paid for his civil disobedience: He refused to pay his taxes, which he feared would be used to pay for the war against Mexico - a campaign he bitterly opposed.
No, I didn't commit civil disobedience. Nor did I break any laws. Neither was I sent there by a judge. I was simply a visitor.
Valley Mental Health, my employer, runs a program in conjunction with Oxbow County Jail for men whose crimes are related to their drug and/or alcohol addiction. Along with several colleagues, I went to the jail to watch 2 Christmas programs put on by the inmates.
I suppose as jails go, Oxbow is rather nice - it's minimum security - but rather bright and open. The men in the facility have committed crimes related to addiction and Valley's Correctional Addiction Treatment Services, or CATS, is there to help them to recover from their addictions and have a fighting chance once they get out.
The program was done in two parts. The first group of men are still in the early part of their treatment and time behind bars. They wrote and acted in a more relevant version of A Christmas Carol in which greed was replaced with addiction. The message of redemption wasn't lost on anyone in the room.
The second group were those who have nearly completed the program and will soon be released. They mostly sang some beautiful Christmas carols. Had we not been in a county jail, it could have been any men's choir caroling in a mall, church or concert hall. There was something so beautiful - almost haunting- as the men softly sang "Silent Night" while a deaf inmate signed the words for us.
But by far, the most poignant moment came when one man stood in front of an audience comprised mainly of County officials, Valley staff, and correctional officers, and related to us his story as the other men quietly hummed Silent Night.
He told us of how the two most important things in the entire world to him are his wife and his young, 2-year old son whom he had recently taught the universal hand gesture to show "all gone." Then he told us how he'd learn that for two days following his drug-related arrest, his son wandered the house shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Daddy all gone." He illustrated to us exactly what his addiction had stolen from him: Christmas with his 2-year old son...something that he could never have back.
He explained what his time in jail and his graduation from the CATS program have made him realize: that his love for his kid and for his family was stronger than his addiction. It was an incredibly moving moment. And although I teased my boss that in 20 years of professional life I'd never given my CEO my handkerchief, she responded by asking me if I wanted the "unused" half for myself. It's true, there wasn't a dry eye in the place - even the tough correctional officers had to stare at their feet for a moment.
What I find amazing is the lesson I learned during my couple of hours behind bars. Time that was mine, that I freely gave, not forced on me because of addiction. I learned that the time I've got with my boys is the most important thing in my life. Even when they're pains in the butt, maybe especially when they are.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
The Darndest Things
Over the years there have been several iterations of the iconic television show, Kids Say the Darndest Things. If you've somehow managed to miss it, the premise of the show is pretty simple: adults ask small children a series of pretty pedestrian questions, and because of their naivete or age-appropriate ignorance the children respond with pretty wacky answers. And hilarity ensues.
Gus and Niko could be on that show. Just they other day Kelly asked whose birthday we celebrate on Christmas, "Santa's! No Papou's!" they bellowed before finally shouting, "No it's Jesus'!" Hey, at least He made the list. You may remember last year they stopped after Papou...
But now and then kids say something incredibly touching that is frankly well-beyond their years.
Somewhere along the way, Niko got a small scratch under his chin. Last night at dinner I learned that while he was at school, the tiny scab came off. Niko marched himself down to Mrs. Judy, the school's incredibly nurturing secretary and received a little Neosporin and assurance that it was the best medicine ever.
Gus offered that Mrs. Judy should have been a doctor because she is so good at tending to kids' injuries. Niko added that he was going to be a doctor when he grows up. And that's when he said it:
"I wish Theia Tina was alive, so that when I become a doctor I could make her better and she won't die."
Sometimes kids have the darndest way of leaving you speechless.
Gus and Niko could be on that show. Just they other day Kelly asked whose birthday we celebrate on Christmas, "Santa's! No Papou's!" they bellowed before finally shouting, "No it's Jesus'!" Hey, at least He made the list. You may remember last year they stopped after Papou...
But now and then kids say something incredibly touching that is frankly well-beyond their years.
Somewhere along the way, Niko got a small scratch under his chin. Last night at dinner I learned that while he was at school, the tiny scab came off. Niko marched himself down to Mrs. Judy, the school's incredibly nurturing secretary and received a little Neosporin and assurance that it was the best medicine ever.
Gus offered that Mrs. Judy should have been a doctor because she is so good at tending to kids' injuries. Niko added that he was going to be a doctor when he grows up. And that's when he said it:
"I wish Theia Tina was alive, so that when I become a doctor I could make her better and she won't die."
Sometimes kids have the darndest way of leaving you speechless.
Friday, November 5, 2010
It's All Greek To Me!
Shortly after Gus first moved in with us, I started worrying if it was fair to raise him with Greek traditions. He is, after all, very likely not biologically Greek.
I shared my concerns with my dear friend and "work wife" Teresa, herself an Indian-American, balancing two cultures in her own home. She simply reminded me I didn't have much of a choice because it was, after all, all I knew. (In retrospect, I should never have confessed to her that I was well into my 30s before I learned that "corn beef" was not beef smothered in corn...)
She was right of course. What else do I know? So the first night each of the boys slept in our home, I placed a plate of sweets in the room in hopes the Fates would write a favorable fortune on their foreheads; there are blue "mati" (glass eyes) hanging on their doors to protect them from the Evil Eye; they both think my spanikopita is better than the one you get at the Greek Souvlaki (about which the owner of that fine chain says, "As it should be!") There's no doubt about it, my kids live in a "Greek house."
The other night at dinner, Gus announced he wanted to wear a Greek costume in the upcoming school program to show his Greek heritage. Now I never know if it really bothers Kelly or if he's just messing around, but he did try to convince Gus that he is, after all, not Greek. Gus' response was brilliant, "Daddy's Greek, I go to a Greek school, I'm learning to speak Greek, I go to a Greek church. How am I not Greek?"
Any hopes of Kelly's logic working were lost the night of the program. At first we watched with pride as both boys participated in the Saint Sophia Hellenic Orthodox School's Oxi(pro: Ohee) Night Celebration brilliantly. Then we watched with dropped jaws! There Gus was singing the Greek national anthem...in Greek! There he was dancing a traditional folk dance with enthusiasm. It was brilliant.
Niko's role was far less prominent, but nonetheless equally brilliant.
Oh, and in case there's any doubt, like his dad before him, Gus may be Greek identified, but he has cultural boundaries. When we explained that a traditional Greek male costume was a "foustanella" - a 400-pleat knee-length "skirt" - he dropped his voice an octave or two and said, "I won't wear a dress!"
I shared my concerns with my dear friend and "work wife" Teresa, herself an Indian-American, balancing two cultures in her own home. She simply reminded me I didn't have much of a choice because it was, after all, all I knew. (In retrospect, I should never have confessed to her that I was well into my 30s before I learned that "corn beef" was not beef smothered in corn...)
She was right of course. What else do I know? So the first night each of the boys slept in our home, I placed a plate of sweets in the room in hopes the Fates would write a favorable fortune on their foreheads; there are blue "mati" (glass eyes) hanging on their doors to protect them from the Evil Eye; they both think my spanikopita is better than the one you get at the Greek Souvlaki (about which the owner of that fine chain says, "As it should be!") There's no doubt about it, my kids live in a "Greek house."
The other night at dinner, Gus announced he wanted to wear a Greek costume in the upcoming school program to show his Greek heritage. Now I never know if it really bothers Kelly or if he's just messing around, but he did try to convince Gus that he is, after all, not Greek. Gus' response was brilliant, "Daddy's Greek, I go to a Greek school, I'm learning to speak Greek, I go to a Greek church. How am I not Greek?"
Any hopes of Kelly's logic working were lost the night of the program. At first we watched with pride as both boys participated in the Saint Sophia Hellenic Orthodox School's Oxi(pro: Ohee) Night Celebration brilliantly. Then we watched with dropped jaws! There Gus was singing the Greek national anthem...in Greek! There he was dancing a traditional folk dance with enthusiasm. It was brilliant.
Niko's role was far less prominent, but nonetheless equally brilliant.
Oh, and in case there's any doubt, like his dad before him, Gus may be Greek identified, but he has cultural boundaries. When we explained that a traditional Greek male costume was a "foustanella" - a 400-pleat knee-length "skirt" - he dropped his voice an octave or two and said, "I won't wear a dress!"
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Tina M. Katis
Today would have been my Theia Tina's 87th birthday. It's hard to believe that a week ago we already observed her 40-day mnemosino (memorial service). Hard to believe because I still feel her presence with me every day.
The day before Tina passed, my niece Carli gave our family a new life: my great nephew Jace. When I heard the news of his birth, I wondered what he would learn if one day he asked about this great, great aunt with whom he shared this earth so briefly.
If he asked his cousins Gus and Niko, he'll hear of her great generosity. When Kelly asked each of the boys separately what they remembered about her, Gus said, "She gave us stuff you guys never do." Niko added, "She gave us candy all the time." Both observations are 100% true.
But there's more to the story. If Jace ever asks me, I'll share with him the stories of her that I'll always cherish.
Like how as a kid, I'd sit in my yia yia's driveway on Saturday afternoons, waiting for the bus to pull over across the street and Tina to step off, a wide smile on her face and a small gift for me under her arm. I honestly don't remember a single Saturday afternoon in my younger years when she didn't bring me something: a coloring book, a word find book, some candies. We'd spend the rest of the day playing games Theia Mimi and I had made up. It didn't matter what we did, she was simply there to spend the weekend with her family.
Maybe this incredible importance on family stemmed from the fact that the Studebaker taxi cab in which she was born was parked out side her Theia Kula's house, and it was in that house she was first taken. Maybe that explains how she could create and nurture a relationship with her cousin, Mary Kostopoulos, whom she never met in person. As if that minor detail could have made a difference!
I'll tell Jace how Theia Tina possessed more Orthodox Christian faith in a single minute of any day than most of us ever conjure up in a lifetime. Theia Tina never lost faith of what may happen - especially the hope that her vision would be restored. And frankly, she knew more about Orthodoxy, our history, traditions and dogma than many a priest I've known! But she shared her knowledge with humility and kindness.
Theia Tina was incredibly generous. I don't think I've ever really told anyone beyond my parents that during my four years of college, I never once paid for a book. Tina budgeted herself to give me money every quarter to buy books. She had a very limited income herself, yet she sacrificed to provide for me. She always made sure I had a little spending money - pleading with me to concentrate on my "studies" rather than get a job. And I always had a standing dinner date when my schedule required me to be at the U after 5:00. I cannot even hear the words "Lamb's Grill" without thinking of her.
Thoughtful isn't a strong enough adjective to describe someone who never missed sending a birthday card, or calling on an anniversary or name day. Not to mention the fact that she was kind enough to call everyone else in the family to gently remind them of the fact it was their third cousin's husband's birthday.
And man-oh-man, how she was a living, breathing, walking history book of the Greek community. But beware! Simply asking "Ever heard of John Doe-opolous?" could lead to a 30 minute lineage of his second cousin's wife's brother's son's grandson's girlfriend, who you used to sit next to in English class!" OK, maybe not quite that detailed...but close. Of course, for me, that was the fun of it!
I'll tell Jace how incredibly courageous Theia Tina was! Imagine the fear of gradually losing your sight - each year seeing a little less until only a pinpoint of vision - at just the right angle - was available. Yet, Tina lived on her own. She was active in community groups. She had more of a social life than most women half her age! She wished she could see better, she wished the deterioration would stop. But never, ever, in 45 years did I hear her say, "why me?" She simply accepted the burden with dignity and grace.
Oh! How proud she was of being Greek! And how proud she made me feel of that too! I loved to speak Greek with her, my warts on it and all. It's funny. I remember taking Greek in high school. One day my teacher said to the class, "Listen to the way Chris just said that! Even with his limited Greek, you can hear his Arcadian accent." When I shared this news with Theia Tina, she flew to my defense, arguing how in the hell did that woman think I would say it? I am Arcadian!
And the Greek organizations benefitted immensely from her participation. Her devotion to the Daughters of Penelope was darn right fanatical. And therein lies the charm. How proud she was - no, how proud she is of my cousin Joanne's participation and leadership in the Daughters. And when I moved back to Salt Lake City, and decided that if we're going to be here for the next 10-15 years, I should put down some roots, and I joined those Greek organizations, I simply needed to say, "I'm Tina Katis' nephew" to ensure my nomination. She was proud of me for becoming involved, and offered her advice about a successful membership. And I teased her that I was riding her skirt tails. She loved it!
Yes, there were silly things she did - like save her tax filing from 1969...for 40 years! And her nephews teased her that if Hallmark made a card for it, she'd observe it by sending one. But she had that amazing ability to laugh at herself. When I pulled that tax return out of her filing cabinet, read it to her and said, "Theia, I don't think you're going to be audited on this," she nearly fell off of her chair laughing!
Tina was incredibly accepting as well. She showed that with her love for the boys. My Lord, how she adored my sons. Niko never failed to make her crack her up - he was her admitted favorite. Gus was her pride and joy. So, imagine my heart when Tina went to the hospice, and made me promise her one thing: "Please, don't let the boys forget me." How could I? How could they? How can you forget someone like her? You don't.
She loved Kelly like another nephew, and she really liked him and enjoyed him as a person, too. Her parting advice to me was so moving, so powerful because it was about Kelly and me. She said for us to live our lives with pride and dignity; there was nothing to ever be ashamed of.
The one last attribute I'd share is Tina's love for birds of prey - especially eagles. She admired these animals for their amazing eyesight. I mention this because Theia recognized symbols. So it was fitting that the last day of her life, early in the morning, I was standing in the atrium looking at the yard next to her room, when I saw a small hawk swoop down and just, well, stand, in front of the French doors leading to her room. Tina would have loved it - she would have really loved the symbolism.
A few, short hours later as I held her hand, I leaned close to her ear and whispered "s'agapo para, para poli" (I love you very, very much) it was the way I've said goodbye to her every day for years. But rather than her usual, "episis" (you too), there was the slightest squeeze of my hand, and she was gone. She started her life knowing she was loved, and I'm so deeply grateful that she ended her life knowing it too.
I guess if Jace ever asks me, I'll simply tell him that Theia Tina was always there for me. Plain and simple. She was always there for everyone she loved. And I think she always will be. Today after church, Kelly, the boys and I took some flowers to her grave in honor of her birthday. I lit incense over her grave, and sang "memory eternal" (in Greek, like she taught me). As I cleaned up, Gus pointed to the sky and said, "Hey look, a hawk!" Like I said, Jace, Theia Tina was always there for us, and always will be.
May her memory be eternal.
The day before Tina passed, my niece Carli gave our family a new life: my great nephew Jace. When I heard the news of his birth, I wondered what he would learn if one day he asked about this great, great aunt with whom he shared this earth so briefly.
If he asked his cousins Gus and Niko, he'll hear of her great generosity. When Kelly asked each of the boys separately what they remembered about her, Gus said, "She gave us stuff you guys never do." Niko added, "She gave us candy all the time." Both observations are 100% true.
But there's more to the story. If Jace ever asks me, I'll share with him the stories of her that I'll always cherish.
Like how as a kid, I'd sit in my yia yia's driveway on Saturday afternoons, waiting for the bus to pull over across the street and Tina to step off, a wide smile on her face and a small gift for me under her arm. I honestly don't remember a single Saturday afternoon in my younger years when she didn't bring me something: a coloring book, a word find book, some candies. We'd spend the rest of the day playing games Theia Mimi and I had made up. It didn't matter what we did, she was simply there to spend the weekend with her family.
Maybe this incredible importance on family stemmed from the fact that the Studebaker taxi cab in which she was born was parked out side her Theia Kula's house, and it was in that house she was first taken. Maybe that explains how she could create and nurture a relationship with her cousin, Mary Kostopoulos, whom she never met in person. As if that minor detail could have made a difference!
I'll tell Jace how Theia Tina possessed more Orthodox Christian faith in a single minute of any day than most of us ever conjure up in a lifetime. Theia Tina never lost faith of what may happen - especially the hope that her vision would be restored. And frankly, she knew more about Orthodoxy, our history, traditions and dogma than many a priest I've known! But she shared her knowledge with humility and kindness.
Theia Tina was incredibly generous. I don't think I've ever really told anyone beyond my parents that during my four years of college, I never once paid for a book. Tina budgeted herself to give me money every quarter to buy books. She had a very limited income herself, yet she sacrificed to provide for me. She always made sure I had a little spending money - pleading with me to concentrate on my "studies" rather than get a job. And I always had a standing dinner date when my schedule required me to be at the U after 5:00. I cannot even hear the words "Lamb's Grill" without thinking of her.
Thoughtful isn't a strong enough adjective to describe someone who never missed sending a birthday card, or calling on an anniversary or name day. Not to mention the fact that she was kind enough to call everyone else in the family to gently remind them of the fact it was their third cousin's husband's birthday.
And man-oh-man, how she was a living, breathing, walking history book of the Greek community. But beware! Simply asking "Ever heard of John Doe-opolous?" could lead to a 30 minute lineage of his second cousin's wife's brother's son's grandson's girlfriend, who you used to sit next to in English class!" OK, maybe not quite that detailed...but close. Of course, for me, that was the fun of it!
I'll tell Jace how incredibly courageous Theia Tina was! Imagine the fear of gradually losing your sight - each year seeing a little less until only a pinpoint of vision - at just the right angle - was available. Yet, Tina lived on her own. She was active in community groups. She had more of a social life than most women half her age! She wished she could see better, she wished the deterioration would stop. But never, ever, in 45 years did I hear her say, "why me?" She simply accepted the burden with dignity and grace.
Oh! How proud she was of being Greek! And how proud she made me feel of that too! I loved to speak Greek with her, my warts on it and all. It's funny. I remember taking Greek in high school. One day my teacher said to the class, "Listen to the way Chris just said that! Even with his limited Greek, you can hear his Arcadian accent." When I shared this news with Theia Tina, she flew to my defense, arguing how in the hell did that woman think I would say it? I am Arcadian!
And the Greek organizations benefitted immensely from her participation. Her devotion to the Daughters of Penelope was darn right fanatical. And therein lies the charm. How proud she was - no, how proud she is of my cousin Joanne's participation and leadership in the Daughters. And when I moved back to Salt Lake City, and decided that if we're going to be here for the next 10-15 years, I should put down some roots, and I joined those Greek organizations, I simply needed to say, "I'm Tina Katis' nephew" to ensure my nomination. She was proud of me for becoming involved, and offered her advice about a successful membership. And I teased her that I was riding her skirt tails. She loved it!
Yes, there were silly things she did - like save her tax filing from 1969...for 40 years! And her nephews teased her that if Hallmark made a card for it, she'd observe it by sending one. But she had that amazing ability to laugh at herself. When I pulled that tax return out of her filing cabinet, read it to her and said, "Theia, I don't think you're going to be audited on this," she nearly fell off of her chair laughing!
Tina was incredibly accepting as well. She showed that with her love for the boys. My Lord, how she adored my sons. Niko never failed to make her crack her up - he was her admitted favorite. Gus was her pride and joy. So, imagine my heart when Tina went to the hospice, and made me promise her one thing: "Please, don't let the boys forget me." How could I? How could they? How can you forget someone like her? You don't.
She loved Kelly like another nephew, and she really liked him and enjoyed him as a person, too. Her parting advice to me was so moving, so powerful because it was about Kelly and me. She said for us to live our lives with pride and dignity; there was nothing to ever be ashamed of.
The one last attribute I'd share is Tina's love for birds of prey - especially eagles. She admired these animals for their amazing eyesight. I mention this because Theia recognized symbols. So it was fitting that the last day of her life, early in the morning, I was standing in the atrium looking at the yard next to her room, when I saw a small hawk swoop down and just, well, stand, in front of the French doors leading to her room. Tina would have loved it - she would have really loved the symbolism.
A few, short hours later as I held her hand, I leaned close to her ear and whispered "s'agapo para, para poli" (I love you very, very much) it was the way I've said goodbye to her every day for years. But rather than her usual, "episis" (you too), there was the slightest squeeze of my hand, and she was gone. She started her life knowing she was loved, and I'm so deeply grateful that she ended her life knowing it too.
I guess if Jace ever asks me, I'll simply tell him that Theia Tina was always there for me. Plain and simple. She was always there for everyone she loved. And I think she always will be. Today after church, Kelly, the boys and I took some flowers to her grave in honor of her birthday. I lit incense over her grave, and sang "memory eternal" (in Greek, like she taught me). As I cleaned up, Gus pointed to the sky and said, "Hey look, a hawk!" Like I said, Jace, Theia Tina was always there for us, and always will be.
May her memory be eternal.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Deja vu all over again
Wednesday evening Gus and I headed over to Prophet Elias, and the second I walked into the "little gym" I got a total rush of deja vu.
I was suddenly transported back to an evening in the late 1970s, with my then sister-in-law, Kelly, standing next to me in the little gym. There I was again, scrawny, insecure, not knowing a soul...and there to become a Boy Scout.
Flash forward 30+ years and it's my turn to be the more secure, confident adult - Gus sticking to me like glue, excited about joining Cub Scouts but displaying more than a little trepidation.
Like me all those years earlier, Gus loved his first night of Scouts. Unlike me, he recognized a friend among the other boys: a kid he knew from Sunday School class.
(And for anyone who doubts the interconnectedness of the Greek community, while chatting with the kid's dad, I discovered he's my cousin Yvonne's nephew!)
But there was one awkward moment: the "Den Mother" - the Scout leader for the youngest boys - asked me if I'd help with the troop. Since parents have to stay with the boys in that age group, I simply could have said "Yes" and left it at that. Instead, I was honest.
I told the woman how I'd be happy to help but the Boy Scouts of America may not allow me to because I am a gay man. I tried to say it with confidence and, well, I guess pride. But right there, in that place, in front of this organization, all my pre-teen insecurities and self doubt came flooding back and I know my voice broke.
She paused for only a second or two before saying, "I don't care. Will you help out?"
Of course I will.
I was suddenly transported back to an evening in the late 1970s, with my then sister-in-law, Kelly, standing next to me in the little gym. There I was again, scrawny, insecure, not knowing a soul...and there to become a Boy Scout.
Flash forward 30+ years and it's my turn to be the more secure, confident adult - Gus sticking to me like glue, excited about joining Cub Scouts but displaying more than a little trepidation.
Like me all those years earlier, Gus loved his first night of Scouts. Unlike me, he recognized a friend among the other boys: a kid he knew from Sunday School class.
(And for anyone who doubts the interconnectedness of the Greek community, while chatting with the kid's dad, I discovered he's my cousin Yvonne's nephew!)
But there was one awkward moment: the "Den Mother" - the Scout leader for the youngest boys - asked me if I'd help with the troop. Since parents have to stay with the boys in that age group, I simply could have said "Yes" and left it at that. Instead, I was honest.
I told the woman how I'd be happy to help but the Boy Scouts of America may not allow me to because I am a gay man. I tried to say it with confidence and, well, I guess pride. But right there, in that place, in front of this organization, all my pre-teen insecurities and self doubt came flooding back and I know my voice broke.
She paused for only a second or two before saying, "I don't care. Will you help out?"
Of course I will.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
I'm Baaaaaaaack
Dear Readers,
I'm sorry for my absence. As most of you probably know, shortly after my last posting at the end of July, my Theia Tina was admitted to hospice, where she spent the last few weeks of her life. Balancing my very minor part in caring for Tina, my obligations at work, my role as a dad, and our move to the new house didn't leave much time for this blog.
Last night, after what can only be described in polite circles as an amazingly stressful and hectic work week (see me quoted in the Trib??), Niko and I were walking Gracie and I came to the realization that I need to get back in the blog saddle and more frequently. I need to do this because I've discovered it's incredibly therapeutic for me.
Next week, if you all don't mind, I'll post something in honor of my Theia Tina. It'll be her 40 day mnemosino (memorial service) on 10/3. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm still dealing with my grief at her passing each and every day. Some days are better than others.
But tonight I want to tell you why my kids are better than therapy.
In a 15-minute walk with Gracie, Niko made a week's worth of really intense stress disappear. How?
1. By telling me a story of how there had been a monster living in the canal, but when it rose up, he kicked the crap out of it - karate chopping it in half!;
2. Running to see a dove perched on the ground near the canal, he stopped in his tracks, turning to me and proclaiming, "Daddy! I think it's an American eagle!"; and
3. Seconds later, jumping a good foot straight into the air when the horse three yards behind him neighed. Upon landing, he turned to me laughing and said, "That scared the bejebus out of me!"
And in those exciting moments of a child's life, the stress and anxiety of grown-up life melted away. And unlike Xanex, Cymbalta, Paxil or any other mood enhancing prescription drug, the only side-effect was my laughter!
Look for a new posting early next week. Thanks.
I'm sorry for my absence. As most of you probably know, shortly after my last posting at the end of July, my Theia Tina was admitted to hospice, where she spent the last few weeks of her life. Balancing my very minor part in caring for Tina, my obligations at work, my role as a dad, and our move to the new house didn't leave much time for this blog.
Last night, after what can only be described in polite circles as an amazingly stressful and hectic work week (see me quoted in the Trib??), Niko and I were walking Gracie and I came to the realization that I need to get back in the blog saddle and more frequently. I need to do this because I've discovered it's incredibly therapeutic for me.
Next week, if you all don't mind, I'll post something in honor of my Theia Tina. It'll be her 40 day mnemosino (memorial service) on 10/3. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm still dealing with my grief at her passing each and every day. Some days are better than others.
But tonight I want to tell you why my kids are better than therapy.
In a 15-minute walk with Gracie, Niko made a week's worth of really intense stress disappear. How?
1. By telling me a story of how there had been a monster living in the canal, but when it rose up, he kicked the crap out of it - karate chopping it in half!;
2. Running to see a dove perched on the ground near the canal, he stopped in his tracks, turning to me and proclaiming, "Daddy! I think it's an American eagle!"; and
3. Seconds later, jumping a good foot straight into the air when the horse three yards behind him neighed. Upon landing, he turned to me laughing and said, "That scared the bejebus out of me!"
And in those exciting moments of a child's life, the stress and anxiety of grown-up life melted away. And unlike Xanex, Cymbalta, Paxil or any other mood enhancing prescription drug, the only side-effect was my laughter!
Look for a new posting early next week. Thanks.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
How is This My Karma??
Whenever I call my mom to complain about some exasperating display of behaviour by Gus or Niko, she always starts to laugh. Mom claims that I'm sowing what I reaped.
Apparently, the karma card is one grandparents like to play: When asked about the troubles the twins were giving former President Bush, Barbara Bush replied, "He's just getting what he gave."
On a certain level I suppose I understand it all. After all, even though the boys and I don't share DNA, we can be frighteningly similar. Watching Niko stubbornly dig his heels in is enough to make even me consider a paternity test.
So if there's any truth to this karma theory, I suppose stubborn, strong-willed, talkative kids are my just desserts.
What I don't understand is why I'm paying for my brother John's childhood sins. It was John, who flung himself into the air. John, who feared neither God nor man (but wisely always Mom). And John, who took a part every conceivable movable mechanism he could get his hands on.
So it's John I'm blaming for not being able to properly close my office door this evening - disabled by a missing strike plate, compliments of Gus and his screwdriver. Hmmm, now I think about it, today is John's 50th birthday...maybe he should take that paternity test. 'Course it still doesn't explain why I'm paying for his karma...
Apparently, the karma card is one grandparents like to play: When asked about the troubles the twins were giving former President Bush, Barbara Bush replied, "He's just getting what he gave."
On a certain level I suppose I understand it all. After all, even though the boys and I don't share DNA, we can be frighteningly similar. Watching Niko stubbornly dig his heels in is enough to make even me consider a paternity test.
So if there's any truth to this karma theory, I suppose stubborn, strong-willed, talkative kids are my just desserts.
What I don't understand is why I'm paying for my brother John's childhood sins. It was John, who flung himself into the air. John, who feared neither God nor man (but wisely always Mom). And John, who took a part every conceivable movable mechanism he could get his hands on.
So it's John I'm blaming for not being able to properly close my office door this evening - disabled by a missing strike plate, compliments of Gus and his screwdriver. Hmmm, now I think about it, today is John's 50th birthday...maybe he should take that paternity test. 'Course it still doesn't explain why I'm paying for his karma...
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