What Aday

 Sometimes the most random things end up meaning the most to you down the line as times winds it’s way through the months and years. I remember several years ago our neighbors the Adays got gutters placed on their house for the first time. Mr. Aday was a great guy and he’d almost have to be considering the number of times each week the boys would kick a ball or throw a frisbee over his fence. Like Mr. Wilson from the old Dennis The Menace comic strips, the call would go up “Heeeeeyyyyyy Mr. Aaaaadaaaayyyy! Our ball went over your fence again.” I can only imagine the shear number of dinners they interrupted hoping he would take mercy on their poor souls and walk into the backyard, wrestle the ball away from his collie Zeva, and heave it over the fence only to repeat the same steps the very next day. 

It was in the process of installing those gutters on the Aday house that the contractors left behind a pair of green cutting sheers. Nothing fancy. Not really worth anything. The sheers were simply a tool of the trade left behind by some oblivious worker. After days of telling Mandy the mere sight of them sitting on the corner of the roof was eating at my soul (as I’ve mentioned there is no rhyme or reason to my anxieties), I finally caught Mr. Aday coming out of his backyard one night and immediately offered to help him with “his” problem. The answer I received back did nothing to easy my troubles, “Naaa I figure sooner or later they will realize they left them behind and come back for them.” And so they sat there perched on the corner of the roof line mocking me every time I stepped outside. Winters came, Summers passed, Mr. Aday himself even moved on after awhile. Spencer Tommy Aday passed away on November 27th, 2019. He was a proud father, grandfather, husband, a good friend to two boys who never learned to control a basketball, and their dad who always looked forward to seeing his smiling face as he made his way to his wood shop. 

Today just happens to be Memorial Day 2021 and it also happens that Mr. Aday was a U.S. Marine himself. I’m sure his family is remembering him in their own special way. As for me;  I couldn’t help and smile as I walked out to play basketball with Alex this morning and looked up at those old green cutting sheers still sitting there all these years later on the corner of the roof line where some oblivious worker left them behind. As I said before, it’s often the most random things that end up meaning the most to us down the line. 

The Clone Saga

From the moment your children are born a new game begins to emerge as each child starts to take on the personality of either yourself or your significant other. Sometimes it’s cute, “He looks just like his daddy!”. Other times it’s a commentary on some of your not so favorite traits, “That’s your attitude I’m getting from him. Just look at the way he’s looking at me.” Still other times it’s said out of complete exasperation, “I don’t know what to do. He’s literally driving me nuts and it’s like talking to a pre-teen you!”. I typically take all of the above as a compliment....until the things that make me who I am start to emerge in the the not so best of ways. 

There are certain characteristics that I’m happy to pass on. My good looks, sense of humor even in the most depressing of situations, ability to keep pushing ahead no matter the challenge, a love of a good Spider-Man comic...then there are the things that keep you awake at night as you search your soul for ways to stop what you see as almost inevitable. You can see the mistakes they are making and while not exactly the same set of circumstances, it’s as if history is repeating itself. Maybe this person isn’t the best choice of friend? Please buddy, just focus on one thing and quit halfway doing three different things. I know you think this test will be a breeze, but if you don’t study you’re gonna get hit with a curveball. Quite striking out and expecting to land on your feet, you gotta be prepared for the What If’s. 

I understand they are ultimately their own person, but somethings are just genetics and isn’t it our job as parents to stop the cycle that has plagued you your entire life (even if you didn’t always know it at the time)? That last sentence is a doozy. How can you fight genetics? How can you change the things in them that have made you who you are? Heck my dad wasn’t even around the majority of my life and I still turned out as a carbon copy (with some added anger issues supplied by the angry man).  It sounds silly but I often find myself praying that the her in him will emerge someday and present itself like long dormant superpower. “Wow Dad! Look at how good I can drive!” “Dad, I just balanced my budget for the entire year.” “Dad, I made macaroni and cheese without reading the directions on the side of the box!” 

Lately I keep coming back to the same problem, what if I can’t stop him from turning into me?

Going down swinging

 My kids are sarcastic by nature and genetically designed to be able to tell a good joke. Their mother and I might as well be practicing a standup up routine each day, constantly trying out new material on each other and those around us. I’m sure we are not nearly as funny as we think we are and I know for a fact that my kids aren’t. However they have learned though that there exists a very fine line between a comment that might get you grounded for a week and one that will leave the crowd begging for more. Gotta give them both credit, nobody ever hit a pitch they didn’t swing at. I just wish they wouldn’t take so many turns at the plate. 

Alex seems to be the master of this (not that Adam doesn’t make regular attempts to leave the room on a high note). Like a dog with a shock collar, Alex seems to have this compulsion to constantly test out his boundaries regardless of how many times he ends up running the other way screaming as if being chased by an axe murderer. Most of the time he’s just comes across as a jerk (again genetics at the top of the game), yet quite often he somehow hits the bullseye and gets the standing ovation that fuels him just enough to keep him coming back for more. A month ago I was trying to get out of a promise I had made to attend an event with him. It just happened to be the same week he was grounded for lying over some stupid test grade. When he asked what I would tell the people hosting the party why we couldn’t come, I shot back that I would simply say I had to work. With out missing a beat, he pointed toward the outfield and swung for the fences, “Isn’t that the same thing I’m currently grounded for? Not telling the truth?” It was all I could do not to trip him as he ran the bases and slid into home. 

Sorting Through the Went Through It

 The thing about anxiety is that so many times you don’t realize you are going through a bad case of it until you’ve somehow managed to come out on the other side. Sure you may recognize a symptom or two while in the heat of the moment, but rarely to the point where it clicks that you are quickly going down a bad path. At least that’s the way it is with me at times. Path is an interesting word to use in this case because it gives the image of different roads to travel down. Each road representing a different decision  that needs to be made and each decision a potential catastrophe that could spawn from making the wrong choice. Pretty soon ever neuron and synapses is clogged like a rush our traffic jam full of angry middle aged white guys all trying to get on & off the interstate at the same time. 

Not to say that I can’t recognize that I’m having a difficult time dealing with all that’s going on around me, it’s just that recognizing the signs and turning around the train are two completely different tasks. I have triggers that I definitely avoid as much as I can, but there are some that simply can’t be avoided. Any holiday that involves me having to buy something for someone else sends me over the edge. Checking the mailbox. Large crowds...small crowds for that matter (I guess that would just be people then.lol). Most recently teaching my teenage Adam how to drive is something that scares the living daylights out of me. Gotta be done though. Me having a debilitating fear of life isn’t an excuse for not living it. One reason I got off the meds was so I could be more involved and that’s certainly what’s happening. I’m getting all the involvement I can stand and then some. Chemical imbalance be dammed, I gotta learn to push through it and make the hard choices easier and the easy choices not so hard. 

Keeping busy helps. Lately I’m at my most depressed when just sitting and staring at the television. Back in the day I would live for a Saturday spent on the couch. Those days are gone though as an idle mind brings an avalanche of anxiety. What if’s will choke you just as easily as a piece of overdone steak will. 

I try surrounding myself with sayings that keep me positive. Knickknacks that keep my hands and deepest parts of my brain moving. Avoiding the signs that my mind is going to down a path of potholes and self made  obstacles. I think the hardest part is that just because I have it under control today, doesn’t mean I’m fixed or cured. Everyday brings a new set of hurdles and like a leaky faucet, if I don’t keep a constant watch on how things are filling up I’m likely to end up with a bucket and a mop trying to clean up the mess (God I love metaphors). 

Spork it

 You would think something like a storm coming down the street knocking over trees and catching nearby buildings on fire would be tonight’s main topics, but I’d rather talk about sporks. Lately I’ve been very aware of my carbon footprint. How many plastic bottles do I go through each week? Straws in the trash only to end up choking a turtle somewhere. You know how many plastic forks I go through away each week? Like 10-15!!! That’s not counting spoons and of course everything comes with a knife that couldn’t cut string cheese. I gotta say the guilt is really starting to make me consider carrying around my own set of silverware. Then I’d have to keep washing it off all the time and that seems like a huge hassle too. Poor turtles...

I’d like to stick my foot up the butt of the inventor of the spork. I mean pick a lane and do one thing well. Instead some doofus thought it would be a good idea to combine a fork that won’t stab with a spoon that won’t scoop. Just do one thing right!!! Ever try a yogurt cup with a spork? Hope you like leaving a full teaspoon in the bottom spork guy. How’s last night left over chicken? Better stab it and eat it like a popsicle cause that spork is only gonna get you so far. 

I get this is a lot of silverware talk...honestly when was the last time our silverware was made from actual silver? Some people call it plastic ware which makes me wonder how I’m supposed to wear it. Maybe like a cuff link or lapel pin. 

I’m the cure

I’ve been very open with my kids about my anxiety. I even went as far sitting down with them and describing my mental illness. At time I was coming off 5 years of being on meds and it was impossible to hide the side effects. The sudden bursts of anger. The extra energy. In some ways it was like I’d been gone for an extended trip only to find everyone around me had changed when I got back. And I guess there was a part of me that had been gone... lulled to sleep each day by tiny chemicals designed to quiet the voices in my head. At the start of the year I realized I no longer really knew who I was anymore. What was left of my personality after the drugs had been told their assistance would no longer be required? Five months later I still struggle with the feelings of worthlessness, depression, self doubt... but I no longer feel like a audience member to my life and instead I’m back to playing a staring role.  I understand there is no cure for what I have only relief through daily maintenance on my soul. Hence I’m gonna give journaling another shot. 

Christmas

Halloween isn’t even good and buried in the ground and already Christmas decorations are invading the entire landscape. Without even a thought to consider Thanksgiving, many of us have jumped straight into the holiday season. Attics are being entered for the fist time in eleven months and what is brought out is a winter wonderland in spite of the 80 degree temps we still seem to be having outside. Along with all the trees going up are questions by many who wonder out loud why does Christmas seem to get here so much sooner each year? While I’m sure the real answer lies in the dollars & cents behind it all, I like to think that what it desires most this time of year is what it feels is missing the remainder of it. That feeling of love & hope so closely connected to the holiday season.

In Philippians 4 Paul tells us to always rejoice in the Lord. He doesn’t say rejoice at the end of the year or when things are going your way. Rejoice! When? Rejoice always! Everyday the very same World that tries to move up the calendar and make Christmas happen earlier and earlier, also does it’s best to destroy and ruin and end any hope of a better tomorrow. Yet even as the days grow darker as evil spreads around us, as Christians we are to rejoice! Rejoice not in what did or didn’t happen today or in what holiday is just around the corners, but in the sacrifice that was made on that cross in Calvary and the promise of what a life lived in worship of God will bring to those that persevere.