Archive for the ‘
Deep Thoughts ’ Category
Saturday, May 4th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Today Mommy and I asked you what you want to be when you go up.
After 5 sincere seconds of contemplation, you came to a decision:
Mommy recommended you’d probably be happier if you were a king instead.
But then you changed your mind, anyway.
Your new hopeful profession? Butterfly.
Then, a horse.
(It was as bizarre as last Saturday morning when I watched you play at the indoor playground; wearing a dinosaur costume, pushing a baby stroller with two plastic building toys on the front, to make it look like a bulldozer.
I thought it was also an interesting choice that the baby doll in the stroller was face-down the whole time.)
Also, the unrehearsed answers you gave us today for your speculated career choice actually reminded me of one of my favorite songs in the world, “One Of These Things First” by Nick Drake:
“I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock. As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock. I could be here and now. I would be, I should be. But how? I could have been one of these things first.”
Your final answer at the end of the day was “monster truck,” by which I think you mean, “monster truck builder/driver,” like Frank the Monster Maker on All About Monster Trucks on Netflix.
Based on the way you were totally into watching a “how to build a monster truck” video on YouTube with me this morning, I’d say that sounds about right… that is, if you carry out your love for monster trucks for the next two decades.
I hope you have better direction than I did going in to college, not positively knowing what I wanted to do (and be) for a living.
Somewhat randomly, I ended up graduating from Liberty University with a degree in English, only to enter the work force in sales and recruiting; eventually to transition into now more of a customer service and human resources position.
It’s not something I could have planned, but it’s how I help make a living for our family.
Maybe life will make more sense to you at a sooner age. Maybe I can help with that… with all my clever wisdom and whatnot.
But if you want to build and drive monster trucks for a living, I think that could be pretty cool.
Or you could be a horse. Being a horse would be pretty awesome, I think.
Friday, April 26th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
You are in the stage now where you’re piecing together catch phrases you hear Mommy and I say and incorporating them into your observations conversation.
Yesterday as I drove you home from school, I guess there was a gnat or something flying around you. This is what I heard:
“No way, bug! Get in the cheese!… You’re in trouble. No ma’am! Just chill out. Go find a home.”
From there, your conversation with the bug went from 2nd person perspective to 3rd person narration:
“The bug needs to find his parents. They hold him. They take care of him. That’s weird.”
I’m still a little confused about the cheese part. Do you want bugs to live inside of cheese wedges? Is that where they usually call their home?
The part I understand most from your conversation with/about the bug is this: The bug has a home where he belongs; where he has a Daddy and Mommy who love him.
Thanks, Son. That’s sweet of you to assume the bug’s parents love him the way Mommy and I love you.
I love your backseat radio show. That’s how I’m starting to think of it now.
In particular, I thought your rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” was pretty creative:
“Twinkle, twinkle, purple monster truck…”.
As you would say, “That’s weird.”
Wednesday, April 24th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Two weeks ago we visited my grandma, Lola Mendez Metallo, in the assisted living complex. She told us a story I had never been made aware of.
When her own grandmother was only 15 years old, on the way home from church, she was kidnapped by a widowed man who already had 4 children; being forced to become his wife and have children with him.
One of those children born to her was my grandma’s father.
My grandma explained that sort of thing wasn’t uncommon in Michoacán, Mexico back in those days.
It’s a dark story, and a strange part of our family tree.
I also know that your great-grandmother on Mommy’s side came to America from Ireland, as an indentured servant.
That couldn’t have been too awesome.
However, the fact that our family tree contains “broken branches” is nothing unique to our family. Climb any family tree in America, and it won’t take long to find some less than perfect situations which eventually led to modern day.
You and I also share Native American blood. I’m sure there’s an interesting story somewhere with that too. By interesting, I mean less than desirable.
It seems most old movies about the Wild West conveniently portray “the Americans” as the good guys and “the Indians” as the bad guys. (Accidental racist?)
I think about this stuff. Our family tree consists of both oppressors and victims.
While it’s easy to be removed from the reality that our ancestors had to experience because it was so long ago, if it weren’t for their hardships, we wouldn’t be here today. Their lives were just as real as ours are now.
Even just to think: Mommy was born as the 9th child of her family. How few American households in 1981 had a 9th child born?
The fact that Mommy was ever born is a rare enough situation to try to grasp.
You’re not here by accident, son. You are part of this universe for a purpose.
Tuesday, April 23rd, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
I am told on a weekly basis, by family members, by friends, by co-workers, and readers, that I am a very “black-and-white, cut-and-dry” person; that there is no gray with me.
It’s as if I put every situation and event in it’s own compartment in my brain; as if history always repeats itself.
Maybe that’s part of the reason I’m a vegan. All or nothing, right?
Maybe that’s why I make a living by discovering performance formulas for my company to help them become more efficient.
I look at what does work, separate it from what doesn’t work, then check for reoccurring patterns.
Sure, I realize the world isn’t categorized in perfectly organized compartments, but I work to help make it that way as much as possible.
Son, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be a lot like me in those regards. In fact, I’m pretty sure you already are that way.
Sunday afternoon as Mommy was preparing dinner, you got upset because she wasn’t able to play trains with you like I was. After about 90 seconds of a breakdown because you couldn’t stand to be playing without her though she was only 10 feet away, I had to take action.
You and I went upstairs to play. You had to be moved out of the compartment of “Mommy, play with me!” to “Me and Daddy are playing like boys!”
By the time we stepped into your room, you were fine with Mommy being downstairs… in a “different compartment.”
The base of our papasan rocking chair broke, only leaving the dome-shaped seat part intact.
As I spun you around and quickly swayed you, it magically became a yellow submarine, a monster truck, and a horsey.
Together, you and I were loud, rough, and technically violent in our Daddy-son compartment.
You stripped yourself down to your pro-wrestler/superhero attire, which is a diaper and nothing else.
But once Mommy entered the room, you became a different little boy; a little boy who wanted to read and wear clothes, not play.
I’ve also noticed that everyday when I drop you off at school, you get quiet the moment I hand you over to your teacher, not speaking or showing emotion again until after I’m out of sight.
Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m drawing too many conclusions; because after all, I’ve already established that I look for patterns and formulas in everything.
Maybe little girls can just as easily be the same way. I wouldn’t know about that; no history to build on since you don’t have a sister.
Friday, April 19th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Before you read this at some point in the future, ask me first to make sure you’re old enough; because the content is dark, disturbing, and designed for a more adult audience:
The story of a man named Kermit Gosnell is finally going viral, even though it is being ignored by the major news networks. That’s why I want to encourage people to talk about it.
I first learned about this over the weekend in an article called, “Why Dr. Kermit Gosnell’s Trial Should Be A Front-Page Story.”
Basically, a man was caught performing illegal abortions, “aborting” 7 babies after they were already born; plus he was responsible for the death of an adult female who died due to complications of his procedures, as well.
For me, this story raises some interesting points regarding the extremely polarizing topic of abortion; for both sides:
A) If abortion were illegal, there would probably be more similar cases of “botched abortions” like this going on. (Pro-choice point.)
B) Why is this story more disturbing because those 7 babies had already exited the birth canal? Why does exiting the birth canal, regardless of the age of the fetus, determine whether the word “aborted” or “killed” is used? Is a photo of an aborted baby more disturbing than of a child “aborted” after it was born? (Pro-life point.)
According to last year’s Gallup poll, 41% of Americans identify as pro-choice, which is a record low.
As a pro-life Libertarian, I passionately support laws against abortion, though I do recognize that a law simply makes it more difficult for people to commit an action which the majority of the population perceives as morally wrong. The law doesn’t necessarily change the demand for the outlawed action, it just helps prevent the action from being as commonly practiced.
However, something did cause the percentage of people who are pro-choice to drop from 47% to 41% in just a year’s time. So… something caused America’s views on abortion to change within a year’s time… and I doubt it’s people yelling at each other on Facebook in all caps and leaving condescending comments on blogs.
With that being said, I wonder how the story of Dr. Kermit Gosnell will influence the percentage of Americans who are pro-choice in the next Gallup poll.