This Old Dad

  Here goes: I'm finally buckling down to document this wild ride I've signed up for. The idea of starting a blog hit me back when we were waiting for our daughter Raven to arrive in the winter of 2021/2022. I messed around with the idea, put it off, and honestly, didn't get much done. This has been a familiar story of mine for about 30 years. I've wanted to journal and write with a lot of starting and a whole lot of nothing to show for it. Wouldn't you know it, the universe has its own sense of humor, throwing another baby into the mix, due March 2024. Looks like I've got a second shot at this. A lot has changed since I first thought about what life would be with Raven in it. I was freaking out, unsure about everything, and questioning whether I could hack it. Just yesterday, a friend caught wind we were expecting again and had that same look of disbelief—like, why would I go for round two (actually 4)? I get it. I've asked myself the same questions. When t

Saturday morning the Bad Company song Early in the Morning from the album Desolation Albums came on my mix. Whenever I hear this song, I instantly fall into a trance and start playing it on repeat. After I got my fix, I started playing all of Bad Company's albums through their 6th, Rough Diamonds. Even though I know their catalog pretty well, I always seem to underestimate how much the music will move me and how solid all of the early albums sound. Desolation Angels came out in March 1979--right at the end of 8th grade for me. Of course, I'd heard Bad Company all over AM and FM radio before 8th grade, but I still hadn't added one of their albums to my growing collection. After being mesmerized by Rock 'n' Roll Fantasy on the radio, I splurged, got the album, and nearly wore it out. A couple of months later, I'd collected a haul of cash, checks, and savings bonds at my 8th-grade graduation party. Back then it was pretty common to give savings bonds as graduation

 My old, dark friend, the end-of-year winter depression that I fight against every year, is finally clawing back into my thoughts. Despite it, I convinced myself to write this entry at 1 am on Sunday night/Monday morning of the one-week countdown until school and work start again. This is my attempt to fight back.  The mood has seemed to take off since I started teaching, but I think that it's always been there. In the teacher version, the most depressing and dark days of the year for me are toward the end of winter break. It's an all-consuming dread that I'll never do justice to in writing and sounds like privileged whining when I listen to myself. But every year, right on schedule, I dive into a deep funk.  It's the anticipation of something awful that I can't reason myself out of and can't give up hope of avoiding. There is still time for a miracle in the constant calculations of my delusions, but the inevitable backing into a corner is imminent. I feel too f

Fortress by Queens of the Stone Age 2017 Before I officially became one, back when I only imagined being a parent, I had all kinds of ideas about how it would go and how my kids would respond to my wonderful parenting. Then reality hit. I constantly screwed up, said the wrong things, got upset at stupid bullshit and just generally disappointed myself regularly. I looked forward to other chances and opportunities. I measured the time left until my kids moved on as adults or, much sooner, stopped listening as teenagers. That time used to seem so far away! "I have 12 years to make up for saying/doing ______" has been replaying continuously in my head during my time as a parent. I've had a feeling since we moved back from the Philippines that time was slipping away. I grasp at it, but it's like trying to catch smoke. The 12 years to make up for everything is down to a number that I can easily count on one hand. It kills me. I try to motivate myself to be a better person a

Hey, Dude! Since this is my first post to you directly, I should explain what I'm hoping to accomplish. As I start this blog, I'm struggling with honesty. How much do I divulge? Am I brave enough to make myself look bad even when it isn't because of a funny situation? And no matter how much I hide it, you'll see that it would be easy to let my flaws define me, so there's plenty of unflattering material. We'll see. I'm realizing this particular kind of honesty hasn't been a strong point of mine up until now, but it's probably the most important kind of honesty to have. In this spirit of openness and honesty, I'll start small and admit that I worry about how long I'll be around to know you. My father only made it until my youngest sister was 16 before he died. He was 53; I'm already a bunch older than he was when he died and you aren't even born yet. I've got my work cut out for me. If I'm super fortunate, you'll be reading

My dorm room freshman year at Purdue, 1983 I began my college career at Purdue University in the fall of 1983. I had a disastrous academic career, if you gauge by most typical academic standards. Before I fell into many of my harmful patterns, I signed up for an extra one-credit class run by TAs from psychology 101. I don't remember anything about it except for the story I'm about to tell, but I'm assuming that they did lots of unethical experiments on us throughout the semester.  If you are math averse, it is almost 40 years since I started at Purdue. I've been exploring the idea of memory, so here are a couple of things about my memories of that time that are interesting to me: I only spent five years at college, even with my stalling and mishaps. I've now had 11 distinct five-year periods in my life, but that time of debauchery holds a lot of space in my memory. Not the actual memories, but the weight I give to that time. It's true that when I was, say, 28, c