Landslide. Mudslide. Tsunami. Really good words for the catastrophic feeling of being tossed about in my emotions right now. So many people in my life are swamped in the world; and I can't fix it.
I'm not what you would call "handy" or anything, but part of my identity as a husband, father and as a man is wrapped up in my ability to fix things. "Daddy, fix it" is probably the one thing said in this house the most. Even more than, "Because I said so," or "Why?" I fix toys. I fix beds. I have even fixed several sinks, a toilet that had mysteriously swallowed a Hot Wheels and Chip the Tea Cup, a cupboard, a garage door sprung from its track, three doors, two broken closet rods and for kicks and giggles, I fixed a partridge in a pear tree. But, since I was raised by my mother, I tend to be able to think like women more than your "typical man." So I fix relationships, problems and emotions too.
I've also been told I have a Messiah complex, especially where youth and women are concerned. I have this need to swoop in and fix the situation and save the people involved as much pain and heartache as possible. If you couple that with seeing my self worth wrapped in the ability to fix things, you can understand the use of overwhelming catastrophe wording at the beginning of the post there. There are so many in my life right now going through so much that I just can't fix. My mother is drowning in her home. My brother is mired in his own existence and doesn't even realize or care that he's held there by his own fears. My baby sister valiantly trudges along against the world of academia trying to find herself along the way, but finds herself crushed under the weight of parental authority by way of manipulation. (Actually, I can fix this one, I'm just not sure if I should...)
And now my wife, my darling, beautiful wife is going through her own hell at work. I keep on the stoic, brave face when she's talking about it all each day. I give her advice, try to analyze the situation from an unbiased perspective and generally be the supporting husband. But I want to fight. I want to go in there and do and say what God did not wire her to do and say. She has always been the "take it and hide it away" type. I've always been the one to voice my opinion the moment I have it, consequences be damned. I don't shy from fights or conflicts. This isn't to say I go out looking for one, but when they come to my door, I will stand toe to toe. Not only do I not shy away from it, let's be really real here, I thrive on conflict. I am "at my best" when situations are fluid and adaptation on the fly is needed, like in the midst of a differing opinion. But Karen is a bit more submissive. Keep the head down, keep working. She's learned from me, to be sure. She stands her ground a little more. But this crap she's going through at work is the result of months of not knowing the "right thing" to say or do. It's built up to the point where she's broken down on far more than one occasion. And so I hold her.
But that's all I can do. I don't have any magic words to fix the situation. I can't even objectively see both sides equally like I have for the past few months. Now I'm seeing red. Her boss has created such a hostile working environment that she brings the stress home. It's closed her down in the family circle. She huddles behind her phone and her laptop because she can't bear to let her projects or team out of her sight lest they become the foci of her boss' ire. And I'm sick of this stuff. Every fiber of my being wants to drive down to Indy, march into her office an demand a face-to-face with her HR and boss and have it down with how my wife deserves to be treated and what she's done for that company. And no, I'm not magnifying her contributions. The work she has done in her first two years has literally saved her company millions in that time. MILLIONS. Each year the savings grow as they continue the work in-house rather than outsourcing to overpaid contract companies. Granted, I'm certain her new boss knows none of that. Maybe now that she's finally had enough and went to see her HR girl, someone will stand up and push back for her. I want it to be me. But I know better. I know I wouldn't fix it. I'm fairly certain I would make it worse. It wouldn't be professional either. But dammit, it's what I want to do. Feel like someone needs a broken lip, bloody nose or a black eye over this. Grrrrrrr...
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
A promise is a promise!
So in my first blog I mentioned that at this time in my life college just isn't for me; and that I would cover that in a future blog. Guess it's time now, eh? I mean, you've heard me whine enough already about not being a good dad, huh? LOL
Anyway, I didn't come by this thought lightly. I suppose I have a bit of a left-over anti-college streak left in me form hearing my father rail against the establishment of "the piece of paper doesn't make me smarter," which was juxtaposed with the indoctrination of my mother that was "if you don't go to college you won't amount to anything." Ok, maybe that's not fair to her...but that is how it came across at the time and stuck on the dartboard that is my mind. The point of all that blathering is I did have a balance from which to ponder my dilemma.
My dilemma? Ohhh...perhaps I'm a bit ahead of myself. If you've not kept up, my kids are all in school now. After spending many years as a stay-at-home Dad, I find myself wondering, "What next?" Or, as my lovely wife, Karen says, "What are you going to be when you grow up?" The fact on if I'm going to grow up is another debate altogether. As stated I found myself staring at a camera I purchased a little over a year ago. I have always wanted something better than my crappy point and shoots that kept getting pop spilled on them. >.< But ever since my first DISC Camera waaaaaaay back when I was 8, I've loved taking pictures of my finger in front of the White House. That stupid Disc camera had it's lens in the wrong place...my finger belonged there, and I'm sticking to it.
I tumbled through school bouncing from wanting to be an Art Teacher because I despised one of mine so bad I wanted nothing more than to replace him, to Commercial Design and then Youth Ministry. Commercial Design took a header after my senior year after I had taken two years of Commercial Design. I liked the class enough, but after having to hear for the umpteenth time "That's not what I want" when I delivered exactly what was asked for from some guy who had no business drawing a stick figure with a ruler, I decided there was no way I could make a career of doing that daily and no shoot someone inside of two years.
I settled on Youth Ministry and started looking for a good place to get a degree in it. However, my fiance' was going into computers. We had agreed she would make vast sums of money above and beyond what I ever could in ministry, thus she would go to school first. We also decided I would be a stay at home dad, based on desire, money and what not. So off she went to school. while I worked retail, moved into management and passed up store after store promotion so she could get that degree. We moved back to Indiana, I ran screaming from full-time retail, left management and she started working on her BS degree. (Note to Dad: BS stands for Bachelor of Science, MS is Master of Science and PhD doesn't mean "Piled Higher and Deeper. I know, shocked me too!) Blah blah blah, hit the fast forward and I've come to the conclusion that my calling is not to a career in youth ministry.
And thus, I found myself staring at the camera. Talk about your digressions! Photography speaks to the artistic side of me. I argued internally, sought advice and just plain harassed people in my life for their opinion on college. Looking at different schools, so few had schedules that would allow me to be home with my children when they got off the bus and still pursue a degree in Photography. Add to the fact that they all seemed to be very expensive degrees. I needed a portfolio...which I do not have in photography, to get into many of the programs around the area. It was all very frustrating.
During my searches though, I stumbled across Indy Photo Coach. There was a very loud few measures of Handel's "Messiah" coupled with this beaming light from my window and the image of Jesus pointing to the computer screen saying, "Hey dolt, look...not college, but an edu-ma-cation." Ok, that might have been the questionable yogurt two days past expiration that I was eating at the time, but it all definitely lined up with my desires and schedules. Plus, lets face it...it didn't cost a whole lot! I do wish the classes were a bit longer, but I've learned a lot more than I imagined I could have. I mean, look at the difference!
Before IPC: After IPC:
So I'm smack in the middle of my second and third classes and I think I've found what I love most about photography. For a long time I thought of photography, especially nature and architectural photography, as plagurizing someone else's work, God's, Ted Moseby, architect's you name it. I figured, with exception of product shoots where the photographer manipulates the object, sets up a still life or something, it was just capturing another's work in a new or different way and claiming it your own. But in the Speedlighting class, I am falling in love with how one manipulates the light. So many neat tricks I've learned. So many more I'm going to experiment with once I get a stand, umbrella and gels. (Parents reading this...hint, hint...) The world of off-camera flash and light sculpting is amazing. I will probably pay for a private lesson with the same teacher covering the same aspects just because I feel more comfortable with someone over my shoulder guiding me as I learn. Plus I really connected with Dustin's teaching style. The fact that he teaches high school on a regular basis is in no way a comment on my immaturity. I make that comment on my own, thank you very much!
Wrapping it all up though, I do think once I'm comfortable behind the lens and producing professional level images, I will look into business management type classes at maybe Ivy Tech or something. Not a degree, just something to tuck under my belt so that I feel safer in taking the risk of opening my own photography business and studio.
Anyway, I didn't come by this thought lightly. I suppose I have a bit of a left-over anti-college streak left in me form hearing my father rail against the establishment of "the piece of paper doesn't make me smarter," which was juxtaposed with the indoctrination of my mother that was "if you don't go to college you won't amount to anything." Ok, maybe that's not fair to her...but that is how it came across at the time and stuck on the dartboard that is my mind. The point of all that blathering is I did have a balance from which to ponder my dilemma.
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| Man, this brings back memories! |
I tumbled through school bouncing from wanting to be an Art Teacher because I despised one of mine so bad I wanted nothing more than to replace him, to Commercial Design and then Youth Ministry. Commercial Design took a header after my senior year after I had taken two years of Commercial Design. I liked the class enough, but after having to hear for the umpteenth time "That's not what I want" when I delivered exactly what was asked for from some guy who had no business drawing a stick figure with a ruler, I decided there was no way I could make a career of doing that daily and no shoot someone inside of two years.
I settled on Youth Ministry and started looking for a good place to get a degree in it. However, my fiance' was going into computers. We had agreed she would make vast sums of money above and beyond what I ever could in ministry, thus she would go to school first. We also decided I would be a stay at home dad, based on desire, money and what not. So off she went to school. while I worked retail, moved into management and passed up store after store promotion so she could get that degree. We moved back to Indiana, I ran screaming from full-time retail, left management and she started working on her BS degree. (Note to Dad: BS stands for Bachelor of Science, MS is Master of Science and PhD doesn't mean "Piled Higher and Deeper. I know, shocked me too!) Blah blah blah, hit the fast forward and I've come to the conclusion that my calling is not to a career in youth ministry.
And thus, I found myself staring at the camera. Talk about your digressions! Photography speaks to the artistic side of me. I argued internally, sought advice and just plain harassed people in my life for their opinion on college. Looking at different schools, so few had schedules that would allow me to be home with my children when they got off the bus and still pursue a degree in Photography. Add to the fact that they all seemed to be very expensive degrees. I needed a portfolio...which I do not have in photography, to get into many of the programs around the area. It was all very frustrating.
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| Shameless plug? Maybe...but I doubt I get a free class outta this. |
During my searches though, I stumbled across Indy Photo Coach. There was a very loud few measures of Handel's "Messiah" coupled with this beaming light from my window and the image of Jesus pointing to the computer screen saying, "Hey dolt, look...not college, but an edu-ma-cation." Ok, that might have been the questionable yogurt two days past expiration that I was eating at the time, but it all definitely lined up with my desires and schedules. Plus, lets face it...it didn't cost a whole lot! I do wish the classes were a bit longer, but I've learned a lot more than I imagined I could have. I mean, look at the difference!
Before IPC: After IPC:
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| Lighting is all wrong. I even got the off camera flash in the frame! |
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| So much better! Fancy lighting abounds! |
So I'm smack in the middle of my second and third classes and I think I've found what I love most about photography. For a long time I thought of photography, especially nature and architectural photography, as plagurizing someone else's work, God's, Ted Moseby, architect's you name it. I figured, with exception of product shoots where the photographer manipulates the object, sets up a still life or something, it was just capturing another's work in a new or different way and claiming it your own. But in the Speedlighting class, I am falling in love with how one manipulates the light. So many neat tricks I've learned. So many more I'm going to experiment with once I get a stand, umbrella and gels. (Parents reading this...hint, hint...) The world of off-camera flash and light sculpting is amazing. I will probably pay for a private lesson with the same teacher covering the same aspects just because I feel more comfortable with someone over my shoulder guiding me as I learn. Plus I really connected with Dustin's teaching style. The fact that he teaches high school on a regular basis is in no way a comment on my immaturity. I make that comment on my own, thank you very much!
Wrapping it all up though, I do think once I'm comfortable behind the lens and producing professional level images, I will look into business management type classes at maybe Ivy Tech or something. Not a degree, just something to tuck under my belt so that I feel safer in taking the risk of opening my own photography business and studio.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
So I plug along
So Tuesday I had something happen I saw coming a long way off. I'm not going into details in public as it doesn't really matter, please just suffice it to say I was asked to leave the youth ministry in my parish. Leadership and I did not see eye to eye, and we leave it at that.
Those of you that know me know about my driving desire to work with youth. I had "the calling" the summer before my 9th grade year. I knew with absolute certainty that God intended me for youth work. I argued with God over the years about how that was going to look. If you know all or any of that, you also know me well enough to know how well I hold grudges when I'm hurt or angered. I can hold a grudge with the best and the worst of them. And I won't lie, after being told to step away, I was hurt, very hurt and angry. I drove home in a haze, fuming over the thoughts in my mind.
I reached out to a great friend of mine, Nick Nix. This man has been through things in recent years that would test the best of us in the best of times. And when I look to him, I see God's love in all things he does. I'm not saying he's perfect, but he does well in the category of love. He has always seemed to have that insight from God for me. It's probably a lot like when I have insight for others, but can't seem to see God for myself, I imagine. But anyway, he reminded me, yet again, that perhaps this was God's way of encouraging me to stop looking beyond my own threshold. I have four beautiful children God blessed me with. I have four children that I've been raising in the faith with admittedly less excitement than I was giving to my youth kids. And there's something wrong with that. Nick was right. As soon as he said it I felt that assurance that he was right. Instantly the burgeoning hatred abated. I let it go. This is the miracle. Normally I would have held onto that anger so tight that I would have hurt myself eventually. It's something I've done before. For me to "let go" so quickly was like a rap on the skull, a wake-up call as to just how right Nick really was.
But each day I am actually having internal fights with myself. I hear the conscious bitter and nasty thoughts seep in and I have to look to Heaven, beg for help in stomping them back. I refuse to let my anger run away with me. So I am asking for help, those of you that ninja read my stuff. Please keep me and my struggles in prayer. This is a real struggle for me to not let my old ways come back. And as I said, this really is of God to step back. I might not agree with the reasoning I was given, but I do know with my whole heart that it is right and true. My children deserve a better father, and I am seeing that this means more than just proper discipline; it's a "whole Dad" deal.
I rarely ask the Saints for help, as I am still a young Catholic, but in this instance, reaching out to St. Joseph and asking him to pray for me sure seems wise.
St. Joseph, God gave you charge over His most precious gift of Himself, to us, as His Begotten Son. You were entrusted with the protection of not only the Blessed Virgin and Holy Mother, but the protection and duty of raising Jesus to be the man He became. You clearly taught Him to observe and live His Faith. You clearly raised Him as a disciplined child. St. Joseph I ask you to pray for me as I roll along this voyage of personal discovery and become the father my children need. Amen
Those of you that know me know about my driving desire to work with youth. I had "the calling" the summer before my 9th grade year. I knew with absolute certainty that God intended me for youth work. I argued with God over the years about how that was going to look. If you know all or any of that, you also know me well enough to know how well I hold grudges when I'm hurt or angered. I can hold a grudge with the best and the worst of them. And I won't lie, after being told to step away, I was hurt, very hurt and angry. I drove home in a haze, fuming over the thoughts in my mind.
I reached out to a great friend of mine, Nick Nix. This man has been through things in recent years that would test the best of us in the best of times. And when I look to him, I see God's love in all things he does. I'm not saying he's perfect, but he does well in the category of love. He has always seemed to have that insight from God for me. It's probably a lot like when I have insight for others, but can't seem to see God for myself, I imagine. But anyway, he reminded me, yet again, that perhaps this was God's way of encouraging me to stop looking beyond my own threshold. I have four beautiful children God blessed me with. I have four children that I've been raising in the faith with admittedly less excitement than I was giving to my youth kids. And there's something wrong with that. Nick was right. As soon as he said it I felt that assurance that he was right. Instantly the burgeoning hatred abated. I let it go. This is the miracle. Normally I would have held onto that anger so tight that I would have hurt myself eventually. It's something I've done before. For me to "let go" so quickly was like a rap on the skull, a wake-up call as to just how right Nick really was.
But each day I am actually having internal fights with myself. I hear the conscious bitter and nasty thoughts seep in and I have to look to Heaven, beg for help in stomping them back. I refuse to let my anger run away with me. So I am asking for help, those of you that ninja read my stuff. Please keep me and my struggles in prayer. This is a real struggle for me to not let my old ways come back. And as I said, this really is of God to step back. I might not agree with the reasoning I was given, but I do know with my whole heart that it is right and true. My children deserve a better father, and I am seeing that this means more than just proper discipline; it's a "whole Dad" deal.
I rarely ask the Saints for help, as I am still a young Catholic, but in this instance, reaching out to St. Joseph and asking him to pray for me sure seems wise.
St. Joseph, God gave you charge over His most precious gift of Himself, to us, as His Begotten Son. You were entrusted with the protection of not only the Blessed Virgin and Holy Mother, but the protection and duty of raising Jesus to be the man He became. You clearly taught Him to observe and live His Faith. You clearly raised Him as a disciplined child. St. Joseph I ask you to pray for me as I roll along this voyage of personal discovery and become the father my children need. Amen
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Of pain, of parenting and of failure.
I'm a bad father. I don't mean bad father in the sense that I left the kids and my wife to chase after some 22 year old co-ed off in California. I don't mean in the manner that I beat or neglect my children. They are fed, and fed well, even if they don't like green beans. But I yell. Boy howdy, do I yell. I'm not talking "raise my voice a little bit to get the point across." I mean "top of my lungs if I keep this up much longer I'll strip my vocal chords" yelling. Why? It gets results. The problem was, when I got sick of the yelling and tried to get something done, or request anything of my children, nothing would happen until I hit a certain decibel level.
Many people, parents, media and psychologists would say that this was because I had "strong willed children." Be that as it may given they have an Irish blooded father and a Polish purebred for a mother, that is not the crux of the matter. Too often I've heard the buck passed anywhere from the kid's fault to some new disorder or another. Rarely does the parent say, "Oh hell. This is my fault. I was wrong. I have to change." Well, that's what I'm saying. I was wrong. I have to change.
So I started down that road about three weeks ago. I have been listening, when I could catch him on air, to Dr. Ray Guarendi. The guy is a take no prisoners, this is the parents' ball now clinical psychologist with a radio show on the EWTN radio network. He has a practice in Canton, OH and yet still has time for his 10 kids. I flat don't know how he does it other than he is really the ultimate father. I've come to respect his opinion on things. Partly because they are generally so alien to what I've tried (and is obviously not working) or heard in the world today. Some because I pride myself in taking responsibility for my actions. And so I'm doing so again, even though I can't explain to you how much it hurts me and how hard it is for me to admit I'm wrong. God as my witness, my children deserve better than I have given them thus far.
Now, allow me to introduce you to my children. Zach is fourteen currently, rounding turn four to fifteen this November. He's a smart kid, but like his father and grandfather before him, he thinks he can just skate through school, regardless of grades. He does have an ace up his sleeve though. He is so bent on proving he's nothing like me, when I call him on school work, he generally straightens himself up for a few weeks or a grading period or two. We've had a tough go of it this year as he's a new freshman in a couple honors courses. Brought home some poor grades at midterm and so I removed access to his computer (except when required use by his teachers) and TV. I made a "Homework Table" in the living room where I can observe him doing his homework nightly. This serves two purposes as his younger brother Josh needs a lot of help in that area as well. More on that later. I will admit he's working to change his grades. Unfortunately, it's a huge climb uphill with several zeroes holding him down. But he's doing it. Not without a fight, but that's the way I raised him apparently.
On the downside of that intelligence, he's also become quite good at "playing the game" with his old man. He will leave out one thing, or skip over certain parts of a job, or deliberately to something very sloppy to prove a point that he can't be forced. He will wait you out with the best of them so that as soon as your back is turned he can go about what he wants to do. Sometimes I play along, other times I put a stop to the game as soon as I see it play, and occasionally I will completely ignore it all-together. I'm still not certain which is the best route. But I think now, stopping the game and keeping my emotion in check is the best.
He is also quite disrespectful. This is the button upon which he likes to hammer his fist. Repeatedly. He is not disrespectful to his grandparents, his teachers, the youth ministers or our priests. Nor is he disrespectful to strangers or new people we meet. His social graces and manners aren't always the best, but that has not been for lack of training on my part. (Manners are a big deal in this family to me. Chalk that up to the southern influence of my Grandmother.) But what he isn't handing out to others he reserves for both his mother and me. Admittedly he gives far less disrespect to Karen. But she is not the authority figure in the house. That's not her burden. She has enough on her plate as it is. And so I take the vast majority of it on the chin. I've told Zach this in the past, that I'll take it, but I flat refuse to watch him disrespect his mother. If he mouths off to Karen, it's over. There is no discussion, no negotiation, no "You better take that back, mister." I put my foot down and he is removed or immediately apologizes. Maybe that's why he dishes so much less to Karen, huh? Because I am uncompromising in that area? Most people would say it's because she comes to his defense and thus he feels she's his ally. I will say I tend to find myself in that category.
Zach is also a fan of the "it's not wrong to do it, it's only wrong to get caught" mentality. Problem is, he is nearly always getting caught. Those times I don't call him on it are usually because I don't want to start the fight. Unlike my father who was so proud of proving how smart he was in catching me, I don't tell Zach how. I'm not giving the kid a "this is how you don't get caught next time" handbook. I don't take pride in catching him, I find frustration in his constant and repeated attempts to undermine and sneak around behind my back as soon as it's turned. Some of you might be thinking "as soon as it's turned? Isn't that a little over exaggerated?" No. I walked out of the room one day and within 30 seconds he had done what he knew I wouldn't allow. 30 seconds. And it has happened far more than just once. This all goes back to the disrespect in my mind.
But I want to end on an up-note about Zach. The kid is miles and away more responsible than I was at his age. Given a choice, I would have slept until noon even on school days. But even if Dad has dragged himself out of bed yet, Zachary is up shortly after his alarm goes off. He gets himself ready in a timely fashion. Granted, historically this was so he could watch some extra TV in the morning, but he still does it. Don't believe me? Since being grounded he's only gotten up twice earlier than 6am, and that was to sneak in TV upstairs. ;) Yes, I called him on it. He took training and is CPR certified. I have no problems with him watching the younger kids if Karen and I go out or we need an emergency baby sitter. Should I go out and the house catch fire, I know he'd not only know what to do, he'd push himself as far as humanly possible to make sure everyone was out safely.
Next up to bat is Josh. Zach and Josh are night and day as far as personality. Zach is a boisterous extrovert, Joshie and generally quiet introvert. Get him with friends though where he's comfortable, you'd never know it! But he and I tussle over homework, responsibility and a general lack of any sort of ambition beyond "I want to play video games and watch TV." He even told his sister once his goals in life included living here for the rest of his life and maybe play a little "Jak and Daxter." Humorous? Yes. But that is Josh in a nutshell. Nothing seems more important to him than games and gaming. And it's not like I let any of the kids sit for hours on end playing them. They are all limited to 1 hour per night on a school night. I honestly feel like no amount of proper discipline will instill any sort of ambition in him. I can give him a goal of exactly what he asks for and wants...and he has no drive to get it. None. Want to go fishing? Give me one week of sweeping the floor immediately after dinner without me having to tell you. Hasn't done one day. Want a PS3? Do the stair step goals (two weeks long, one month, then midterm and grade card) and I'll buy you the components until your semester grade card and you'll have a full system plus three games. Hasn't done even one step on the goal. If it's not right in front of his nose in bright flashing lights, he stops caring 20 seconds after. I have no idea what to do with Joshie.
Ahhhh Sammie. My sweet little angel. LOL My only girl, the rose amongst my stinky, dirty thorns I call my sons. (Do their laundry, y ou'll understand. Ugh.) For those of you who say I spoil her, I say in my defense she has been grounded...a couple times. She has a chore to do nightly, same as her brothers. And she has only once given me guff about it. But she does have her downside. She is very stubborn. Ugh. Slap some red hair on her and she's the perfect little Irish Princess. Top that off with she has her mother's Polish stubbornness and sense of humor. I'm in for a hill of trouble come the teen years. And she's very self-centered. This one I chalk up to the fault of her parents. I will admit it. She is my little princess. She does have some hand-me-downs, but not like the boys. She has no older sister. She doesn't have to share a bedroom. And her Grandmother and Karen treat her regularly to all sorts of special days out. Her world is all about her. Many times to the detriment and danger to others around her. So, as my example that I failed with more than just one kid, I submit my little girl.
And finally on the roster, my baby boy Alex. I can't say much or this will read like a bitter diatribe followed up with what would appear to be my "favorite." That's just not true. But he's my baby and still fairly young. This is not to say we don't butt heads. Come watch some Saturday when we clean the playroom. Boy howdy do we butt heads. I've also been able to learn what to expect from age to age, and adapt accordingly as the younger children age.
There's a regret for you. That I've made most of my mistakes in parenting with Zach. That's not really fair to him, but given that none of my children yet have popped out with care instructions sewn to their heels, this is a trial and error process. And I've erred. You can read through this whole post and pick out any number of my foibles I'm sure.
Ok, so with all this babbling, what is the point of all this, Michael? We know you suck, what are you going to do about it? Glad you asked. I am trying a new style of discipline. We'll call it, "discipline." Before I just yelled and punished. I'm finally learning what actual, true and right discipline really is. And it's hard. It's a lot easier to yell. There are days, today for example, that I would love to go back to just yelling and getting the results that I want. It's not like Zach would hate me more than he does now. Nor would Karen be as frustrated with me or as worried about Zach as she is today. Zach is going to be upset that I put this in here, but I'm doing so anyway. I'm not talking about him behind his back. I'm just saying what I'm doing now.
As stated earlier, Zach had TV and computer privileges removed. These are gone until his report card comes home mid October and his grades have come up. Watching them on Powerschool, he's on the right track. Though, his honors English could use a lot more work. We're currently putting a lot of faith into his 9-week test scores. Anyway, Dr. Ray introduced me and a great number of other parents to what he refers to as "Black-Out." The purpose is to show the parents how much they control in the situations of "I've taken away everything and they still are ____________." Zach was put into Black-Out last night after repeated warnings that he was very close to it happening. What does this entail? Well he lost his cell phone, his iPod and headphones, his alarm clock, his right to make his own breakfast, choose his own clothing to wear for the day, any outside of the home privileges and is required to write an essay on a subject given him. The beauty of this punishment is the power of taking away might be in the hands of the parents, but the power of how long it lasts is in the hands of the child. As soon as he does a satisfactory job on the essay and turn it in, he's free. All rights restored. How long the punishment lasts depends on how hard he's willing to work to get through it. It's hard, it's strict. He hates it. But that's sort of the point. He's not supposed to enjoy it. He's not supposed to "not care" about it. I honestly hope (but I know better) that this needs to be done only once.
Now Karen is worried he's going to harm himself over this. Truth is she's been worried he was going to harm himself over my former strategy of yelling at him mercilessly. She hates this new thing. She doesn't believe me that I hate this new form of discipline either. But, she is standing with me. At least in the open. I gave her the right to hate me and read me the riot act behind closed doors. And I love her all the more for it. I can't abandon this part way through, or it just becomes another idle threat that Mean Ol' Dad did to me and Mom saved me from. We are united on the front at least.
I want to close now. I'm worked up, frustrated and hating myself. I'm doing this because I love my children. I've been a piss poor example of a dad for too long and my children deserve better. I don't they don't believe me that love isn't all hugs, kisses and letting them do what they want, but I do love them. I would give my life in a heartbeat for them. The only thing harder than my own sacrifice would be admitting I'm wrong. And I love my children enough to admit for nearly 15 years I've been wrong as a parent. I'm doing this for them. I'm doing this for the entire family. God help me.
Many people, parents, media and psychologists would say that this was because I had "strong willed children." Be that as it may given they have an Irish blooded father and a Polish purebred for a mother, that is not the crux of the matter. Too often I've heard the buck passed anywhere from the kid's fault to some new disorder or another. Rarely does the parent say, "Oh hell. This is my fault. I was wrong. I have to change." Well, that's what I'm saying. I was wrong. I have to change.
So I started down that road about three weeks ago. I have been listening, when I could catch him on air, to Dr. Ray Guarendi. The guy is a take no prisoners, this is the parents' ball now clinical psychologist with a radio show on the EWTN radio network. He has a practice in Canton, OH and yet still has time for his 10 kids. I flat don't know how he does it other than he is really the ultimate father. I've come to respect his opinion on things. Partly because they are generally so alien to what I've tried (and is obviously not working) or heard in the world today. Some because I pride myself in taking responsibility for my actions. And so I'm doing so again, even though I can't explain to you how much it hurts me and how hard it is for me to admit I'm wrong. God as my witness, my children deserve better than I have given them thus far.
Now, allow me to introduce you to my children. Zach is fourteen currently, rounding turn four to fifteen this November. He's a smart kid, but like his father and grandfather before him, he thinks he can just skate through school, regardless of grades. He does have an ace up his sleeve though. He is so bent on proving he's nothing like me, when I call him on school work, he generally straightens himself up for a few weeks or a grading period or two. We've had a tough go of it this year as he's a new freshman in a couple honors courses. Brought home some poor grades at midterm and so I removed access to his computer (except when required use by his teachers) and TV. I made a "Homework Table" in the living room where I can observe him doing his homework nightly. This serves two purposes as his younger brother Josh needs a lot of help in that area as well. More on that later. I will admit he's working to change his grades. Unfortunately, it's a huge climb uphill with several zeroes holding him down. But he's doing it. Not without a fight, but that's the way I raised him apparently.
On the downside of that intelligence, he's also become quite good at "playing the game" with his old man. He will leave out one thing, or skip over certain parts of a job, or deliberately to something very sloppy to prove a point that he can't be forced. He will wait you out with the best of them so that as soon as your back is turned he can go about what he wants to do. Sometimes I play along, other times I put a stop to the game as soon as I see it play, and occasionally I will completely ignore it all-together. I'm still not certain which is the best route. But I think now, stopping the game and keeping my emotion in check is the best.
He is also quite disrespectful. This is the button upon which he likes to hammer his fist. Repeatedly. He is not disrespectful to his grandparents, his teachers, the youth ministers or our priests. Nor is he disrespectful to strangers or new people we meet. His social graces and manners aren't always the best, but that has not been for lack of training on my part. (Manners are a big deal in this family to me. Chalk that up to the southern influence of my Grandmother.) But what he isn't handing out to others he reserves for both his mother and me. Admittedly he gives far less disrespect to Karen. But she is not the authority figure in the house. That's not her burden. She has enough on her plate as it is. And so I take the vast majority of it on the chin. I've told Zach this in the past, that I'll take it, but I flat refuse to watch him disrespect his mother. If he mouths off to Karen, it's over. There is no discussion, no negotiation, no "You better take that back, mister." I put my foot down and he is removed or immediately apologizes. Maybe that's why he dishes so much less to Karen, huh? Because I am uncompromising in that area? Most people would say it's because she comes to his defense and thus he feels she's his ally. I will say I tend to find myself in that category.
Zach is also a fan of the "it's not wrong to do it, it's only wrong to get caught" mentality. Problem is, he is nearly always getting caught. Those times I don't call him on it are usually because I don't want to start the fight. Unlike my father who was so proud of proving how smart he was in catching me, I don't tell Zach how. I'm not giving the kid a "this is how you don't get caught next time" handbook. I don't take pride in catching him, I find frustration in his constant and repeated attempts to undermine and sneak around behind my back as soon as it's turned. Some of you might be thinking "as soon as it's turned? Isn't that a little over exaggerated?" No. I walked out of the room one day and within 30 seconds he had done what he knew I wouldn't allow. 30 seconds. And it has happened far more than just once. This all goes back to the disrespect in my mind.
But I want to end on an up-note about Zach. The kid is miles and away more responsible than I was at his age. Given a choice, I would have slept until noon even on school days. But even if Dad has dragged himself out of bed yet, Zachary is up shortly after his alarm goes off. He gets himself ready in a timely fashion. Granted, historically this was so he could watch some extra TV in the morning, but he still does it. Don't believe me? Since being grounded he's only gotten up twice earlier than 6am, and that was to sneak in TV upstairs. ;) Yes, I called him on it. He took training and is CPR certified. I have no problems with him watching the younger kids if Karen and I go out or we need an emergency baby sitter. Should I go out and the house catch fire, I know he'd not only know what to do, he'd push himself as far as humanly possible to make sure everyone was out safely.
Next up to bat is Josh. Zach and Josh are night and day as far as personality. Zach is a boisterous extrovert, Joshie and generally quiet introvert. Get him with friends though where he's comfortable, you'd never know it! But he and I tussle over homework, responsibility and a general lack of any sort of ambition beyond "I want to play video games and watch TV." He even told his sister once his goals in life included living here for the rest of his life and maybe play a little "Jak and Daxter." Humorous? Yes. But that is Josh in a nutshell. Nothing seems more important to him than games and gaming. And it's not like I let any of the kids sit for hours on end playing them. They are all limited to 1 hour per night on a school night. I honestly feel like no amount of proper discipline will instill any sort of ambition in him. I can give him a goal of exactly what he asks for and wants...and he has no drive to get it. None. Want to go fishing? Give me one week of sweeping the floor immediately after dinner without me having to tell you. Hasn't done one day. Want a PS3? Do the stair step goals (two weeks long, one month, then midterm and grade card) and I'll buy you the components until your semester grade card and you'll have a full system plus three games. Hasn't done even one step on the goal. If it's not right in front of his nose in bright flashing lights, he stops caring 20 seconds after. I have no idea what to do with Joshie.
Ahhhh Sammie. My sweet little angel. LOL My only girl, the rose amongst my stinky, dirty thorns I call my sons. (Do their laundry, y ou'll understand. Ugh.) For those of you who say I spoil her, I say in my defense she has been grounded...a couple times. She has a chore to do nightly, same as her brothers. And she has only once given me guff about it. But she does have her downside. She is very stubborn. Ugh. Slap some red hair on her and she's the perfect little Irish Princess. Top that off with she has her mother's Polish stubbornness and sense of humor. I'm in for a hill of trouble come the teen years. And she's very self-centered. This one I chalk up to the fault of her parents. I will admit it. She is my little princess. She does have some hand-me-downs, but not like the boys. She has no older sister. She doesn't have to share a bedroom. And her Grandmother and Karen treat her regularly to all sorts of special days out. Her world is all about her. Many times to the detriment and danger to others around her. So, as my example that I failed with more than just one kid, I submit my little girl.
And finally on the roster, my baby boy Alex. I can't say much or this will read like a bitter diatribe followed up with what would appear to be my "favorite." That's just not true. But he's my baby and still fairly young. This is not to say we don't butt heads. Come watch some Saturday when we clean the playroom. Boy howdy do we butt heads. I've also been able to learn what to expect from age to age, and adapt accordingly as the younger children age.
There's a regret for you. That I've made most of my mistakes in parenting with Zach. That's not really fair to him, but given that none of my children yet have popped out with care instructions sewn to their heels, this is a trial and error process. And I've erred. You can read through this whole post and pick out any number of my foibles I'm sure.
Ok, so with all this babbling, what is the point of all this, Michael? We know you suck, what are you going to do about it? Glad you asked. I am trying a new style of discipline. We'll call it, "discipline." Before I just yelled and punished. I'm finally learning what actual, true and right discipline really is. And it's hard. It's a lot easier to yell. There are days, today for example, that I would love to go back to just yelling and getting the results that I want. It's not like Zach would hate me more than he does now. Nor would Karen be as frustrated with me or as worried about Zach as she is today. Zach is going to be upset that I put this in here, but I'm doing so anyway. I'm not talking about him behind his back. I'm just saying what I'm doing now.
As stated earlier, Zach had TV and computer privileges removed. These are gone until his report card comes home mid October and his grades have come up. Watching them on Powerschool, he's on the right track. Though, his honors English could use a lot more work. We're currently putting a lot of faith into his 9-week test scores. Anyway, Dr. Ray introduced me and a great number of other parents to what he refers to as "Black-Out." The purpose is to show the parents how much they control in the situations of "I've taken away everything and they still are ____________." Zach was put into Black-Out last night after repeated warnings that he was very close to it happening. What does this entail? Well he lost his cell phone, his iPod and headphones, his alarm clock, his right to make his own breakfast, choose his own clothing to wear for the day, any outside of the home privileges and is required to write an essay on a subject given him. The beauty of this punishment is the power of taking away might be in the hands of the parents, but the power of how long it lasts is in the hands of the child. As soon as he does a satisfactory job on the essay and turn it in, he's free. All rights restored. How long the punishment lasts depends on how hard he's willing to work to get through it. It's hard, it's strict. He hates it. But that's sort of the point. He's not supposed to enjoy it. He's not supposed to "not care" about it. I honestly hope (but I know better) that this needs to be done only once.
Now Karen is worried he's going to harm himself over this. Truth is she's been worried he was going to harm himself over my former strategy of yelling at him mercilessly. She hates this new thing. She doesn't believe me that I hate this new form of discipline either. But, she is standing with me. At least in the open. I gave her the right to hate me and read me the riot act behind closed doors. And I love her all the more for it. I can't abandon this part way through, or it just becomes another idle threat that Mean Ol' Dad did to me and Mom saved me from. We are united on the front at least.
I want to close now. I'm worked up, frustrated and hating myself. I'm doing this because I love my children. I've been a piss poor example of a dad for too long and my children deserve better. I don't they don't believe me that love isn't all hugs, kisses and letting them do what they want, but I do love them. I would give my life in a heartbeat for them. The only thing harder than my own sacrifice would be admitting I'm wrong. And I love my children enough to admit for nearly 15 years I've been wrong as a parent. I'm doing this for them. I'm doing this for the entire family. God help me.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Are we really this lost?
Following is my editorial on a news story. Quotes are taken from an article which can be found here.
I've done a lot of retail in my life. It all started in '94 with my first job that didn't involve some back-country field and a pair of pruners and stick fights with the other guys on the crew. Toys R Us. For a young man with a habit of buying action figures and a penchant for flirting with cute cashiers, it was a dream job. I loved it. I was young, enthusiastic, and eager to please the customers to almost any lengths. There was the lady on Christmas Eve who told me I ruined a little girl's Christmas because I didn't have a certain Cabbage Patch, or any Cabbage Patch for that matter, in stock. But all in all, the customers were a delight.
Fast forward to 2003 By this point I have worked in three separate TRUs, a Pier One, Office Depot, managed in a Suncoast, and opened and managed a Hat World. I know retail. I've worked countless Black Friday sales enthusiastically. I've taken returns, legitimate and otherwise. I've listened to, placated and fixed situations with upset customers. I've broken up fist fights over toys. Yes, fist fights. I've caught and reported or kicked out shop lifters. But starting that year something new hit the Midwest retail environment, a new breed of customer.
We've all heard the adage, "the customer is always right." Anyone who has worked more than two months in retail, or anywhere really knows that rarely is the customer right. In fact, most the time the customer is a flat out idiot and relies upon our expertise to help them navigate what is a confusing and perilous journey from the shelves, racks and stacks to the cash register. (Yes, I realize how sarcastic that sounds, but I assure you, I intend its meaning to be taken at face value.) For those that don't know, the adage was to teach us retailers how a customer wants to be treated. Face it, no one likes to be wrong. So we approach the customer in a way that makes them feel comfortable. In a situation where the customer is upset with something, we acknowledge fault, even if there is little to none on our end, to amend the situation. We all know a happy customer is a buying customer. However, somewhere along the way more than the random self-righteous customer latched on to that phrase and even when the fault lies completely, 100% with them, they trumpet this at their loudest pitch in word and deed. The vast majority of guests coming into the stores arrive with a chip on the shoulder as if they are expecting a fight with employees at any moment. If something doesn't go 100% according to their plan, the proverbial excrement hits the fan.
To this end, I came across an article this morning chronicling Target's snafu with their new Missoni line. I've seen the commercials, and frankly, I thought the stuff was horrid, but hey, to each their own, right?
"Brielle deMartino, 23, from Del Ray Beach, Fla., was so excited that she woke up at 6 a.m. on the launch day and spent $700 on Missoni clothes, a bike and plates. The next day, she got an email from Target that her online order was cancelled. Then, she spent hours on the phone with Target customer service representatives she describes as unapologetic.
"I have never been treated like this," says deMartino, who got the charges removed from her card after calling her bank and posted on Facebook and Twitter about the ordeal. "Instead of taking responsibility, they didn't care. I have always been pro-Target, but I don't want to give my money to a company like that again.'"
Treated like what, exactly? Unapologetic? I'm sorry, I find it extremely hard to believe that if she spent "hours on the phone" with a service rep she didn't get at least one apology. Hell, I recently had a go 'round with AT&T, to whom I've been loyal for almost 10 years on internet and phone, and even that lady said she apologized. And after one bad incident a loyal "Pro-Target" shopper would rarely dump an establishment. Unless...there is that sense of entitlement. That sense that it all belongs to me, on my schedule and at my demand. Granted, I'm guessing here, but she probably started off angry after the poor rep had had to deal with a great number of angry, combative customers. I'm still trying to figure out how and WHY she had to call her bank if the order was cancelled. If they had already charged her, and she used her debit card rather than a credit card (not debit run AS a credit card...) I can understand. But people know that to credit a debit card it takes 5-7 days normally, right? This isn't some trick to steal your money for a week and make a huge day trader's investment on the company's behalf. It's how it works, and most of it is on the banking side of things.
"This was badly handled," said Robert Passikoff, president of Brand Keys Inc., a New York customer research firm that has an index that shows Target's image has taken a hit. "What was supposed to be engaging and delightful is now the opposite — disappointment."
Morgan O'Murray, a Target spokeswoman, said the company experienced unprecedented demand for the collection and is working on correcting problems."This demand impacted our Target.com site and affected the shipment and delivery of select guest orders," O'Murray said in a statement. "Providing an exceptional experience is incredibly important to Target, and we have a team dedicated to addressing those guests who have been affected."
Mr. Passikoff and I agree on this. Target didn't handle demand properly. I'm sure they believed there would be I mean, that is the entire point of having a marketing campaign as big as they did. And ordering slightly less than what would be expected, plus the limited run of the items simply feeds that desire and increases demand. But it sounds like they didn't expect demand to be quite this high. Ok, so the spokewoman wasn't exactly apologetic, but c'mon. Her job is PR. We all know PR is corporate's way of spelling "BS."
But wait, this gets even better.
"The buzz turned to frustration for some shoppers. About two hours after the 6 a.m. launch, many on Target's website came face-to-face with Target's mascot bulldog and the disappointing news: "Woof! We are suddenly extremely popular. You may not be able to access our site momentarily due to unusually high traffic. Please stay here and we'll try to get you in as soon as we can!"
This happened throughout the day. Some who were patient got through. Those who weren't left the website disappointed.
Ben Rushlo, director of performance management at Keynote Systems Inc., which tracks websites' performance, said that he couldn't remember the last time a site stayed down most of the day. He said usually, a website slowly deteriorates throughout the day — with minor glitches becoming more prevalent — before crashing.
"It wasn't your normal meltdown," he said."
It wasn't normal. That's for sure. Sites go down all the time. Usually, within a few hours they are restored. It's frustrating as all get out, I admit. But I've never become so upset by a site being down that I vowed never to return. And I played WoW for 6 years. If you know nothing about how the gaming world reacts to their websites or games going down for even 20 minutes, let me explain: If a site goes down, people log in the game and bitch and complain about how the parent company and their tech support are all idiotic morons that couldn't find their own butts on a bright day at high noon. If the game goes down, people flood the site (thus causing it to crash) and declare the company is trying to ruin its own game, and they won't stand for it, they are going to give their money to some other game and are canceling their subscription RIGHT NOW! You'll find these players back in game in about 15 minutes complaining about code monkeys and how easy it is to fix such and such a glitch because they are a programmer for a living. Humorous, no?
So Target screwed up their website. Big black eye, in my opinion. But it's not the issue this article makes it out to be. Unless you throw in that "entitlement." Customers who feel they not only have every right to buy exactly what they want, when they want it, but that their desires to purchase an item outweigh everyone else's desires.
"Megan Bonner, 26, from Memphis, Tenn., bragged on Twitter after ordering $300 worth of Missoni dresses and cardigans until the next day when she got emails telling her that her shipments would be delayed. Nervous that she wouldn't get the items at all, she bought some of them at a nearby Target. But now she worries she won't be refunded for the other merchandise.
"I feel violated. I feel taken advantage of," she said. "If I don't hear back from them in another week, I will call back. Maybe, I just won't go back anymore."
Oh, please tell me Miss, how the hell are you violated? Because they had the courtesy to tell you your order would be delayed, rather than back-ordering and letting you hang on edge for weeks on end after spending money on your items, not knowing when they would show up or where they were? Oh wait, I know, it's that you got impatient, had to have it NOW, ran down to your local Target, found some of the items on the shelves and/or racks and purchased them there. But now you're worried they won't give you a refund for the duplicates? No, you're worried they won't cancel the duplicate items and not charge you the money you spent but didn't really have because of said impatience, right? But I understand being violated. I mean, some corporate muscle in a nice black suit that barely fits his mile wide shoulders did come to your house, hold you at knife point, force you onto the website to purchase the items and then called the warehouse to ensure your items were delayed. To top that off, he then forcefully convinced you to get in your car and drive to Target and buy MORE of the same things...and all that while sneaking a handful of your hiney. Wait, you mean that's not how it went down? Well then, I'm stumped.
Yes, I know this editorial is a little judgmental at points. But I'm so fed up with the general attitude of customers. I left retail several years back because I flat couldn't take any more. I truly loved it for a long time. I enjoyed going above and beyond their expectations and getting that "Thank you for all your help, Michael!" I know of many times I went above and beyond, cheerfully, and did my best to calm difficult situations only to have customers tell managers I was rude and unhelpful because they didn't get the outcome they demanded. I've watched guests belittle employees when I know they are doing their hardest to please. A few years back I went out on Black Friday as a customer rather than employee. I knew all the full-timers on staff. I knew it was going to be slow going. I mean IT'S BLACK FRIDAY FOR GOD'S SAKE! And stood in line while this lady berated the employees mercilessly, going so far as to call one poor seasonal, "kind of a moron," to his face. Credit due, he apologized and walked away. After 30 minutes of listening to her, and then that comment directly to the terrified young man, I turned in line and let her have it. I explained to her in small monosyllabic words that these guys were doing very well (this was after they had brought her four items off the shelf because she couldn't be bothered to leave the line and lose her place, mind you) and were conducting the store in the best manner I had seen done in several years. She was indignant. But she shut up. That's probably due in part to the fact that at least 5-10 people around us applauded when I was done with my tirade.
She is an extreme example, I know. But she is the extreme of the norm. She is the extreme of all of our feelings at some point, our feelings that we are the most important thing, and our desires are the most important desires. How is it that we've fallen so far away from what is really important. God forgive us, I pray.
I've done a lot of retail in my life. It all started in '94 with my first job that didn't involve some back-country field and a pair of pruners and stick fights with the other guys on the crew. Toys R Us. For a young man with a habit of buying action figures and a penchant for flirting with cute cashiers, it was a dream job. I loved it. I was young, enthusiastic, and eager to please the customers to almost any lengths. There was the lady on Christmas Eve who told me I ruined a little girl's Christmas because I didn't have a certain Cabbage Patch, or any Cabbage Patch for that matter, in stock. But all in all, the customers were a delight.
Fast forward to 2003 By this point I have worked in three separate TRUs, a Pier One, Office Depot, managed in a Suncoast, and opened and managed a Hat World. I know retail. I've worked countless Black Friday sales enthusiastically. I've taken returns, legitimate and otherwise. I've listened to, placated and fixed situations with upset customers. I've broken up fist fights over toys. Yes, fist fights. I've caught and reported or kicked out shop lifters. But starting that year something new hit the Midwest retail environment, a new breed of customer.
We've all heard the adage, "the customer is always right." Anyone who has worked more than two months in retail, or anywhere really knows that rarely is the customer right. In fact, most the time the customer is a flat out idiot and relies upon our expertise to help them navigate what is a confusing and perilous journey from the shelves, racks and stacks to the cash register. (Yes, I realize how sarcastic that sounds, but I assure you, I intend its meaning to be taken at face value.) For those that don't know, the adage was to teach us retailers how a customer wants to be treated. Face it, no one likes to be wrong. So we approach the customer in a way that makes them feel comfortable. In a situation where the customer is upset with something, we acknowledge fault, even if there is little to none on our end, to amend the situation. We all know a happy customer is a buying customer. However, somewhere along the way more than the random self-righteous customer latched on to that phrase and even when the fault lies completely, 100% with them, they trumpet this at their loudest pitch in word and deed. The vast majority of guests coming into the stores arrive with a chip on the shoulder as if they are expecting a fight with employees at any moment. If something doesn't go 100% according to their plan, the proverbial excrement hits the fan.
To this end, I came across an article this morning chronicling Target's snafu with their new Missoni line. I've seen the commercials, and frankly, I thought the stuff was horrid, but hey, to each their own, right?
"Brielle deMartino, 23, from Del Ray Beach, Fla., was so excited that she woke up at 6 a.m. on the launch day and spent $700 on Missoni clothes, a bike and plates. The next day, she got an email from Target that her online order was cancelled. Then, she spent hours on the phone with Target customer service representatives she describes as unapologetic.
"I have never been treated like this," says deMartino, who got the charges removed from her card after calling her bank and posted on Facebook and Twitter about the ordeal. "Instead of taking responsibility, they didn't care. I have always been pro-Target, but I don't want to give my money to a company like that again.'"
Treated like what, exactly? Unapologetic? I'm sorry, I find it extremely hard to believe that if she spent "hours on the phone" with a service rep she didn't get at least one apology. Hell, I recently had a go 'round with AT&T, to whom I've been loyal for almost 10 years on internet and phone, and even that lady said she apologized. And after one bad incident a loyal "Pro-Target" shopper would rarely dump an establishment. Unless...there is that sense of entitlement. That sense that it all belongs to me, on my schedule and at my demand. Granted, I'm guessing here, but she probably started off angry after the poor rep had had to deal with a great number of angry, combative customers. I'm still trying to figure out how and WHY she had to call her bank if the order was cancelled. If they had already charged her, and she used her debit card rather than a credit card (not debit run AS a credit card...) I can understand. But people know that to credit a debit card it takes 5-7 days normally, right? This isn't some trick to steal your money for a week and make a huge day trader's investment on the company's behalf. It's how it works, and most of it is on the banking side of things.
"This was badly handled," said Robert Passikoff, president of Brand Keys Inc., a New York customer research firm that has an index that shows Target's image has taken a hit. "What was supposed to be engaging and delightful is now the opposite — disappointment."
Morgan O'Murray, a Target spokeswoman, said the company experienced unprecedented demand for the collection and is working on correcting problems."This demand impacted our Target.com site and affected the shipment and delivery of select guest orders," O'Murray said in a statement. "Providing an exceptional experience is incredibly important to Target, and we have a team dedicated to addressing those guests who have been affected."
Mr. Passikoff and I agree on this. Target didn't handle demand properly. I'm sure they believed there would be I mean, that is the entire point of having a marketing campaign as big as they did. And ordering slightly less than what would be expected, plus the limited run of the items simply feeds that desire and increases demand. But it sounds like they didn't expect demand to be quite this high. Ok, so the spokewoman wasn't exactly apologetic, but c'mon. Her job is PR. We all know PR is corporate's way of spelling "BS."
But wait, this gets even better.
"The buzz turned to frustration for some shoppers. About two hours after the 6 a.m. launch, many on Target's website came face-to-face with Target's mascot bulldog and the disappointing news: "Woof! We are suddenly extremely popular. You may not be able to access our site momentarily due to unusually high traffic. Please stay here and we'll try to get you in as soon as we can!"
This happened throughout the day. Some who were patient got through. Those who weren't left the website disappointed.
Ben Rushlo, director of performance management at Keynote Systems Inc., which tracks websites' performance, said that he couldn't remember the last time a site stayed down most of the day. He said usually, a website slowly deteriorates throughout the day — with minor glitches becoming more prevalent — before crashing.
"It wasn't your normal meltdown," he said."
It wasn't normal. That's for sure. Sites go down all the time. Usually, within a few hours they are restored. It's frustrating as all get out, I admit. But I've never become so upset by a site being down that I vowed never to return. And I played WoW for 6 years. If you know nothing about how the gaming world reacts to their websites or games going down for even 20 minutes, let me explain: If a site goes down, people log in the game and bitch and complain about how the parent company and their tech support are all idiotic morons that couldn't find their own butts on a bright day at high noon. If the game goes down, people flood the site (thus causing it to crash) and declare the company is trying to ruin its own game, and they won't stand for it, they are going to give their money to some other game and are canceling their subscription RIGHT NOW! You'll find these players back in game in about 15 minutes complaining about code monkeys and how easy it is to fix such and such a glitch because they are a programmer for a living. Humorous, no?
So Target screwed up their website. Big black eye, in my opinion. But it's not the issue this article makes it out to be. Unless you throw in that "entitlement." Customers who feel they not only have every right to buy exactly what they want, when they want it, but that their desires to purchase an item outweigh everyone else's desires.
"Megan Bonner, 26, from Memphis, Tenn., bragged on Twitter after ordering $300 worth of Missoni dresses and cardigans until the next day when she got emails telling her that her shipments would be delayed. Nervous that she wouldn't get the items at all, she bought some of them at a nearby Target. But now she worries she won't be refunded for the other merchandise.
"I feel violated. I feel taken advantage of," she said. "If I don't hear back from them in another week, I will call back. Maybe, I just won't go back anymore."
Oh, please tell me Miss, how the hell are you violated? Because they had the courtesy to tell you your order would be delayed, rather than back-ordering and letting you hang on edge for weeks on end after spending money on your items, not knowing when they would show up or where they were? Oh wait, I know, it's that you got impatient, had to have it NOW, ran down to your local Target, found some of the items on the shelves and/or racks and purchased them there. But now you're worried they won't give you a refund for the duplicates? No, you're worried they won't cancel the duplicate items and not charge you the money you spent but didn't really have because of said impatience, right? But I understand being violated. I mean, some corporate muscle in a nice black suit that barely fits his mile wide shoulders did come to your house, hold you at knife point, force you onto the website to purchase the items and then called the warehouse to ensure your items were delayed. To top that off, he then forcefully convinced you to get in your car and drive to Target and buy MORE of the same things...and all that while sneaking a handful of your hiney. Wait, you mean that's not how it went down? Well then, I'm stumped.
Yes, I know this editorial is a little judgmental at points. But I'm so fed up with the general attitude of customers. I left retail several years back because I flat couldn't take any more. I truly loved it for a long time. I enjoyed going above and beyond their expectations and getting that "Thank you for all your help, Michael!" I know of many times I went above and beyond, cheerfully, and did my best to calm difficult situations only to have customers tell managers I was rude and unhelpful because they didn't get the outcome they demanded. I've watched guests belittle employees when I know they are doing their hardest to please. A few years back I went out on Black Friday as a customer rather than employee. I knew all the full-timers on staff. I knew it was going to be slow going. I mean IT'S BLACK FRIDAY FOR GOD'S SAKE! And stood in line while this lady berated the employees mercilessly, going so far as to call one poor seasonal, "kind of a moron," to his face. Credit due, he apologized and walked away. After 30 minutes of listening to her, and then that comment directly to the terrified young man, I turned in line and let her have it. I explained to her in small monosyllabic words that these guys were doing very well (this was after they had brought her four items off the shelf because she couldn't be bothered to leave the line and lose her place, mind you) and were conducting the store in the best manner I had seen done in several years. She was indignant. But she shut up. That's probably due in part to the fact that at least 5-10 people around us applauded when I was done with my tirade.
She is an extreme example, I know. But she is the extreme of the norm. She is the extreme of all of our feelings at some point, our feelings that we are the most important thing, and our desires are the most important desires. How is it that we've fallen so far away from what is really important. God forgive us, I pray.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I believe
I believe in God, Father the Almighty.
I believe He created it all.
I believe in Jesus, the Christ. Born of the Virgin Mary, suffered and died for our sins and rose again.
I most assuredly believe He rose from the dead and is alive.
I believe in the Holy Spirit.
I believe physical death cannot seperate someone from the communion of saints.
I believe in the Catholic Church. While I do not accept everything it teaches, yet, I am praying about it and working on it.
I believe I need to pray more.
I believe God agrees with me on that assertion.
I believe in the True Presense of Christ in the Most Blessed Sacrament.
I believe in my wife.
I believe God could not have created someone more perfect to have been my bride.
I believe her faults are really funny.
I believe her arch nemeses are the charcoal grill and deep, sit down bathtubs.
I also believe if she even reads this, I will get a punch on the arm and a dirty look.
I do not believe she will read this.
I believe she is more amazing than she realizes.
I believe I do not do enough to emphasis this to her.
I believe in my children.
I believe they drive me crazy...because, for the most part, they are too much like me. And not my good qualities. Either of them.
I believe each will succeed in something amazing, even if it doesn't change the world.
I believe parenting in the single hardest thing I have been blessed to be a part of.
I believe children should come with owners' manuals. Look into this God, it's an untapped market.
I believe it would be hilarious if children were like wool and shrunk when washed in hot water.
I believe my daughter will stress me more than any of the other boys when she hits teen years.
I believe I have missed too many "little moments" with my children.
I believe I am funny. At least my mom thinks so.
I believe I do not fit a mold for any demographic, tradition or way of doing things.
I believe I have done this intentionally at times to secure my feeling unique.
I believe in doing things my way.
I believe I'm always right.
I believe I have a friend who absolutely hates it that I am.
I believe I was a terrible big brother.
I believe God gives us siblings for life so I can fix that.
I believe in my calling. And I believe I have finally accepted all facets of my calling.
I believe I'm really liking photography
I do not believe I'm all that good though.
I believe I will work on this some more later...
I believe He created it all.
I believe in Jesus, the Christ. Born of the Virgin Mary, suffered and died for our sins and rose again.
I most assuredly believe He rose from the dead and is alive.
I believe in the Holy Spirit.
I believe physical death cannot seperate someone from the communion of saints.
I believe in the Catholic Church. While I do not accept everything it teaches, yet, I am praying about it and working on it.
I believe I need to pray more.
I believe God agrees with me on that assertion.
I believe in the True Presense of Christ in the Most Blessed Sacrament.
I believe in my wife.
I believe God could not have created someone more perfect to have been my bride.
I believe her faults are really funny.
I believe her arch nemeses are the charcoal grill and deep, sit down bathtubs.
I also believe if she even reads this, I will get a punch on the arm and a dirty look.
I do not believe she will read this.
I believe she is more amazing than she realizes.
I believe I do not do enough to emphasis this to her.
I believe in my children.
I believe they drive me crazy...because, for the most part, they are too much like me. And not my good qualities. Either of them.
I believe each will succeed in something amazing, even if it doesn't change the world.
I believe parenting in the single hardest thing I have been blessed to be a part of.
I believe children should come with owners' manuals. Look into this God, it's an untapped market.
I believe it would be hilarious if children were like wool and shrunk when washed in hot water.
I believe my daughter will stress me more than any of the other boys when she hits teen years.
I believe I have missed too many "little moments" with my children.
I believe I am funny. At least my mom thinks so.
I believe I do not fit a mold for any demographic, tradition or way of doing things.
I believe I have done this intentionally at times to secure my feeling unique.
I believe in doing things my way.
I believe I'm always right.
I believe I have a friend who absolutely hates it that I am.
I believe I was a terrible big brother.
I believe God gives us siblings for life so I can fix that.
I believe in my calling. And I believe I have finally accepted all facets of my calling.
I believe I'm really liking photography
I do not believe I'm all that good though.
I believe I will work on this some more later...
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Maybe, just maybe. But probably not.
I am a mere eight days away from my first photography class. I am still excited, but as the days pass, I become more and more anxious. Anxiety is not good. Anxiety leads to questions, doubts and fears. This is how it always starts with me. Though I do admit I pull some encouragement from the fact that it has taken me a few weeks to get to this step. I have usually already gone through this step in my dreams within hours of first fleshing out my ideas. So maybe I will weather this one for the long haul. Maybe, just maybe I will actually be good enough to call myself a photographer, instead of, "Guy with camera, too much time."
I've already made a mental list of items I will want or need over the coming months/years just to be successful. I then broke those down into four more lists of things I will need soon, things I will want soon, things I will eventually need, but could function on some level without them, and finally, things I will have to have just to take the next series of classes. Next to those lists I made a mental note of all the things I need for the family and home. Chalk that up to the fact that I haven't gotten a call back from the application I submitted to the kids; school system and I'm kind of freaking out. There's a LOT of money to be spent on photography. Thank God I at least don't have to worry about the cost of film and chemicals for processing. Maybe it will all work out. Maybe, just maybe I'll be able to find a good deal on what is actually needed; and I can become good enough to actually call myself a photographer.
Then there's the whole thought process of people telling me I'm wasting my money on classes. They tell me I should read books, check out websites and read forums. But I've done a lot of that. And I really didn't retain nearly as much as I wish I had. I've forgotten more than I actually knew before I started, I think. Perhaps it's that old artist adage of being my own worst critic. That's probably true. I hate even my own self, let alone the work I have produced in the past. The one thing I created that I absolutely loved above all my other works was stolen from my locker my senior year of high school. A little part of me is proud that it was good enough to be stolen. But the other part of me really wishes I could look at it again from time to time. So through all this there is that voice, getting louder as the classes near, telling me I won't be good enough, I won't remember what I need to remember, and I will some how have wasted my father's money because I won't come out of the instruction any better. Maybe my mind will focus and I'll get some really good teaching. Maybe, just maybe, I'll come out the other end smarter, better than I was when I went in; and I can call myself a photographer.
What I really need...or maybe just want, I dunno, is someone that is deep into photography to talk to me. Someone possibly that I don't even know yet. I don't want family. I love you guys, but honestly, you're hardwired to placate my pessimistic and self-depriciating side. You find what you like in the pictures and say "Oh I like that," or "That's a nice one." I want a crictic. Someone that can look at each picture and say what they like, what I did right, and where I can improve. I don't really want friends in that role either. Maybe I have too many sarcastic friends. Both of them. But they love telling me I suck. It's all for laughs, and I know this. I just need an honest, but balanced opinion. That way, maybe I can improve. And maybe, just maybe I can become a photographer. But probably not.
I've already made a mental list of items I will want or need over the coming months/years just to be successful. I then broke those down into four more lists of things I will need soon, things I will want soon, things I will eventually need, but could function on some level without them, and finally, things I will have to have just to take the next series of classes. Next to those lists I made a mental note of all the things I need for the family and home. Chalk that up to the fact that I haven't gotten a call back from the application I submitted to the kids; school system and I'm kind of freaking out. There's a LOT of money to be spent on photography. Thank God I at least don't have to worry about the cost of film and chemicals for processing. Maybe it will all work out. Maybe, just maybe I'll be able to find a good deal on what is actually needed; and I can become good enough to actually call myself a photographer.
Then there's the whole thought process of people telling me I'm wasting my money on classes. They tell me I should read books, check out websites and read forums. But I've done a lot of that. And I really didn't retain nearly as much as I wish I had. I've forgotten more than I actually knew before I started, I think. Perhaps it's that old artist adage of being my own worst critic. That's probably true. I hate even my own self, let alone the work I have produced in the past. The one thing I created that I absolutely loved above all my other works was stolen from my locker my senior year of high school. A little part of me is proud that it was good enough to be stolen. But the other part of me really wishes I could look at it again from time to time. So through all this there is that voice, getting louder as the classes near, telling me I won't be good enough, I won't remember what I need to remember, and I will some how have wasted my father's money because I won't come out of the instruction any better. Maybe my mind will focus and I'll get some really good teaching. Maybe, just maybe, I'll come out the other end smarter, better than I was when I went in; and I can call myself a photographer.
What I really need...or maybe just want, I dunno, is someone that is deep into photography to talk to me. Someone possibly that I don't even know yet. I don't want family. I love you guys, but honestly, you're hardwired to placate my pessimistic and self-depriciating side. You find what you like in the pictures and say "Oh I like that," or "That's a nice one." I want a crictic. Someone that can look at each picture and say what they like, what I did right, and where I can improve. I don't really want friends in that role either. Maybe I have too many sarcastic friends. Both of them. But they love telling me I suck. It's all for laughs, and I know this. I just need an honest, but balanced opinion. That way, maybe I can improve. And maybe, just maybe I can become a photographer. But probably not.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Forget 30 days...
I don't know what I was thinking. I rarely have enough discipline to do things on a daily basis when they HAVE to get done. But to sit down and write when I don't even feel like it? Bah. Forget it. You can tell, too. The entries are pathetic. A couple paragraphs, poorly constructed and barely scratching the depth of what the questions ask.
Why? Probably because I don't want to. I thought I did. But I think now it's better to just write when I have something on my mind. Like tonight. A lot really.
My wife is on my mind. I can see her sleeping on her stomach, breathing slowly, deeply into the nearly quiet room. Her persistent fan not quite drowning out her respirations. It's interesting how she moves only a couple times each night. Once she's comfortable she stays there until I come to bed. She then rolls over once. A few hours later she rolls over one more time, and again, just before her alarm goes off. I know this from several nights of sleeplessness, watching her. It's a rhythmic pattern, and entirely subconscious. It doesn't matter what time I lay down for the night, THAT is when she chooses to roll over. The other times are almost clockwork.
And on the other end, I toss and turn all night. Never really finding that perfect spot of comfort. This isn't to say one of us gets better sleep, just interesting things I've noted. So different we are and so utterly and completely perfect together. It's like a ballet for which neither of us is really awake. I think it would be intriguing to record it sometime...if only to me.
There is also an overwhelming excitement in my thoughts. Today I received a check from Dad for the first of many classes in photography, Lord willing. I border on giddy, honestly. As stated earlier this month, I don't let myself have dreams. When I do I run so far out ahead of myself, turn and see all the failures I'm sure to have. I ensure that in my mind I could never achieve it, so I don't even try. I'm trying to change that.
For once I'm consciously making the effort to dream one step at a time. It hasn't been easy. Multiple times I've started thinking about the oodles of money I will need to find/acquire just to purchase the basic necessities to function. Problem is, I just signed up for the classes. I'm not even to the other point! This is what happens. So I've forced myself to step back a few paces and focus on the class. It starts August 3rd. Sure it's the fundamentals of photography, but I really think experiencial learning will be better than anything I've read in a book and forgotten a day later.
So it's frustrating when, for once, I'm not shooting myself in the foot and along comes someone else to do so for me. I'm not sure if my sin was getting too excited for a change...or attempting to share it with others. Perhaps I ought to have kept it to myself. And the funny thing is, if the comment had come from a friend rather than a family member, it probably wouldn't have phased me. I get that family will tell you the truth when friends don't always...but ugh. Why's it gotta be family that hurts so?
But no, I gotta focus on the good things, the positives in this. I know Karen is excited for me. She's excited that I'm actually going through with something beyond the first step. I'm past the idea stage. I actually commited to the second step and signed up for classes with the help of my Dad. I'm doing something, damn it.
It also feels good to know that Dad is behind my dreams as well. Don't get me wrong, my dad has been supportive in the past. But it has always seemed that he wanted to either dovetail my dreams into his, or just outright plug me into his. I told him about my desire to take these classes and instead of hearing how my photography would help him, he told me flat out if I needed help paying for the classes, let him know. At the time I didn't believe I would...but then there was an incident with Zachary, a paring knife, his stick and the ER; my youngest, Alex's tuition and the joys of property tax increases hit all at once. So I asked. Dad didn't "help" with the costs. He covered it. That really said and meant a lot to me. I probably ought to thank him a third or fourth time.
First week of August should be awesome. Photography classes, three of four days of GenCon. And hopefully catching up with two old friends from ENHS. Good week indeed. Top that off with the possibility of a part-time job at Alex and Sammie's school, AND that school starts just after that for the kiddies! Woot...practically freakin Christmas!
Dear God, if this is an upswing...let it last. I'm very happy. If this is genuine happiness...well, same request. Amen!
Why? Probably because I don't want to. I thought I did. But I think now it's better to just write when I have something on my mind. Like tonight. A lot really.
My wife is on my mind. I can see her sleeping on her stomach, breathing slowly, deeply into the nearly quiet room. Her persistent fan not quite drowning out her respirations. It's interesting how she moves only a couple times each night. Once she's comfortable she stays there until I come to bed. She then rolls over once. A few hours later she rolls over one more time, and again, just before her alarm goes off. I know this from several nights of sleeplessness, watching her. It's a rhythmic pattern, and entirely subconscious. It doesn't matter what time I lay down for the night, THAT is when she chooses to roll over. The other times are almost clockwork.
And on the other end, I toss and turn all night. Never really finding that perfect spot of comfort. This isn't to say one of us gets better sleep, just interesting things I've noted. So different we are and so utterly and completely perfect together. It's like a ballet for which neither of us is really awake. I think it would be intriguing to record it sometime...if only to me.
There is also an overwhelming excitement in my thoughts. Today I received a check from Dad for the first of many classes in photography, Lord willing. I border on giddy, honestly. As stated earlier this month, I don't let myself have dreams. When I do I run so far out ahead of myself, turn and see all the failures I'm sure to have. I ensure that in my mind I could never achieve it, so I don't even try. I'm trying to change that.
For once I'm consciously making the effort to dream one step at a time. It hasn't been easy. Multiple times I've started thinking about the oodles of money I will need to find/acquire just to purchase the basic necessities to function. Problem is, I just signed up for the classes. I'm not even to the other point! This is what happens. So I've forced myself to step back a few paces and focus on the class. It starts August 3rd. Sure it's the fundamentals of photography, but I really think experiencial learning will be better than anything I've read in a book and forgotten a day later.
So it's frustrating when, for once, I'm not shooting myself in the foot and along comes someone else to do so for me. I'm not sure if my sin was getting too excited for a change...or attempting to share it with others. Perhaps I ought to have kept it to myself. And the funny thing is, if the comment had come from a friend rather than a family member, it probably wouldn't have phased me. I get that family will tell you the truth when friends don't always...but ugh. Why's it gotta be family that hurts so?
But no, I gotta focus on the good things, the positives in this. I know Karen is excited for me. She's excited that I'm actually going through with something beyond the first step. I'm past the idea stage. I actually commited to the second step and signed up for classes with the help of my Dad. I'm doing something, damn it.
It also feels good to know that Dad is behind my dreams as well. Don't get me wrong, my dad has been supportive in the past. But it has always seemed that he wanted to either dovetail my dreams into his, or just outright plug me into his. I told him about my desire to take these classes and instead of hearing how my photography would help him, he told me flat out if I needed help paying for the classes, let him know. At the time I didn't believe I would...but then there was an incident with Zachary, a paring knife, his stick and the ER; my youngest, Alex's tuition and the joys of property tax increases hit all at once. So I asked. Dad didn't "help" with the costs. He covered it. That really said and meant a lot to me. I probably ought to thank him a third or fourth time.
First week of August should be awesome. Photography classes, three of four days of GenCon. And hopefully catching up with two old friends from ENHS. Good week indeed. Top that off with the possibility of a part-time job at Alex and Sammie's school, AND that school starts just after that for the kiddies! Woot...practically freakin Christmas!
Dear God, if this is an upswing...let it last. I'm very happy. If this is genuine happiness...well, same request. Amen!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Day Five: Something you hope to do in your life
That's easy. Hold grandchildren. Lots of them. Daily, weekly, I don't care, as long as they are close.
I love babies. Always have. They find me interesting, in that they've never seen anything quite so insane, and I just love them all over. The toes, the hair, fingers eyes and noses. Love em. Doc cut us off at four kids, and I've made peace with that. So now I'm just waiting on great-nieces and nephews...which bide my time till grandbabies. God willing I hope my children have as much a desire for medium to large families as I did. Then it will be grandbabies everywhere! And Granddad will be offering free baby-sitting if they live close. :)
Note to kids: when they start mouthing off though, they're out and on your dime!
I love babies. Always have. They find me interesting, in that they've never seen anything quite so insane, and I just love them all over. The toes, the hair, fingers eyes and noses. Love em. Doc cut us off at four kids, and I've made peace with that. So now I'm just waiting on great-nieces and nephews...which bide my time till grandbabies. God willing I hope my children have as much a desire for medium to large families as I did. Then it will be grandbabies everywhere! And Granddad will be offering free baby-sitting if they live close. :)
Note to kids: when they start mouthing off though, they're out and on your dime!
Day Four: Something you have to forgive someone for
Ooops? Issok...only two people actually read this, eh? :)
I would say that I need to forgive my father for manipulating his own son. I can down play the whole thing as it's just how he is, but it never ausages the anger. He did have a very rough and brutal first few years before coming to live with and be adopted by Grandma and Grandpa Hoover. And his mastery of manipulation was his defense mechanism. What hurt so much was when it finally dawned on me about four years ago that he was manipulating me. Sure the guilt trips were obvious...but my father is nothing if not subtle. Obvious is when he thinks you aren't getting it.
So yeah, it's hard to come to grips with the fact that I was merely a pawn in his machinizations. A piece moved when he needed it to be to cover another move or advance his agenda. And it still hurts. Letting that hurt go has been very difficult, made harder by the fact that he has always prided himself on how well he manipulates people.
I would say that I need to forgive my father for manipulating his own son. I can down play the whole thing as it's just how he is, but it never ausages the anger. He did have a very rough and brutal first few years before coming to live with and be adopted by Grandma and Grandpa Hoover. And his mastery of manipulation was his defense mechanism. What hurt so much was when it finally dawned on me about four years ago that he was manipulating me. Sure the guilt trips were obvious...but my father is nothing if not subtle. Obvious is when he thinks you aren't getting it.
So yeah, it's hard to come to grips with the fact that I was merely a pawn in his machinizations. A piece moved when he needed it to be to cover another move or advance his agenda. And it still hurts. Letting that hurt go has been very difficult, made harder by the fact that he has always prided himself on how well he manipulates people.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Day Three: Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Betcha thought I forgot today, eh?
I've a whole bunch of things. Isn't that always the case though? I'm not sure with everyone else, but I know I have always had a hard time forgiving myself for the things I've done. But perhaps the one I am most angry with myself is how I treated my mother growing up.
Don't get me wrong, my mother wasn't perfect. She made mistakes like any mother would. But she did her best with what life had given her. The problem lies in the fact that I was so arrogant to believe the one man in my life wouldn't manipulate his own son. And I fell for, and accepted everything he said in relation to my mother. I bought it all. And I turned it on a woman would would love me over anything.
There was a time in my youth when I would tell you I hated my mother. Everything she said and did I was immediately against. Even when it made logical sense, simply because she said it. All the vile, hateful things fed to me skewed my view of what was really being done for me.
I know Mom has forgiven me...if she even held it against me that is. She even tries to downplay it now, saying I was young and naive. It's sweet of her, but it doesn't really click with me. I did it consciously. I chose to be so angry with her. And it's something I'll probably have to actually face at one time or another in my life.
I've a whole bunch of things. Isn't that always the case though? I'm not sure with everyone else, but I know I have always had a hard time forgiving myself for the things I've done. But perhaps the one I am most angry with myself is how I treated my mother growing up.
Don't get me wrong, my mother wasn't perfect. She made mistakes like any mother would. But she did her best with what life had given her. The problem lies in the fact that I was so arrogant to believe the one man in my life wouldn't manipulate his own son. And I fell for, and accepted everything he said in relation to my mother. I bought it all. And I turned it on a woman would would love me over anything.
There was a time in my youth when I would tell you I hated my mother. Everything she said and did I was immediately against. Even when it made logical sense, simply because she said it. All the vile, hateful things fed to me skewed my view of what was really being done for me.
I know Mom has forgiven me...if she even held it against me that is. She even tries to downplay it now, saying I was young and naive. It's sweet of her, but it doesn't really click with me. I did it consciously. I chose to be so angry with her. And it's something I'll probably have to actually face at one time or another in my life.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Day Two: Something you love about yourself
I thought this one was going to be hard. I mean it's not hard coming up with something about myself that I don't like. But to think of something I love about myself? Yeah. Surprisingly though, I found something rather quickly. I adapt. To whatever is coming at me, whatever is changing around me, different conversations, different situations I can adapt to relate to those around or arrayed against me. This also plays well in my ability to see both sides of an arguement. Doesn't mean I change my mind, but I can truly see both sides.
Adaptation is probably my one defense mechanism that doesn't shame me to take a little pride in it.
Adaptation is probably my one defense mechanism that doesn't shame me to take a little pride in it.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Well this looks interesting...(Day one)
As stated last month the entire purpose of this blog is to get me writing again. I was in FL for a few days (sure I could write about that, but unless you know my wife's family and my penchant for humor that makes sense only to me, certain immature 13 year old boys and drunken hobos, it's just not as funny.) and now am home and sitting down scratching my newly trimmed mane (oh, my hair how I miss your lengthy tresses!) I have no clue what to write.
My goal was never to write daily. However I keep seeing friends and family doing these "blog challenges" or "Facebook challenges." Usually they are niche to a certain genre. Probably because I'm two years behind and all the general daily challenges are old and boring. But I found one I like. I'm stealing from another blogger who stole it from someone else. When I'm done, perhaps I'll write my own daily challenge to keep myself going.
So...onward!
Day 01 -> Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 -> Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Day One:
Something I hate about myself. Oh good, a nice, easy, high arching lobbed ball. I've totally got this one. Though, I'm sure this is the case of everyone. It's easy to see our own faults, even if we don't admit them.
I joke a lot about the passage where Jesus says to love your neighbor as yourself with "it's a good thing I hate myself, because I can't stand my neighbor." Sadly it's kind of true. Most of the time I loathe me. And not exclusively when I'm going through my downswings emotionally. Even when on my highs I'm not really that fond of myself. The only times I forget to hate myself is when I'm surrounded by my wife's family. I can't really understand why.
Anyway, I had to whittle it down to what I hate most about myself. Otherwise this would have been entirely too long. I hate that I stopped trying. There was a time in my life that I would try nearly anything (except different recipes for cooked carrots. Gross.) just to say I had done it. Somewhere along the way I decided to see all the failures I could accrue rather than the successes I might attain. I kept dreaming big dreams and ideas, but I would start poking holes in them before I even attempted to shoot for the stars.
There is a whole laundry list of reasons for this. But I won't bore you with the details of my life to this point. I've never gotten to that point where I could have a dream, a big dream and start to work towards it without shooting myself in the foot. I have ideas. Grand ideas. And before I have even finished looking at all the wonderful things associated with said ideas, I am finding my faults and failures. I can see a hundred ways that I will fail for every one way I see to succeed. I become encumbered with doubt and shackled to the fear of failure.
Thus, day one, something which I despise about myself. Well that was depressing.
My goal was never to write daily. However I keep seeing friends and family doing these "blog challenges" or "Facebook challenges." Usually they are niche to a certain genre. Probably because I'm two years behind and all the general daily challenges are old and boring. But I found one I like. I'm stealing from another blogger who stole it from someone else. When I'm done, perhaps I'll write my own daily challenge to keep myself going.
So...onward!
Day 01 -> Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 -> Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Day One:
Something I hate about myself. Oh good, a nice, easy, high arching lobbed ball. I've totally got this one. Though, I'm sure this is the case of everyone. It's easy to see our own faults, even if we don't admit them.
I joke a lot about the passage where Jesus says to love your neighbor as yourself with "it's a good thing I hate myself, because I can't stand my neighbor." Sadly it's kind of true. Most of the time I loathe me. And not exclusively when I'm going through my downswings emotionally. Even when on my highs I'm not really that fond of myself. The only times I forget to hate myself is when I'm surrounded by my wife's family. I can't really understand why.
Anyway, I had to whittle it down to what I hate most about myself. Otherwise this would have been entirely too long. I hate that I stopped trying. There was a time in my life that I would try nearly anything (except different recipes for cooked carrots. Gross.) just to say I had done it. Somewhere along the way I decided to see all the failures I could accrue rather than the successes I might attain. I kept dreaming big dreams and ideas, but I would start poking holes in them before I even attempted to shoot for the stars.
There is a whole laundry list of reasons for this. But I won't bore you with the details of my life to this point. I've never gotten to that point where I could have a dream, a big dream and start to work towards it without shooting myself in the foot. I have ideas. Grand ideas. And before I have even finished looking at all the wonderful things associated with said ideas, I am finding my faults and failures. I can see a hundred ways that I will fail for every one way I see to succeed. I become encumbered with doubt and shackled to the fear of failure.
Thus, day one, something which I despise about myself. Well that was depressing.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Practice run
He could feel it. That pulsating, building pressure behind his right eye. The muscles in his forearms tightened, relaxed and tightened again as he gripped the steering wheel. Jason wasn't really pressed for time. He was only fifteen minutes from work and he had more than forty minutes to arrive on time. Nor did he really have a problem with the traffic; it was no better, no worse than any other day. He knew that it all stemmed from the argument with his new bride the night before. He glared at the world around him from beneath his dark tresses and went over it all again in his head.
She was wrong. She had to be. If there was nothing else he knew about that fight, it was that he was right. It seemed simple to an outsider, sure, but Jason had to be right. And then it struck him like a lightning bolt, being right was all he was battling for. Going over the altercation for the umpteenth time in his head, he felt the shame wash over him.
"I'm such a jerk," he mumbled more to himself than any one or anything within earshot. He balled his right hand into a fist and punched the dashboard hard enough to break the skin on the knuckle to his middle finger. Ignoring the sting he looked up to see the light turning yellow and space in front of his '09 Honda. He pressed the gas pedal and thought he'd call Ashlie when he got to the office.
A movement to the left caught his eye. He casually turned his head as he was sliding through the intersection only to stare directly at the front grill of a quickly advancing CitiWorks dump truck.
"ASH-," barely escaped his lips as the deafening smack overtook all else.
She was wrong. She had to be. If there was nothing else he knew about that fight, it was that he was right. It seemed simple to an outsider, sure, but Jason had to be right. And then it struck him like a lightning bolt, being right was all he was battling for. Going over the altercation for the umpteenth time in his head, he felt the shame wash over him.
"I'm such a jerk," he mumbled more to himself than any one or anything within earshot. He balled his right hand into a fist and punched the dashboard hard enough to break the skin on the knuckle to his middle finger. Ignoring the sting he looked up to see the light turning yellow and space in front of his '09 Honda. He pressed the gas pedal and thought he'd call Ashlie when he got to the office.
A movement to the left caught his eye. He casually turned his head as he was sliding through the intersection only to stare directly at the front grill of a quickly advancing CitiWorks dump truck.
"ASH-," barely escaped his lips as the deafening smack overtook all else.
Friday, June 24, 2011
So what's with the name?
First off, I don't intend to write on this thing everyday. Get that idea out of your head right now. Doubtful I have either the ideas or the discipline to do so. However, today I have something in my brain. So lucky you!
My blog name makes little sense I'm sure. Those of you reading this that know me, both of you, probably just chalk it up to, "Ok, he's always been a little nuts...so it makes sense." Well, while that is true, my insanity plays little to the game here.
My first job with a paycheck was in the fields of Blueberry Acres, middle of Nowhere, Indiana. I pruned the bushes, and as the season went on, I picked blueberries for those too lazy to pick their own at a "U-pick" farm. The unspoken bonus to our paychecks was stuffing small handfuls of blueberries in our mouths when we weren't filling our buckets for Everett.
The best blueberries to pick were the dark, almost blue-black berries. They usually had the best flavor and all. But while those were truely good berries, my favorite were the slightly purple berries. Just a hint of red to say, "I'm not ripe yet!" They had that sour little kick to them. Really felt like it augmented the flavors of the fully ripe berries. Shoot, even sometimes the ones with a tiny bit of green that when set against the blue of the rest of the berry made them look like they had a white-ish flare were good to me. When Mom went to pick berries I would excite myself with picking out the unripened berries so her blueberry jelly would taste "better." Truth is I just wanted to eat the sour blueberries.
The wisdom is in how this reflects my life. Indeed it mirrors my outlook on the world, people and life in general almost perfectly. I've never done things according to acceptable norms. Sometimes I take pride in this, but as I grow older, it also tends to be a source of regret at times. From my dating and marraige to my wonderful Karen, my children's upbringing, to my eventual joining the Catholic Church and tastes in movies and music I turn the status quo on it's ear. When others are watching for big special effects or a well written story, I'm finding the artistic merit of the cinemtography, or the little hidden meanings some directors like to throw in for people like me. I took a side door into the Church really. It wasn't like I woke up one day and say "Hey! I'm going to be Catholic, now...let's go learn about the Church." No, I studies, tore apart and argued the Faith so that I could understand it. The initial goal was to even prove just how "right" I was to my clearly confused wife. Like all good Catholics, her answers of, "You don't ask why, you just accept it," never sat well with me. So I took it upon myself to learn as much as I could so that I could point out all the "errors" and how incredibly intelligent I was. What I found was that I wasn't nearly as smart as I thought I was. This could turn into an entirely different subject...or perhaps another blog for another day, eh?
Suffice it to say the name is to reflect all those "little things" that flavor the world and give that little wake up tang to my metal pallate. All the little observations, funny happenings and general disarray in my mind will find their way here. I will cover the obvious in my life, such as kids, angst, religion and politics. But who knows, might throw in a review for a book, movie or favorite pair of Fruit of the Looms. Enjoy the ride...
My blog name makes little sense I'm sure. Those of you reading this that know me, both of you, probably just chalk it up to, "Ok, he's always been a little nuts...so it makes sense." Well, while that is true, my insanity plays little to the game here.
My first job with a paycheck was in the fields of Blueberry Acres, middle of Nowhere, Indiana. I pruned the bushes, and as the season went on, I picked blueberries for those too lazy to pick their own at a "U-pick" farm. The unspoken bonus to our paychecks was stuffing small handfuls of blueberries in our mouths when we weren't filling our buckets for Everett.
The best blueberries to pick were the dark, almost blue-black berries. They usually had the best flavor and all. But while those were truely good berries, my favorite were the slightly purple berries. Just a hint of red to say, "I'm not ripe yet!" They had that sour little kick to them. Really felt like it augmented the flavors of the fully ripe berries. Shoot, even sometimes the ones with a tiny bit of green that when set against the blue of the rest of the berry made them look like they had a white-ish flare were good to me. When Mom went to pick berries I would excite myself with picking out the unripened berries so her blueberry jelly would taste "better." Truth is I just wanted to eat the sour blueberries.
The wisdom is in how this reflects my life. Indeed it mirrors my outlook on the world, people and life in general almost perfectly. I've never done things according to acceptable norms. Sometimes I take pride in this, but as I grow older, it also tends to be a source of regret at times. From my dating and marraige to my wonderful Karen, my children's upbringing, to my eventual joining the Catholic Church and tastes in movies and music I turn the status quo on it's ear. When others are watching for big special effects or a well written story, I'm finding the artistic merit of the cinemtography, or the little hidden meanings some directors like to throw in for people like me. I took a side door into the Church really. It wasn't like I woke up one day and say "Hey! I'm going to be Catholic, now...let's go learn about the Church." No, I studies, tore apart and argued the Faith so that I could understand it. The initial goal was to even prove just how "right" I was to my clearly confused wife. Like all good Catholics, her answers of, "You don't ask why, you just accept it," never sat well with me. So I took it upon myself to learn as much as I could so that I could point out all the "errors" and how incredibly intelligent I was. What I found was that I wasn't nearly as smart as I thought I was. This could turn into an entirely different subject...or perhaps another blog for another day, eh?
Suffice it to say the name is to reflect all those "little things" that flavor the world and give that little wake up tang to my metal pallate. All the little observations, funny happenings and general disarray in my mind will find their way here. I will cover the obvious in my life, such as kids, angst, religion and politics. But who knows, might throw in a review for a book, movie or favorite pair of Fruit of the Looms. Enjoy the ride...
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The first of many behind the times mental meanderings...
Ok, so...I've done it. I've decided to open my own "blog space." Who knows why. I did Myspace when it was new, but got way, way too many "Look at my nekkid pics!" invites to be comfortable anymore. I started doinking around on there, and moved to Facebook. Yeah, before Facebook was cool (but slightly after they allowed non .edu addresses to be accepted. So I'm cooler than you, but not as cool as I could be. LOL)
Anyway, the entire point of this is to get me writing again. I used to write prolifically in school. Granted, I'm 15+ years removed from that, but I'm looking forward this time. I know what I could do then, which means in theory I can do so again, but hopefully be better. I have two book ideas in my head. Frankly I think they are pretty nifty ideas...but then, I thought of them, so I should hope I think they are keen. Yeah, I said it, "Keen." Live with it. But I figure if I get myself writing, even nonsensical ravings in my mind, then I can slowly work towards actually sitting down and writing out more than "Chapter 1, It was a dark and stormy night."
I'm still figuring out what I'm going to be. I know who I am. But what I'm doing is an entirely different story. My life for 14 years has been dominated (as it should be) as my identity as a father. Nearly 9 of those years as a full-time stay at home Dad. Alex enters Kindergarten this fall. While this is a momentous occasion in our family, frankly it has me a little trepedatious of the wide open days ahead. Sure, I could sink a LOT of time into my games, or the web, Facebook or this blog...but Karen muttered something about "productive" and "beat your ass" in reference to "doing nothing." I dunno...when she looks at me a certain way, and her eyebrows draw closer together as they tilt downward, I tend to duck, cover and plug my ears. I kid, I kid, I never plug my ears.
So I've decided flat out that at this juncture in my life college is not for me. More on that another time. I'm looking at photography, taking a few classes so I know what I'm actually doing and going that route. Yet these book ideas keep resurfacing. I keep seeing not only a need for one of them, but an unspoken desire to read something of what I have been thinking about for so many years. So maybe this is just the subtle way of telling me, "It's time to focus, Michael. Sit down and get that stuff down on paper."
And thus, here I go. Welcome to the ride...(elipses intentional as there will be more to come.)
Anyway, the entire point of this is to get me writing again. I used to write prolifically in school. Granted, I'm 15+ years removed from that, but I'm looking forward this time. I know what I could do then, which means in theory I can do so again, but hopefully be better. I have two book ideas in my head. Frankly I think they are pretty nifty ideas...but then, I thought of them, so I should hope I think they are keen. Yeah, I said it, "Keen." Live with it. But I figure if I get myself writing, even nonsensical ravings in my mind, then I can slowly work towards actually sitting down and writing out more than "Chapter 1, It was a dark and stormy night."
I'm still figuring out what I'm going to be. I know who I am. But what I'm doing is an entirely different story. My life for 14 years has been dominated (as it should be) as my identity as a father. Nearly 9 of those years as a full-time stay at home Dad. Alex enters Kindergarten this fall. While this is a momentous occasion in our family, frankly it has me a little trepedatious of the wide open days ahead. Sure, I could sink a LOT of time into my games, or the web, Facebook or this blog...but Karen muttered something about "productive" and "beat your ass" in reference to "doing nothing." I dunno...when she looks at me a certain way, and her eyebrows draw closer together as they tilt downward, I tend to duck, cover and plug my ears. I kid, I kid, I never plug my ears.
So I've decided flat out that at this juncture in my life college is not for me. More on that another time. I'm looking at photography, taking a few classes so I know what I'm actually doing and going that route. Yet these book ideas keep resurfacing. I keep seeing not only a need for one of them, but an unspoken desire to read something of what I have been thinking about for so many years. So maybe this is just the subtle way of telling me, "It's time to focus, Michael. Sit down and get that stuff down on paper."
And thus, here I go. Welcome to the ride...(elipses intentional as there will be more to come.)
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