I wrote this column for a new Puck Daddy feature called 'The Vent". My contribution is the second piece in the column. Enjoy. Or let me know why you think I'm an idiotic asshat. But mostly enjoy.
http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/vent-losing-one-appetite-hockey-fighting-flaws-anti-201511363--nhl.html?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
A few thoughts on fatherhood
I have been a father for a few months.
I'm not a Dad yet. That name must be given freely by each child. Father is just a title.
So far, I'm only certain about a few things. Besides the Father / Dad difference I understand parenting is a constant battle with attachment and ego. Every day, every feeding, every diaper change, every burping is a chance to be satisfied, gratified, fooled, frustrated and taught. Mostly, I get taught a lot about my expectations.
Trying to understand the behaviour of newborns can be frustrating. I know the basic routine, but circumstances change each time. Trying to match my learning curve to theirs is challenging for my older and less nimble brain. It's like learning how to juggle three tennis balls in the morning, and then trying to juggle four soccer balls one-handed at noon and five wiffle balls during a wind storm at three. Being a father slaps my ego around. I drop a lot of metaphorical balls.
If you pull back the camera on my life I have a routine--help feed, burp, change, play with and parent to sleep. (Seriously! Newborns need to be parented to sleep). But, if you focus on the constantly shifting and adjusting patterns it is continually suppressed chaos. It isn't a metaphor for life. Newborn twins are all of life's drama and beauty, frustration and joy, ecstacy and heartbreak wrapped up in a couple of dozen pound squirming sacks of fleshy cuteness.
As a first time father I get a lot of similar questions. They reduce to: "How am I doing", "How do I like being a parent", and some variation on, "How are you sleeping". To answer: The best I can. Usually it's good, sometimes it's great and occassionally I want to drop them off at an orphanage and go back to watching late night tv in my underwear and endlessly surfing the net without purpose. And, you know the answer to the sleep thing.
The question about sleep is annoying and endearing. It's both an easy narrative that requires no real thought or meaningful interaction. It is also code for 'welcome to the club'. It's a short form to say, "you are not alone". And that's a big deal. As with most of life's small interactions it is about context and perception. Do I let myself be annoyed at the mindless comment, or am I thankful for the acknowledgement that others understand the sleep deprivation, frustration and anger that can come from caring. As we grow older, life is more and more about our choices to perceive.
This is not the same for my twins.
They live in the moment. They don't decide if I meant to do something, or if I am being passive aggressive or cranky. They don't forgive me for feeding them late because I didn't hear them crying. They don't care if I have to pee, when they are wet and dirty. Everything happens now. Everything is one hundred percent real. They don't project themselves into the future, or bring their feelings from the past. It makes them so entirely different from us adults. They are pure experience, without the baggage of past trauma, or the weight of social expectations.
They will learn those expectations soon enough. They will start to remember events and project themselves into an imaginary future. They will complicate their world to match mine. But for now, I do my best to make each experience positive and loving. Because that is all they have to hold. And that is everything they are to me.
They are my perfect experiences on the journey from Father to Dad.
I'm not a Dad yet. That name must be given freely by each child. Father is just a title.
So far, I'm only certain about a few things. Besides the Father / Dad difference I understand parenting is a constant battle with attachment and ego. Every day, every feeding, every diaper change, every burping is a chance to be satisfied, gratified, fooled, frustrated and taught. Mostly, I get taught a lot about my expectations.
Trying to understand the behaviour of newborns can be frustrating. I know the basic routine, but circumstances change each time. Trying to match my learning curve to theirs is challenging for my older and less nimble brain. It's like learning how to juggle three tennis balls in the morning, and then trying to juggle four soccer balls one-handed at noon and five wiffle balls during a wind storm at three. Being a father slaps my ego around. I drop a lot of metaphorical balls.
If you pull back the camera on my life I have a routine--help feed, burp, change, play with and parent to sleep. (Seriously! Newborns need to be parented to sleep). But, if you focus on the constantly shifting and adjusting patterns it is continually suppressed chaos. It isn't a metaphor for life. Newborn twins are all of life's drama and beauty, frustration and joy, ecstacy and heartbreak wrapped up in a couple of dozen pound squirming sacks of fleshy cuteness.
As a first time father I get a lot of similar questions. They reduce to: "How am I doing", "How do I like being a parent", and some variation on, "How are you sleeping". To answer: The best I can. Usually it's good, sometimes it's great and occassionally I want to drop them off at an orphanage and go back to watching late night tv in my underwear and endlessly surfing the net without purpose. And, you know the answer to the sleep thing.
The question about sleep is annoying and endearing. It's both an easy narrative that requires no real thought or meaningful interaction. It is also code for 'welcome to the club'. It's a short form to say, "you are not alone". And that's a big deal. As with most of life's small interactions it is about context and perception. Do I let myself be annoyed at the mindless comment, or am I thankful for the acknowledgement that others understand the sleep deprivation, frustration and anger that can come from caring. As we grow older, life is more and more about our choices to perceive.
This is not the same for my twins.
They live in the moment. They don't decide if I meant to do something, or if I am being passive aggressive or cranky. They don't forgive me for feeding them late because I didn't hear them crying. They don't care if I have to pee, when they are wet and dirty. Everything happens now. Everything is one hundred percent real. They don't project themselves into the future, or bring their feelings from the past. It makes them so entirely different from us adults. They are pure experience, without the baggage of past trauma, or the weight of social expectations.
They will learn those expectations soon enough. They will start to remember events and project themselves into an imaginary future. They will complicate their world to match mine. But for now, I do my best to make each experience positive and loving. Because that is all they have to hold. And that is everything they are to me.
They are my perfect experiences on the journey from Father to Dad.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Words for a friend's late son after his funeral
When Jack asked me to speak I was honoured and humbled to be part of this day. But I soon became confused. I started thinking about what to say. I struggled deciding how to structure my thoughts and what to say in my opening remarks. The enormity of the thing didn't catch me. That is self-evident in this tragedy. I had no worries about opening up and sharing my sadness with a crowd. I had no fear of public speaking.
I was confused by vocabulary.
I didn't know what to call this. I thought of referring to it as a memorial. But that seemed too sad for a kid with such a genuine love of life. I wondered if it should be a celebration of life. But that seemed to mock the circumstances of a life ended too soon. I couldn't decide how to address the crowd without resorting to words too small and inappropriate. 'Welcome to our event'. 'We are glad you could be here on this occasion'. Everything sounded wrong. They sounded weird. And then I realized I had the premise wrong. Blake's concern for the mortal world has ended. But his life, for those in this room, isn't finished.
There are not many things in life I am sure of. All the big questions fall short of certainty in my mind. I don't know any truths about god or the universe or what should or shouldn't happen. What I do know is that life, at its essence, is about relationships. In that simple truth lies the tragedy and the salvation of Blake's passing.
Losing Blake is a gut punch of grief for many reasons. He was a good kid, on the verge of becoming a wonderful young man. The hard work of raising him was lessening a little and Blake's family were starting to see the individual beauty they had created.
All of this sucks.
All of this is a potent reminder that sometimes life is the exact opposite of kind and fun.
But I don't think this is the fundamental tragedy here. Life is about relationships. And a cornerstone of Blake's family and friends has been altered beyond recognition. For Jack, Erin, and Donna a pillar of family has been removed. For Autumn and the rest of Blake's family a hole exists in their universe. But Blake's spirit lives on. And, by that, I don't necessarily mean anything esoteric or otherworldly. His memories and actions survive in the collective of his family and friends.
Blake isn't finished here. We all have to hold his place. Our relationship with him hasn't ended.
The Bible, which is not my go to book for understanding, has a nice way of putting this: "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them". Of course, these were the words of Christ to his followers. But the message remains true. Wherever two or more gather and speak of Blake he will be there with you. Invoke his name often. Behave in a way that honours his memory and is true to the young man he was becoming. Be kind to one another, as he would want. Have fun. Be close with your family and your friends. Because the tragedy that Blake's family shares, and the confusion I had trying to prepare these remarks makes a bit more sense when we remember.
Blake's concern for the mortal world is over. But his life, remembered and acted through ours, has lifetimes to go.
I was confused by vocabulary.
I didn't know what to call this. I thought of referring to it as a memorial. But that seemed too sad for a kid with such a genuine love of life. I wondered if it should be a celebration of life. But that seemed to mock the circumstances of a life ended too soon. I couldn't decide how to address the crowd without resorting to words too small and inappropriate. 'Welcome to our event'. 'We are glad you could be here on this occasion'. Everything sounded wrong. They sounded weird. And then I realized I had the premise wrong. Blake's concern for the mortal world has ended. But his life, for those in this room, isn't finished.
There are not many things in life I am sure of. All the big questions fall short of certainty in my mind. I don't know any truths about god or the universe or what should or shouldn't happen. What I do know is that life, at its essence, is about relationships. In that simple truth lies the tragedy and the salvation of Blake's passing.
Losing Blake is a gut punch of grief for many reasons. He was a good kid, on the verge of becoming a wonderful young man. The hard work of raising him was lessening a little and Blake's family were starting to see the individual beauty they had created.
All of this sucks.
All of this is a potent reminder that sometimes life is the exact opposite of kind and fun.
But I don't think this is the fundamental tragedy here. Life is about relationships. And a cornerstone of Blake's family and friends has been altered beyond recognition. For Jack, Erin, and Donna a pillar of family has been removed. For Autumn and the rest of Blake's family a hole exists in their universe. But Blake's spirit lives on. And, by that, I don't necessarily mean anything esoteric or otherworldly. His memories and actions survive in the collective of his family and friends.
Blake isn't finished here. We all have to hold his place. Our relationship with him hasn't ended.
The Bible, which is not my go to book for understanding, has a nice way of putting this: "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them". Of course, these were the words of Christ to his followers. But the message remains true. Wherever two or more gather and speak of Blake he will be there with you. Invoke his name often. Behave in a way that honours his memory and is true to the young man he was becoming. Be kind to one another, as he would want. Have fun. Be close with your family and your friends. Because the tragedy that Blake's family shares, and the confusion I had trying to prepare these remarks makes a bit more sense when we remember.
Blake's concern for the mortal world is over. But his life, remembered and acted through ours, has lifetimes to go.
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