Tomorrow is the big day… We’re going to the Monster Jam show in the morning!
For the first time, you will get to see what happens when we drive past Whole Foods on I-65 in Nashville.
All you know at this point is that the other way on I-65 goes to Louisville, KY where we have visited the zoo a couple of times now; where they have the rhinos.
So I explained to you that going south on the Interstate will take us to a place called Huntsville, AL… where the monster trucks are. (As if it’s a special monster truck city where the monster trucks always are; where they live, work, and play in organized chaos.)
Today you have been deciding which toy monster trucks to take with us on the mini-road trip; hoping to see the “real life” Monster Mutt tomorrow, which is a monster truck that looks like a giant puppy, floppy ears and all.
It’s funny how a family trip to go see monsters trucks run over old cars (or whatever they do) could be such a big deal to the three of us, but it is. It’s a big deal to you, so it’s a big deal to Mommy and me.
This morning Mommy sent me a text that seemed to summarize things, as if in a simple, yet poetic way:
Spring and summer are on their way and we have lots of fun things to be excited about— because our world is right in front of us and it’s pretty good
She’s right. When I see you and Mommy in front of me, I see the world and I know that it’s pretty good. Well, actually “pretty good” is an understatement.
Maybe I could use #blessed as a good start. (Yeah, the hashtag makes it even cooler.)
I promise you that the next letter I’ll write will be undeniably positive and light-hearted.
But for now, I’m working through something in my head and I feel that I can’t really move forward until I write it down for you to read one day.
This is the kind of letter I don’t intend for you to read until you’re old enough to read/and or watch The Hunger Games; which contains the mood and similar content as this letter.
The irony here is that I just tucked you in for the night a few hours ago, as we said our bedtime prayers; an unspoken way of saying, “Don’t worry, I will help protect you.”
It’s my job to give you assurance of safety and to be your mighty guardian. There is no doubt I will
protect you with my life as it is up to me. Yet I myself am caught in a current emotional state of… insecurity, for lack of a better word.
For the past week, I have been studying the “alternative version” of the 911 attacks as presented in the documentary Loose Change, on both Netflix and YouTube.
It pointed out some things I had never considered before: I admit there is no clear footage of the plane hitting the Pentagon, nor pictures of it happening either. I can’t explain that. I’ve actually lost sleep over this and several other aspects of the September 11th attacks, as presented in Loose Change.
However, I believe in hearing both sides of the story. So I’ve also recently been w
atching the clever rebuttles of Myles Powers as well, on YouTube, which help me feel more confident that the claims of Loose Change are not as easily factual as they appear.
I don’t know for certain what to think right now, but I will keep studying both sides of the story. I want the truth in such an uncertain world; where the Twin Towers were hit by planes back in 2001, and just a couple of days ago, a plane from Malaysia apparently just disappeared in flight.
So I admit, my head is a bit messy right now; and to be honest, I probably shouldn’t be writing to you tonight. Maybe I should have just taken the night off because I’ll probably later regret my vulnerability here.
As Mommy and I continue to peripherally have to the ongoing conversation of “should we have another kid?”, this general concept keeps coming up as one of the reasons to possibly let you remain an only child:
There is so much evil and uncertainty in this world, so why bring another human life into that sort of existence?
Maybe it’s an irrational thought, but I think that question itself shows not so much my insecurity as a parent, as it does my deep, ongoing need to feel like I must protect you at all times, which I know I can’t.
However, you’re my son. I feel like I’m supposed to have all the answers. Or at least be able to keep you from all harm and danger.
I think it’s very important for me to make a regular habit of trying to imagine myself in other people’s shoes. That’s an ability called empathy, by the way.
The older I get, the more perspectives I gain, by seeing life through the eyes of those who have had different experiences than me.
Something I think about sometimes is what it must be like for dads who are not able to see their kids on a daily basis; for whatever reason that may be.
I get to see you everyday. I get to experience life with you- even on those seemingly forgettable days where nothing particularly epic happens. But I am mindful to not take even those days for granted.
However, there a lot of dads who don’t get to see their kids except for certain days of the month.
It’s beyond sad for me to think about that; putting myself in that situation.
Where I work during the day at my H.R. job, I deal mostly with men- many of which only see their kids on the weekends or every other weekend.
Maybe that’s why I am thinking about this today.
If I am honestly and vulnerably putting myself in their shoes, I see such a devastating version of my life; without you, without Mommy too.
You’re part of me; you’re half of me- literally.
How could I function without seeing half of me everyday; a half of me that needs and desires my certain fatherly influence on a regular basis?
That’s beyond a tragedy when I imagine it personally.
So I don’t take it for granted at all that our family lives in the same house and sees each other each day.
I am thankful for what our family has- and I definitely don’t take it lightly. Because I make a habit of empathizing with others, the best I can. It puts things into perspective.
This letter was supposed to be a funny one about how I’m a typical dad in the way I hide your toys when you refuse to put them away when I ask you to.
But seeing that this is my last letter of 2013, I want it to have a more retrospective perspective.
So I’ll save my originally intended programming for next week and/or next year.
Instead, I can’t help but think of what this year, 2013, has taught me on this gloomy and rainy December night; letting this all soak in.
It’s been an interesting year for me in that it’s been like a dichotomy.
Three months into the year, I became a (new wave) vegan, which proved to take an epic psychosocial toll on me; yet physically and psychologically, I’ve never been healthier, and more at peace and in a state of gratitude.
(I have even sworn off caffeine for the rest of my life, as well; because I see it as the most unregulated addictive stimulant in the world.)
One of my favorite bands ever, Third Eye Blind, sings one of my favorite songs ever, “Motorcycle Drive By.” My favorite line of it serves as a bit of a motto to describe the private challenges I’ve dealt with inside my brain this year:
“And there’s this burning like there’s never been/And I’ve never been so alone/And I’ve never been so alive”
Before it sounds like I’m throwing myself a pity party, let me just clarify. I’m not alone. I have you and Mommy. I have family. I have friends. I have plenty of meaning in my life.
I have joy!
But there’s an undeniable disconnect that I suddenly became aware of during the weeks following my denying of animal products for nutritional sustenance. It was like cutting myself off from the rest of the world. I by default ostracized myself from what is normal in society. After all, I no longer participate in that historical human shared experience.
Then a few months later, for all practical purposes, I did something similar when I “quit” Facebook.
I went from spending a minimum of 30 minutes to 60 minutes a day scrolling through my Facebook feed, commenting and corresponding, and accidently instigating polarizing conversations based on my opinions that half my friends agreed with, while the other half didn’t.
Plus, I confused a lot of people whenever I used sarcasm.
So since June, I have made a conscious effort to spend only 30 to 60 seconds (!) a day on Facebook. Perhaps, in a sense, it’s selfish to my Facebook friends, but for this 2nd half of the year, the only news on Facebook I have known about is what shows up at the very top of my news feed; which is what the free market of my 960 Faceook friends decided was the most relevant that day.
It explains that, based on studies, “People who tend to use Facebook the most tend to have more narcissistic personalities or insecure personalites.”
That’s a weird thought… to be both narcissitic and insecure.
Well, in theory, that was me for the first half of the year.
No question- the second half of the year, sans Facebook dependance, was by far the better half of the year for me. I have simply been happier.
I have had time to focus on what really matters: you and Mommy. Being a dad and being a husband.
Without the two of you, who am I?
Just a bearded dude in a medium-sized funny t-shirt.
As for Facebook, I am now merely a lifesize cardboard cutout who smiles and waves, but ultimately, has no personal opinions.
Because like the idea of free speech, the “social factor” of social media is an illusion.
Anything I say or post in social media could come back to haunt me in my future career, and I’ve skated pretty close on that fine line this year.
But I’ve taken that extra 30 to 60 minutes a day that I used to spend trying to be clever on Facebook and Twitter, and instead use it on you and Mommy.
Here’s to 2014- the most realistic, unnarcissitic, most secure year I’ve never known- full of art and meaning.
This week I introduced Mommy to a 25 year-old movie called Rain Man, starring Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman.
It’s one of those movies where, now that I’ve seen it for the 3rd time, I realize that it’s actually one of my favorite movies.
I mentioned to Mommy some of the similarities betweenRain Man and The Guilt Trip , starring Barbara Streisand and Seth Rogen; another movie we both really like.
And then it hit me… most of my favorite movies are “road movies.”
A road movie is a film genre in which main characters travel across the country (or at least the state) motivated by some random plot device; during which they learn to overcome their differences in personalities and communication styles.
The characters involved typically find themselves rewarded by the end of the movie; most of all because of their shared personal experiences and character development. In other words, they become better people because of the road trip.
Ultimately, they prove that life’s a journey, not a destination.
(Just to name a few more examples of my favorite road movies… Dumb And Dumber, Planes, Trains, & Automobiles, National Lampoon’s Vacation, Little Miss Sunshine, and Sideways.)
On a similar note, Mommy and I have been totally psyching you up for this weekend. Friday is our 5th wedding anniversary and we’re celebrating it by…
Taking you on a 2 and a half hour road trip from Nashville, TN to Louisville, KY!
We’ve got you so excited/slightly confused as we keep telling you about the fold-out couch you’ll be sleeping on:
“Jack, do you want to sleep on your own special ‘big boy bed’ at the hotel in Louisville?”
Not to mention, our zoo membership is recognized there too, so visiting the zoo ultimately becomes the plot device for our little road trip.
You’re hoping to see camels and bears.
For me, this is really fun. I’m already cracking up at the thought of you sleeping on a fold-out couch in a hotel in Louisville.
That’s something I adore about you:
Here Mommy and I have hyped up this trip for the past couple of weeks and you don’t even know what a hotel is, or Louisville, or a fold-out couch.
Yet, your eyes light up at the thought of it all.
I think you’re going to do great on your first real road trip. It’s all about the journey, anyway.
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