• The disappearance of John

    It’s been a while, eh?

    In terms of writing and this blog, I’m in a funny place. I know a lot of people who are sick, injured, or feeling the pain of life beating them down. I say “a lot,” but it’s not… exactly. Everything’s relative, right? But whether we’re talking raw numbers or just percentages, I’d like to be a voice of reassurance. I’d like to be strong, spouting words of inspiration capable of changing lives.

    Aim a bit high much?

    When other folks are down I don’t want to hitch my car to the train. I don’t want to be a “me too” every time someone faces adversity. Mostly, I don’t think I deserve the same attention. I don’t think my problems rise to the same level. I don’t want to devalue other people’s suffering with my little problems. I don’t want to be the little boy who cried woe.

    However, it occurs to me tonight – as I’m not sleeping – I’m doing neither. I’m not whining or inspiring. I start posts with a couple sentences and stop cold, my heart miles from my words. The Facebook app on my phone becomes an icon of guilt… the feed reader app a convenient victim of forgetfulness. Instead of talking or writing I’m disappearing. This can’t be healthy.

    So, what gives? This year has been a series of little things piling up and weighing me down, creating a little snowball in my mind that not only gets bigger but makes use of every berm or rut on its way downhill to avoid all obstacles. These little things shouldn’t amount to much, even taken together.

    A change at work.
    The almost inevitable distance that grows between former coworkers.
    A dislocated thumb.
    Unflattering stories in the news involving my employer.
    Cheryl taking a second job so necessaries don’t have to join discretionary spending.
    A political climate that mistakes anything resembling compassion for a compromise of “American Values.”
    A pesky problem with my neck.

    This stuff is so mundane I’d be bored if I were you.

    If Cheryl was awake she’d tell you the word pesky does not apply if I’m seeing a neurosurgeon later this morning, but I like the word. Pesky. Maybe it’s just the repressed Red Sox fan in me (Go Rays!).

    Whatever the reason friends, please forgive my absences. All evidence to the contrary, you’re rarely far from my thoughts.

  • Choices

    It’s raining today.

    I’m not running, popping an umbrella, or shielding my head to protect The Do. Sometimes I’m not just capable of adjusting to the rain, I enjoy it. Sometimes I walk a little slower. I figure I’m going to get wet either way, it’s only a question of degrees. So why trouble myself over water? Why let it ruin my day?

    Rain is rare enough here that walking through it can be a novelty.

    Today I slowed down, felt the fat drizzling drops pat my head and shoulders, and let my mind wander off to metaphors near and far.

  • Beth, pride, and The Gators

    My daughter has been been accepted by the University of Florida.

    I am bursting with pride. As Yoda might say, “A proud father I am.”

    I admit it’s a touch misleading though. Beth is just finishing ninth grade. She is not graduating early and she is not enrolling with the freshman class at UF next fall. She will be dual-enrolled in college courses next year, but they won’t be at UF (130 miles away). However, she will be one of forty or so kids living on campus for a week this summer to explore scientific areas of study, meet the professors who teach them, and see the research they do when they’re not teaching.

    I think the concept of the program is fantastic. I think a lot more kids should have the same opportunity, but I also understand the desire to bring in kids who really want to be there and will get the most out of the experience. I think there’s a way to balance larger enrollment with high enthusiasm, but this isn’t a post about the responsibilities of our public institutions of higher learning – or where we place those institutions on our list of state priorities.

    Good thing too – my temper has been running thin lately.

    Although I thought Beth’s essay was pretty good (I couldn’t resist a few suggestions to make it better), her grades are perfect, and her letters of recommendation were glowing, I always assumed she wouldn’t get in. I think she’s a capable, confident, smart, and strong young woman who can and will do many things. But Florida is large and forty is small.

    Maybe it’s a relatively small thing, but I feel like we won the World Series. I feel like looking up those teachers who treated her no better than the students who bullied her and telling them, “Look at my daughter and see what she has done. Now know this: she has done it in spite of you.”

    Where once there was gloom, she is a bright, shining star.