Storytelling

2 Comments Posted on Nostalgia, People, Storytelling, Uncategorized

dad from day one: Mommy’s Little Monster

Week 8.

The weekend after we found out we were having a baby, we spent 45 bucks on “cute clothes” for Jack at a Carter’s outlet.  One of the outfits purchased that day says, “Mommy’s Little Monster”.  I have a feeling that this monster-themed attire was designed with the idea in mind of “oh, he’s such a messy little boy… he’s always gettin’ into everything…” .  But for me, I look at this whole “boys are little monsters” as a literal thing: Boys are actually a wonderful representation of what classic monsters are in my mind.

So far, having a baby boy has totally met all my expectations as far as his lack of politeness (passing gas while people hold him for the first time) and becoming the baby version of an angry, drunk, and ranting Jack Nicholson the moment he realizes he’s hungry and we didn’t already have a bottle ready for him right that second.  Not to mention the percentage of milk that comes out of his mouth as opposed to the amount that goes in and stays in.  But I once was (and in a sense, always will be) a boy.  Baby Jack is indeed a friendly, little beast.  He really sounds and acts like a literal monster.

My dad Jack and my son Jack

When he’s sleeping, he often makes this “ghurr, ghurr” sound.  And sometimes instead, the noise sounds more like the Smoke Monster from Lost.  It doesn’t help that he can’t actually speak yet.  How could I not be reminded of a monster when I see a little baby (but big for his age… he looks like he should be six months old) flailing his arms around during pretty much all of his waking hours who makes noises like that scary beast thing (R.O.U.S.) on The Princess Bride? He’s a monster all right.  But a loveable one.

Jack is a little bit like the TV version of The Incredible Hulk mixed with Jabba the Hut and a Mongolian warrior. But the most adorable and cuddly version you could imagine.  I love having my own little monster around the house.  I will teach him everything I know.  And that, friends, is the truly scary part about this whole “monster” thing.

The picture above was taken by Joe Hendricks Photography:

Blog- www.photojoeblog.com

Website- www.joehendricks.com

In case you don’t know what the Smoke Monster from Lost sounds like, click on this minute-long video clip:

 

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dad from day one: Handshakes and Footprints

Week 8.

Yesterday on Jack’s 8 week “birthday”, we inked his hand and foot for keepsakes. As you can see in the picture above, it took more than one try.  I realize that I’m putting myself in danger of sounding like a Hallmark card or an oversensitive dad who would cry on a reality TV show, but I see a lot of symbolism in this tradition of preserving the glorified silhouettes of our baby’s hands and feet.  Jack’s handprint symbolizes all the peoples’ hands he will shake when meets them, from his college roommates to his first real employer to his future father-in-law.  His handprint also represents the music he will play on his guitar (it’s inevitable that he will be a musician like me).  Who will he meet?  What will he write?  Or build? Or create?

Jack’s footprint obviously symbolizes the places he will go. Where will he go to college and where will he live? And also, meta-phorically, like Dr. Seuss’s final book in 1990, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!, in the big picture sense, where will his life go? Which exceptional events will take place in his life?  Which things about Jack’s life will be unique compared to every other person who has ever lived? Where will he step where no one has ever stepped before, both literally and symbolically?

In our house, these hand-prints and footprints are more than just a traditional keepsake. They also tell a story.  A story that has already been written, just waiting for the time to be told.  Oh, the places he’ll go!

Notice the cloth diapers?  More on that in the near future…

2 Comments Posted on Storytelling, Uncategorized, Writing

The Blogger’s Ego: The Necessary Narcissism of Writers, Actors, Musicians, and “Performers”

Is the stereotype true that bloggers are a bit narcissistic?  Well, not always.  It’s just true about the ones who are good at what they do.

If you go to Google right now and type in “bloggers are”, the first four phrases that pop up are “…not journalists”, “losers”, “annoying”, and “narcissists”.  Add to that, recently my arch nemesis/frenemy Ben Wilder (who within the past few months declined an invite to publicly wrestle me on YouTube) posted on my facebook wall, “Do you ever post status updates that aren’t blog posts? Seems like your ‘friends’ probably would like to be considered more than a number.”  (Actually, the links show up on my wall, but are not my status updates.)

That’s ironic for two obvious reasons: 1) He also has his own blog named Out of the Wildnerness which feeds into his facebook wall as well, and 2) The reason I don’t often post status updates other than links to my newest posts here on Scenic Route Snapshots is because these posts are my status updates.  To additionally regularly write status updates would, in my mind, truly put me in danger of being narcissistic.

According to Wikipedia, “Narcissism is the personality trait of egotism, vanity, conceit, or simple selfishness.”  Why do some see that word as an accurate way to describe bloggers?  Like actors and musicians (which unsurprisingly I’ve had my fair share of experience being both), a person who blogs, by the very nature of their hobby/career, must be wired to be “overaware” of their own life and their surroundings.  Socrates is one of the Greek philosophers credited for saying, “Know thyself”.  As for bloggers (along with actors and musicians), perhaps our motto is “Really, really, really know thyself and make sure everyone else does too”.  We have to; in order to be good at what we do so that our audience will find us intriguing, entertaining, believable, and simply relatable.  I can joke about myself being a tad narcissistic, but ultimately, contrasted against mainstream society, am I truly any more self-involved than the millions of other people on Twitter and facebook?

Would I make such an effort to write if I didn’t know that 600 to 1,000 people would be reading it everyday?  Yes, because I started with zero. Would I still write if I knew for a fact that no one at all would be reading it?  Of course not. Otherwise I would just write in a journal and hide it under my bed.  I’m the kind of person that has to have an audience in order to continue doing what I do.

And that is the reason why, that if we bloggers are perceived to be narcissistic, we are still encouraged to continue blogging.  Because despite some cartoonish criticism about our egos, we have an audience whose very presence tells us they appreciate and relate to our writing.  Our writing is based on our lives and essentially, our writing is our lives; though that sounds grammatically incorrect. Actually, bloggers are very similar to stand-up comics, only we are more like sit-down comics.

We assess the quirky situations and patterns around us and share those observations with an audience who hopefully will relate.  Good stand-up comics are funny and humorous in more of a “laugh out loud” kind of way.  Good bloggers are interesting and intriguing; but when they are funny, it’s more of a subtle “laugh quietly to self” kind of way.  Either way, the material that we sit-down comics and stand-up comics write is based on our actual lives.

By blog readers clicking on our websites, they are essentially saying, “Here we are now, entertain us.” Who are we as blog writers to say no?   Even at the risk of being perceived as arrogant and self-centered; at least we have an excuse.

Do I personally think that I am narcissistic as a writer?  Compared to an Amish writer, sure.  But I do believe in the importance of balance in life.  I am very aware of my faults and shortcomings and I’m easily willing to admit them (especially as it makes great writing material); therefore, it’s okay to be very aware of what I am good at.  It doesn’t help that in virtually every post I embed it with several links to things I previously wrote.  Or that I have a “Featured In” page which lets everyone know where I am received the slightest amount of credibility.

We’re obviously living in the age of reality TV as we find much entertainment value in the lives of seemingly normal and “nonfamous” people. Sure, I specialize in writing about the department of “self”.  But the way I look at it, that means that readers are inclined to want to read about “self”.  They find enough of “themselves” in “myself” to relate.  It doesn’t have to be a “selfish” thing to “know thyself”.

So is the stereotype true that bloggers are a bit narcissistic? It took me 832 words to answer that question, so you tell me.

1 Comment Posted on People, Storytelling, Uncategorized

Breeding: The Unromantic Word for Falling in Love and Starting a Family

And the strong (obnoxious, boring, weird, weak, normal, overachieving, nerdy, cool, self-destructive, righteous, intelligent…) survive.

I am fascinated by Animal Planet. It’s impossible not to learn something cool after watching even 15 minutes of that channel. A few weeks ago I saw a special about the mating rituals of rams. The female ram stays at the top of a rocky mountain and all of her “gentleman callers” begin the climb from the bottom. Each of them attempts to be the first to get to the top of the mountain while fighting off (sometimes to death) the other pursuers. Whichever ram proves he is the best protector and provider during this process and proves himself best to care for the she-ram. All in the name of mating. The she-ram will be taken care of by the best possible male and breed with the strongest and healthiest.

From a romantic perspective, we humans fall in love and spend the rest of our lives with the one person we can’t imagine living without, eventually having children with them as an extension of that love. But from a scientific and psychological perspective, we subconsciously choose the person who is most like ourselves yet with enough necessary opposing complimentary traits for a healthy and balanced relationship. I used to have a hard time understanding how women who find themselves in an abusive relationship finally leave it, only to end up with another abusive man. Or how the rudest, most obnoxious jerk of a guy can end up marrying a woman who seems completely normal.

I get it now, though. The match to an abuser is an enabler. The match to a chaotic person is often a someone who needs to control chaos or be controlled by it. Then they have babies and pass along those same extreme virtues to them and the cycle repeats.

Similarly the same thing happens for the rest of us, who are not abusers, enablers, or drama kings and queens. Without realizing it we find, meet, fall in love with, and start a family with the person who is best qualified to pass on our shared attitudes, values, interests, and weird quirks. I married the woman who was best qualified to make it through the tough times and big decisions with me, as well as be the best companion to just simply hang out with when nothing is really going on. Even though it’s strangely unAmerican, we’re not big sports fans. Sometimes I like to remind my wife how lucky she is that she never has to worry about me wanting to watch “the big game” while something is on TV that she wants to see. And we share a fanatical Kosher diet which sets us apart when we order at restaurants: To the waiter at Macaroni Grille, “Do the meatballs here have pork in them?” But we’re cool with it and wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve given a couple of examples of shared quirks between my wife and I, and believe me, there are plenty more. Obviously, every couple has their own quirks within their shared culture between the two of them and they also eventually pass along to their children. Looking past all romantic elements, we humans subconsciously now how to breed our own kind.  We don’t want to see our own version of reality and normalcy become extinct.  So in essence, that’s where babies come really from:

Our strengths, our weaknesses, our quirks.  And the cycle repeats.

For the more sensitive and romantic version of “breeding”, check out my “dad from day one” series.  (I deemed this particular post too much of a black sheep for it, so I made it a spin-off instead.)

 

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dad from day one: Jack’s First Time to Church

Week 7.

Something I had always been acutely aware of is that when two people have a baby, there’s a good solid 6 weeks that go by where you stop seeing them in public.  But shortly after that, the couple begins to dare to make random public appearances.  Like last week, we attempted to take Jack with us to buy groceries. Really, there’s no need for me to paint the details of that story; if you can imagine it, that’s what happened.  Therefore, today I went alone to buy groceries.  It took just as long being that I’m a guy and we, the male species, don’t have instincts to tell us things like where to find vanilla extract or even at our own house where the cutting boards go in the kitchen.

But with me still not having a job yet and with the cold winter weather, the three of us have spent a lot of time indoors.  Now I know what it’s like to be a 29 year-old retired millionaire who gets to stay at home all day in his pajamas and eat cereal for lunch.  Minus the million dollars and plus the need to actually make a living.  So after a month of constantly looking online for jobs and applying, and taking care of Jack, and watching random documentaries instantly on Netflix through the Wii, we decided we were brave enough to take Jack to church for the first time; out of the womb.

Of course, despite giving ourselves plenty of time to get there early, Jack decided he wanted one last snack of milk right as we were heading out the door.  Then we had to change his diaper.  So we arrived 10 minutes late and the only place left to sit was up in the balcony.  This turned out to be a pretty good location though; since we were right next to the door for the moment he would inevitably start crying.  He lasted 35 minutes before we had to dart for the door with him.  We were impressed.