Wednesday, January 30, 2013

If You Didn't Know Me


I have probably mentioned the Dad Bloggers group on Facebook which I am a part of.  I even have the little logo-y thing over there underneath my popular posts widget.  It is a great group and there are so many fantastic blogs and such enterprising and hardworking and involved Dads and...  I wish I'd never heard of it. It makes me feel inferior and unsuccessful, naive and well-intentioned to the point of embarrassment, homespun and hickey, pedestrian.

I may have made a mistake early on in this experience: you see, I was well-positioned to have an anonymous blog; an obscure title, somewhat generic content, a blundering style and a conversational tone.  However, I didn't think to make up a pseudonym or use a different e-mail account than my own, so, rather quickly and with little forethought, I outed myself.  If I had to do it over I might have, gone anonymous that is.

If I had, I would be able to say some things that I am not comfortable saying since everyone knows who I am.  Stuff about being a SAHD, perhaps.  Like the other day when N said that he would like to either be an animal doctor or "stay at home and take care of my kids, like Dad does" and all I could think was:  worse pickup line ever, as in never tell a girl you are interested in that.

Yes, that's how I really feel, I guess.  Sometimes, when you are in the middle of something, you can rationalize your way into liking it.  Like joggers who say they love running, or kids who say they love sledding even though they are freezing their asses off.  I tell people all the time that I enjoy being an At Home Dad, a house-husband, a SAHD.  I used to tell people I was "the Stay-at-Home-Dad I never dreamed of being."  True that.  When it's all said and considered and thunk-out, I do like my life, albeit a life I never considered, and I am good at it.  I feel good in my role, I just wish more of you could feel good about me being in it.

If I had decided to remain anonymous, I would be able to tell you how unspeakably overwhelmed by my own aging I have become.  Nobody talks about it much, so I don't.  If I did though, I'd tell you about looking in the mirror and not recognizing the face and then, heartbreak when you realize it's you.  I would tell you how the daily aches and pains and the fear of hurting myself stupidly (like dislocating my shoulder skating or rupturing a tendon in my calf dancing) again, keep me from doing things I would like the boys to see me do.  I might mention the hurt I feel when people assume I am the boys' grandfather.  I have seen men wince at the notion of being my age with young  boys.  I might tell you that I feel a bit ashamed that they have an old man for a father.

I am not aging gracefully.  I am afraid to admit out loud that my hands hurt so badly, sometimes it is difficult to play guitar, and that breaks my heart.  I have noticed that sometimes, instead of asking "What's next?" as I did as a young man, these day I ask myself "What's over?"  Is this the last time I should get on the roof, is this my last gig, is that dream of a tree-house for the boys just folly?  Is this the last time a girl will notice me, or the last time a young person will respect me.  I might confess that I see my failings more than I recognize my promise any more.  I would tell you that it is tough to age, the body fails and the dreams grow dim.  Sad.

If I were unknown to you, I could tell you that twice in the past week a song has made me cry.  The first time I was doing laundry and this song, Stuff that Works, by Guy Clark buckled my knees:

 

I've always let myself cry, I think it's important.  I have heard this song before and have always related to the curiously joyous lament that is this chorus,

Stuff that works, stuff that holds up
The kind of stuff you don’t hang on the wall
Stuff that’s real, stuff you feel
The kind of stuff you reach for when you fall 

But on that day, the line that hit me was:

That's the kind of stuff I like to be around.


I cried because it validated how I feel about so much today; so much that doesn't seem to be working, so many policies and gadgets and misconceptions that serve us poorly and with so little satisfaction.  I know that to defend myself against the slings and arrows of the twenty-first century, I have to fall back on the stuff that works: love and kindness, crayons and pencils, discipline and self-respect, butter and bacon, integrity and courage.  And, I guess in joy or awe or praise, I wept at knowing there are still truths worth weeping for.

The other song came at me from the past as I was cleaning the baseboards in the dining room.  This song, Poems, Prayers and Promises, by John Denver:



These are the lyrics as I learned them in nineteen-hundred-and-seventy-five, hunched over an out-of-tune red starburst guitar, on a bed, in my room, in the quiet that is a house in the country:

I've been lately thinking
About my life's time
All the things I've done
And how it's been
And I can't help believing
In my own mind
I know I'm gonna hate to see it end

I've seen a lot of sunshine
Slept out in the rain
Spent a night or two all on my own
I've known my lady's pleasures
Had myself some friends
And spent a night or two in my own home

And I have to say it now
It's been a good life all in all
It's really fine
To have a chance to hang around
And lie there by the fire
And watch the evening tire
While all my friends and my old lady
Sit and pass the pipe around

And talk of poems and prayers and promises
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long it's been since yesterday
And what about tomorrow
And what about our dreams
And all the memories we share

 
The days they pass so quickly now
Nights are seldom long
And time around me whispers when it's cold
The changes somehow frighten me
Still I have to smile
It turns me on to think of growing old
For though my life's been good to me
There's still so much to do
So many things my mind has never known
I'd like to raise a family
I'd like to sail away
And dance across the mountains on the moon

I have to say it now
It's been a good life all in all
It's really fine
To have the chance to hang around
And lie there by the fire
And watch the evening tire
While all my friends and my old lady
Sit and watch the sun go down

And talk of poems and prayers and promises
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long it's been since yesterday
What about tomorrow
What about our dreams
And all the memories we share


It's weird to think that this song would end up making me sob as I scrubbed yogurt off a baseboard, some forty years later.  What drew me to this song (besides getting to mention passing pipes around) when I was fourteen years old?  What right had I to even sing it?  It seems so simple, perhaps trite even, now, but it was such a hit in those day that there's even a Muppet version.  I was so struck by the poetry and imagery, I had to learn to play it myself.  Back then it seemed a promise of dreams fulfilled and beauty of a poetic life lived, today it seems like a prayer of thanksgiving for the same.   So I cried at time around me whispers when it's cold and  I'd like to raise a family I'd like to sail away, And dance across the mountains on the moon.  How could I have known that this song would remain embedded deep in my soul and would reemerge just when my heart needed it most?  Stuff that works...

If I had decided to remain anonymous I could rant and rave about things that I deserve to rant and rave about but don't, because it's ugly.  I could make fun of my kids and say how they drive me to drink wine and piss and moan, but I don't, because it's ugly.  I could tell salacious stories and drunken, hilarious anecdotes, but I don't, because they're ugly.

If I could tell you something and you'd never know it was me, I'd tell you about how hard this all is.  Writing is difficult and time consuming for me, I gather not so much as others, but for me it is.  I am often overwhelmed by the words that appear on the screen before me; at the ideas I realize as I watch a ballgame on a hot, lonely summer night.  I'd try to explain how I feel like I am just given the words or, thief-like, I capture them as the fly by.  I'd tell you that the truths I find out about myself as I write are difficult and yet magical, terrifying and hopeful.

If no one knew who I was, I wouldn't feel guilty about the length of this piece.  I wouldn't feel embarrassed at mentioning John Denver, I wouldn't feel a sense of dread knowing I have admitted these things to you.  I wouldn't worry about how many people read this, or whether my peers would like it or laugh at it or blow it off.  I wouldn't feel so exposed and vulnerable.

But, I do own all this.  You know my name, some of you know me, my boys will come to know me here because this is a public forum.  Strangers will come to know me from these and the other words I have snagged and furtively copied down here.  This holds me accountable.  And, I'll stay on it, this journey, and I'll get mired in the mud of popularity, I'll try to be cool and funny and hip and topical - but, I'll fail and get my feelings hurt and misunderstand and self-deprecate, but through it all, I'll try to remember that I am here to celebrate and honor, cherish and adore, teach and nurture.  I am here to do the stuff that works

There is a poor quality image hanging on a neglected bulletin board above the computer I use.  I seem to notice it every day at some point:




Anonymous or not, I could use this image, and, whether you knew me or not, you'd understand why I do this.

You know what?  Since I do write publicly, everyone will know that I got this award:



Hey, could you do me a favor?  Could you sort of, like, maybe, well... let's just keep this between you and me, alright?

Thanks...



17 comments:

  1. We all have things deep down that are hard to get out and hard to face. big hug. *hug*

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  2. Bill, I love how you write. I don't know how to be fancy like those other guys in the group but I know writing from the heart when I see it. Sometimes, I think the same thing. Man, I probably should have learned more about computers...but then I think. Why? Why would I think I would ever be down this path. I was/am an art teacher. I am just taking a little break. I started blogging for me and truthfully for you and I, I think that comparing ourselves to those guys who have big sites is a bad move. There's lots of them out there but there are equally as much like us who keep things simple. You just keep being the best dad you can be, share your stories with whomever, and keep on truckin'. Your kids are always going to be your number one fans and that is what is important but I will always be a fan of your page no matter how famous or infamous you become.

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    1. It's hard to admit how good you and so many other Dad Bloggers are. I know what I am doing is true and solid, but, I, like you, do not have the technical savvy one needs to be a truly "successful" blogger.
      As always, thanks for stopping by and for being "the best dad you can be."

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  3. I think we all have these types of days, months, years regardless of how old we are. And I think it's good that you let it go when you have to instead of keeping it all pent up like many men... which in a way would just age you more.

    And for what it's worth, I think you're amazing for scrubbing the base boards. I don't even do that.

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    1. Baseboards are so dirty in a house with kids, especially in the dining room. It was embarrassing, I actually remembered some of the meals as I scraped them off. Gross. Thank you for your kind words, men do keep things inside way too much. Honestly, I feel a lot better after letting some of that stuff out into cyberspace.
      Thanks for stopping by.

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  4. You write it so well. Sometimes I want to tell how it feels to me to be the older Gramma to these guys and have people assume I am the grest Gramma. You have said all the things I would like to say about growing older and done it so much better than I.
    Thank you for being here and letting me learn more about you through your writing
    Hugs and kisses

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  5. AHHHHH JOHN DENVER, THOSE WERE GOOD OLE DAYS. I WILL ADMIT THE PAIN IN MY HANDS AND HIP HURT BUT IM DETERMINED TO NOT LET IT CHANGE THE WAY I WANT TO RAISE OUR YOUNGEST SON,I PLAY ON SWINGS RIDE SCOOTERS AND BIKES JUST LIKE BEFORE. LOVE YOUR POSTS KEEP IT UP, THEY BRING JOY ! LOVE TO YOU.....YOUR COUSIN

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  6. You write with great heart, and you do so even when it's hard. You are leaving breadcrumbs behind, and one day your kids will be wishing very much for your voice and your wisdom, wishing they could finally understand you. And your words will be there for them.

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    1. Thank you Lynn, knowing people understand that I am honoring and cherishing my boys is incredibly heartwarming.
      Thanks for reading my meager words and keeping up with my journey.

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  7. You are SO not alone. Bearing your soul helps to see the words we have in our own hearts and be able to loosen what we all hold inevitably deep inside. Getting older is a process, but lately it has hit me with blatant, sudden honesty. It seems I was 21 yesterday - and 30 years has screamed by, leaving me to look back often amazed at what has happened and how I got here. I look in the mirror and only have a blurry memory now of what I used to look like and am curious about that person. I look at old photo albums and often wonder who she was and what she was thinking, as I do not remember that moment anymore and cannot name the people I am with. I wonder if given the chance; would I, could I do things much differently? Would I quickly fall back into bad habits and old mistakes - only to find myself once again, just as I remember my life once being? Would the happiest moment of my life be so happy once relived, or not at all what my young fantasy world had created in that moment? The person I am now is flawed, deep and in every fiber. To meet me now comes with many layers to unpeel, and most do not have time or the interest to endure the whole story. I do not have the body of my youth and wonder where it went. I am achy each morning and wonder where it came from, as it did not seem to be there yesterday but it consumes me today. No one talks of these things. The failings of my body scare me. No one warns you. I do not remember things often unless I write them down. I fear losing my child or my husband and having to start all over and not knowing where to begin. The thought at both my mother and father now laying still and unable to encourage me leaves me breathless if I dare to let it. I do love life, but the newness of daily life in an older mind and body is still foreign to me to, Willy. Being there for our children is a blessing, and honor and an explainable, profound gift...to which we constantly seem to berate ourselves for falling short in one way or another. I try my best to value each moment, covet the few TRUE friends I have who have taken the time to know the real me instead of basing me on a few quick moments, and still greet each new day with a smile in anticipation of what is yet to come. God is carrying me now - and in hindsight, I am so grateful that he has carried me this far, only sad that I suffered so much due to not recognizing it at the time. You are a blessing in the lives of all you touch, Willy. Your friends, your family, your wife, your boys. You are loved, cherished and admired by two sets of small eyes in which you do no wrong. Your humor, honesty, friendship, smile and wit inspire others in a way you may never know...but need to hear. I am grateful to have called you friend for 30 years, and thankful the words of your heart are not anonymous, but plain for us to see and connect with so that a small part of us can be released. ~ Deirdre

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  8. So heartfelt, my dear, dare I say, old friend. I like still knowing people I knew when I was a young man for, at least to a few, I am still that boy, cheesy mustache and all.
    Thank you for your kind words and honest empathy, as always, you live in my heart.

    Thanks for stopping by.

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  9. I've never visited your site before, but your contribution to the Star Wars "white paper" on DorkDaddy intrigued me. Now I've passed a pleasant half hour, in which I most definitely should have been sleeping, reading some of your posts. My husband's "Raised by my daughter" blog notwithstanding, I have never been that drawn to reading dadblogs. I looked at a couple once and couldn't get past the F-bombs and p0rn references. But if more of them were like this (and probably more are than I realize), I would want to read. It doesn't always feel that people are worried about preserving their children's innocence or see the same things as challenging that innocence as I do, so I enjoyed reading your Star Wars and Superbowl posts exploring that topic. I'm sure at 3 years old we've already fumbled the innocence thing more than I want to admit, but at least it's a conversation that I want to keep having over and over. In sum, I'm a fan.

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    1. Thank you for your kind words. I feel the same about many dad blogs I read. I love Neal's though, I am a fan of his.
      Thanks for stopping by.

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  10. Taking a moment to click on hyperlinks, and I made my way over to this, which I never got a chance to read (though my wife (!) did, apparently). Just wanted to say, this may be my favorite that I've read, precisely because of some of the vulnerable things that you feel bad about. Honestly, so long as you can still find some hope, some light at the end of the tunnel, I'd bet that this is the sort of thing that your sons will read when they're your age, the sort of thing that will make them miss you, and cry a little, and make their hearts swell with both love and heartbreak at how a good man made his, and their, life meaningful. I wish I had this sort of stuff to read from my dad, who is also a good man, though not much of a writer.

    Also, just wanted to say that there's more than just nice sentiment here; folksy tone notwithstanding, I think that the quality of your prose and your introspective thoughtfulness could stand toe to toe with nearly any in the dad bloggers group, and bests most of them. This is the kind of stuff that my college creative non-fiction instructors would wish desperately for, and get all too little of. Anyway, this is meaningful for me to read, too. Thanks.

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    1. Thanks, Neal. Coming from you that is a very welcome compliment.

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  11. FWIW, I understand those aches and pains far better than I want to.

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