It’s just after bedtime at the Best Dad Evar household. Best Dad is in the family garage seizing a few moments of quiet. The remnants of a massive shoving-aside project are evident all around him, with boxes, books and piles of stuff stacked to eye level on every available flat surface on either side of the borrowed electric car and its charging station. The clearance on either side of the vehicle suggests that Best Dad will have to back the car out of the garage and into the driveway before loading anyone else into the car. Best Dad is also squeezed into place next to the car, which is far nicer than any of the stuff that surrounds it. He’s checking tonight’s charge-up.
“So, you’re analyzing how much this power-up is costing you, right?” the Narrator voice ends the silence.
Best Dad’s face displays its ever-present slight tinge of annoyance, “I always think about how much things are costing me.”
“So, how much?” the Narrator asks the next logical question.
“Huh?” Best Dad plays dumb, or was he just not paying enough attention?
“How much is this costing?” the Narrator shows the ultimate in patience.
“Well,” there is a long pause, “I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
“So what are you really doing out here?” the Narrator asks pointedly.
Best Dad Evar chuckles softly, “Honestly?”
“Mm hm?”
“I’m thinking.” Best Dad says, as if that answers the question.
“About?” the Narrator is now curious.
“Sometimes I have philosophical thoughts.”
“Really?” the Narrator is genuinely surprised. “Like what?”
“You know, like ‘What are we here on this Earth for?’ and ‘What does it all mean?’”
“And staring at this car and its charging station help you figure those things out?” the Narrator asks, with a bite of sarcasm.
Best Dad laughs, but not bitterly. “No, not really.” He sighs deeply. “Sometimes the ‘meaning of life’ questions are too deep and I end up thinking about random stuff.”
“Like?”
“Like, if this car could talk, what do you think it would say?”
There’s a long pause, which Best Dad could interpret as the Narrator taking a moment to carefully consider his response. “Well,” the Narrator starts, pausing for effect, “You know there are certain benefits to being an all-knowing, all-seeing Narrator.”
“What, you mean you can talk to cars?” Best Dad is incredulous, but clearly he’s going to press the issue further.
“If the car could talk, I know what it would say.” the Narrator says cryptically.
“Well, can it?” now it’s Best Dad’s turn at patience with the Narrator’s coyness. Best Dad’s not big on patience, in general.
“Hypothetically?”
“No, not hypothetically, actually!” Best Dad is annoyed now. Perturbed even.
“Well, I didn’t say I would tell you if it could talk.”
“You are a fucking tease!” Best Dad is shouting now. “Just tell me what it would say!”
“Continuous Power,” the Narrator says simply.
Best Dad’s mouth curls up into a puzzled smirk. “What does that mean? The car wants to rule the world?” Disbelief and disdain are evident on his face now.
“Think about it.” the Narrator leads.
“Not political power.”
“No.” the Narrator’s voice suggests he should go on.
“Power, as in electricity.”
“It is an electric car,” the Narrator now indicates that he’s caught on.
“It would want a continuous power source.”
“If it could talk.”
“Right. But that’s-”
The Narrator quickly cuts in, “Don’t say ‘That’s impossible’!”
“No, I wasn’t going to say that.” Best Dad has now caught the thread, his hand rests on his chin, rubbing it in the classic manner of a thinker. “I was thinking that’s not what this car was designed for.”
“Nonetheless…” the Narrator is going to let him puzzle this through.
“Huh.” Best Dad continues to think this over, he’s clearly interested in this line of thought. “How would you bring continuous power to a car like this one?”
“I know a lot, but I can’t see the future, Best Dad Evar.”
“Good to know,” he says, but clearly this conversation is going further.
“Okay, but you said you could speak hypothetically.” Best Dad picks up the thread again.
“No can do.” the Narrator replies. “It seems like a pretty simple problem to solve, though.”
“Simplicity isn’t my strong suit. I’m more of a big idea kind of guy.”
“Yes, you are, aren’t you. You’re long on big ideas but short on the nuts and bolts.”
“That’s me.”
“Well, maybe continuous power is another big idea that you’ll think about for a moment but leave to someone else to figure out how to solve the problem of actually doing it.” the Narrator says sadly.
“Maybe so, but you said it’s simple.” For once, Best Dad is going to play the bulldog and not give up on this one.
“It seems simple. An electric car that’s surrounded by appliances and devices that are continuously powered.”
“The seemingly simple solution would be to somehow connect the electric car to the same grid that powers that other stuff.” Best Dad is on a roll!
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“But the obvious problem is that the car is moving.”
“Aha! Yes, that’s the rub, isn’t it.”
“And that’s where I usually give up.” Best Dad says sadly but not dejectedly.
“You sure?” the Narrator nudges.
“Well,” there’s a pause as Best Dad convinces himself to take the next logical step. “There could be an electrified track that the car could connect to.
“Not an unprecedented solution.” The Narrator points out helpfully. “The buses in San Francisco still use a system like that.” There’s a pause. “Or?” The Narrator nudges again.
“Or, well, we have a wireless charger for that portable tablet thingy.” Best Dad holds up a finger as if to forestall the end of the discussion. “Maybe the technology will someday advance to a point where that kind of system will deliver enough power to keep a car moving.”
“Now you’re talking.” the Narrator sounds impressed.
“Yeah, but all of this is just idle chit-chat.” Best Dad throws in the towel.
“Why?” the Narrator sounds crestfallen by this turn of Best Dad’s mojo for the worse.
“Because I’ll never have the money or the position to even experiment with the possible solutions to these technical problems.”
“No, you probably never will. But every big advance starts with an idea, right?”
“So?” Best Dad clearly doesn’t see the point any more.
“So, maybe just having the idea is enough.” this smacks a bit of desperation.
“Not if no one ever hears of it.” Best Dad heaves himself away from the box labeled ‘Extension cords’, but which might actually contain Christmas dishes or ten year-old papers still left unfiled, and turns toward the door that will take him back into the maelstrom, er, the house.
“True, so how could we make sure at least a few people hear about continuous power, Best Dad Evar?” the Narrator shouts after him as he walks away.
Best Dad Evar throws up his hands but doesn’t turn around. “I have no idea.”
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
The Perils of the Road #GBE2
Today, Best Dad Evar is doing errands around town in the aforementioned electric car. His two children are strapped into their car seats behind him, noisily announcing to no one in particular (certainly not to each other, god forbid) that they exist and they have interests and ideas and, you know, stuff going on in their heads. All the while, Best Dad is gritting his teeth, trying not to rear end today’s slow poke, a white minivan with bumper stickers he can’t help but read.
“Oh, what the hell is this moron doing?!” He yells suddenly.
“Who are you talking to, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator softly asks.
“Just this b-” he stops himself from saying the expletive out loud; too nasty for little ears, but he gestures at the minivan in front of him, which has now come to a complete stop in the middle of the block for no apparent reason.
In fact, the door of the minivan has abruptly swung open forcefully and the driver has jumped out of the vehicle.
“Oh, you’ve got to be frigging kidding me!” Best Dad slumps in his seat. “Some of us have to get where we’re going!” he yells, but not so loud that the woman could possibly hear him through the window seals and metal frame of his little Northern California dream car. It looks like she’s got something else on her mind anyway and wouldn’t have responded if she did hear. She takes off running toward a gravel walking path that meanders away from the avenue they’ve both been driving on.
“Where the hell is she going?!” Best Dad says, not even yelling any more. This is more of a helpless lament than an angry blast.
“Dad, don’t you know her?” Oldest child says from the back.
“Who?” He asks dumbly.
“That woman.” His daughter says, now pointing so he can’t possibly misunderstand who she is referring to. The woman is about to disappear up the path, but he now realizes…
“Oh, shit, yeah. That’s Jane.” He rolls his eyes. Better not to say aloud the description of Jane that first comes to his mind.
“Don’t say it.” The narrator whispers in his year, this time a beat behind Best Dad.
“I know.” Best Dad says disdainfully. “But I better help her, I think she may have finally completely lost her mind.” He begins to pull the car over to the shoulder and park it safely out of the flow of traffic.
“No, it looks like-” the narrator starts, but is interrupted by younger child.
“Daddy, she jumped into the creek.” She says in the matter-of-fact voice only a four-year-old can manage with a straight face.
“She what?” Best Dad asks.
“Do you have wax in your ears, Best Dad?” The narrator asks bitingly.
Best Dad sighs heavily. “Come on, girls, we have to help her.”
“Your enthusiasm for this rescue could be a little higher, Best Dad.” The narrator chides him. But whether he has any enthusiasm or not, the process of getting both girls unstrapped from their car seats (he can’t very well leave them there, can he?) ensures that he will be, at best, the fourth or fifth responder to what he still believes to be a mental health emergency.
As they run up the creek-side path, the father and daughter come upon a scene that’s quite different from what Best Dad had imagined. “What the-?” he says lamely. A handful of people are shouting from the bank as Jane holds onto a very large branch along the opposite side of the creek. She is struggling with something under the water with her other arm. She heaves that something out of the water, it’s… a boy! He surfaces with a giant gasp as if he’s been under a long time.
The crowd cheers as they believe the boy has been saved, but then they gasp again as the boy is pulled back down under the surface. There’s something down there, pulling him down with a force equal to heroic Jane’s efforts. Best Dad Evar’s facial expression is a mixture of surprised appreciation and sheepishness. So much for the crazy b- he’d berated for slowing them all down!
No, that crazy b- is gathering herself. Jane’s face contorts with effort and she gives all her strength to her next heave to try to pull the boy out for good. In the next moment, the culprit makes its appearance, it’s the boy’s bicycle and it surges up out of the water. Unfortunately, Jane doesn’t know her own strength and the bike whips around, the rear wheel catching her square in the face. The gathered crowd groans with dismay and sympathy. A great gash of dark red appears on Jane’s face, but if she’s disoriented or in pain it doesn’t show. Instead she continues to fight to keep the boy above water.
“Aren’t you going to do anything to help, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator quietly pushes
“Well, my girls are here. I can’t leave them…” he trails off, realizing the weakness of his excuse.
There’s a splash as a young man, a teenager perhaps, jumps in to help. He latches on to the same branch and after a couple of failed attempts, manages to get hold of the handlebar of the bike with his free hand. With this second pair of hands helping, the bicyclist also manages to grab the branch and seems able to hold himself just far enough out of the water to be out of mortal danger. He does, however, gasp in horror as he looks over at Jane and spies the gash on her face, which is oozing blood. She still seems oblivious to her own injury and continues to work to free the boy’s clothes, which have clearly gotten caught in the bicycle’s chain. There’s another splash as a third rescuer jumps in. This man is large, he could be a fireman or lumberjack. With some quick work, he frees the boy’s pantleg from the chain and the foursome begin to head for shore.
Best Dad Evar’s daughters begin to cheer for the heroes. The gathered crowd, at least those that aren’t trying to pull the wet four out of the water, also clap and shout. Best Dad simply stares. He finally remembers himself and says, “Come on kids.” He and the girls approach Jane.
Best Dad removes his shirt and offers it to Jane. She looks at the garment as if she has never seen anything like it before, and her eyes flash at Best Dad as if she wonders what kind of pedophilenut would take off his shirt when he sees a young boy rescued.
“For your face.” He says, recognizing her confused expression. She still seems not to understand what he means, though it seems she has also recognized him, at least.
“You’re bleeding like crazy, Jane.” He says, pushing her softly back to reality.
“Uh, I am?” She takes the shirt but doesn’t lift it to her face. Best Dad gently raises the shirt to her face and presses it to the wound, which is definitely going to require stitches.
“Is the boy okay?” She asks, still in a shock-induced trance.
“Yes, he’s going to be fine.” One of the bystanders says.
“The boy’s not your son?!” Another asks incredulously.
“No, I just saw him fall from my car.” She says, now holding the shirt to her face independently. He sheepishly backs away again, holding his girls’ hands, realizing how harshly he’d judged her and doubting that he would have done the same had he seen the boy fall himself.
“Is that your car?” Another asks, pointing toward the street, where a tow truck is backing into position to move her minivan out of traffic.
Best Dad can only stand and watch as the two bystanders run back toward the street, flagging down the tow truck driver and the policeman who had called him to clear traffic. He watches long enough to satisfy himself that they’ve saved her van from the impound lot.
“I think we’d better get on home now.” He tells the girls quietly. They are smiling at him.
“Good job, Dad.” the older one says.
He looks at her with a puzzled expression. “For what?” he asks.
“You helped a hero.” He still looks at her, not quite believing that she thinks he actually helped in any way. “You gave her your shirt to stop all that blood.”
“I guess we all have to do our part, Best Dad.” The narrator softly says into his ear.
“A very small part.” Best Dad replies, still clearly a bit disgusted with himself.
“You prob’ly saved her life, Dad.” The little one says. She smiles her finest Daddy-is-the-best smile at him. He smiles back broadly. “I don’t know about that, but Jane certainly saved that boy’s life.”
This post is dedicated to Jane and her new scar.
“Oh, what the hell is this moron doing?!” He yells suddenly.
“Who are you talking to, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator softly asks.
“Just this b-” he stops himself from saying the expletive out loud; too nasty for little ears, but he gestures at the minivan in front of him, which has now come to a complete stop in the middle of the block for no apparent reason.
In fact, the door of the minivan has abruptly swung open forcefully and the driver has jumped out of the vehicle.
“Oh, you’ve got to be frigging kidding me!” Best Dad slumps in his seat. “Some of us have to get where we’re going!” he yells, but not so loud that the woman could possibly hear him through the window seals and metal frame of his little Northern California dream car. It looks like she’s got something else on her mind anyway and wouldn’t have responded if she did hear. She takes off running toward a gravel walking path that meanders away from the avenue they’ve both been driving on.
“Where the hell is she going?!” Best Dad says, not even yelling any more. This is more of a helpless lament than an angry blast.
“Dad, don’t you know her?” Oldest child says from the back.
“Who?” He asks dumbly.
“That woman.” His daughter says, now pointing so he can’t possibly misunderstand who she is referring to. The woman is about to disappear up the path, but he now realizes…
“Oh, shit, yeah. That’s Jane.” He rolls his eyes. Better not to say aloud the description of Jane that first comes to his mind.
“Don’t say it.” The narrator whispers in his year, this time a beat behind Best Dad.
“I know.” Best Dad says disdainfully. “But I better help her, I think she may have finally completely lost her mind.” He begins to pull the car over to the shoulder and park it safely out of the flow of traffic.
“No, it looks like-” the narrator starts, but is interrupted by younger child.
“Daddy, she jumped into the creek.” She says in the matter-of-fact voice only a four-year-old can manage with a straight face.
“She what?” Best Dad asks.
“Do you have wax in your ears, Best Dad?” The narrator asks bitingly.
Best Dad sighs heavily. “Come on, girls, we have to help her.”
“Your enthusiasm for this rescue could be a little higher, Best Dad.” The narrator chides him. But whether he has any enthusiasm or not, the process of getting both girls unstrapped from their car seats (he can’t very well leave them there, can he?) ensures that he will be, at best, the fourth or fifth responder to what he still believes to be a mental health emergency.
As they run up the creek-side path, the father and daughter come upon a scene that’s quite different from what Best Dad had imagined. “What the-?” he says lamely. A handful of people are shouting from the bank as Jane holds onto a very large branch along the opposite side of the creek. She is struggling with something under the water with her other arm. She heaves that something out of the water, it’s… a boy! He surfaces with a giant gasp as if he’s been under a long time.
The crowd cheers as they believe the boy has been saved, but then they gasp again as the boy is pulled back down under the surface. There’s something down there, pulling him down with a force equal to heroic Jane’s efforts. Best Dad Evar’s facial expression is a mixture of surprised appreciation and sheepishness. So much for the crazy b- he’d berated for slowing them all down!
No, that crazy b- is gathering herself. Jane’s face contorts with effort and she gives all her strength to her next heave to try to pull the boy out for good. In the next moment, the culprit makes its appearance, it’s the boy’s bicycle and it surges up out of the water. Unfortunately, Jane doesn’t know her own strength and the bike whips around, the rear wheel catching her square in the face. The gathered crowd groans with dismay and sympathy. A great gash of dark red appears on Jane’s face, but if she’s disoriented or in pain it doesn’t show. Instead she continues to fight to keep the boy above water.
“Aren’t you going to do anything to help, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator quietly pushes
“Well, my girls are here. I can’t leave them…” he trails off, realizing the weakness of his excuse.
There’s a splash as a young man, a teenager perhaps, jumps in to help. He latches on to the same branch and after a couple of failed attempts, manages to get hold of the handlebar of the bike with his free hand. With this second pair of hands helping, the bicyclist also manages to grab the branch and seems able to hold himself just far enough out of the water to be out of mortal danger. He does, however, gasp in horror as he looks over at Jane and spies the gash on her face, which is oozing blood. She still seems oblivious to her own injury and continues to work to free the boy’s clothes, which have clearly gotten caught in the bicycle’s chain. There’s another splash as a third rescuer jumps in. This man is large, he could be a fireman or lumberjack. With some quick work, he frees the boy’s pantleg from the chain and the foursome begin to head for shore.
Best Dad Evar’s daughters begin to cheer for the heroes. The gathered crowd, at least those that aren’t trying to pull the wet four out of the water, also clap and shout. Best Dad simply stares. He finally remembers himself and says, “Come on kids.” He and the girls approach Jane.
Best Dad removes his shirt and offers it to Jane. She looks at the garment as if she has never seen anything like it before, and her eyes flash at Best Dad as if she wonders what kind of pedophilenut would take off his shirt when he sees a young boy rescued.
“For your face.” He says, recognizing her confused expression. She still seems not to understand what he means, though it seems she has also recognized him, at least.
“You’re bleeding like crazy, Jane.” He says, pushing her softly back to reality.
“Uh, I am?” She takes the shirt but doesn’t lift it to her face. Best Dad gently raises the shirt to her face and presses it to the wound, which is definitely going to require stitches.
“Is the boy okay?” She asks, still in a shock-induced trance.
“Yes, he’s going to be fine.” One of the bystanders says.
“The boy’s not your son?!” Another asks incredulously.
“No, I just saw him fall from my car.” She says, now holding the shirt to her face independently. He sheepishly backs away again, holding his girls’ hands, realizing how harshly he’d judged her and doubting that he would have done the same had he seen the boy fall himself.
“Is that your car?” Another asks, pointing toward the street, where a tow truck is backing into position to move her minivan out of traffic.
Best Dad can only stand and watch as the two bystanders run back toward the street, flagging down the tow truck driver and the policeman who had called him to clear traffic. He watches long enough to satisfy himself that they’ve saved her van from the impound lot.
“I think we’d better get on home now.” He tells the girls quietly. They are smiling at him.
“Good job, Dad.” the older one says.
He looks at her with a puzzled expression. “For what?” he asks.
“You helped a hero.” He still looks at her, not quite believing that she thinks he actually helped in any way. “You gave her your shirt to stop all that blood.”
“I guess we all have to do our part, Best Dad.” The narrator softly says into his ear.
“A very small part.” Best Dad replies, still clearly a bit disgusted with himself.
“You prob’ly saved her life, Dad.” The little one says. She smiles her finest Daddy-is-the-best smile at him. He smiles back broadly. “I don’t know about that, but Jane certainly saved that boy’s life.”
This post is dedicated to Jane and her new scar.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The Do-Over #GBE2
Tonight we catch up with Best Dad Evar in the kitchen. If he’s in the kitchen, it means either he’s washing the dishes (which he isn’t), or it’s one of his two nights in charge of dinner. It also means one of two types of dinners will be served: microwave-from-the-freezer or oven-baked-on-a-cookie-sheet (also from the freezer). He seems to be fretting a bit, his mind lost in thought.
A voice interrupts his train of thought, “You seem to have a lot on your mind, Best Dad Evar.”
Best Dad Evar sighs heavily. “Change… again.”
“Wow, again?” The narrator seems to know exactly what type of change he’s referring to.
“Yeah, again.”
“Wow, that’s five times in what… five years?”
Best Dad Evar counts out the job changes in his mind. “Yeah, you’ve got it.”
“Do you ever wish you could go back and change any of the decisions you’ve made?”
“A do over?” Best Dad Evar responds with what would best be described as amusement.
“Yes, if you prefer, a ‘do over’.”
“Well, my theory is that every decision you make and everything that happens in your life is on a continuous path that led to where you are now. Change one thing and the path is disrupted. Everything changes.”
“So?” the narrator responds expectantly.
“So, I wouldn’t wish for everything in my life to change. I don’t want to have different people in my life, like my wife and children. I don’t want to live in a different place or-”
The narrator interrupts, “But those things wouldn’t have to change.”
“No, not necessarily. But I prefer to think of it that way.”
“Huh, interesting.”
“What?” Best Dad responds, immediately his guard is up, knowing he’s being psychoanalyzed.
“It’s like you’re validating all of your decisions by saying your life would be radically different and almost surely worse if you hadn’t made them the way you did.”
“No, that’s an exaggeration. I’m not saying I made the right decisions. I’m just saying once they’re made, they put you on a path and there’s no looking back.”
“Do you ever look back?”
“Well, of course I do.”
“Do you ever think, ‘This isn’t where I want to be or where I should be’?”
“Yeah, especially with my career… or lack thereof.”
“So, couldn’t you envision going back and changing things that would place you on a different path career-wise, assuming everything else would stay the same?”
“That’s just it, though, everything else wouldn’t be the same. Even if I was with my wife, I’d have different children because they would have been conceived at different times or places-”
“I get it.” the narrator says, sounding irritated.
“Just let it go, I’m not playing the game.” As he says this, Best Dad Evar’s two girls appear in the kitchen, as if drawn to the spectacle of their father talking with his imaginary friend. He chooses to sit at the kitchen table with them, shuffling his aching feet to find a comfortable position.
“What about your children, Best Dad, would they want any do-overs?”
“Well, let’s ask them.” Best Dad says with a devilish grin.
“Older child,” he asks, “is there anything you’d want to do over?”
“Yes, I would like to do over the fight I had with younger child today.” The girl is unfazed by the use of the generic ‘older child’ and ‘younger child’ monikers. There’s a soft chuckle from the narrator as he notices this.
“Really?” Best Dad Evar seems genuinely surprised.
“I want to start from the beginning and pretend the fight never happened.”
“Why do you want to go back and change that?” Best Dad asks her.
“Because it wasn’t something I liked.”
“About yourself?” Best Dad asks hopefully.
“About both of us.”
“Well, you can’t change your sister, you can only change yourself. Right?” Best Dad is now in recognizable parent mode. The girl sees right through it.
“Right Dad,” she rolls her eyes as if she’s heard this one a hundred times before.
“But I can ask her to change.”
Best Dad Evar chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s my oldest child.” He says to the empty seat across the table where he imagines the narrator to be.
“Younger child, would you like to have any do-overs?”
“No, I’m a good girl,” the younger one says with an impish grin, but in a tone of voice that suggests she fully believes what she’s saying.
“Well, there you go.” He says to the space across from him. “One of them wants the do-over to change what the other one did, the other thinks everything’s honky dory and wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Well, she did say ‘about both of us’.” the narrator puts in helpfully.
“I guess so. But where is the specific? What does she want to change about herself?” At this point, Best Dad Evar seems to notice that the girl is still sitting there, looking at him with an expression that is a mixture of anger and exasperation.
“Daaaaaad! You’re talking about me again with…. NOBODY and I’m right heeeeeere!”
Best Dad Evar looks embarrassed for a split second. Then he quickly recovers himself, and growls at her, “Well, answer the question: What would you change about yourself or your behavior?”
She looks embarrassed herself, as if she’d made a mistake. Then she pushes the chair back roughly and runs off.
“See,” Best Dad Evar says, his mouth twisted into a smirk, “I never get a straight answer out of that kid.”
“Well, what do you expect, she’s seven.”
“Yeah she is!” He stands up and wanders over to needlessly check on the dinner that’s being cooked by his automatic appliances. “Luckily we won’t have to do seven over.” He smiles to himself, enjoying his little joke.
A voice interrupts his train of thought, “You seem to have a lot on your mind, Best Dad Evar.”
Best Dad Evar sighs heavily. “Change… again.”
“Wow, again?” The narrator seems to know exactly what type of change he’s referring to.
“Yeah, again.”
“Wow, that’s five times in what… five years?”
Best Dad Evar counts out the job changes in his mind. “Yeah, you’ve got it.”
“Do you ever wish you could go back and change any of the decisions you’ve made?”
“A do over?” Best Dad Evar responds with what would best be described as amusement.
“Yes, if you prefer, a ‘do over’.”
“Well, my theory is that every decision you make and everything that happens in your life is on a continuous path that led to where you are now. Change one thing and the path is disrupted. Everything changes.”
“So?” the narrator responds expectantly.
“So, I wouldn’t wish for everything in my life to change. I don’t want to have different people in my life, like my wife and children. I don’t want to live in a different place or-”
The narrator interrupts, “But those things wouldn’t have to change.”
“No, not necessarily. But I prefer to think of it that way.”
“Huh, interesting.”
“What?” Best Dad responds, immediately his guard is up, knowing he’s being psychoanalyzed.
“It’s like you’re validating all of your decisions by saying your life would be radically different and almost surely worse if you hadn’t made them the way you did.”
“No, that’s an exaggeration. I’m not saying I made the right decisions. I’m just saying once they’re made, they put you on a path and there’s no looking back.”
“Do you ever look back?”
“Well, of course I do.”
“Do you ever think, ‘This isn’t where I want to be or where I should be’?”
“Yeah, especially with my career… or lack thereof.”
“So, couldn’t you envision going back and changing things that would place you on a different path career-wise, assuming everything else would stay the same?”
“That’s just it, though, everything else wouldn’t be the same. Even if I was with my wife, I’d have different children because they would have been conceived at different times or places-”
“I get it.” the narrator says, sounding irritated.
“Just let it go, I’m not playing the game.” As he says this, Best Dad Evar’s two girls appear in the kitchen, as if drawn to the spectacle of their father talking with his imaginary friend. He chooses to sit at the kitchen table with them, shuffling his aching feet to find a comfortable position.
“What about your children, Best Dad, would they want any do-overs?”
“Well, let’s ask them.” Best Dad says with a devilish grin.
“Older child,” he asks, “is there anything you’d want to do over?”
“Yes, I would like to do over the fight I had with younger child today.” The girl is unfazed by the use of the generic ‘older child’ and ‘younger child’ monikers. There’s a soft chuckle from the narrator as he notices this.
“Really?” Best Dad Evar seems genuinely surprised.
“I want to start from the beginning and pretend the fight never happened.”
“Why do you want to go back and change that?” Best Dad asks her.
“Because it wasn’t something I liked.”
“About yourself?” Best Dad asks hopefully.
“About both of us.”
“Well, you can’t change your sister, you can only change yourself. Right?” Best Dad is now in recognizable parent mode. The girl sees right through it.
“Right Dad,” she rolls her eyes as if she’s heard this one a hundred times before.
“But I can ask her to change.”
Best Dad Evar chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s my oldest child.” He says to the empty seat across the table where he imagines the narrator to be.
“Younger child, would you like to have any do-overs?”
“No, I’m a good girl,” the younger one says with an impish grin, but in a tone of voice that suggests she fully believes what she’s saying.
“Well, there you go.” He says to the space across from him. “One of them wants the do-over to change what the other one did, the other thinks everything’s honky dory and wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Well, she did say ‘about both of us’.” the narrator puts in helpfully.
“I guess so. But where is the specific? What does she want to change about herself?” At this point, Best Dad Evar seems to notice that the girl is still sitting there, looking at him with an expression that is a mixture of anger and exasperation.
“Daaaaaad! You’re talking about me again with…. NOBODY and I’m right heeeeeere!”
Best Dad Evar looks embarrassed for a split second. Then he quickly recovers himself, and growls at her, “Well, answer the question: What would you change about yourself or your behavior?”
She looks embarrassed herself, as if she’d made a mistake. Then she pushes the chair back roughly and runs off.
“See,” Best Dad Evar says, his mouth twisted into a smirk, “I never get a straight answer out of that kid.”
“Well, what do you expect, she’s seven.”
“Yeah she is!” He stands up and wanders over to needlessly check on the dinner that’s being cooked by his automatic appliances. “Luckily we won’t have to do seven over.” He smiles to himself, enjoying his little joke.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Best Dad Evar on Change
Best Dad Evar sits behind the wheel sporty little electric car, mired in horrible traffic. He growls. “Sometimes I feel like my grandma after she started losing her sight.”
“I’m not following you, Best Dad.”
Best Dad continues as if he didn’t hear the narrator. “We all told her she ought to stop driving, but no one could tell her what to do and we weren’t in any position to stop her. So she kept on driving despite her macular degeneration.”
Best Dad gets this way sometimes, talking in paragraphs, carefully ignoring whoever he’s talking with. So he continues. “One day she was pulling in her into an innocent looking parking space when she heard a horrible noise like metal nails on a metal chalkboard. She wasn’t sure what the problem was until she got out of the car and found her little sedan wedged under the side of a delivery truck in the adjacent space.”
“She didn’t think the damage was too bad.” He continues. The narrator wisely chooses to let this story run its course. “‘Just a scrape,’ she said. But when she took the car to a body shop, they told her that the scrape had caused structural damage to both passenger doors and both fenders. All of them would need to be replaced, which would cost more than the car was worth. Her parking mishap had totaled the car!!
“So how is it you feel like her now, Best Dad? Your eyesight is fine.” the narrator asks doubtfully.
“Well, I feel like my life, my future is like my grandma’s driving. Things are changing around me, the world, my job, my children, et cetera, and I’m trying to make the right choices for myself and my family. But I feel like I can’t see where I’m going. There could be disaster looming just out of my line of sight.” Best Dad says thoughtfully, staring off into the back yard.
“Yeah, that’s kinda how life is, Best Dad.” The unspoken “duh!” is evident in the narrator’s tone of voice. “So, you job is changing, huh? No more forklifts?”
“Nope!” Best Dad smiles broadly. “Back to doing loans!”
“Sounds like you’re taking ownership of your future; going back to something you’ve always enjoyed.”
“Yeah.” Best Dad replies with a small, but satisfied smile. “I feel like financial services is where I belong.” He can’t resist a ‘but’, though. “But I’m always nervous starting a new job. I’ve had so many over the years-”
“No kidding!” the narrator rudely interrupts. Best Dad scowls. He’d be giving the narrator the old-fashioned stink-eye if he was visible.
“Honestly, it’s not really the job that’s making me uneasy. It’s …” Best Dad Evar hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip.
“What is it, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator’s curiosity is piqued.
“You’re not going to believe me.” He says, looking down at the steering wheel. This isn’t dangerous, as the car is crawling through one of the many bottlenecks on his short route home.
“Well, you can’t leave that matzah ball hanging out there. You have to tell me now!”
“What! This isn’t Seinfeld! I don’t have to-“ Suddenly Best Dad’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you.”
“Out with it!”
“My Ipod, it… it won’t play the songs I want to hear.”
The narrator makes a “pfft!” sound, like someone who’s spit out a mouthful of milk or cream soda. Then he starts laughing loudly. It’s one of those belly laughs that seems like it will never stop. A guffaw. “You said I had to tell you.” Best Dad sounds wounded.
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” The narrator replies, still composing himself. “Do you mean that if you choose a song, your Ipod won’t play it?”
“Well, no, it plays the first song I pick. But then it chooses some random song that has no connection to the one I chose!”
“I see that you have the genius feature turned on.” The narrator says, casually, but with the intonation of one who thinks he’s speaking to a techno-phobic idiot.
“Yes, yes, I know what the genius feature is and I know what it’s supposed to do. It’s supposed to play songs similar to or with some connection to the first one.”
“Right.” The narrator replies, with a questioning upward tilt at the end of the word.
“These choices are nothing like what I chose. Listen! Listen to what’s on right now!”
“Um…” the narrator tries to pick out what song is playing. “It’s… ‘Power’ isn’t it? I didn’t know you liked Kanye West.”
“You sound surprised. But whether I like it or not isn’t the point! The song I chose was ‘Clocks.’”
“The Coldplay song.”
“Exactly. Now how does the genius choose ‘Power’ to follow ‘Clocks’?!”
“It is quite a contrast in styles.”
“It feels like someone is messing with me.”
The narrator chuckles softly. “Well, it’s not me.”
“I’m not following you, Best Dad.”
Best Dad continues as if he didn’t hear the narrator. “We all told her she ought to stop driving, but no one could tell her what to do and we weren’t in any position to stop her. So she kept on driving despite her macular degeneration.”
Best Dad gets this way sometimes, talking in paragraphs, carefully ignoring whoever he’s talking with. So he continues. “One day she was pulling in her into an innocent looking parking space when she heard a horrible noise like metal nails on a metal chalkboard. She wasn’t sure what the problem was until she got out of the car and found her little sedan wedged under the side of a delivery truck in the adjacent space.”
“She didn’t think the damage was too bad.” He continues. The narrator wisely chooses to let this story run its course. “‘Just a scrape,’ she said. But when she took the car to a body shop, they told her that the scrape had caused structural damage to both passenger doors and both fenders. All of them would need to be replaced, which would cost more than the car was worth. Her parking mishap had totaled the car!!
“So how is it you feel like her now, Best Dad? Your eyesight is fine.” the narrator asks doubtfully.
“Well, I feel like my life, my future is like my grandma’s driving. Things are changing around me, the world, my job, my children, et cetera, and I’m trying to make the right choices for myself and my family. But I feel like I can’t see where I’m going. There could be disaster looming just out of my line of sight.” Best Dad says thoughtfully, staring off into the back yard.
“Yeah, that’s kinda how life is, Best Dad.” The unspoken “duh!” is evident in the narrator’s tone of voice. “So, you job is changing, huh? No more forklifts?”
“Nope!” Best Dad smiles broadly. “Back to doing loans!”
“Sounds like you’re taking ownership of your future; going back to something you’ve always enjoyed.”
“Yeah.” Best Dad replies with a small, but satisfied smile. “I feel like financial services is where I belong.” He can’t resist a ‘but’, though. “But I’m always nervous starting a new job. I’ve had so many over the years-”
“No kidding!” the narrator rudely interrupts. Best Dad scowls. He’d be giving the narrator the old-fashioned stink-eye if he was visible.
“Honestly, it’s not really the job that’s making me uneasy. It’s …” Best Dad Evar hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip.
“What is it, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator’s curiosity is piqued.
“You’re not going to believe me.” He says, looking down at the steering wheel. This isn’t dangerous, as the car is crawling through one of the many bottlenecks on his short route home.
“Well, you can’t leave that matzah ball hanging out there. You have to tell me now!”
“What! This isn’t Seinfeld! I don’t have to-“ Suddenly Best Dad’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you.”
“Out with it!”
“My Ipod, it… it won’t play the songs I want to hear.”
The narrator makes a “pfft!” sound, like someone who’s spit out a mouthful of milk or cream soda. Then he starts laughing loudly. It’s one of those belly laughs that seems like it will never stop. A guffaw. “You said I had to tell you.” Best Dad sounds wounded.
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” The narrator replies, still composing himself. “Do you mean that if you choose a song, your Ipod won’t play it?”
“Well, no, it plays the first song I pick. But then it chooses some random song that has no connection to the one I chose!”
“I see that you have the genius feature turned on.” The narrator says, casually, but with the intonation of one who thinks he’s speaking to a techno-phobic idiot.
“Yes, yes, I know what the genius feature is and I know what it’s supposed to do. It’s supposed to play songs similar to or with some connection to the first one.”
“Right.” The narrator replies, with a questioning upward tilt at the end of the word.
“These choices are nothing like what I chose. Listen! Listen to what’s on right now!”
“Um…” the narrator tries to pick out what song is playing. “It’s… ‘Power’ isn’t it? I didn’t know you liked Kanye West.”
“You sound surprised. But whether I like it or not isn’t the point! The song I chose was ‘Clocks.’”
“The Coldplay song.”
“Exactly. Now how does the genius choose ‘Power’ to follow ‘Clocks’?!”
“It is quite a contrast in styles.”
“It feels like someone is messing with me.”
The narrator chuckles softly. “Well, it’s not me.”
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Best Dad Evar's Safe Haven
Today, Best Dad Evar is driving back from the grocery store, the rear compartment of the sporty little car that doesn’t belong to him filled with bags of frozen fish sticks, Dora-themed yogurt, and caffeine-delivery systems for the grownups. The children are in the rear seats making a racket. The younger child is singing along loudly with the song playing through the car’s speakers, while the older child scowls and growls, “Daddy, tell her to stop!”
Best Dad Evar is trying hard to ignore them both, but failing. He sighs loudly. You might call it a “huff”.
“Stop what?” He rolls his eyes toward the older one, who’s within his line of sight if he simply turns his head a bit.
“Tell her to stop singing!” The knitted brow and pout of the oldest one tell him clearly that this … is … serious!
“Why should I tell her to stop singing?”
“Because she doesn’t get the words right and it’s annoying!”
When they reach the next stoplight, Best Dad turns completely around in his seat and in a syrupy-sweet voice, asks the younger child, “Please honey, could you be a little quieter? Your singing is bothering your sister.”
The younger child is downcast as she agrees, “Okay, Daddy.” She shoots a look filled with daggers at her older sister. You can almost see what she’s thinking, she always gets her way.
“How does she know this song, anyway?” Best Dad Evar asks open-endedly, but knowing that the older child will quickly answer if she knows, which she usually does.
“This song plays all the time when we’re in the car.”
“Really? How did that song get on here?”
“It’s your Ipod, Daddy.” Says the sassy seven year-old. “Don’t you know how it got on there?” She doesn’t say this in a mean way, but it’s obvious Best Dad is distressed to find that he doesn’t know how the song came to be on his machine.
Best Dad changes the subject quickly, asking the younger child about the song, “You know the words to this song, little one?”
“Yes, Daddy, I like that song!” She shouts agreeably. The older one rolls her eyes again.
The family arrives home and the children tumble out of the car quickly. They run up the driveway and thump through the front door. “Mommy!!” they both shout as the door crashes into the wall of the entryway, further compromising the sheet rock that stays nicely out of view only when the front door is open.
Best Dad Evar stays in the driver’s seat of his brother’s car a moment longer. It’s a rare opportunity to collect himself, which he doesn’t want to miss.
“I’ve always thought of the car as a safe haven to sing your heart out if that’s what you want to do.” He says to himself, but as if he knows someone might be listening and might want to talk with him. “I’m not embarrassed if someone else sees me singing and I would like for my kids to feel free to sing in the car themselves.” He pauses a moment to see if his personal narrator will reply. Or is it the voice in his head? He’s still not quite sure.
Sure enough, “Well surely your kids will believe the car is a place they can feel free to sing.” The narrator replies with a tinge of hope, “But maybe not while they’re in the car together.” Best Dad Evar nods knowingly and chuckles softly. Then his thoughts shift again and his brow knits.
“You look puzzled, Best Dad Evar.” The narrator’s voice asks from somewhere inside the cockpit. (That’s what they call the area around the driver in these newer cars because it is loaded with gauges and control panels like some newfangled jumbo jet).
“I barely know that song.”
“What song, Best Dad?”
“The one my daughter was singing along with. I guess it’s called ‘Listen to Me’.”
“The Buddy Holly song?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Isn’t it on your Ipod?”
“I guess so. I just didn’t know I had it on there.” His brows are furrowed now.
“Do you keep your Ipod set to genius?”
“I must have. But I still can’t figure how it chose that song.”
“What song did it start out with?” the narrator asks helpfully, trying to unravel the mystery.
Best Dad’s head slumps back until it contacts the headrest and he laughs ruefully. “I don’t remember!”
Best Dad Evar is trying hard to ignore them both, but failing. He sighs loudly. You might call it a “huff”.
“Stop what?” He rolls his eyes toward the older one, who’s within his line of sight if he simply turns his head a bit.
“Tell her to stop singing!” The knitted brow and pout of the oldest one tell him clearly that this … is … serious!
“Why should I tell her to stop singing?”
“Because she doesn’t get the words right and it’s annoying!”
When they reach the next stoplight, Best Dad turns completely around in his seat and in a syrupy-sweet voice, asks the younger child, “Please honey, could you be a little quieter? Your singing is bothering your sister.”
The younger child is downcast as she agrees, “Okay, Daddy.” She shoots a look filled with daggers at her older sister. You can almost see what she’s thinking, she always gets her way.
“How does she know this song, anyway?” Best Dad Evar asks open-endedly, but knowing that the older child will quickly answer if she knows, which she usually does.
“This song plays all the time when we’re in the car.”
“Really? How did that song get on here?”
“It’s your Ipod, Daddy.” Says the sassy seven year-old. “Don’t you know how it got on there?” She doesn’t say this in a mean way, but it’s obvious Best Dad is distressed to find that he doesn’t know how the song came to be on his machine.
Best Dad changes the subject quickly, asking the younger child about the song, “You know the words to this song, little one?”
“Yes, Daddy, I like that song!” She shouts agreeably. The older one rolls her eyes again.
The family arrives home and the children tumble out of the car quickly. They run up the driveway and thump through the front door. “Mommy!!” they both shout as the door crashes into the wall of the entryway, further compromising the sheet rock that stays nicely out of view only when the front door is open.
Best Dad Evar stays in the driver’s seat of his brother’s car a moment longer. It’s a rare opportunity to collect himself, which he doesn’t want to miss.
“I’ve always thought of the car as a safe haven to sing your heart out if that’s what you want to do.” He says to himself, but as if he knows someone might be listening and might want to talk with him. “I’m not embarrassed if someone else sees me singing and I would like for my kids to feel free to sing in the car themselves.” He pauses a moment to see if his personal narrator will reply. Or is it the voice in his head? He’s still not quite sure.
Sure enough, “Well surely your kids will believe the car is a place they can feel free to sing.” The narrator replies with a tinge of hope, “But maybe not while they’re in the car together.” Best Dad Evar nods knowingly and chuckles softly. Then his thoughts shift again and his brow knits.
“You look puzzled, Best Dad Evar.” The narrator’s voice asks from somewhere inside the cockpit. (That’s what they call the area around the driver in these newer cars because it is loaded with gauges and control panels like some newfangled jumbo jet).
“I barely know that song.”
“What song, Best Dad?”
“The one my daughter was singing along with. I guess it’s called ‘Listen to Me’.”
“The Buddy Holly song?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Isn’t it on your Ipod?”
“I guess so. I just didn’t know I had it on there.” His brows are furrowed now.
“Do you keep your Ipod set to genius?”
“I must have. But I still can’t figure how it chose that song.”
“What song did it start out with?” the narrator asks helpfully, trying to unravel the mystery.
Best Dad’s head slumps back until it contacts the headrest and he laughs ruefully. “I don’t remember!”
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Best Dad Evar on Clarity #GBE2
Dust billows up between the planter boxes and the jam-packed storage shed that form the boundaries of Best Dad Evar’s recently overgrown lawn. He wrestles with his aging lawnmower, zig-zagging around various obstacles as he crops milkweed, clover and wall-climbing Bermuda grass. His eyes are bloodshot, his throat wheezes with every breath and his nose is dripping so badly, the stream of it has crossed the threshold of his upper lip.
“Allergies?” a voice breaks through the growl of the motor.
Best Dad tries to breathe in, but his nose produces only a halting snort that clearly doesn’t penetrate the sinus cavity. He lifts up his sweaty, grass-flecked t-shirt and wipes it across his nose. Finding the initial wipe to be inadequate, he grasps his nose with another, drier section of shirt and blows hard.
“Best Dad Evar!” the narrator is horrified.
“What?” Best Dad sounds exasperated, but cowed. “You sound like my mother.”
“More like your wife. What would she say if one of your children used their clothes as a Kleenex like you just did?”
“Oh, I know what she’d say, ‘cause she does say it regularly. Kids are wired to ignore the value of tissues. And clothes are so convenient to wipe on.”
“That doesn’t excuse you doing it.”
Best Dad protests weakly, “But I’d have to stop my whole lawn-mowing project to get a tissue.”
“My god, you sound just like your oldest child!”
Best Dad Evar chuckles, nodding his head slightly in agreement.
“What if they saw you using your shirt as a tissue?” The narrator continues, sounding suspiciously like the aforementioned spouse. “Wouldn’t that be setting a bad example for them?”
“They won’t see me doing it. They never look out here when I mow the lawn. The noise scares them.”
“That’s just a convenient excuse. You know they watch you all the time. They probably see much more of your actions than you realize.”
Best Dad sighs and rolls his eyes. “Stop lecturing me. I can’t be perfect.”
“All right, I’ll stop.”
Best Dad has also stopped. He hasn’t started his mower back up again and seems to be staring off, not into the distance, but instead at … a potted plant?
“Are you all right, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator asks with some concern.
“What? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You were thinking about something, though.”
“Yeah, sometimes I’m reminded of things or people.”
“You’re looking at that plant, what does that remind you of?”
“My grandmother. It’s one of her succulent plants, you know, I mean, it came from her house.” He says, with a sad look flashing across his face. “And I can picture her with clarity, tending to her succulents with her straw hat and her wrinkled, dirty fingers.”
“That’s what you have the plant for, right, to remind you of her?”
“Yes, you’re right. But when I’m reminded of her, it also makes me sad.”
“Sad, why? Because she’s gone and you’ll never see her again?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m sad about that, too. But I’m more sad that my girls will never get to meet her and know her like I did. She was so important to me and such an inspiration.”
“Yeah.” The narrator replies as if he doesn’t know what to say next. After a pause, he regains his normal role as the all-knowing, wise expert on Best Dad’s life. “But you are honoring her by showing your children your enthusiasm for the things she loved.”
Best Dad brightens, “Bird-watching, family tree research, old pictures, gardening… Mm hm. Yeah, I do carry those passions forward so my kids can see them.”
“You’re keeping her memory alive as best as you can, Best Dad.”
“Yeah, but I still wish they could have met her.”
“Well, that’s not the way our world works, is it?”
“Nope, it isn’t. So they’ll never have the clarity of memory that I have of my grandmother. But a little piece of her will be passed on to them one way or another. That has to be enough.”
“Allergies?” a voice breaks through the growl of the motor.
Best Dad tries to breathe in, but his nose produces only a halting snort that clearly doesn’t penetrate the sinus cavity. He lifts up his sweaty, grass-flecked t-shirt and wipes it across his nose. Finding the initial wipe to be inadequate, he grasps his nose with another, drier section of shirt and blows hard.
“Best Dad Evar!” the narrator is horrified.
“What?” Best Dad sounds exasperated, but cowed. “You sound like my mother.”
“More like your wife. What would she say if one of your children used their clothes as a Kleenex like you just did?”
“Oh, I know what she’d say, ‘cause she does say it regularly. Kids are wired to ignore the value of tissues. And clothes are so convenient to wipe on.”
“That doesn’t excuse you doing it.”
Best Dad protests weakly, “But I’d have to stop my whole lawn-mowing project to get a tissue.”
“My god, you sound just like your oldest child!”
Best Dad Evar chuckles, nodding his head slightly in agreement.
“What if they saw you using your shirt as a tissue?” The narrator continues, sounding suspiciously like the aforementioned spouse. “Wouldn’t that be setting a bad example for them?”
“They won’t see me doing it. They never look out here when I mow the lawn. The noise scares them.”
“That’s just a convenient excuse. You know they watch you all the time. They probably see much more of your actions than you realize.”
Best Dad sighs and rolls his eyes. “Stop lecturing me. I can’t be perfect.”
“All right, I’ll stop.”
Best Dad has also stopped. He hasn’t started his mower back up again and seems to be staring off, not into the distance, but instead at … a potted plant?
“Are you all right, Best Dad Evar?” the narrator asks with some concern.
“What? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You were thinking about something, though.”
“Yeah, sometimes I’m reminded of things or people.”
“You’re looking at that plant, what does that remind you of?”
“My grandmother. It’s one of her succulent plants, you know, I mean, it came from her house.” He says, with a sad look flashing across his face. “And I can picture her with clarity, tending to her succulents with her straw hat and her wrinkled, dirty fingers.”
“That’s what you have the plant for, right, to remind you of her?”
“Yes, you’re right. But when I’m reminded of her, it also makes me sad.”
“Sad, why? Because she’s gone and you’ll never see her again?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m sad about that, too. But I’m more sad that my girls will never get to meet her and know her like I did. She was so important to me and such an inspiration.”
“Yeah.” The narrator replies as if he doesn’t know what to say next. After a pause, he regains his normal role as the all-knowing, wise expert on Best Dad’s life. “But you are honoring her by showing your children your enthusiasm for the things she loved.”
Best Dad brightens, “Bird-watching, family tree research, old pictures, gardening… Mm hm. Yeah, I do carry those passions forward so my kids can see them.”
“You’re keeping her memory alive as best as you can, Best Dad.”
“Yeah, but I still wish they could have met her.”
“Well, that’s not the way our world works, is it?”
“Nope, it isn’t. So they’ll never have the clarity of memory that I have of my grandmother. But a little piece of her will be passed on to them one way or another. That has to be enough.”
Monday, October 3, 2011
Balance #GBE2
We catch up with Best Dad Evar at the gym that’s just a few blocks from his home. It’s actually quite late, 9 PM, so the gym is mostly populated by the die-hard regulars (the buffed out weight fiends) and those who are too shy about their physiques and/or their workouts to attend earlier in the day. Best Dad Evar’s loose clothes and paunch suggest he is in the second category. Best Dad has worked up quite a sweat, so much so that he’s dripping on the elliptical training machine. He seems to be successfully staying aboard the eighteen-inch-long and six-inch-wide pedals, but just barely. Occasionally his body jerks awkwardly as if one of the pedals has dropped out from underneath his foot unexpectedly, although from any angle it can be seen that the pedals aren’t going anywhere but in their normal ovals.
“Are you all right, Best Dad Evar?” A voice breaks through the music playing in his tiny earbuds.
“Uh,” Best Dad Evar pauses to catch his breath, “Yeah,” there’s another pause, “I’mfine,” and yet another pause, “Why-”, he puffs in another breath, “D’y’ask?”
“Because it looks like you’re about to fall off that machine!”
“Well-“ Best Dad puffs again and then stops pedaling. He leans over the console of the machine and starts panting like a long-haired retriever on a summer day. Over the course of the next minute his breathing slowly returns to normal. “-my brother-“
“Your brother again?”
“The same.” Best Dad tosses his drab sweatshirt over his shoulder, ready to leave the gym. He strides toward the exit door, shooting a smile at one of the attractive young girls that the gym always posts at their front desk. He is unsurprised by the fact that her eyes break contact with his as soon as possible.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He mutters under his breath once he’s past her station.
“What’s that, Best Dad?”
“They’re afraid if they smile back at an old guy like me, I’ll get the wrong idea and start stalking them.”
The narrator simply chuckles at this absurd interpretation. “Best Dad, you always think the worst of people.”
“Yeah, well. Would it kill them to throw a bone my way every once in a while? I’m a nice guy, and I’m happily married. But I still like to get a smile from a pretty girl. It doesn’t have to mean anything!”
The narrator decides to move on, “You were saying about your brother?”
“Oh, yeah.” Best Dad pauses for a long moment to regain his previous train of thought, “We were talking about my brother, weren’t we…,” He pauses another moment, his short term memory completely failing him once again. “Um, exercising and my brother.” There’s another pause. His eyes brighten up as the light bulb goes off finally. “Oh! I remember. My brother got me started on those ellipticals.”
“How did he do that?” the narrator simply prompts him.
“Did I tell you that in addition to being a world traveler and shit-disturber, he’s also a fitness freak?”
“No, you hadn’t mentioned that.” The narrator replies
“Well, he is. So, when it comes to staying in shape, I actually listen to him a little.”
“And?”
“Well, he told me that as we age one of the most important things you can do when you work out is exercises that help you maintain good balance.”
“These elliptical machines help you work on that?”
“He told me they do.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s going very well in your case.”
Best Dad Evar laughs heartily, but then stops laughing suddenly, a sad look clouding his face. He’s now standing at the driver’s side door of his old car, the one with the peeling paint along the roof and hood. You might think he was contemplating his own reflection in the dusty window of the car, but you’d be mistaken.
“What are you thinking, Best Dad?”
“I don’t like getting old.”
“No, nobody does,” the narrator replies with a softly sympathetic tone.
Best Dad stares into the driver’s side window of his still-parked car. It seems he’s forgotten his train of thought once again.
“Um, Best Dad, did you forget to do something?”
Best Dad snaps to attention. He looks at the car for a moment. Then he pats the pocket that he usually keeps his keys in. “Crap.” He pats the other pocket in his sweats and comes up empty again. Next, he whips the sweatshirt off of his shoulder. He feels the pockets, but the lack of a jingle is a dead-giveaway. The keys won’t be there. His shoulders slump.
“Shee-it.” He says, his lips crinkling into a disappointed frown. He trudges slowly back toward the gym to commence the embarrassing search. At the front desk, the otherwise perky young woman in the form fitting t-shirt gives Best Dad a sidelong glance, then carefully looks the other direction as he sidles through the already open door.
He throws up his hands in exasperation and says one word “Keys!” as he arrives at the scanner that typically responds to the plastic thingy on his keychain. She looks down at her homework and chuckles softly, waving him through the entry without a hassle.
“Are you all right, Best Dad Evar?” A voice breaks through the music playing in his tiny earbuds.
“Uh,” Best Dad Evar pauses to catch his breath, “Yeah,” there’s another pause, “I’mfine,” and yet another pause, “Why-”, he puffs in another breath, “D’y’ask?”
“Because it looks like you’re about to fall off that machine!”
“Well-“ Best Dad puffs again and then stops pedaling. He leans over the console of the machine and starts panting like a long-haired retriever on a summer day. Over the course of the next minute his breathing slowly returns to normal. “-my brother-“
“Your brother again?”
“The same.” Best Dad tosses his drab sweatshirt over his shoulder, ready to leave the gym. He strides toward the exit door, shooting a smile at one of the attractive young girls that the gym always posts at their front desk. He is unsurprised by the fact that her eyes break contact with his as soon as possible.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He mutters under his breath once he’s past her station.
“What’s that, Best Dad?”
“They’re afraid if they smile back at an old guy like me, I’ll get the wrong idea and start stalking them.”
The narrator simply chuckles at this absurd interpretation. “Best Dad, you always think the worst of people.”
“Yeah, well. Would it kill them to throw a bone my way every once in a while? I’m a nice guy, and I’m happily married. But I still like to get a smile from a pretty girl. It doesn’t have to mean anything!”
The narrator decides to move on, “You were saying about your brother?”
“Oh, yeah.” Best Dad pauses for a long moment to regain his previous train of thought, “We were talking about my brother, weren’t we…,” He pauses another moment, his short term memory completely failing him once again. “Um, exercising and my brother.” There’s another pause. His eyes brighten up as the light bulb goes off finally. “Oh! I remember. My brother got me started on those ellipticals.”
“How did he do that?” the narrator simply prompts him.
“Did I tell you that in addition to being a world traveler and shit-disturber, he’s also a fitness freak?”
“No, you hadn’t mentioned that.” The narrator replies
“Well, he is. So, when it comes to staying in shape, I actually listen to him a little.”
“And?”
“Well, he told me that as we age one of the most important things you can do when you work out is exercises that help you maintain good balance.”
“These elliptical machines help you work on that?”
“He told me they do.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s going very well in your case.”
Best Dad Evar laughs heartily, but then stops laughing suddenly, a sad look clouding his face. He’s now standing at the driver’s side door of his old car, the one with the peeling paint along the roof and hood. You might think he was contemplating his own reflection in the dusty window of the car, but you’d be mistaken.
“What are you thinking, Best Dad?”
“I don’t like getting old.”
“No, nobody does,” the narrator replies with a softly sympathetic tone.
Best Dad stares into the driver’s side window of his still-parked car. It seems he’s forgotten his train of thought once again.
“Um, Best Dad, did you forget to do something?”
Best Dad snaps to attention. He looks at the car for a moment. Then he pats the pocket that he usually keeps his keys in. “Crap.” He pats the other pocket in his sweats and comes up empty again. Next, he whips the sweatshirt off of his shoulder. He feels the pockets, but the lack of a jingle is a dead-giveaway. The keys won’t be there. His shoulders slump.
“Shee-it.” He says, his lips crinkling into a disappointed frown. He trudges slowly back toward the gym to commence the embarrassing search. At the front desk, the otherwise perky young woman in the form fitting t-shirt gives Best Dad a sidelong glance, then carefully looks the other direction as he sidles through the already open door.
He throws up his hands in exasperation and says one word “Keys!” as he arrives at the scanner that typically responds to the plastic thingy on his keychain. She looks down at her homework and chuckles softly, waving him through the entry without a hassle.
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