Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a young princess. Princess Milaeca was a cute little thing, who loved to play, to run, to dance, to sing, and to talk. Her older Princess sisters loved her dearly, as did the King and Queen, her parents. They loved her so much, in fact, that they never wanted to see her get hurt. Whenever she would approach danger of any kind, big or small, they would overreact in order to protect her.
As she grew into childhood, she herself became very fearful of getting hurt, because those around her had always taken such care in attending to her safety.
When she played with other children, she would stand and watch when they did the fun, but potentially dangerous, things that children do. On a trampoline, her feet would barely leave the ground before she had had enough. She feared swings. She wouldn't jump into the fun foam pits that would be set up for children's play during the Kingdom's many festivals. She would always hold hands with a grown-up, and never stray off more than a few metres when they went to the local market.
The people around her began to think of her as cautious, but always acted with her as if she were very, very brave when she would go on a swing and let them push her (just a bit), or stand on a trampoline and carefully lift one leg at a time in a pantomime of jumping, or step gingerly into a foam pit with a look of great accomplishment. So despite being very, very cautious, Princess Milaeca never thought of herself thus.
In fact, in those times when she pushed herself to overcome her fears and get onto the trampoline, the swing, or the edge overlooking the ball pit, she thought of herself as the bravest Princess ever.
And only her father, the King, who was equally cautious as a child understood this. And sure, the King had to live with the memories of having scorn heaped on him by his sisters and his parents and his wicked brothers-in-law (one of whom tried to get him to jump into the pool once for 7 weeks and gave him wedgies), but he nevertheless became a great and accomplished King. (And it never bothered the King that even his mother, his dear, dear mother, the former Queen, who loved him dearly, once called him a 'chicken' to his face. Nor did he remember the incident or refer to it ever again. Even though he sometimes wondered how she could do that to him. How could you? I WAS YOUR SON. YOUR SON...)
Um.
So Princess Milaeca was always safe, always happy, and never ever got hurt. The end.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
Learn About 11 Interesting Poetry Forms
In David's continuing quest to enlighten and educate his readership, he today provides information and examples that illustrate eleven fun poetry forms. Information about the poetry forms is from shadowpoetry.com.
To illustrate the forms, I use the same common and simple verse as an example for each, so that the instructions are as accessible and clear as possible.
For Gene, who made the machine, it was a blow
And Joe who made it go, felt some woe
Resulting from Art's part in what came to pass:
The machine's choking end from poison gas.
The Balled of Gene's Machine
Refrain:
Oh Gene, he worked so long
To build his brave machine
And Joe, he made it go
And brought a smile to Gene.
(I)
One day into their town,
Came Art, a steamy lad.
Unbeknownst to Gene and Joe,
His arrival boded bad.
(II)
A machine's but wires and cogs
And assorted other parts.
It will last for years and years,
Lest exposed to young men's farts.
(III)
The story's widely known
How Art wrecked Gene's machine.
But what's never been made plain
Is how he also wrecked his jeans.
Machine
Young Gene made it
Joe set it in motion
Art passed gas to blow it apart
That stinks
Here lies Genes' machine.
Without brain, nor lung, nor heart.
Yet brought to life by Joe,
And destroyed by passing Art.
Soul of nuts and bolts
Made to go by Gene and Joe
Blown apart by Art
Gene designed a machine from some parts
His friend Joe was the guy who pushed 'start'
Art, a sometimes third pal
Wasn't feeling so well
And blew Gene's work apart with his farts.
A guy named Eugene
Built himself a machine.
His friend Joe joined the scene,
To hit the 'start' on its screen.
It roared to life nice and clean,
With a glowing proud sheen.
Art, also there, but unseen,
With distress in his spleen,
Caused by one extra bean,
In his Southwest cuisine,
Made a fart most obscene,
That best fit a latrine.
One can't intervene,
Once parts start to careen,
Here, there, and between,
Like a child on caffeine.
So soon naught stood where there'd been
The device so pristine.
(So said the news magazine)
Young Gene made a really nice machine
Friend Joe spent time to make it go
Art flatulated with zest
Thus rendering Gene's work
Out of commission
Until such time
Gene can fix
It all
Up.
Art
Is farting
Thus blowing machines
Blowing thus,
Farting is
Art
Glowing
Flowing
Knowing
Blowing
Gene devises glowing, flowing part.
Art breaks without knowing, blowing fart.
To illustrate the forms, I use the same common and simple verse as an example for each, so that the instructions are as accessible and clear as possible.
Acrostic Poem
(where the first letter of each line spells a word)For Gene, who made the machine, it was a blow
And Joe who made it go, felt some woe
Resulting from Art's part in what came to pass:
The machine's choking end from poison gas.
Ballad
(a short narrative poem with stanzas of two or four lines and usually a refrain)The Balled of Gene's Machine
Refrain:
Oh Gene, he worked so long
To build his brave machine
And Joe, he made it go
And brought a smile to Gene.
(I)
One day into their town,
Came Art, a steamy lad.
Unbeknownst to Gene and Joe,
His arrival boded bad.
(II)
A machine's but wires and cogs
And assorted other parts.
It will last for years and years,
Lest exposed to young men's farts.
(III)
The story's widely known
How Art wrecked Gene's machine.
But what's never been made plain
Is how he also wrecked his jeans.
Cinquain
(a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines)Machine
Young Gene made it
Joe set it in motion
Art passed gas to blow it apart
That stinks
Epitaph
(a brief poem inscribed on a tombstone praising a deceased person, usually with rhyming lines)Here lies Genes' machine.
Without brain, nor lung, nor heart.
Yet brought to life by Joe,
And destroyed by passing Art.
Haiku
(a Japanese verse consisting of three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables)Soul of nuts and bolts
Made to go by Gene and Joe
Blown apart by Art
Lanturne
(a five-line verse shaped like a Japanese lantern with a syllabic pattern of 1-2-3-4-1)
Gene's
machine.
Joe pushed go.
Art's fart made it
stop.
Limerick
(a rhymed humorous or nonsense poem of five lines and a set rhyme scheme and syllable structure)Gene designed a machine from some parts
His friend Joe was the guy who pushed 'start'
Art, a sometimes third pal
Wasn't feeling so well
And blew Gene's work apart with his farts.
Monorhyme
(a poem in which all the lines have the same end rhyme)A guy named Eugene
Built himself a machine.
His friend Joe joined the scene,
To hit the 'start' on its screen.
It roared to life nice and clean,
With a glowing proud sheen.
Art, also there, but unseen,
With distress in his spleen,
Caused by one extra bean,
In his Southwest cuisine,
Made a fart most obscene,
That best fit a latrine.
One can't intervene,
Once parts start to careen,
Here, there, and between,
Like a child on caffeine.
So soon naught stood where there'd been
The device so pristine.
(So said the news magazine)
Nonet
(has nine lines. The first line has 9 syllables, the second line 8 syllables, the third line 7 syllables, etc...)Young Gene made a really nice machine
Friend Joe spent time to make it go
Art flatulated with zest
Thus rendering Gene's work
Out of commission
Until such time
Gene can fix
It all
Up.
Palindrome Poetry
(a poem that reads the same forward or backward)Art
Is farting
Thus blowing machines
Blowing thus,
Farting is
Art
Tyburn
(a 6 line poem consisting of 2, 2, 2, 2, 9, 9 syllables. The first 4 lines rhyme and are all descriptive words. The last 2 lines rhyme and incorporate the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th lines as the 5th through 8th syllables)Flowing
Knowing
Blowing
Gene devises glowing, flowing part.
Art breaks without knowing, blowing fart.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
If Soft Parenting is a Crime, I am Guilty Guilty Guilty
I'll be the first to admit that all three of my daughters have suffered needlessly and silently as a result of
soft parenting.
My wife and I are soft parents. There. I said it. I'll leave it to my better-half to confirm or deny.
My older daughters, now off in University, bear the scars of having been raised by softies. Sure, they're intelligent, confident, hard-working (when they feel like it), kind, fun-loving, generous and all-around good people (not to mention beautiful, but that might be less about the parenting and more about the parentage). But they're also
Once, when my eldest was little, she wanted eggs. She felt like eggs. We had no eggs in the house. Her eyes started to water. She really wanted eggs. I went out and bought eggs from the grocery store. End of story. The hurricane raging outside, as it turns out, did not kill me. The thought of my little daughter, who really really wanted eggs and was close to tears, nearly did.
My second daughter probably got pampered too, although I can't remember any specifics. (Like grains of sand on the beach, who can recall but one of them?)
And I'm fairly sure my five-year old is feeling the effects of soft parenting as well. I don't really have the will (or the space) to list all the examples, so I'll instead share a few symptoms:
Point is, I'm a soft parent. I know it. They know it. The two or three people who read my blog now know it too.
But lest you leave here today thinking that I'm completely spineless I will tell you that there are three times when I am not a soft parent:
soft parenting.
My wife and I are soft parents. There. I said it. I'll leave it to my better-half to confirm or deny.
My older daughters, now off in University, bear the scars of having been raised by softies. Sure, they're intelligent, confident, hard-working (when they feel like it), kind, fun-loving, generous and all-around good people (not to mention beautiful, but that might be less about the parenting and more about the parentage). But they're also
- a tiny bit - and I do mean just a tiny bit - sensitive, in absolutely the sweetest way possible;
- a smidge competitive (not the kind that makes you compete hard; the kind that makes you dislike not winning even when you didn't compete hard);
- a wee bit fond of being pampered (at least around their parents).
Once, when my eldest was little, she wanted eggs. She felt like eggs. We had no eggs in the house. Her eyes started to water. She really wanted eggs. I went out and bought eggs from the grocery store. End of story. The hurricane raging outside, as it turns out, did not kill me. The thought of my little daughter, who really really wanted eggs and was close to tears, nearly did.
My second daughter probably got pampered too, although I can't remember any specifics. (Like grains of sand on the beach, who can recall but one of them?)
And I'm fairly sure my five-year old is feeling the effects of soft parenting as well. I don't really have the will (or the space) to list all the examples, so I'll instead share a few symptoms:
- We play ALL the time (thanks to whomever told her that her work is play) and when I don't want to play anymore she explains to me that that's not really an option;
- When she has to go to bed, she's genuinely puzzled and troubled by the fact that I get to stay up later than she does;
- When we do the 1-2-3 thing, while it works, she'd be hard-pressed to explain why;
- When we give her a time limit on something, she's okay with it as long as we don't set a timer (timers follow-through, her parents not so much);
- When she's at the dinner table and needs something, rather than getting up to fetch it herself, she simply makes her needs known and expects me to go get it for her (no wait...that's her older sisters I'm thinking of...but how could I have attributed something they used to do so long ago to Micaela......no wait...)
Point is, I'm a soft parent. I know it. They know it. The two or three people who read my blog now know it too.
But lest you leave here today thinking that I'm completely spineless I will tell you that there are three times when I am not a soft parent:
- At bed time. That's when Daddy gets stubborn. That's when tears don't work. That's when bargains cannot be struck. Don't bother fighting Daddy at bedtime.
- When something matters to me. Very, very occasionally, something matters and I dig in my heels. I get angry. I get stubborn. Those are the times when all of the women I live with know to just back away. It doesn't happen often - because it usually involves the Leafs and the playoffs - but when it does...
- When there's a spider that can't be ignored. Daddy won't do that for you. Don't even ask.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
She Couldn't Resist: A Parable about Will Power
She had no will power whatsoever. She knew it. Her family and friends knew it. Even casual acquaintances like the merchant in the corner store and the tellers at the bank knew it.
She couldn't resist any sort of temptation, she couldn't impose any sort of discipline on herself or her life, and she couldn't stick to any promises she made to improve herself in any way. She had always been that way. In every other respect, she was a wonderful person.
As she grew into adulthood, she understood and basically accepted this weakness in herself. Sure, she'd always be a bit unhealthy because she had so little self-control when it came to food and because she couldn't stick to any kind of fitness regime beyond a day or two. Sure, it would be great to be that person who would just say no to the bad things in life and yes to the good. But she figured she'd be less happy that way if it meant depriving herself of things she loved, and so she made light of it when talking with close friends, stopped trying to change, and went on with her indulgences.
One day, Mr. Wright came into her life (Tony Wright, a very reputable lawyer in town).
While she might have believed that "love at first sight" was a fiction before the moment she saw him, she would forever after know that it was very real. And for whatever reason, he seemed to feel the same way about her.
They dated. They married. And their love for each other grew as they spent their first year together.
One of the things she loved most about him was that he didn't try to change her; in his eyes, she was perfect "as is". She wished (truly wished) that she could be better than she was if only for him, but she didn't have to be, so she wasn't.
On their first anniversary he gave her an ornate box that clearly wasn't new. It was about the size of the box that had contained her engagement ring almost two years ago by then, but this box was locked. He also handed her an envelope containing a card and a key (presumably, the key to the box). The card said:
(He also gave her some flowers, a nice dinner out, and a new sweater.)
He couldn't have done anything worse to her. The box was constantly on her mind. It gnawed at her. Its presence on her dresser was a constant torment. The key that she put into the top dresser drawer became an obsession. Staring at the box at night, she could almost imagine it throbbing in concert with her heartbeat; pounding as she agonized over its presence. What could be in the box? What's this secret that could significantly impact our lives? Is this a trick? Is he testing me? Is there something really bad in there that I need to know about? Did he love someone else before me? Is it a bullet and he's telling me he once killed someone? Could it be something valuable that he stole? HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?????
She held out for as long as she could...until the next morning when they both left for work.
Circling back to the house after pretending to head off to the office, she went straight to their bedroom, grabbed the box off the dresser, pulled the key from the drawer, and unlocked the box. Before opening the lid, she tried one last time to stop herself, but by this time her hands were no longer within her control...
Inside the box she found a red jelly bean.
Now she had a real dilemma on her hands (along with some red dye). She needed to know the significance of the jelly bean. It didn't make any sense. How could a jelly bean have an impact on their life together as the anniversary card suggested? What did it mean?
But she of course couldn't ask him. She had betrayed his trust. He knew she was weak, he never expected her to change that in herself, but he had asked such a small thing of her and she had failed him. Clearly, she couldn't ask him about the jelly bean. She was stuck in a worse position now than she had been before opening the damn box.
Somehow, she found the strength to keep her questions to herself. She mustered every ounce of self-control and kept silent. For hours. For days. For weeks. For months. For years...
All that time, her mind cooked up explanations for the jelly bean. Most were absurd. None made sense. But she suffered such internal turmoil that it began to change her feelings about her husband. She wasn't sure she could trust him anymore. She began to resent him. Not knowing was having a greater impact on their life together than any possible secret related to the jelly bean could have. But still she kept silent.
The worst times for her were when he thanked her for the trust she placed in him by not opening the box. At those times, her will to keep secret what she had done held, but only barely.
In their twelfth year of marriage, he got very sick. It looked like he was going to die. She decided that before that happened, she needed to know about the jelly bean. Just as she started to ask him, though, he beat her to the punch: "All these years, you've held my trust. You've kept my box locked. You've fulfilled my belief in you. You've demonstrated greater self-control than any other person could have by not even asking me about it. And now, the time has come for you to learn my secret: Well before we met, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare disease that my doctor said could lie dormant for years before one day threatening my life. That day has now arrived. In the box lies a little red pill that I spent a small fortune to get my hands on. I need it now to save my life. I knew you would be by my side when this time came. I knew you would keep it safe. Please get it for me now."
She was confused: "Why didn't you just tell me that? Why hide that from me? Your illness wouldn't have changed how I feel about you. Why take the risk that when you needed the pill we'd be able to have this conversation and I'd be able to get you the pill your life depends upon? I don't get it."
He answered: "Simply put, I didn't want you worrying about me for years and years and treating me as frail in all that time. It's also true that I have always believed in you and I wanted to show you that you have an inner strength far beyond what you think. I bet my love and my life that you'd be able to resist the temptation to open the box. And now, not only will you save my life by giving me the pill, but you will also discover that you are a far better person for having passed this test of self-control."
"I opened the box the morning after you gave it to me," she admitted with dawning dread.
He paused, then smiling he said: "Oh well. I suspected you might have. But I married you knowing and loving who you are, and knowing and loving both your strengths and your weaknesses. I suppose that hearing that you opened the box - in a way - makes me love you all the more for having kept silent all these years to preserve my faith in you. Now please get the pill."
With resignation in her voice, she said what would turn out to be her final words to him: "Yeah... but I bet you didn't guess I'd eat the little red jelly bean I found in the box. It just looked so yummy."
His final, defeated words back to her were: "No. That is indeed a most unpleasant surprise."
He took his last breath moments later.
Months later she got an envelope from his Executor. In the envelope, there was a letter that had been written and sealed at the time of their first anniversary. It said:
She couldn't resist any sort of temptation, she couldn't impose any sort of discipline on herself or her life, and she couldn't stick to any promises she made to improve herself in any way. She had always been that way. In every other respect, she was a wonderful person.
As she grew into adulthood, she understood and basically accepted this weakness in herself. Sure, she'd always be a bit unhealthy because she had so little self-control when it came to food and because she couldn't stick to any kind of fitness regime beyond a day or two. Sure, it would be great to be that person who would just say no to the bad things in life and yes to the good. But she figured she'd be less happy that way if it meant depriving herself of things she loved, and so she made light of it when talking with close friends, stopped trying to change, and went on with her indulgences.
One day, Mr. Wright came into her life (Tony Wright, a very reputable lawyer in town).
While she might have believed that "love at first sight" was a fiction before the moment she saw him, she would forever after know that it was very real. And for whatever reason, he seemed to feel the same way about her.
They dated. They married. And their love for each other grew as they spent their first year together.
One of the things she loved most about him was that he didn't try to change her; in his eyes, she was perfect "as is". She wished (truly wished) that she could be better than she was if only for him, but she didn't have to be, so she wasn't.
On their first anniversary he gave her an ornate box that clearly wasn't new. It was about the size of the box that had contained her engagement ring almost two years ago by then, but this box was locked. He also handed her an envelope containing a card and a key (presumably, the key to the box). The card said:
Now that we've been married for a full year, I feel that it's time to entrust you with an important secret of mine: one that could have a significant impact on our life together. I'm not telling you the secret now, but a time may come when I have to. For now, I ask you to hold on to this box and keep it safe. The secret lies within it. It is locked away and within your power to discover, but I ask you not to open the box until the time comes when I ask you to. Trust me enough to hold onto my secret without knowing what it is. My gift is trust and love and I ask for the same in return. You know I love you as you are. You know I have never asked you to be anyone other than who you are. I know how hard it is for you to resist temptation. For me, I ask you to resist this one.
(He also gave her some flowers, a nice dinner out, and a new sweater.)
He couldn't have done anything worse to her. The box was constantly on her mind. It gnawed at her. Its presence on her dresser was a constant torment. The key that she put into the top dresser drawer became an obsession. Staring at the box at night, she could almost imagine it throbbing in concert with her heartbeat; pounding as she agonized over its presence. What could be in the box? What's this secret that could significantly impact our lives? Is this a trick? Is he testing me? Is there something really bad in there that I need to know about? Did he love someone else before me? Is it a bullet and he's telling me he once killed someone? Could it be something valuable that he stole? HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?????
She held out for as long as she could...until the next morning when they both left for work.
Circling back to the house after pretending to head off to the office, she went straight to their bedroom, grabbed the box off the dresser, pulled the key from the drawer, and unlocked the box. Before opening the lid, she tried one last time to stop herself, but by this time her hands were no longer within her control...
Inside the box she found a red jelly bean.
Now she had a real dilemma on her hands (along with some red dye). She needed to know the significance of the jelly bean. It didn't make any sense. How could a jelly bean have an impact on their life together as the anniversary card suggested? What did it mean?
But she of course couldn't ask him. She had betrayed his trust. He knew she was weak, he never expected her to change that in herself, but he had asked such a small thing of her and she had failed him. Clearly, she couldn't ask him about the jelly bean. She was stuck in a worse position now than she had been before opening the damn box.
Somehow, she found the strength to keep her questions to herself. She mustered every ounce of self-control and kept silent. For hours. For days. For weeks. For months. For years...
All that time, her mind cooked up explanations for the jelly bean. Most were absurd. None made sense. But she suffered such internal turmoil that it began to change her feelings about her husband. She wasn't sure she could trust him anymore. She began to resent him. Not knowing was having a greater impact on their life together than any possible secret related to the jelly bean could have. But still she kept silent.
The worst times for her were when he thanked her for the trust she placed in him by not opening the box. At those times, her will to keep secret what she had done held, but only barely.
In their twelfth year of marriage, he got very sick. It looked like he was going to die. She decided that before that happened, she needed to know about the jelly bean. Just as she started to ask him, though, he beat her to the punch: "All these years, you've held my trust. You've kept my box locked. You've fulfilled my belief in you. You've demonstrated greater self-control than any other person could have by not even asking me about it. And now, the time has come for you to learn my secret: Well before we met, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare disease that my doctor said could lie dormant for years before one day threatening my life. That day has now arrived. In the box lies a little red pill that I spent a small fortune to get my hands on. I need it now to save my life. I knew you would be by my side when this time came. I knew you would keep it safe. Please get it for me now."
She was confused: "Why didn't you just tell me that? Why hide that from me? Your illness wouldn't have changed how I feel about you. Why take the risk that when you needed the pill we'd be able to have this conversation and I'd be able to get you the pill your life depends upon? I don't get it."
He answered: "Simply put, I didn't want you worrying about me for years and years and treating me as frail in all that time. It's also true that I have always believed in you and I wanted to show you that you have an inner strength far beyond what you think. I bet my love and my life that you'd be able to resist the temptation to open the box. And now, not only will you save my life by giving me the pill, but you will also discover that you are a far better person for having passed this test of self-control."
"I opened the box the morning after you gave it to me," she admitted with dawning dread.
He paused, then smiling he said: "Oh well. I suspected you might have. But I married you knowing and loving who you are, and knowing and loving both your strengths and your weaknesses. I suppose that hearing that you opened the box - in a way - makes me love you all the more for having kept silent all these years to preserve my faith in you. Now please get the pill."
With resignation in her voice, she said what would turn out to be her final words to him: "Yeah... but I bet you didn't guess I'd eat the little red jelly bean I found in the box. It just looked so yummy."
His final, defeated words back to her were: "No. That is indeed a most unpleasant surprise."
He took his last breath moments later.
Epilogue
Months later she got an envelope from his Executor. In the envelope, there was a letter that had been written and sealed at the time of their first anniversary. It said:
If you're getting this letter, it means I died of my disease and you couldn't save me. Furthermore, it probably means that you couldn't resist the temptation to not only open the box, but also to eat the little red pill it contained. That's a shame. You probably feel terrible. I forgive you. I hope this has taught you a little bit about self-control. I hope the guilt you feel is enough to make you realize that you must exercise greater will-power from...She stopped reading the letter before she could finish it. Her shows were coming on and she needed a snack. She opened the bag of jelly beans she had picked up for the office party the next day. She sobbed quietly as she polished off the bag.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
David Does Deep
"The caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within." - Donovan, There is a Mountain
I like this lyric. It's kind of nice. It rhymes. And it seems like a good opening for some possibly pointless meanderings...
I grew up with a Dad who made it okay - nay, expected - to repeat the same jokes over and over again whenever the appropriate situation arose (and even when it didn't):
Dad taught me other things as well; things that he'd probably characterize as wisdom. He would repeat these lessons again and again and again too, presumably making them more sage with each repetition (I'd make a spice joke here if I had the thyme).
One such lesson was that "You don't really become an adult until you are x" where x, until fairly recently, could be calculated by subtracting about 10 years from his age and/or adding at least 10 to mine. (I might be an adult now because he hasn't said this to me for a while, or maybe I will only become an adult at 50, or maybe the target is still moving...not sure.)
But let's assume I'm an adult now, even by Dad's standards. To use the image from Donovan's lyric above, can it be said that adult David is the butterfly and that before becoming the butterfly, throughout his prolonged childhood, he was the caterpillar? Was the process of growing up all about shedding a childhood skin to find the adult within?
Uh, no.
There was always a child-within and there still is, very much alive and well. There was never an adult just waiting to emerge from the cocoon of childhood. Growing up was/is all about constructing a skin around the child-within so that others would see him as an adult:
The newly enlightened David sees that he had the image flipped before: It is the child-within that is the butterfly, the imagined-adult is the caterpillar, and the skin that must be shed is probably fear (the fear of child-like vulnerability, for example).
Is that what Dad was waiting for me to realize so that he could declare me an adult? Or was Dad just making one of his jokes (again and again and again)?
"First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is." - Donovan, There is a Mountain
First you're a child, then you think you're not a child, then you realize that you never stopped being a child. And that makes you an adult.
"Be like boy! Be like boy! We like Roy!" - The Simpsons, Season 5 Episode 7, Bart's Inner Child
Deep, man.
I like this lyric. It's kind of nice. It rhymes. And it seems like a good opening for some possibly pointless meanderings...
I grew up with a Dad who made it okay - nay, expected - to repeat the same jokes over and over again whenever the appropriate situation arose (and even when it didn't):
- "What's snoo? Nothing much, what's snoo with you?";
- "You may think it's funny when you sneeze like that, but it's snot.";
- "Rectum? Nearly killed him!";
- And so on.
Dad taught me other things as well; things that he'd probably characterize as wisdom. He would repeat these lessons again and again and again too, presumably making them more sage with each repetition (I'd make a spice joke here if I had the thyme).
One such lesson was that "You don't really become an adult until you are x" where x, until fairly recently, could be calculated by subtracting about 10 years from his age and/or adding at least 10 to mine. (I might be an adult now because he hasn't said this to me for a while, or maybe I will only become an adult at 50, or maybe the target is still moving...not sure.)
But let's assume I'm an adult now, even by Dad's standards. To use the image from Donovan's lyric above, can it be said that adult David is the butterfly and that before becoming the butterfly, throughout his prolonged childhood, he was the caterpillar? Was the process of growing up all about shedding a childhood skin to find the adult within?
Uh, no.
There was always a child-within and there still is, very much alive and well. There was never an adult just waiting to emerge from the cocoon of childhood. Growing up was/is all about constructing a skin around the child-within so that others would see him as an adult:
- The child who wants to stick out a foot as someone runs past;
- The child who can barely suppress a giggle when someone farts out loud at an inappropriate time (which is to presume that there is an appropriate time I guess);
- The child who gets angry when someone cuts in line, or sad when someone says something mean to him.
The newly enlightened David sees that he had the image flipped before: It is the child-within that is the butterfly, the imagined-adult is the caterpillar, and the skin that must be shed is probably fear (the fear of child-like vulnerability, for example).
Is that what Dad was waiting for me to realize so that he could declare me an adult? Or was Dad just making one of his jokes (again and again and again)?
"First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is." - Donovan, There is a Mountain
First you're a child, then you think you're not a child, then you realize that you never stopped being a child. And that makes you an adult.
"Be like boy! Be like boy! We like Roy!" - The Simpsons, Season 5 Episode 7, Bart's Inner Child
Deep, man.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
A Note to My Daughter and My Daughter's Future Analyst
Micaela, to make things easier for you if you're ever seeing an Analyst years and years from now, here's why you have trouble dealing with being wrong...
------
About 7 weeks ago, we took out a CD from the Oakville Public Library that has a bunch of songs on it including "All Together Now". We've been listening to all of the songs over and over and over again.
All Together Now starts like this:
One, two, three, four
Can I have a little more?
five, six, seven, eight nine ten I love you.
A, B, C, D
Can I bring my friend _____?
E, F, G, H, I, J, I love you.
The blanks after "Can I bring my friend" are there because they're the source of this incident.
About 3 weeks ago, I heard you singing the words "Can I bring my friend to eat" while singing along to the song. I corrected you: "No, no Micaela. It's 'Can I bring my friend to tea'." (You will later tell me that I said "Can I bring my friend for tea", but that's not where we are in the story yet.)
You, of course, insisted that it's "to eat", but I left it at that.
Until the next time the song was on and you sang "to eat" again. I corrected you again. You disagreed. And we agreed to disagree.
Then Mom was in the car and it happened again. This time, I turned the volume way, way up so Mom could hear it and tell us which it was - without knowing who thought it was what. You cheated and sang your words on top of the loud music. Mom, realizing that she was being put in the middle of a dispute, chose to say she wasn't sure. (Although I believe she knew the truth).
On it went.
Until yesterday. With your second oldest sister and your Mom in the car, we turned the volume way up once again, you played it straight and kept quiet while we all listened to the lyrics. Clear as day, the singer said "to tea" and you refused to acknowledge it, insisting that it was "to eat". Your sister tried to diffuse the tension by saying it was "to bed" (which is a later verse and pretty funny, but not the point).
Finally, in Longo's, I pulled out my iPhone, Googled the lyrics, zoomed in on the words so they were really big, and had you read them. (Bet you didn't know reading could be used against you.)
I watched your face as you read the lyrics to yourself (Later, as an adult, you'll learn to read a few words ahead before saying things out loud and incriminating yourself in situations like this - but you just learned to read, so I had you). I watched as a little bit of innocence-lost washed over your face. I felt a little bad.
Until you looked up at me and said "Well, you said 'Can I bring my friend for tea' so we're both wrong." Only now did I take the high road and accept your admission of wrongness, flawed as it might be.
I should have left it at that. But later Mom asked what you wanted to do today. I answered "Maybe you should have a friend to tea."
Sorry about that.
In my defense, I should get a mulligan because I was right and you were wrong.
Anyways, tell your Analyst about the good times too.
Love, Dad.
------
About 7 weeks ago, we took out a CD from the Oakville Public Library that has a bunch of songs on it including "All Together Now". We've been listening to all of the songs over and over and over again.
All Together Now starts like this:
One, two, three, four
Can I have a little more?
five, six, seven, eight nine ten I love you.
A, B, C, D
Can I bring my friend _____?
E, F, G, H, I, J, I love you.
The blanks after "Can I bring my friend" are there because they're the source of this incident.
About 3 weeks ago, I heard you singing the words "Can I bring my friend to eat" while singing along to the song. I corrected you: "No, no Micaela. It's 'Can I bring my friend to tea'." (You will later tell me that I said "Can I bring my friend for tea", but that's not where we are in the story yet.)
You, of course, insisted that it's "to eat", but I left it at that.
Until the next time the song was on and you sang "to eat" again. I corrected you again. You disagreed. And we agreed to disagree.
Then Mom was in the car and it happened again. This time, I turned the volume way, way up so Mom could hear it and tell us which it was - without knowing who thought it was what. You cheated and sang your words on top of the loud music. Mom, realizing that she was being put in the middle of a dispute, chose to say she wasn't sure. (Although I believe she knew the truth).
On it went.
Until yesterday. With your second oldest sister and your Mom in the car, we turned the volume way up once again, you played it straight and kept quiet while we all listened to the lyrics. Clear as day, the singer said "to tea" and you refused to acknowledge it, insisting that it was "to eat". Your sister tried to diffuse the tension by saying it was "to bed" (which is a later verse and pretty funny, but not the point).
Finally, in Longo's, I pulled out my iPhone, Googled the lyrics, zoomed in on the words so they were really big, and had you read them. (Bet you didn't know reading could be used against you.)
I watched your face as you read the lyrics to yourself (Later, as an adult, you'll learn to read a few words ahead before saying things out loud and incriminating yourself in situations like this - but you just learned to read, so I had you). I watched as a little bit of innocence-lost washed over your face. I felt a little bad.
Until you looked up at me and said "Well, you said 'Can I bring my friend for tea' so we're both wrong." Only now did I take the high road and accept your admission of wrongness, flawed as it might be.
I should have left it at that. But later Mom asked what you wanted to do today. I answered "Maybe you should have a friend to tea."
Sorry about that.
In my defense, I should get a mulligan because I was right and you were wrong.
Anyways, tell your Analyst about the good times too.
Love, Dad.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
I'm Not Writing a Post This Morning
Just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to write a post this morning. That's right. Not doing it.
Why?
I've got a few reasons:
David.
Why?
I've got a few reasons:
- I've got absolutely nothing to say. When I get that way, I make stuff up that isn't true and I don't want to betray the trust of my readers (dwindling as they might be, see below). Besides, as my Mom always says, "if you don't have something nice to say, have a sandwich". (She's never said that actually, but that's not the point.)
- I don't feel like it. The girls just went back to school after a great Reading Week together and I miss them. The last thing I feel like doing is writing a blog post. Speaking of Reading Week, it seems like a bit of a misnomer. And speaking of the word "misnomer", there sure are a lot of people who misuse that word. Look it up. Then look up the word "ironic".
- I'm too busy. I simply don't have the time to devote to the creative process. It takes me days - even weeks sometimes - to write these posts. I don't want to cheat all of my readers (dwindling in numbers as they are, mind you) of my usual quality. See my earlier poem about cheese if you doubt what I'm saying.
- My readership is dwindling. My recent scintillating posts barely attracted any eyeballs. Rather than doing something about it, like writing more scintillating posts, I'd rather just mope and write nothing. So there. (I don't know how to put emoticons into the post, or I can't be bothered, but if I did I'd put an emoticon of a little guy with his arms crossed, slightly perturbed eyes, a frowny face, and a clearly expressed "hmmmmph".) (By the way, the 'm' key stuck when I was typing "hmmph", but I like the way it came out so I left the extra 'm's in.)
- I'm starting to forget when I've told someone something already, and I don't want to accidentally say something I've said before in an earlier post or Facebook status. For example, I know I've told a lot of you about my wife cancelling our fixed-fee snow shoveling service this winter because over the last couple of winters it hasn't paid. But I can't remember if I've already written a post about it, so I don't want to risk repeating myself by mentioning it again.
- I'm starting to forget when I've told someone something already, and I don't want to accidentally say something I've said before in an earlier post or Facebook status. For example, if I mention how much my back is hurting this winter, I run the risk that I've already told you that.
- My 'mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm' key keeps sticking. I could work around it by avoiding that letter, or by using the backspace key, but that key requires a long reach from mmmmy right pinky finger and I'mmmmmm having trouble mmmmmmustering the effort to mmmmmmmmake the reach.
- I'm struggling to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. Even things that require only a tiny bit of focus, like keeping up my sticking 'm' key gag, are a challenge. If I'm not careful, this could lead to unsighly errors and lost credibility.
- My dear wife (who cancelled my shoveling service this winter because over the last few winters it hasn't paid) says I'm writing too many posts and she doesn't have time to read all of them. I wouldn't want to do that to her, what with all the shoveling and all.
David.
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