This can’t just be a list, you know? Behind every simple thing I love about her there is a whole big, complicated thing. Behind everything there is a history.
We met at a mutual friend’s party. Mostly. Technically, we knew each other before then, mostly as friends of friends, and we both worked on the college newspaper staff. Also, she worked at the post office at the college, so I would see her back there when I checked my mail and she could see me, but we never had a conversation there that I can remember. So, she was at this party and I was at this party and she looked dreadfully bored. And cute. So, I took a picture of her. Later, the idea came up that we should go to Kilroy’s. I cleverly stated that I was only going to go if Patsy would dance with me. For some wonderful reason, her reaction was to come over and slow dance with me right there! There wasn’t even any music playing. There are pictures of this, too. I remember that she fit perfectly under my chin in that position. That’s one thing I adore about her—she fits.
At the end of that night (I’ll spare you all the details, partly because she has her own less than flattering story to tell about this gap in time) I told her I would call her. So, the next day I called. Mostly, I just said that I am calling because I said I would call. I am not a great conversationalist. In some of our early calls, I was watching Cheers on TV and I warned her that I may drift in and out of attention because of it. Pretty charming, huh? Our early dates include a movie that I wanted to see that she hated (Under Siege, with Steven Seagal) that included Erika Eleniak popping out of a cake (she remembers that part). She later described this date as “odd.” We also went to a friend of mine’s apartment (he had a family) where we had a more normal time except when I became fascinated by the glass snack dish they had in the shape of a treble clef and I wanted to find out where it’s center of gravity/balancing point was (because it has to have one and it’s such a non-obvious shape). She was more worried about the breakability of the dish, naturally. And yet, she has stuck with me all these years. So, that’s another thing I adore about her—she forgives.
I grew up in a big family—seven kids. Her family was not as big—three kids. She was the youngest, I was the middle child. She grew up in Minnesota; I grew up in North Dakota. We both grew up in rural homes. We both adore the Holiday Season. We both love our families. We both feel welcome at each other’s families (though the sheer size of mine and the nuances of that are easily overwhelming to outsiders.) When I look back on the turning points of our relationship, of when I started thinking “I knew” this was the right decision, meeting her family was a big part of it. We both had the same value for family. We share the same ideas about family: its role, its boundaries, its sacrifice. We talk about how our parents are similar (for better and worse). We agree on how many kids we should have. We have similar parenting goals, but different, complimentary styles. We love each other (verb) and love love itself (noun). So, I love my wife’s sense of family and her enormous contribution to ours.
Ever since her quirky reaction to my quirky dancing request, my lovely bride has been making me laugh. To be honest, I have always been suspicious about people that say that about their marriages. I don’t always laugh. My life is not 24/7 laughter, not even close. I’m not saying that to complain, rather I say that because it makes me appreciate the laughter when it shows up. Often, what she makes me laugh about most is myself. Ok, she laughs at me quite often. She and our daughter laugh about me quite often. It’s just one of the many services I provide, evidently. One of the greatest services she provides, though, is this constant, stream-of-consciousness, bippy little comic relief. Our family is full of running jokes, inside jokes, characters and voices. My wife is funny.
When we encounter a lull in our communication, one thing we can always talk about is football. There are many guys out there who have wives and girl-friends who hate football (my wife's sister is NOT a fan.) I am blessed to have a bride who is both friend and colleague of the game. She is a Vikings fan, sure, but she can talk about the whole NFL. When we are not cheering for the Vikings, we also enjoy cheering against various other teams that have earned her ire for one reason or another. Of course the Packers have to lose every game, what with the rivalry and all. Any team that Brett Favre is on has to lose, and it is even better when Brett gets intercepted, sacked… anything contributing to a bad game. Same is true for Randy Moss, since he is clearly a traitor. She is very annoyed by Peyton Manning for some reason (maybe it’s all the commercials) but she just generally hates the Colts’ “costumes” (they’re too plain.) It’s loads of fun. We have a running joke about “Coach Patsy” since she would clearly be an improvement to any sideline.
My wife and I compliment each other. You've heard the phrase "better half"? That's what I'm talking about. Which means I am only half of the whole. Did you ever see the movie Jerry Macguire? The movie melted a lot of women's hearts with its line, "You complete me." That's what I'm talking about. But I am not so young and naive that I don't know what it really means. A good marriage is two people who know what these phrases mean. Here's one of my favorite examples: my wife washes the dishes and I put them away. She does not like to put the dishes away, but she does not feel burdened to wash them, she actually enjoys that time a little (we put them in a rack and they air-dry). She puts on her favorite music, and goes to it. I am not fond of washing the dishes, but I enjoy putting them away. I see the stack of clean, dry dishes and it is as natural as breathing to just put them in the cupboard, drawer, etc. We compliment each other. But... we may never remodel our kitchen because we cannot agree on how it should be done. This is the not-so-obvious part of "you complete me." See, neither one of us can pull rank if we are half the whole. I can't say, "I'm the man. I am head of the family..." and she can't say, "I am the woman. I have nesting instincts and better design skills. I'm not bossy, I just have better ideas!" (I know a woman who has that hanging in her kitchen). What has to happen is we need to work through it: we need to listen, we need to think, we need to reconsider, we need to compromise, etc. We compliment each other because we are different, not because we have so much in common. Do you understand that? People think they fall in love because of what they have in common. Falling in love is not enough to stay married. Learning how to complete each other-- learning how to be completed! That's what a marriage lives on, IMHO.
When our daughter was very young, she already had many stuffed animals, especially beanie babies. She would literally squeel with delight if you animate it (make it act like it is talking, walking... basically turn it into a puppet). My lovely bride was the same way as a child, she tells me. To this day, both of them very much enjoy doing that. They all have a different voice, different personality, and they...talk...constantly. So, really, our house is full and crowded. Lately, the emphasis has been on monkeys. I embrace all of this. As I finally declared to my daughter: monkey chatter is a sign of health and prosperity.
So far, the plan is to never really be finished with this entry. Mostly, that is because I should and will always be thinking of more and deeper ways that I love her. Also, since it is story based, there will always be more stories.
But, for fun, I'll end with a quote from one of my favorite poems (which I won't name because the rest of it does not fit so well with the tone here): "...For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams... and the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride..."
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Pro Choice
This is not an article about abortion. This is an article about choice itself.
But, let's use abortion as an example. Here's the thing: if it ever came to pass that laws making abortion illegal were constitutional (i.e. reverse Roe v. Wade) you would not stop abortions from happening. If you destroyed and/or closed every abortion service provider in the world, you would not stop abortion from happening. Even if you could convince the entire world to agree that conception creates a human life as complete as you or I standing there, you would not stop abortions from happening.
Let's consider another equally divisive choice: gun control. Go ahead, remove the 2nd amendment of the Constitution. Pass another amendment that said it never existed in the first place, if you want. You can even go so far as to master time travel and go back to the creation of the Bill of Rights and talk them out of ever writing it down. You still won't prevent deaths or injury or even crimes that involve guns. Technically, if it were possible to physically remove every gun from the face of the earth and prevent the manufacture of any more, you could eliminate the aforementioned atrocities involving guns. But, you wouldn't prevent the atrocities themselves (murder, injury, and crime).
God created humans with choices. No human or human effort is going to change that. Even denying the existence of God and creation will not change that. It is at the very core of being human to make choices. With great effort and extreme cruelty it is possible to prevent a given human from the outward expression or outcomes of their choices (did you every see the movie Boxing Helena?) But you cannot prevent them from making choices in their mind, and really all you end up doing is making choices for them, not actually eliminating choice itself.
Saying you are pro-choice is technically redundant. If you "are" you are. It is more accurate to say you are pro-abortion or anti-abortion, that you support the use of firearms or oppose their use.
Can choice, itself, be a "bad" thing? Consult the creator on that one. Or don't, it's your choice.
I cannot presume to know why God would do anything, but I can easily understand one good explanation why He would create free will: without it, love cannot exist. Unless his beloved humans can choose to love Him, love cannot be (He could create another creature to do so instead of humans, but that fails to grasp the nature of God--God does not make junk, nor does He need duplicity.) The same is true for our relationships, even if we fail to understand it. Love cannot be demanded, else it is not love. Of course, this whole point is premised with "God is love" and the Gospel of John literally states and the entire Bible notates and demonstrates. If God had no need for love, freewill would, likewise, be unnecessary. It's a corollary. It's a priori.
None of that is to say that people to not make "bad" choices. If a choice is an action, any action can have one or many negative consequence(s). The arguments around the examples I started with are all about one side trying to convince the other that their consequences are negative and, therefore, worthy of prevention or even elimination.
And neither side is going to win thinking like that.
The "battle" of good and evil is not our battle to fight or win, technically. We cannot create or eliminate either. It is not within human power. We do, however, have a role. We are part of the creation itself. Our actions do matter. We will even be accountable for our actions.
And yet, we are not responsible for the outcomes. That is to say, we are called to be faithful, not successful. The success is not ours to own.
We have only the choice to be faithful. Or not. It's as simple as that.
But, let's use abortion as an example. Here's the thing: if it ever came to pass that laws making abortion illegal were constitutional (i.e. reverse Roe v. Wade) you would not stop abortions from happening. If you destroyed and/or closed every abortion service provider in the world, you would not stop abortion from happening. Even if you could convince the entire world to agree that conception creates a human life as complete as you or I standing there, you would not stop abortions from happening.
Let's consider another equally divisive choice: gun control. Go ahead, remove the 2nd amendment of the Constitution. Pass another amendment that said it never existed in the first place, if you want. You can even go so far as to master time travel and go back to the creation of the Bill of Rights and talk them out of ever writing it down. You still won't prevent deaths or injury or even crimes that involve guns. Technically, if it were possible to physically remove every gun from the face of the earth and prevent the manufacture of any more, you could eliminate the aforementioned atrocities involving guns. But, you wouldn't prevent the atrocities themselves (murder, injury, and crime).
God created humans with choices. No human or human effort is going to change that. Even denying the existence of God and creation will not change that. It is at the very core of being human to make choices. With great effort and extreme cruelty it is possible to prevent a given human from the outward expression or outcomes of their choices (did you every see the movie Boxing Helena?) But you cannot prevent them from making choices in their mind, and really all you end up doing is making choices for them, not actually eliminating choice itself.
Saying you are pro-choice is technically redundant. If you "are" you are. It is more accurate to say you are pro-abortion or anti-abortion, that you support the use of firearms or oppose their use.
Can choice, itself, be a "bad" thing? Consult the creator on that one. Or don't, it's your choice.
I cannot presume to know why God would do anything, but I can easily understand one good explanation why He would create free will: without it, love cannot exist. Unless his beloved humans can choose to love Him, love cannot be (He could create another creature to do so instead of humans, but that fails to grasp the nature of God--God does not make junk, nor does He need duplicity.) The same is true for our relationships, even if we fail to understand it. Love cannot be demanded, else it is not love. Of course, this whole point is premised with "God is love" and the Gospel of John literally states and the entire Bible notates and demonstrates. If God had no need for love, freewill would, likewise, be unnecessary. It's a corollary. It's a priori.
None of that is to say that people to not make "bad" choices. If a choice is an action, any action can have one or many negative consequence(s). The arguments around the examples I started with are all about one side trying to convince the other that their consequences are negative and, therefore, worthy of prevention or even elimination.
And neither side is going to win thinking like that.
The "battle" of good and evil is not our battle to fight or win, technically. We cannot create or eliminate either. It is not within human power. We do, however, have a role. We are part of the creation itself. Our actions do matter. We will even be accountable for our actions.
And yet, we are not responsible for the outcomes. That is to say, we are called to be faithful, not successful. The success is not ours to own.
We have only the choice to be faithful. Or not. It's as simple as that.
Musicians
I admire musicians. In fact, I have profound appreciation and respect for musicians.
I, however, fall into the category of audience. I am not completely music illiterate, I did play instruments in the past. I like to sing. My family likes when I sing. A musician, however, would not.
I am not a huge fan of American Idol specifically because I actually like musicians. Let's be honest here, many people tune in to watch people fail miserably. The early episodes of each season--the auditions-- are painful for me to watch. They are also some of the most popular. I have laughed along with the crowd, it's true ("...she bang! she bang!...) but I mostly end up feeling sorry and wondering what they could have possibly been thinking.
I took voice lessons for one semester in college. I took them because I wanted to be in the choir. The choir at JC is phenomenal. So, I started the choir and the lessons at the same time. I was booted from the choir after a few practices. I finished the semester with the lessons, though.
I, for one, think there is a huge difference between the way voice is taught in such lessons and what makes a good popular singer. You've seen them: they sound like opera singers (opera singers are phenomenal--at the opera) with lots of vibrato and wide open mouths. I just know that behind that audition is a lot of voice lessons and praise from teachers. It's almost criminal. Shouldn't such lessons come with a signed waiver that says, "I am training you to fit a specific school of voice pedagogy. This does not mean your singing will be popular with any given audience."
Just to make the point that American Idol is not necessarily good for musicians, consider this: The finalists for each season are chosen entirely by the judges for their demonstrable talent, yet the premise of every episode after that is to eliminate them for their lack of talent.
Only a few of the finalists, in my opinion, are genuine musicians. I don't just mean that they are singers but not musicians. I mean they lack the mastery of the medium. It could be that they are poorly managed, although I think a true musician would find their voice, their sound, their significance regardless. Such is the nature of gifts, of "destiny." One has only to look at the success of some of the "also rans" to see this truth.
One of my favorite movies is Amadeus. It is, presumably, the story of Wolgang Amadeus Mozart. I am not an expert on the fact vs. fiction of the film. I do know that the talent the film ascribes to Mozart just blows me away. When I listen to his music, I am inclined to believe the talent is not exaggerated. Of course, by virtually all accounts, he is in an extremely elite class of musicians.
I understand the concept of notes on a page. A musician looks at the same page and actually hears the sound in their head. Which is why I avoid singing around musicians. It does not matter that what I sang might be the same note, one octave lower or a note that harmonizes with the note on the page, it's still the wrong note, and they know it. I respect that. I'd much rather hear them, than join them anyway.
Does a musician singing alone in the woods make any sound? God put musicians on this earth to make beautiful music. God put me on this earth so that music would resonate in appreciative ears. They play their role and I play mine.
I, however, fall into the category of audience. I am not completely music illiterate, I did play instruments in the past. I like to sing. My family likes when I sing. A musician, however, would not.
I am not a huge fan of American Idol specifically because I actually like musicians. Let's be honest here, many people tune in to watch people fail miserably. The early episodes of each season--the auditions-- are painful for me to watch. They are also some of the most popular. I have laughed along with the crowd, it's true ("...she bang! she bang!...) but I mostly end up feeling sorry and wondering what they could have possibly been thinking.
I took voice lessons for one semester in college. I took them because I wanted to be in the choir. The choir at JC is phenomenal. So, I started the choir and the lessons at the same time. I was booted from the choir after a few practices. I finished the semester with the lessons, though.
I, for one, think there is a huge difference between the way voice is taught in such lessons and what makes a good popular singer. You've seen them: they sound like opera singers (opera singers are phenomenal--at the opera) with lots of vibrato and wide open mouths. I just know that behind that audition is a lot of voice lessons and praise from teachers. It's almost criminal. Shouldn't such lessons come with a signed waiver that says, "I am training you to fit a specific school of voice pedagogy. This does not mean your singing will be popular with any given audience."
Just to make the point that American Idol is not necessarily good for musicians, consider this: The finalists for each season are chosen entirely by the judges for their demonstrable talent, yet the premise of every episode after that is to eliminate them for their lack of talent.
Only a few of the finalists, in my opinion, are genuine musicians. I don't just mean that they are singers but not musicians. I mean they lack the mastery of the medium. It could be that they are poorly managed, although I think a true musician would find their voice, their sound, their significance regardless. Such is the nature of gifts, of "destiny." One has only to look at the success of some of the "also rans" to see this truth.
One of my favorite movies is Amadeus. It is, presumably, the story of Wolgang Amadeus Mozart. I am not an expert on the fact vs. fiction of the film. I do know that the talent the film ascribes to Mozart just blows me away. When I listen to his music, I am inclined to believe the talent is not exaggerated. Of course, by virtually all accounts, he is in an extremely elite class of musicians.
I understand the concept of notes on a page. A musician looks at the same page and actually hears the sound in their head. Which is why I avoid singing around musicians. It does not matter that what I sang might be the same note, one octave lower or a note that harmonizes with the note on the page, it's still the wrong note, and they know it. I respect that. I'd much rather hear them, than join them anyway.
Does a musician singing alone in the woods make any sound? God put musicians on this earth to make beautiful music. God put me on this earth so that music would resonate in appreciative ears. They play their role and I play mine.
Gay Rights, Minorities, Pro Choice...
Who cares what I think about any of these?
I am a straight, white, man, and I'm not even young enough for anyone to care about that either. My opinion is less than irrelevant. True, either side would happily accept my vote, but the loser wouldn't care less.
To many, I AM the problem. They actually go out of their way to nullify my opinion.
If I had money to donate to the cause, I would have to be anonymous because they wouldn't want to be associated with my demographic.
I wonder if it would matter if straight, white, middle-aged men were a minority? We probably are in some categories already.
Does it matter that I have friends who are proponents? I wonder. I wonder what would go first, the cause or the friendship if it came to that?
I could say that it is a relief not to need an opinion. I can just sit back and not say anything, and almost no one asks. I get dirty looks and blow-offs, but not questions.
Chances are the only reason you are reading this in the first place is that one of these is your issue, not mine.
Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes. I'll be glad to listen.
I am a straight, white, man, and I'm not even young enough for anyone to care about that either. My opinion is less than irrelevant. True, either side would happily accept my vote, but the loser wouldn't care less.
To many, I AM the problem. They actually go out of their way to nullify my opinion.
If I had money to donate to the cause, I would have to be anonymous because they wouldn't want to be associated with my demographic.
I wonder if it would matter if straight, white, middle-aged men were a minority? We probably are in some categories already.
Does it matter that I have friends who are proponents? I wonder. I wonder what would go first, the cause or the friendship if it came to that?
I could say that it is a relief not to need an opinion. I can just sit back and not say anything, and almost no one asks. I get dirty looks and blow-offs, but not questions.
Chances are the only reason you are reading this in the first place is that one of these is your issue, not mine.
Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes. I'll be glad to listen.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Hockey (wormhole trip to Collegian)
(This is a re-print of a column written for the JC Collegian 3/28/91)
This is the sequel to my last column. Therefore, it is also the story of the time my brother and I beat each other to exhaustion and tears.
First of all, I have to tell you about hockey. It's a cool game. I am always amazed at the skating ability of these players. They're so busy with strategy and dorky rules that they probably don't even realize that they're traveling at 20mph backwards!
It's also a cool game because, basically, it's socially acceptable violence. Hockey has what is called a "check." Basically, you can slam into a player and dump them on their butt with any amount of force you can muster legally! I think this was originally legalized because the first players weren't as good of players and collisions were so frequent that this was a necessary rule for the sake of the game. Nowadays, it's clearly done on purpose. So, that's hockey as I see it.
Like I said, I admire the skaters. This is probably, at least in part, due to the fact that I cannot skate well. I know this because I've tried.
When I was a youngun back on the farm, we used to clear off the ice and entertain ourselves. Such entertainment led, inevitably, to hockey. We never had a real puck, though. We sometimes used a tin can, but the best substitute was a chunk of ice. Ice chunks slid better but they were harder to see. We didn't have real sticks either, we had real sticks like, from trees.
But we made due. Like any handicap, we learned to play around it. We made due so well, in fact, that John had actually mastered the art of "lifting." (That's hockey lingo for lifting the puck off the ice with a shot so that it travels through the air rather than across the ice. Learn somethin' new everyday.) This technique is much harder to defend against and that makes it an admirable talent. I couldn't do this either.
But, John had mastered it. He could lift it, slide it, slap hanging curveballs, and smash dropping sliders. Not really, but it lifted when he wanted it to and it didn't when he didn't.
So, one day we were involved in a pretty intense game. The score was close and nerves were on end. I had the "puck" late in the game and was bumbling down the ice when John performed a perfectly executed check. In other words, I fell flat on my back, my head hit the ice, my feet flew up in the air, and John went on to score.
Of course, I really didn't care so much that he scored, only that at this moment I could have sworn that I was paralyzed and I knew I was numb. But it was legal. I knew that.
For the first time, I think, I came to realize that things that are legal can, nonetheless, be wrong. In the absence of legal backing, however, I had to resort to another outlet to obtain justice: this meant war!
The next few hours contained some of the scrappiest, lousiest, hockey ever played. In other words, it was great fun. The score became irrelevant. We were playing for another reason: sadism.
But, like Mom always said, it's only fun until someone gets hurt. I got hurt. I was establishing a defensive position at about exactly center ice when John decided it was time to show off. He lifted the ice chunk directly into my face. This was no snowball, mind you. This was pure, solid, 100% North Dakota grown, 20-below ice with jagged edges.
I was upset. Any crime seems much more serious when done intentionally and ruthlessly.
Now that you have my opinion of the situation, let me explain. A lift is only necessary, really, to score. It is strategic then because the goalie must guard both the air and the ground. A long distance lift is not very effective because it is just as easy to stop as any flyball is in baseball. I was at center ice nowhere near the goal. The trajectory of this shot would have missed the goal by miles anyway. Besides that, it was clearly intentional because John had mastered the lift. Just as premeditated murder is more severe than other brands, this could not go unnoticed.
Well, I was crouched over and holding my face. John came over to assess the damages.
"Are you OK?"
"You bastherd!" I guess I was hurt worse than I had thought.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeajb, sthure you're sthorry."
"It was an accident."
"Bull...pth"
I had heard all these standard excuses before. He was establishing his legal position on common, standard procedure. I wasn't buying it.
I was really hurting' now. I was starting to cry and everything was swelling and stinging. I felt woozy. "Dambith John! You're alwaysth hoortee me!"
I was so upset I felt like killing him only I was too incapable of doing so.
Then it happened. I don't know how or why really, but I mustered all the strength I could and hit him across the head with my stick. And I mean I really hit him. I saw his head snap to the side and his feet fly out the other way. Don't forget, he was on ice, after all. I felt, I don't know, it just felt so good to hurt him back for a change.
He got up, torqued as all get out. I tried to be rational. "You hit me firrsthtt!" I pleaded.
He wasn't into it. As I became overwhelmed with terror, he pounced on me. For the next few minutes we rolled and kicked and bit and screamed and really just got tired because it was so hard to do anything on the ice.
In the end, we were both just lying there and crying. I don't know who got up first, but we both got into the house.
We never played hockey again that winter. I think John knew that he did it on purpose. For one thing, he let the fight "be over." Normally, he'd just wait until he felt up to it again and then beat the snot out of me. This time, though, he let it be. I let it be. We both knew we could hurt each other. We both knew we did hurt each other. We both just knew better.
This is the sequel to my last column. Therefore, it is also the story of the time my brother and I beat each other to exhaustion and tears.
First of all, I have to tell you about hockey. It's a cool game. I am always amazed at the skating ability of these players. They're so busy with strategy and dorky rules that they probably don't even realize that they're traveling at 20mph backwards!
It's also a cool game because, basically, it's socially acceptable violence. Hockey has what is called a "check." Basically, you can slam into a player and dump them on their butt with any amount of force you can muster legally! I think this was originally legalized because the first players weren't as good of players and collisions were so frequent that this was a necessary rule for the sake of the game. Nowadays, it's clearly done on purpose. So, that's hockey as I see it.
Like I said, I admire the skaters. This is probably, at least in part, due to the fact that I cannot skate well. I know this because I've tried.
When I was a youngun back on the farm, we used to clear off the ice and entertain ourselves. Such entertainment led, inevitably, to hockey. We never had a real puck, though. We sometimes used a tin can, but the best substitute was a chunk of ice. Ice chunks slid better but they were harder to see. We didn't have real sticks either, we had real sticks like, from trees.
But we made due. Like any handicap, we learned to play around it. We made due so well, in fact, that John had actually mastered the art of "lifting." (That's hockey lingo for lifting the puck off the ice with a shot so that it travels through the air rather than across the ice. Learn somethin' new everyday.) This technique is much harder to defend against and that makes it an admirable talent. I couldn't do this either.
But, John had mastered it. He could lift it, slide it, slap hanging curveballs, and smash dropping sliders. Not really, but it lifted when he wanted it to and it didn't when he didn't.
So, one day we were involved in a pretty intense game. The score was close and nerves were on end. I had the "puck" late in the game and was bumbling down the ice when John performed a perfectly executed check. In other words, I fell flat on my back, my head hit the ice, my feet flew up in the air, and John went on to score.
Of course, I really didn't care so much that he scored, only that at this moment I could have sworn that I was paralyzed and I knew I was numb. But it was legal. I knew that.
For the first time, I think, I came to realize that things that are legal can, nonetheless, be wrong. In the absence of legal backing, however, I had to resort to another outlet to obtain justice: this meant war!
The next few hours contained some of the scrappiest, lousiest, hockey ever played. In other words, it was great fun. The score became irrelevant. We were playing for another reason: sadism.
But, like Mom always said, it's only fun until someone gets hurt. I got hurt. I was establishing a defensive position at about exactly center ice when John decided it was time to show off. He lifted the ice chunk directly into my face. This was no snowball, mind you. This was pure, solid, 100% North Dakota grown, 20-below ice with jagged edges.
I was upset. Any crime seems much more serious when done intentionally and ruthlessly.
Now that you have my opinion of the situation, let me explain. A lift is only necessary, really, to score. It is strategic then because the goalie must guard both the air and the ground. A long distance lift is not very effective because it is just as easy to stop as any flyball is in baseball. I was at center ice nowhere near the goal. The trajectory of this shot would have missed the goal by miles anyway. Besides that, it was clearly intentional because John had mastered the lift. Just as premeditated murder is more severe than other brands, this could not go unnoticed.
Well, I was crouched over and holding my face. John came over to assess the damages.
"Are you OK?"
"You bastherd!" I guess I was hurt worse than I had thought.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeajb, sthure you're sthorry."
"It was an accident."
"Bull...pth"
I had heard all these standard excuses before. He was establishing his legal position on common, standard procedure. I wasn't buying it.
I was really hurting' now. I was starting to cry and everything was swelling and stinging. I felt woozy. "Dambith John! You're alwaysth hoortee me!"
I was so upset I felt like killing him only I was too incapable of doing so.
Then it happened. I don't know how or why really, but I mustered all the strength I could and hit him across the head with my stick. And I mean I really hit him. I saw his head snap to the side and his feet fly out the other way. Don't forget, he was on ice, after all. I felt, I don't know, it just felt so good to hurt him back for a change.
He got up, torqued as all get out. I tried to be rational. "You hit me firrsthtt!" I pleaded.
He wasn't into it. As I became overwhelmed with terror, he pounced on me. For the next few minutes we rolled and kicked and bit and screamed and really just got tired because it was so hard to do anything on the ice.
In the end, we were both just lying there and crying. I don't know who got up first, but we both got into the house.
We never played hockey again that winter. I think John knew that he did it on purpose. For one thing, he let the fight "be over." Normally, he'd just wait until he felt up to it again and then beat the snot out of me. This time, though, he let it be. I let it be. We both knew we could hurt each other. We both knew we did hurt each other. We both just knew better.
Update: 20 Year Reunion
So I thought about this whole thing for a while and then I had an epiphany:
What I am imagining is me walking into "the reunion" and seeing the whole crowd there and being completely ill-equipped to make any sense out of it. So (since I don't drink) I'll wander up to the most familiar face I see... blah blah blah
So, the answer is to use these next few months to get caught up already so that when we show up, it will be the party it should be rather than a giant oral resume exam.
Duh! We have the technology... we CAN rebuild him!
Here's the funny story:
I go to classmates.com. Now, either that makes perfect sense to you or you are smirking with disgust. Here I was thinking, "That is what the thing is for isn't it?" 12 classmates. And the most recent entry was over a month old. Plus... well, a whole bunch of bashing could go on here, so I'm just gonna leave it alone.
Then, I decide I'll try MySpace. Again with the smirking! You are so... never mind. Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought I was pretty smart. One person. One.
But, praise the Lord, it was the right one. I didn't know it at the time, so I just sent off a message and hoped for the best, having no idea what that could possibly be since this was such a disaster. Luckily (or whatever you want to call it) I had just bumped into her at Target, although it was just a quick I-know-you glance and a brief, "Hi" because she was heading into the bathroom and I was coming out and that is just not the right time, y'know?
So, the next day (which was one long and miserable day for this project) I get a reply that mostly says, "Get your butt over to Facebook."
And she was totally right! Everyone was/is over there.
For me, it was actually like I turned the key and leaned on the door to my home like I've done a million times before and... What the ??? There's not only a huge party going on, but it looks like everyone has been there a long time already.
So, my plan is coming together beautifully and everything I hoped would happen is happening thanks to the technology.
Which got me to thinking about the technology. First and foremost was/is why such disparity with MySpace and Classmates? Both were created to do the same thing, but everyone is on Facebook instead. Will Facebook be to these other sites what Microsoft became to... well, everything? Or has that already happened?
The other thing is just how revolutionary the whole concept is. I know I am not the only person who has held such a dismal view of reunions. But NOW we can all not only catch up before hand but oh so conveniently. Think about it. The natural tendency is to start asking those resume questions. Not necessary! All that is over there in the profile/info section. Read it at your leisure. When you get to the conversations, you can jump right into the good stuff! That is really huge. And don't fly past those words convenience and leisure too quickly. There is no need to be in the same place at the same time, like every other conversation. You can post when you want and I'll read it when I want. Unless you start texting, that is. But even then...
Well, whatever you think, the reality is that human communication has changed in a big way. If you want to be a neo-ludite about it, fine. Send me your hand-written letter, then. I'll get it in a couple days in the mailbox.
Maybe.
What I am imagining is me walking into "the reunion" and seeing the whole crowd there and being completely ill-equipped to make any sense out of it. So (since I don't drink) I'll wander up to the most familiar face I see... blah blah blah
So, the answer is to use these next few months to get caught up already so that when we show up, it will be the party it should be rather than a giant oral resume exam.
Duh! We have the technology... we CAN rebuild him!
Here's the funny story:
I go to classmates.com. Now, either that makes perfect sense to you or you are smirking with disgust. Here I was thinking, "That is what the thing is for isn't it?" 12 classmates. And the most recent entry was over a month old. Plus... well, a whole bunch of bashing could go on here, so I'm just gonna leave it alone.
Then, I decide I'll try MySpace. Again with the smirking! You are so... never mind. Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought I was pretty smart. One person. One.
But, praise the Lord, it was the right one. I didn't know it at the time, so I just sent off a message and hoped for the best, having no idea what that could possibly be since this was such a disaster. Luckily (or whatever you want to call it) I had just bumped into her at Target, although it was just a quick I-know-you glance and a brief, "Hi" because she was heading into the bathroom and I was coming out and that is just not the right time, y'know?
So, the next day (which was one long and miserable day for this project) I get a reply that mostly says, "Get your butt over to Facebook."
And she was totally right! Everyone was/is over there.
For me, it was actually like I turned the key and leaned on the door to my home like I've done a million times before and... What the ??? There's not only a huge party going on, but it looks like everyone has been there a long time already.
So, my plan is coming together beautifully and everything I hoped would happen is happening thanks to the technology.
Which got me to thinking about the technology. First and foremost was/is why such disparity with MySpace and Classmates? Both were created to do the same thing, but everyone is on Facebook instead. Will Facebook be to these other sites what Microsoft became to... well, everything? Or has that already happened?
The other thing is just how revolutionary the whole concept is. I know I am not the only person who has held such a dismal view of reunions. But NOW we can all not only catch up before hand but oh so conveniently. Think about it. The natural tendency is to start asking those resume questions. Not necessary! All that is over there in the profile/info section. Read it at your leisure. When you get to the conversations, you can jump right into the good stuff! That is really huge. And don't fly past those words convenience and leisure too quickly. There is no need to be in the same place at the same time, like every other conversation. You can post when you want and I'll read it when I want. Unless you start texting, that is. But even then...
Well, whatever you think, the reality is that human communication has changed in a big way. If you want to be a neo-ludite about it, fine. Send me your hand-written letter, then. I'll get it in a couple days in the mailbox.
Maybe.
And in the beginning...
This will be the summer of 2009. Since I graduated high school in 1989, this is also the year of our 20 year reunion.
I have no idea what that means.
Maybe (maybe not) I would have a better idea if I had gone to the reunion 10 years ago. I do know that I have 2 older sisters and an older brother who have seen this milestone come and go. Maybe they can help.
I also know a lot of psychology goes into this mess. Specifically, the simplest part of the human brain processes life differently than we think we think. First, it remembers everything, but only has everything filed under either good or bad. Second, it has no concept of time and tries to process all of those past and present memories as if here and now.
So, that is why you can be talking to a middle aged adult like me, and suddenly they start talking and acting like a child. They can easily jump in and out of this state all the while oblivious to any of it.
Fascinating as all of that can be, especially when you start understanding the impacts of this on dating and marriage, it really doesn't help me understand what I'm trying to understand about this reunion.
What I think it means is that I will see a crowd of familiar faces that will have grown the bodies of middle aged men and women. My brain will be confused, wanting to continue old conversations and work out old relationship issues. But, I'll also be flooded with new information that explains all that has happened to everyone in the last 20 years, including to myself.
How do you begin to explain what has happened in the last 20 years? For one thing, I don't remember it very well. Second, I pretty sure what I do remember is too boring. But what really concerns me is how to explain the stuff I can't explain, that I have conveniently forgotten or pushed aside in favor of the mundane and simpler day to day stuff.
I still haven't decided if it will bother me more if someone does ask than if they don't.
I really never figured out how to talk to these people 20 years ago. So (again with the psychology) what I expect will happen is everyone will recoil back into the same groups we were in 20 years ago and I'll never really meet them. So why have a reunion at all? Given, it is a chance to see those familiar faces on unfamiliar bodies, for what that is worth, even if the person is still a stranger after all.
I have no idea what that means.
Maybe (maybe not) I would have a better idea if I had gone to the reunion 10 years ago. I do know that I have 2 older sisters and an older brother who have seen this milestone come and go. Maybe they can help.
I also know a lot of psychology goes into this mess. Specifically, the simplest part of the human brain processes life differently than we think we think. First, it remembers everything, but only has everything filed under either good or bad. Second, it has no concept of time and tries to process all of those past and present memories as if here and now.
So, that is why you can be talking to a middle aged adult like me, and suddenly they start talking and acting like a child. They can easily jump in and out of this state all the while oblivious to any of it.
Fascinating as all of that can be, especially when you start understanding the impacts of this on dating and marriage, it really doesn't help me understand what I'm trying to understand about this reunion.
What I think it means is that I will see a crowd of familiar faces that will have grown the bodies of middle aged men and women. My brain will be confused, wanting to continue old conversations and work out old relationship issues. But, I'll also be flooded with new information that explains all that has happened to everyone in the last 20 years, including to myself.
How do you begin to explain what has happened in the last 20 years? For one thing, I don't remember it very well. Second, I pretty sure what I do remember is too boring. But what really concerns me is how to explain the stuff I can't explain, that I have conveniently forgotten or pushed aside in favor of the mundane and simpler day to day stuff.
I still haven't decided if it will bother me more if someone does ask than if they don't.
I really never figured out how to talk to these people 20 years ago. So (again with the psychology) what I expect will happen is everyone will recoil back into the same groups we were in 20 years ago and I'll never really meet them. So why have a reunion at all? Given, it is a chance to see those familiar faces on unfamiliar bodies, for what that is worth, even if the person is still a stranger after all.
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