10 years. A milestone for myriad occasions. High school graduations, marriages, employment. A nice round number: long enough to have seen many changes, not so long as to make you forget where it all began, so you can still recognize change. 10 years since two planes flew into NYC skyscrapers, one into the Pentagon, and one into Terra Firma, PA. Truly a turning point for our nation, but in retrospect, it seems like we may have made a wrong turn.

Historically, tragedy has been a force of growth and definition for our country. Pearl Harbor, for example, galvanized a nation to war, proving beyond doubt our military and economic prowess, which netted us global dominance in many arenas. Granted, we already held international respect for many of our accomplishments, specifically our burgeoning trade and industry. WWII, though, showed the world that we meant business, and while the attach in Hawaii was tragic, it slingshot us to greatness. At least for a time.

Countless regional disasters have also served to gird the loins of American prosperity. The Chicago fires, the major earthquakes in California, etc. Each of these led to a reanalysis of laws, policies, and they were expanded–sometimes created–to create a better place, safer and more conducive to our lifestyle. And after these, we succeeded. We became wealthy, successful, and respected. Not by everyone, of course, but what country is? Then came 2001. We were coming off of a largely economically successful presidency (and there are always arguments on either side of that issue), and hopes were high that it would continue. Then came September 11.

The events of that day plunged our country into a panicked frenzy. Mobs were attacking any brown person around. Merchants were gouging consumers, who were equally scared. Our people were hurting our own out of fear, and maybe even a little greed, but even with that, we eventually learned to quell the violence. But many never learned to quell the hatred. Our news media, the purported voices of reason, spread fear and hate for ratings, and what’s worse, there are people who take the pundits at face value. They spew hatred and intolerance, and people just eat it up. Internalize it. Realize it. As a result, our reputations has become that we are the pulse of intolerance and ignorance. And, simply, it’s repulsive.

It’s now 10 years later, and a lot has happened. We entered two unending theaters of war, we found and captured one dictatorial leader, who was hung amidst celebration by his mistreated people. Then, we actually found and killed the man believed to be behind the very attacks that happened 10 years ago. We killed him, too. Amidst these military victories, we have also given up a number of civil rights, and pieces of our sense of decency. We’ve allowed our disabled and elderly to be humiliated at the hands of under-trained and overzealous airport security guards. We are as confused and scared and flummoxed as ever, and this is after 10 (T-E-N) years.

The media will be talking all day about how we should be honoring the memories of the people who died. But we’ve done a pretty poor job of that in the last decade haven’t we, then? Our grand memorial at ground zero has barely been started, largely due to money grubbing and squabbling amongst contractors. We have let fear take over our media. There is still wide-spread and unilateral hatred of anyone with brown skin. What have we become, really?

We have not honored these peoples’ lives. And we won’t ever, not until we step back and reprioritize. We are losing money hand over fist to two wars, despite our crippling debt, which is made worse by inactive political leaders, too powerful corporate lobbies, and corporations grabbing for every last dollar without giving back to the communities which fostered their grown from their infancies. It’s made worse by desperation and frustration of the millions looking for jobs. It’s made worse by helplessness and hopelessness in change. We really need to just step back and look at what it means to be American. To be us, not to police the world, not to tell any other country what government is good and what is bad.

We need to just “do us,” for a while, at least until we’re back on our feet and not still reeling from poor decision making and a sucker punch that happened 10 years ago. We need to regroup, refocus, and look at what we lost. Then, we need to move forward. Build from that loss, and do what we’ve always done: come back better and stronger than ever before. But how?

I don’t know. How do you get out of the wars we’ve started? How do you step back and regroup? I have no idea, but something’s got to give, and it cannot be the already flagging American vigor and livelihood. The successful plan is the plan which brings us back to our roots. The plan that reignites the ingenuity and sheer force of will that brought us through so many tragedies in the past. That’s the plan I’ll be looking for.

**NOTE: I understand that not everyone who will read this is an American. I am, though, so please excuse me when I say “our country.” I do not mean to imply that you are included in the collective, just me and the rest of the Americans.

I mean, in some ways, it’s just another day. Nothing changed. Still headed off to work. Still trying to figure out what to do for dinner. Still the same old crap, But at the same time, now you’ve got a whole year to reinvent yourself. To change the same old crap. To take new risks. Have new adventures.

But sometimes, it’s just good enough to survive. Just good enough to keep your head down and get through it. In some ways, I feel like that’s what happened in 2010. We had some opportunity for growth and exploration (I mean, we DID go to Disney), but for the most part, it felt like just recovering from the period of unemployment I had in 2009. And you know what? That’s okay, because we needed to recover. We needed to regroup, and just get through it.

So what does 2011 have in store for the wife and me? I have no idea. New job? New opportunities? Who knows! And that’s exciting. Hopefully we’ll be able to pursue some of the things we have been hoping for, but if not, that’s okay too. We’ll at least be a step closer to those dreams.

In this mixed-up crazy world, sometimes progress is all you can ask for. Achievement can be delayed, and it may never even happen, but constant progress is galvanizing. It keeps you going, keeps you making that next step. And that’s what I intend to do. Just keep moving forward.

That’s my New Year’s Resolution for 2011. Just keep moving forward, not worrying about setbacks in the past, just onward and upward. And I’d encourage you to do the same.

We never really spent any time together, with few small exceptions. But you were a pretty cool guy. Just quiet. And at the time, I didn’t know what to do with that. I had not yet reached that point where silence was understandable. Even a good thing.

We progressed through high school, never being much more than just acquaintances, despite that we were always in the same classes. Seeing each other, never knowing each other. I’m sorry I wasn’t more open and didn’t pursue more of a friendship. I was kind of a jerk back then.

I wonder where you are now. How you’re doing. What you have made of yourself. If you ever became more assertive. Will I ever find out? I don’t know. I hope you are well, and I hope we run into each other sometime.

Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.

I moved from a private Christian school to public school in 8th grade. I left all my friends behind, and set out into the “real world.” I knew several people, those who had also gone to the private school, but left much earlier than I did. But little did I know that these were not, at all, the same people.

I hung out with them, because I thought I knew them, but really, I was just a piece of scenery. Someone to crack jokes about who wouldn’t fight back because he didn’t know anyone else. Was always left out of group events, never invited out.

I thought it must have been because I was fat. Or because I was, in some other way, offensive. But I have since realized that the problem was not with me. The problem was that they were all jerks. It’s unfortunate that it took me close to 3 years of feelings like shit to figure that out.

When I got to college, I had learned this important lesson. I refused to be tread upon. I refused to be the butt of the jokes. I refused to be treated like an outsider. I found good friends, and these have lasted past college, though we a scattered across the country. So they may have been jerks in high school, but at least they taught me that I deserve better.

I’m pretty wiped out, so all I have to say is that I love you, Kristen. And here’s to many more awesome years together.

December 10 – Wisdom Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

While it may seem silly and whimsical, I would definitely have to say that my wife’s and my Disney vacation was the wisest decision that we made this year. Sure, it cost us some money that probably could have been used a little more pragmatically, but we had such a good time. Relaxing, having fun, not having a care in the world.

With some stress having built up over the previous few months due to various life situations, both at work and at home, we needed to go just have some fun. We rode Space Mountain, we laughed with Monster’s Inc. We had some wine and food at Epcot. We got to see the best concert ever. Got to meet a pretty awesome dude.

Refreshed and recharged, but vacation tired, we returned home. Returned to “real life.” But, at least for me, with a new set of memories, a new set of experiences, which made the day-to-day a little more bearable. A little lighter. A little more fun. And that made the money and the travel entirely worth it.

Perhaps not the most financially sound decision, but definitely the most wise.

~~

The brakes hissed as the bus came to a stop in front of the casino. The weary faces of the elderly and the bored stared longingly through the front glass at the flashing slots inside. Today’s the day. Machines have been tight. They’ve got to give today.

Another day. More overdraft fees. But I’ll hit it today. I’ve got to. Just another $20. Pull. Click. Nothing. Pull. Click. Nothing. Pull. Click. WINNER! Over and over again. Transfixed. Hypnotized. Possessed.

The people on the bus groan as they stand up and exit the bus, blinking back the oppressive summer sun. As they shuffle into the casino, they wince as the squeal of the machines assaults them. The wince is short-lived though, as a smile begins to play on the face of each of today’s big winners. This is home. I’m home. And today, I’m going to win.

None of them head straight to the slots, no. They’ve got breakfast first. On the house. Sure, those pancakes and eggs may be the biggest thing any of them have ever won, but they’re free. On the house. Gratis. Fools. Giving all this food away. I’m going to clean this joint out today. Then where will they be? Shuffling back past the table games, the sounds of the slots behind them grow faint.

Shuffling into the next room, their food awaits them. Cigarettes and syrup. Bacon and coffee. The players shuffle through the buffet. Shuffle to their chairs. No one saying anything to anyone else, just the clinking of plates. The occasional siren from a jackpot winner. Those affect the group the most. Disgust flashing across their faces. That should have been me. Whatever. It was probably a small payout anyway. The lights go out.

A crash. Another. The lights come on. Go out. Screams fill the air. Laughter. But from everywhere, as if every chair and plant were a speaker, laughter pierces the air. Pierces the soul. A child’s laughter, shrill and innocent. It would normally make your heart melt, but now. Now, it was a chill blast, freezing the blood. The screams continued, drowned out by that infernal laughing. What the hell is this? Some sort of joke? Early Halloween? Not funny.

The lights come on. No screaming. No laughing. Just the faint sound of slot machines in the other room. WHAT. THE. HELL. Cigarettes. Syrup. Urine. One of the others must have wet themselves. Several of the older women begin whimpering. Several more have hit the floor, on their knees wailing to God to deliver them from evil.

“Stay here. I’m going to find out what’s going on. These bastards just messed up my day. I was gonna win today.” Terrorists? Practical joke? Robbery?

He opened the door. Cigarettes. Syrup. Urine. Burnt hair. The poker and blackjack tables were all upturned, chips scattered everywhere Oh my god! I should get some.. No. Keep focused. What is going on here? Where is everyone? Carefully picking his way though the debris, he reaches the door to the slot machine floor.

He slowly pushed the door open, and on first glimpse of the casino floor and the acrid stench of burnt hair and flesh reached his nose, he vomited. Cigarettes. Syrup. Death. Vomit.

~~

That’s part 1. I would say that I’m stopping here because I’m out of things to write, but the truth is, the dream is still so vivid in my mind’s eye, that I’m succumbing to my anxiety, and I’ve got to stop for now. I’ll write out more of it tomorrow. Maybe if I can work my way through the whole thing, I’ll be able to let it go. And maybe I can sleep again.

When you are 15: When I grow up, I want to be a teacher. A soldier. A college student. An executive. A doctor. A Lawyer. Rich.

When you are 25: When I grow up, I want to be happy. Successful. Rich. A mother. A father. A business owner. My own boss.

It’s funny how dreams and goals change as we get older. They become less fanciful, more practical. And I guess that makes sense. As we get older, we have a better grasp on how things work, on how the world really plays out, and it’s less a matter of being jaded, more a matter of being realistic. Pragmatic. And that’s a good thing, for sure. I mean, not everyone can be an astronaut or a fairy princess.

I guess I’ve just found myself thinking a lot lately about dreams and goals, and how to make them happen. It struck me as funny today how drastically different they are today than they were 5 years ago. 10 years ago. 20 years ago. Today, it’s graduate school, and a PhD, some day teaching as a professor. At some future date, I would also like to open a restaurant, or at least have a giant kitchen where I can cook lots of food for friends and family.

I once had dreams of being an engineer. Of developing weapons. Making things that protect some people and kill others. I don’t now know why I was so interested in that field, but that’s what I wanted to do. R&D development for GE. Now, I can’t even imagine doing that job. I realized that engineering would drive me nuts, and as for the weapons part, I cannot imagine myself building machines made to kill people. But that was the plan. The goal. The dream.

Now, I’d prefer to trade the lab coat for tweed, the calipers for a pen, and a lathe for a poem. And I’m okay with that.

What were some of your old dreams or goals that have now changed to better fit who you’ve become?

~~
So. You’re turned 70 this year. That’s 7-0. I’m turning 22 this year, which means that you’ve known me for just a little less than a third of your life. For some of those first years, I probably owe you an apology, but if it’s been this long, you’re probably over it by now anyways. I’ve been spending the last few years in college, and let me tell you, I think they’re missing some things. I’ve learned some of the most important things in life from you, Grandaddy. Here’s a categorized list.

Driving: No matter how many wheels the vehicle had, which has been somewhere between 2 and 6, you always let me have a turn driving it, even if I did so poorly. But more than that, you taught me what those One Way signs really mean. The arrow, I learned one day in Colorado, is merely a suggestion! If you turn against the arrow, that’s okay, so long as you only go one way. “One way.” They didn’t teach me that.

Architecture: What seems to me a precise art, a careful measuring and delicate balance of wood, nails, and the occasional shim, is boiled down to a simple phrase. A phrase which everyone else seems to have wrong. See, in College, they’ve taught me “measure twice, cut once.” No, no, I tell them. The real secret to fine architecture is, “Aww. It’ll be alright. It’ll never be noticed on a gallopin’ horse.”

Medicine: If you cut yourself, or scrap a knee, or break your arm, or crack open your skull, there is one camp granddaddy remedy that cures everything. A genuine article, it probably even cures cancer, but nobody seems to know its magical properties but Grandaddy. Whatever ails you, put a little Camphophinique on it, and it’ll be all better.

What’s more, splinters and stickers need no fancy processes for extraction. A gentle tickle will take care of the problem, with no pain, no muss, no fuss.

Cultural Awareness: College is supposed to be a time when you learn of opinions and secrets from the world over. Well, believe me when I tell you, I received more multi-cultural education from my Grandaddy than I’ve got in college. The wisdom of the ages was passed down, it seems, solely through Granddaddy. His endless supply of old Indian tricks taught me how to mark a cut line with a nail, how to open a stuck jar, how to draw a straight line without a square, and if given enough time, I’m sure I would find no end to the ancient Indian wisdom he carries with him.

Philosophy: While my college classes have given me some pretty tough questions to answer, I have always triumphed. I have found answers, and given them due thought. Some of the hardest-hitting questions have, once again, come from my granddaddy. Questions I have known since I was a wee lad, but have yet to formulate answers for. Really, think about it. Just how much wood COULD a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood? We may never know, but I bet the answer is there somewhere in all that Indian lore.
He is also never content in giving away answers. He is determined that we children figure things out for ourselves. When one of us would ask, “What’s that for?” “This?” He’d smile, “This is for making little boys ask questions.” A regular Aristotle he is.

Literature: I owe my love for English to Grandaddy, even. Through my classes, I have read many different poets and authors, but none have stood against these simple poems of my youth, rattled off effortlessly by Grandaddy.

Time Management and Goal Setting: After a long day of grueling elementary school, he had one question for us. A question to get us thinking about what we were doing, and how to best use our time. “What did you teach them in school today?” Unfortunately, we were too young to know better, and we answered, “Nothing.” He would look at us, and ask, “Well what’d they teach you?” Again, we’d answer “Nothing.” “Well, what did you go waste a whole day for?” At the time, we all laughed, not knowing any better, but you know, as I see it now, he’s got a point there. There’s something to do, and there’s a time line in which to do it.

High Fashion: Thus far, I have heard nothing in school about how I should dress, or what sorts of clothing is best. Grandaddy, however, is always on top of things. The essentials include a good pair of clod hoppers (ones which make you run faster, of course. If they don’t make you run faster, why’d you get them? Hah, there’s more of that Grandaddy practicality.), some ‘spenders to keep your britches (a sturdy pair of blue jeans) up, and a baseball cap. Fun AND functional.

Quality Assessment: No matter the type of product, there is one benchmark that is applied across the board to judge the worthiness of a given product. If that product doesn’t work better than windshield wipers on a cat’s rear, it certainly isn’t worth having.

I don’t even want to think where I’d be without my Grandaddy’s teaching me everything I’d need to get through life successfully. They certainly haven’t let us in on any of these secrets in school.

For as long as I can remember, I always looked forward to what I would learn next from Grandaddy. I always remember looking up to him in awe at how much he knew, how much he’d done, and how strong he was. Well, honestly, I still do. I might be taller, but to me, he’s always going to be Paul Bunyan. The Jolly Green Giant. Santa Claus. Atlas. He’s always seemed larger than life, always ready with a clever turn-of-phrase, a helping hand, a pat on the back to let you know that you are doing well, even when you don’t always do well.

Whenever I find myself feeling a bit overwhelmed and like I’m just not going to make it, I remember those big, strong hands of his grabbing me out of the snow after we turned the snowmobiles over after a blizzard came through. I remember my Grandaddy who can do anything. Who was always at basketball games, cheering, whistling. You could always hear his whistle, no matter how loud the crowd. I remember that I’ve got him behind me, patting me on the back, letting me know that I did well. I remember that I can grab onto his hands, and he’s strong enough to pull me back up, pour on some camphophinique and push me to keep going.

I haven’t ever been as appreciative of that nearly so much as I should have been, and as I write this, I realize how often I take him for granted. How I never call and see how things are going. How I don’t make time to stop by when I’m in town. But you know what? Despite all that, I know, I KNOW, that if I showed up at the door, and I needed him for something, he’d do it. He’s never let me down, and I don’t expect he’ll start now.

Happy birthday, Grandaddy. From all of us to you. And best wishes for many more to come.
~~

Who were you thankful for yesterday?

Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.

When I was in preschool, my cousin and I would very often sneak to the other half of the divided classroom so we could play together, as were were separated between the two teachers. This, of course, was frowned upon, but really, if you’re going to wrangle 4- and 5-year-olds, you should do a better job. I mean, all we had to do was skip through the connected bathroom. In any event, we would often get each other in trouble.

One day, when we were up to our usual shenanigans, we got caught, and we were sent to time-out. We both had to sit, facing a wall. Which, when you’re a hyperactive 5-year-old, that’s the worst thing in the world. Those five minutes may as well have been 5 hours as we sat. Doing nothing. Looking at whatever sort of bodily fluid had managed to get on the wall in front of us. Needless to say, I got bored.

In my boredom, I decided to start talking to my cousin, even though we were expressly forbidden from doing any such thing. It was, after all, time-out. And he, being more cautious than I, curtly shushed me. The only problem was, his shushing was noticed by the teacher and my talking was not. As a result, she came over and scolded him for talking during time-out and would hear nothing of the explanation!

I knew the truth, but my sentence was about to be commuted for good behavior, and I wasn’t about to pass that up. I let him sit there for an extra minute while I rejoined the rest of our friends. I was such an asshole.

Now, almost 20 years later, I have decided that it’s finally time to let go. I need to forgive myself this transgression, and I now formally apologize.

Dan, I’m sorry for letting you rot in the clink while I had juice and graham crackers. I hope, some day, you can forgive me, too.