Handprint Poems for Other Occasions

Handprint Poems are a ton of fun.

It's Father's Day, or my birthday, or some other vulnerable time of year - and out comes the carefully wrapped gift from school. Is it a camera? Is it a bowling ball? No...it's my dear child's handprint carefully pressed into clay, with an accompanying poem like:

 

This is the hand
You used to hold
When I was only
 4 years old.

And just like that, I go from enjoying the moment to thinking about old age and death. So cute.

So why is this wonderful medium seemingly reserved for little children (and teachers) who want to blindside their parents into a state of despair? It seems like there could be so many other possibilities!

 

Shotgun Wedding Day

The groom has carefully pressed his hands - sans wedding ring - into clay, with an accompanying poem:

This is the hand

That used to be

Un-held, un-kept,

and completely free.

 

But now because

You forgot the pill

With ring my finger

I now must fill.



 

Any Birthday After 50

After jabbing both wrinkly, gnarled hands into cold soothing clay for a few precious minutes, the remaining imprints are given to one's grown children, with the following:


I miss you now we're not together
 You've all grown up so fast.
 See how much worse I've gotten,
Since you saw me last?

 As I aged, I changed a lot,
The years certainly flew.
You can't believe how old I got,
 While you've been so focused just on you. 

 So save these prints in a safe place
And visit them instead.
 That way you can keep on acting,
Like I'm already dead.

 

After a Breakup

Through tear-soaked eyes, the spurned lover has plunged his or her middle finger into the soft clay (much as their own heart has been plunged into by love's dagger). The resulting imprint is delivered secretly one morning to a certain someone's front-door with a note:

Your dirty little fingerprints
 You've left all over me,
 On my heart and soul and mind,
 And each part of my body.
 

So here is one that won't rub off,
 One last thing for us to share,
 And then you can remember me

By sticking it somewhere.

 

After Months in a Platonic Relationship

 

When it's time to move that relationship to the next level, how about an imprinted message like:

 

Ten tiny little fingers, that always want to play,
That never stop exploring the wonder of today,
Ten tiny little fingers, that have been waiting patiently,
To start exploring you and stop exploring me.

 

 

To Virtual Friends

 

Of course the idea wouldn't be complete without speculating on what this might look like in the brave new world of social networking. So here is a final poem attached to a picture of my virtual hands pressed in virtual clay...

 

 

Here my handprints are done
For everyone to view
I had so much fun
Doing this for you.

So look upon this handprint shot
 Upon your Facebook wall,
And memories will come back
Of me when I was very droll.

 

 

My Thoughts on Boston

I have never run a full marathon. It is highly unlikely that I ever will, and even more highly unlikely that I will ever run the Boston Marathon.

I have run a few half marathons, but have yet to do so in satisfying fashion. Each year that I've tried, I've run the distance during training with greater success than during the actual race, my training times being 10 to 20 minutes faster and fairly pain-free. My inability to finish a race (so far) in the time I'm aiming for and without pain has meant that the great feeling I should experience at having finished at all, has been eclipsed by a deeper sense of disappointment.

That aside, being at the finish line I get to see all sorts of great moments.

A few years ago, I finished my half at about the same time that the winners of the full marathon were done. It was truly astounding to see these athletes sprinting at the end of their race, after running twice as fast as I can and running twice as far for more than 2 hours.

It has been equally astounding to watch the 75-year olds being greeted by their grandchildren, and the young couples jumping into each other's arms after finishing their first race together, and the cancer survivors celebrating yet another victory over their disease. Those are some of the people who finish these races at the same time as the 48-year-old guys who have only done this a handful of times and are suffering from cramps as they limp across the line, let-down as usual. (Truth is, there are many more of them who have finished long before me).

No matter how I'm feeling about my personal performance though, I never fail to get a lump in my throat when I see whoever is waiting for me at the end (an allergic reaction, I think), whether it's my wife, my daughters, my siblings (and siblings-in-law), nieces, nephews, and/or running coaches and friends. Heck, I might even get emotional if I ever see my parents waiting for me there.

My point is that what makes it all worthwhile - at least for me, and at least so far - are the people who are cheering me on; the people who braved the elements and the crowds to be there for me; the people who console me and congratulate me for doing something they haven't (yet) done. I haven't let them down, even if I've let myself down. And they let me know it.

Which brings me to the moment that I decided I would give distance-running a try. My family and I were in Orlando and just happened to cross paths with the Walt Disney World Marathon. We stood waiting while a bunch of runners passed by. Standing next to us was a very young man holding a months-old, maybe weeks-old baby. We were lucky enough to be there at the moment that his wife - clearly very soon after having given birth - was approaching. The proud words he shouted to her, the sweaty hug, the tears in his eyes, the mom's kiss on the baby's forehead - were genuinely inspiring. As she rejoined the race, he shouted "see you at the finish". I turned to look at my wife and saw that she was a little blurry and that she was caught up in the moment as well.

Anyways, those are some of the people I've seen at the end of a marathon, and that's what I'm thinking about as I take in what happened in Boston the other day.

Making Sense of Taking Offense

As we live your lives, we develop defense mechanisms that protect us from encounters with unpleasant and even threatening things. In particular, when a specific encounter results in memorably negative consequences, we tend to learn to avoid that experience in the future. That's why most people only check if a red stove-top burner is hot once. That's why I've only bought my lovely wife a bathroom scale for her birthday once. That's why I'm hoping my daughters will always check and double-check their exam schedules from now on. 

 

I really don't like the feeling of having offended someone. Because I have done it before, I believe that I have developed a sense for those times when offense is looming. So that's when I get careful, paying special attention to the words I'm using and how what I'm saying might be interpreted by the potential offendee. It takes me longer than it has to when I write my blog posts for exactly this reason. I also avoid some topics altogether because there's simply no way to broach them without offending someone.
I call this sense. (That's why I usually write about things like cheese, hats, and kidney stones.)

 

Today, I'm going out on a limb into potentially dangerous waters (how's that for a mixed metaphor?) to explore a few examples of - and weigh in on - the giving and taking of offense.

Mattel

I don't care how hard you tried to make your new Barbie 'Dolls of the World' line inoffensive, there was just no way you were going to pull this off without offending many, many people. That said, to those who took offense at the stereotypical and insensitive design of the Mexico Barbie (for example), I assume that means you're okay with how Mattel usually depicts women?

People who are Systematically Stripping the English Language of Acceptable Words for Things
One of my daughters, upon having (temporarily) left the nest to get a higher education, reported back to me that there are a whole bunch of words that I use that apparently are no longer politically correct. I can't even list them here lest I offend someone. Suffice it to say that, for example, I no longer have a word I can safely use to belittle someone's intelligence. If I had one, I would apply it to those to whom I refer in this paragraph's title. (Idiots.)

Those who say "No offense, but..."
Do you think that saying "Don't get wet, but..." as you pour a pail of water on your friend's head would keep him or her dry? (It doesn't - trust me.) If you were in a Zombie movie, would you say "Not to make your head explode, or anything..." before dispatching the undead? I think not. But worse than that is people who get offended when told they smell bad (or whatever) after someone has just told them not to be offended. Can't you follow instructions?

Cats and Cat Lovers

In my October 19, 2012 post "A Morning's Musings on Matters of Medium (to small...", I said the following about cats: "Horrible things. Surely they can be made to be more dog-like with a little genetic manipulation?" In retrospect, I realize that my insensitive words may have offended some of you and I would like to apologize. I'm sorry you like cats.

Americans
See above.

The Women in my Life
If I have ever said anything to offend you, I am sorry. If you have ever been offended by anything I've said, you misunderstood me. As you know, I have devoted my life to making yours just a little brighter and if I have in any way failed in this duty as your son, brother, husband, father or paramour, I apologize.

The Person Who Just Farted Sitting Next to Me in the Restaurant I Presently Occupy
Wow. But you make a good point. Why do we waste our precious time on this planet being offended by others, or being afraid of offending them? As we all sit together in life's restaurant, we should all fart a little more (and little more audibly), and inhale a little more deeply when we hear the farts of others. We're human. We make mistakes. Better to laugh at the results than to cry foul. Pull my finger, friend. Pull my finger indeed.

I Lost My Hat This Morning

According to the Urban Dictionary the term 'I lost my hat' is used "as a general response, when a person is astounded or baffled at something, be it a person's idiocy or unwarranted self-praise. The term can also be used as a response to another person's completely lackluster news."

In literature, according to Yahoo! Answers, "to 'lose your hat' means to momentarily lose your head, like having a blond moment or going way over the top over a subject".

Here, what I mean by 'I lost my hat' is that I had my hat when I set out for work this morning, and now I no longer have it. I don't know where it is, although I'm pretty sure it's sitting on the train in the general vicinity of where I had been sitting before disembarking sans hat. It is lost. I lost it. Hence the phrase 'I lost my hat'.

With that out of the way, let me tell you about this hat.

I bought it a few months ago at Sears on deep, deep clearance. I think I paid $1.99 for it. Its original price was around $20.00. If it had been some other item and as big a bargain, its purchase might have filled me with great joy. But given that it was a fairly average-looking hat, it was one of those bargains where you say to yourself, "well, it's only $1.99 so I might as well buy it".

In fact, I bought two hats that day and I immediately put the other one to use. That hat is still in my possession and I must say it's barely functional as a hat. If I try to wear it down over my ears, it gradually slips up my head and forms a very unattractive little lump above my skull. When I fold up the bottom inch of the hat so that there's more of a grip on my head, it doesn't cover my ears. But I digress, because that's the other hat I bought that day.

This hat, of the two I bought for $1.99, played second fiddle and until yesterday sat in my closet with it's red-tag still attached. Why hadn't it become a first-stringer when the other hat turned out to be dysfunctional? Because I assumed, having been bought the same day and at the same place, that this hat would also suffer from the lumpy-skull-or-exposed-ears challenge. So despite having paid $3.98 for two new hats, I returned to my tried-and-true "Canada" hat that always makes me feel a little stupid since, living in Canada and wearing it primarily in Canada, it's little message ("Canada") seems pointless. It hadn't seemed pointless when I bought it just before a winter trip to Switzerland, but again I digress.

Yesterday, I had an appointment to get the snow tires off my car. The garage is about a 25 minute walk from the train station. It was a cold morning and I knew I'd need a hat. But the night before, I had put my regular tires into the car and in doing so I had been forced to put my rear seats in the folded-over position. Unbeknownst to me at the time I lowered the seats, my faithful but stupid "Canada" hat had become trapped in the seat and obscured from view.

So I found myself in the car - poised to drop it off at the garage and walk 25 minutes to the train on a blustery morning - without a hat. Mistakenly cursing my wife for having jumped the gun on putting away our winter wear (which, to be fair to me, she does every year), I ran back into the house to grab a hat. I looked at the other, dysfunctional hat and thought to myself: "No. Not this time." And in that moment, the third-string hat got its chance to shine. But just in case, I also grabbed my Toronto Marathon insulating headband because if the third-stringer turned out to be dysfunctional, my ears would pay the price.

The delay that resulted from having to go back into the house meant I had to make the 25 minute walk from the garage to the train in about 20 minutes (yes, it did take me 5 minutes to resolve my hat dilemma). This turned the walk into an alternating walk-and-jog. Wearing my Toronto Marathon insulating headband and my third-string hat in a walk-and-jog situation made me sweaty in the region of my head. So after I had made it to the train with moments to spare, I was forced to use the hat as a sweat towel. Imagine, after months of sitting in the closet, wondering if it would ever get into the game, this hat had warmed me and then wiped me.

And in case you were wondering, yes, it had stayed over my ears. Whether that was because it was a good hat or because it was worn over an insulating headband I will never know.

Today, the forecast called for a chilly morning again. I would need a hat. Last night, I had discovered the whereabouts of my stupid "Canada" hat when I put the newly removed snow tires back on the shelf in my garage and returned my seats to their upright position. (And yes, I did apologize to my wife for mistakenly cursing her even though she hadn't known about the curse.) But now I felt my $1.99 hat had earned the right to be worn again (despite the lingering dried perspiration it likely still held) so I chose it over stupid "Canada" - a fateful decision as it would turn out.

I wore the hat today for about 5 minutes as I walked from the parked car to the train. And then I left it on the train. It didn't deserve that.

Was about 25 minutes worth of wear worth $1.99? I don't know. My hope is that someone else will find the hat, overlook the stale smell of perspiration, and take it home. More likely, someone later today will deliver it to the train station's lost-and-found. There, I expect it will sit for a few weeks, until it makes its way to some charitable organization to be resold or given away to someone who needs a hat. I could go to the lost-and-found to recover it - but that would feel wrong (and since it was only $1.99, it's hardly worth the 8 minute walk from my office to reclaim it.)

I hope that by having shared this story, you too have now 'lost your hat' (see definitions above) and can thus feel more intimately connected to me, your friend, who suffers ever so slightly this morning. (Not because I lost my hat, but because of the Jays' home opener last night.)

And I furthermore hope that those of you who habitually tell me insufferably long and pointless stories, can learn something from this one. I will leave it to you discover what that lesson is.