Posts Tagged ‘
Deep Thoughts ’
Wednesday, August 21st, 2013
2 years, 9 months.
I really missed you today. While I was at work, I actually got sad thinking about how much I wanted to see you.
When I dropped you off at school this morning, even though things went great while we were leaving the house, as well as during the entire car ride, you didn’t want to let go of me when I was hugging you goodbye.
That’s not usual for you.
So I got caught in this sort of limbo between trying to hand you over to your teacher, knowing I needed to leave for work, and not wanting to let you go either.
I couldn’t shake off that thought for the rest of the day.
It’s not like something traumatic happened to cause it.
It’s not like you’ve suddenly spent less time with me here recently.
You just missed me… I guess?
I’m still in the frame of mind from a movie that Mommy and I watched last night, and really liked, on Netflix streaming called Ira and Abby.
Basically, the concept of the movie was this:
What if you met the person you were meant to marry and spend the rest of your life with- and decided to marry them the same day?
No matter what you learned about that person, you would love, forgive, and challenge that person no matter what; because you knew that in the end, you were meant to be with them.
Yes, of course, there’s a very real and romantic way of looking at that; like for Mommy and me.
But it also makes me think of you.
I know for a fact you and I were meant to be.
That means we will learn to love, forgive, and challenge each other as long as we’re on this Earth together.
And sometimes, just knowing that, well…
It causes us to be sad because we love each other so much.
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Tuesday, July 23rd, 2013
2 years, 8 months.
This morning I witnessed you doing something bizarre, something I’ve never seen you do before.
You and I were playing in the backyard when your cousins walked up. Immediately you put your head down and made your way over to a black pipe connected to the wall.
It’s not that you were pretending to be stuck. Instead, you just covered your face and didn’t say a word.
Even with your cousins trying to engage you, you remained a statue.
I couldn’t quite figure it out.
When you finally moved, you simply repeated the action at the screen door.
It’s not that you were angry, upset, or unhappy in any way.
You just didn’t want to socialize.
Trust me, I can relate! In order to function, I have to have a couple hours a day with no one around; which is why going on vacation with family can be challenging for me too.
So truly, I know what you were going through, now that I think about it.
What else could you do, as a toddler who claims to never be tired, and refuses to rest other than when he is forced to?
How else could you communicate with me that you just needed some time to yourself, without having to go somewhere to take a nap? You didn’t need physical rest.
What you needed was social rest.
You and I have that in common. We’re highly social, highly verbal people who need designated time to just zone out and mediate without someone or something interrupting our thoughts.
I get it now.
Next time this happens, I’ll try to accommodate somehow; maybe by taking you on a walk.
That’s why I enjoy writing, reading, and biking in my spare time. It’s a means of recharging from human interaction.
Whereas the total of two hours of driving we usually do when we’re not on vacation gives us that “zone out” time, we aren’t getting that regularly this week.
So while your behavior this morning did seem pretty weird, now that I’ve written to you about it, it totally makes sense.
And that only further exemplifies why taking a social break is a good thing sometimes.
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Wednesday, June 19th, 2013
2 years, 7 months.
Here’s my deep thought of the day for you, whatever year you end up reading this: Dumb tattoos are like weird children’s names.
I’ve learned it’s best to just not say anything in an effort to keep myself from slipping out what I really think.
But these days, there really are a lot of dumb tattoos and weird names for kids everywhere I go. Of course, I’m smart enough to not give examples of either.
What is considered to be a “dumb” tattoo or a “weird” name for a child is a matter of opinion… even if the vast majority happens to share the same opinion.
No matter what ridiculous example I could think of for what I believe is a poor choice for a tattoo, or for a child’s name, surely there would be someone who named their kid that or has a tattoo like I would describe.
I figure, in either case, it’s all in an effort to be unique and express who they are in a way they want the world to perceive them.
Do I personally care about other people’s kids’ names or other people’s tattoos? No, I don’t. It doesn’t affect me.
Does it have the ability to make me flinch just for a second, then text message my sister about it as we try to “one up” each other with our most outrageous findings? No comment.
But the effort to express how I really feel about seeing what I consider to be a dumb tattoo or hearing some weird name that a parent gave their newborn child… it’s just fruitless.
Though I will say this: At least a tattoo only directly affects that person for the rest of their life, unlike the name they give their child.
Even those very parents who name their kids the most bizarre things surely themselves hear other children’s names that they think are ridiculous and then they go through this same mental process as I am doing right now.
So ultimately, in a world of dumb tattoos and weird names that parents give their children, and in a world where mentioning either of those in a Facebook status update can get you in a vulnerable situation, it’s better to think it, but not say it.
Except for you. In private, I’ll totally tell you how I feel. Just don’t tell the kids at school I said it.
Photo: Self Introduction, via Shutterstock.
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Tuesday, May 7th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Yesterday’s “Should Daddy Get A Gun For The House?” originally had a different ending, in which I made it clear whether or not I decided to get a gun.
However, at the very last minute right before I published the letter, Mommy and I decided that broadcasting to the social media world whether or not we have a gun in the house is not a wise decision.
I think that to announce either way is to raise a red flag.
So in the likeness of the vague closure in the final episode of Lost, I ended the letter by simply saying, “My research is complete and my decision is now made.”
The way I see it, whether or not I own a gun is not really the issue; for me, anyway. The real issue for me was sorting out whether or not I am really capable, willing, and ready at all times to take the life of another human being who threatens the safety of my family.
That was what was important to me; taking the time to truly process that all the way through.
Like planning out a fire drill, in my head I have now mapped out an official “intruder drill.” Now I know the quickest and most efficient strategy for obtaining the [deadly weapons] on both floors of our house; in addition to immediately grabbing the cell phone to call 911.
It sounds so morbid, to say that I’m now ready to take the life of another human being, if necessary. And to be ready to do that at any given minute of the day.
But like Sayid on Lost, you want to have somebody on your island who is willing to be your bodyguard; someone who is always ready to fight and kill for you.
You want someone who is dangerous enough to keep you safe.
That person is me.
Photo: A toy hand gun, Shutterstock.
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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.
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