Aerial overhead of my home as a child, and today.

As a parent, I have often heard, and said, “Things are different now. We can’t let our kids do what we did as children.”

I’m not sure, but I might be lying both to myself and to my kids.

When I think back to my summers growing up in what could only charitably be called “the suburbs” of Mobile, Alabama, the environment is very similar to where my kids live now.

• My childhood “Pine Run” community spanned a linear mile easily, with numerous side streets. Today, we live in a similarly-sized neighborhood, albeit with a few more hills.
• Riding around on my little Huffy bike growing up, there were always people around. Today, there are probably more people walking around my community because we have sidewalks, where there were none when I was little.
• We had our share of weirdos and pervs in my youth. In fact, growing up, I lived just through the woods from the “Albert P. Brewer Development Center.” Closed now, the Center was a hospital for the mentally challenged. Now and again, one of the patients would “escape” and the local police would drive through the neighborhood keeping a lookout. We all knew then not to talk to strangers or, God forbid, take candy from them. None of that has changed today.

So why do we kid ourselves and pretend like we’re protecting our children from “the times” when things are little changed from when we were kids?

I don’t know for sure, but I think it comes down to awareness. Awareness of what’s going on around us. Awareness of the “statistics” around child trafficking and homicides and heaven forbid, the awareness that our every move is being watched, and judged, by other parents.

During this COVID lockdown, my three children, led by my 16-year-old, have taken to 10-15 mile bicycle rides during the day. I showed them a good circuit once and they’ve repeated it just about every day for a week now.

But, along the route, they pass a couple of my daughter’s friends’ houses. One of which, includes a helicopter mom who simply cannot believe we allow our three kids to roam around on their own.

I can’t help but recall my summers growing up. Dad would leave for work. My brother and I would eat breakfast and then we were either doing chores or kicked out of the house for the next 4-6 hours, returning only for lunch or a Band-Aid. If you were thirsty, there was a hose on the side of the house.

We spent our days riding bicycles all around the neighborhood, and yes, often where our parents told us not to go. But that’s what being a kid is about; exploring on your own and taking risks and hoping you don’t get hurt or worse yet, caught.

If my parents had seen the poorly constructed bike ramps I jumped or seen some of the disgusting bodies of water we skim-boarded in with our pilfered bits of plywood from our father’s garages, they’d have been furious.

But they didn’t see it; we did it anyway, and we survived. And we made some pretty great memories along the way.

Still, though, the thought of allowing my 10-year old daughter to ride her bike alone in the neighborhood terrifies me–as it should. But that’s on me, not her. She knows what to, and not to, do and that’s the best I can do at this point.

Let your kids go out and just “play.” They might surprise themselves, and you.

I was doing some more work to get the Trusts set up for the kids the other day, as per your Will. And I realized that it was the same day of the month that you died. And for a second, I panicked, thinking I’d somehow forgotten that you had been gone for some significant time (like two years). But then I realized it’s March, and you died in October and, well, at least the panic passed.

It’s been 17 months since you died. In many ways, it feels like an eternity. In other ways, it feels like only weeks. I gotta tell you, that surprise Will really threw a wrench in things. I thought we had a gentleman’s agreement on handling your assets and then you had to go and surprise everyone with a new Will that said the exact same thing, only putting significantly burdensome costs and requirements on me for the next 12 years. And while, when I stop and take my feelings out of it, I understand what you “meant,” that part about purposefully not leaving me anything…damn that hurt. A lot.

If felt like, that at the end of 43 years of being your son and being grateful for all you’ve done for me, through thick and thin, you were finally, publicly honest and admitted, “He’s not mine.” The one person who stuck by you through three divorces and four women. One of the only people who called to check on you when you got sick and who drove hours on the weekend to come and sit in awkward silence, just to spend a few remaining minutes with you before your inevitable passing. The only person with the balls enough to tell your girlfriend what a horrible person she was–how YOU couldn’t see it is beyond me–and that you were my father and that not she, and not anyone, could tell me what I could and couldn’t do with my dad–especially when it came to taking you to your cancer treatments.

You’ll never know what you missed out on because of her. How many hours of baseball games and soccer matches and football where your grandchildren, or as close as you were ever going to get to REAL grandchildren, played like the amazing kids they are. Sitting around the living room at night and hearing their laughter and just looking at them and being amazed at their beauty. You missed out on all of that because you put someone else, someone you met only a few years earlier, over your family.

Or maybe you never really, truly felt they were yours to feel proud of, even though I tried my hardest to make it seem so.

That rich girlfriend of yours, the one you trusted over your own son, the woman who advised you on how to “protect” what you wanted to entrust to your grandchildren (your ONLY grandchildren MY children); she cost your Estate more than $20K in taxes and fees. She wasn’t nearly as smart as you gave her credit for, or even as knowledgeable about finances, as I am. You should have trusted me.

“My way,” the way we discussed between the two of us, would have cost nothing, would have sped up how quickly we settled your Estate, wouldn’t have saddled me with dozens of hours of paperwork and filed taxes (3 additional filings each year now) and legal fees. And it wouldn’t have caused me to resent the shit out of you as much as I do now.

But you always were a sucker for the ladies, weren’t you? “Whatever she wants” is how one of your ex-wives described your divorce strategy. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you in your passing.

I ain’t missing you at all. Not today at least.

These were Norvell bras. I can still see–and smell–the dark blue, pleather suitcase which housed her inventory. It had a silk-screened, white outlined face of a generic woman on the outside. It was almost as large as me at the time and it didn’t have wheels.

It was my job to bring it in from the car, while my mom rang the doorbell and exchanged pleasantries with the “client” — always the “client.”

My mom was actually my stepmom and she and I were closer in age then she and my dad; my adopted dad to be more precise. A few years earlier, he and my adopted mom split after only a couple of years together, post-adoption, and my dad–always a sucker for a sad luck story–befriended my now-step-mom, who worked with him and who was going through a rough patch of her own. That marriage would last 14 years in total and end in divorce the very year I left home for the military. My father should have seen it coming–I saw it coming–but the suddenness and certainty of it rattled him and he never quite got over it.

But, suddenly at home, still young, and saddled with two young boys, my new, young step-mom no-doubt sought a little bit of independence in what was likely one of the original “independent sales representative” companies, even before Avon was a thing.

What made Norvell different, apparently, was both the quality of the craftsmanship of the garments, but also that they were custom-fitted.

Here’s where it gets weird for a tween boy.

After I had half-dragged, half-toted the oversized suitcase full of bras into the prospective customer’s home, my step-mom and the “client” would disappear off into a room and close the door where, presumably, the client would remove her top for my step-mom to measure her bust using a long, cloth measuring tape. The tape measure was blue and it remained in use in our home for years, long after the Norvell days were past. I could never see it lying there in the junk drawer in the kitchen and not pick it up, wondering in its softness so unlike my father’s unyieldingly stiff, and often painful, Stanley measuring tapes. And I could never NOT think about the hours I spent just outside the door of what was many a young boy’s fantasy.

As a boy about to hit puberty, my mind went on some pretty imaginative trips while waiting on the “custom fitting” to complete. Just a few feet from me were women, in the next room, taking their clothes off. And these were not usually old women either. No, they were 30’s-ish moms, usually from our church, who had the kind of money available  to spend $35 or $40 dollars on a custom-fit garment in the 70s and early 80s.

I had always been aware of girls. In fact, I became more shy as I got older, so even as a young boy, I appreciated the female form most definitely. And, most of these ladies were, at least moderately, attractive. Oh, if only the door was cracked just a little, or what if someone inadvertently stepped out of the room to get something and I saw…but no. That never happened.

Inevitably the fitting would conclude, usually in about thirty minutes. I’m not sure my step-mom ever didn’t make a sale. These business models almost guarantee sales anytime a customer is put in a position to feel that they owe the representative something and didn’t they owe my step-mom the purchase of at least one bra after she and her young son had come all the way out on a fine, warm summer morning to her home? Of course, they did. But, I suspect there were few follow-up orders, which explains why this was a fairly short-lived endeavor for my step-mother.

Eventually, the in-home custom fittings grew less and less, and the orders dried up. But, I still remember my mom keeping the blue suitcase full of bras. And I remember her telling me how well made they were and that I was to never, ever put them in the dryer when I was transferring laundry from the washer. And so, I remember so clearly pulling out these off-white bras, twisted and damp from the washing machine. And I would look at them and think, “They don’t look like much.”

But, for a time, they were a symbol of something for many. An independence they felt they needed in a time where women’s roles were just beginning to shift from Suzy-homemaker to the Power Pant-Suit. And clearly, something about this ritual left its mark on me, else I wouldn’t remember it so vividly now.

An internet search for Norvell yields a generic page listing its business model and a website link that returns a 404 error. Seemingly, Norvell is no more.

Long live custom-fitted women’s undergarments.

Here are the big-categories where all that money is going in order of amount from greatest to least:

• Individuals (both in stimulus and unemployment benefits) – $560B
• Large Corporations – $500B
• Small Businesses – $377B
• State and Local Gov’ts – $339B
• Public Health – $153B

Here’s a nifty graphic from Howmuch.net if you’re interested:

But, as many have pointed out, the plan for how this money is spent is mired in murky politics, when it should be transparent since, it’s taxpayer money after all.

Still though, even without diving deep into the details, something just doesn’t smell right. Here are a few of my own thoughts on how this money is being divided up.

Starting with Individuals.

$300B is going straight to individuals. But only if you’re under the income limits established ($75K p/year for individuals and $150K for married couples).

First off, if you live together, unmarried, and you each make less than $75K p/year, then you’re effectively gaming the system, which means married couples are getting screwed.

Secondly, what if you lost your job this year? That stimulus money would sure come in handy, but too bad; you made too much money LAST year. Oh, sure you’ll get more money in unemployment benefits each week, which brings me to my next point.

If you made less than $700 a week before the pandemic, why do you deserve, or even NEED, an additional $600 in unemployment benefits EACH WEEK now? For these people, the pandemic is an unexpected, and unearned boon. Why isn’t this benefit scaled based on prior weekly income rather than just given out to anyone willy nilly?

Finally, how long will this go on? I’m sure the idea is “just until you get back on your feet and get a job” but we all know there are many in our society who have no intention of ever trying to get a job again, or for that matter, can get a job paying the same as they will be getting in their unemployment checks.

Large Corporations

Have you priced out a new automobile in the last week? Or checked airline ticket prices? Guess what? The prices are about the same.

No one appears to be in a hurry to fire-sale their products or services yet, here we are, giving away billions in free aid. Now, I understand that these companies employ workers. I get that, I do.

But think this through: If you don’t lower prices now, no one is buying. Which means, when the economy DOES get back on its feet, you’re going to have skilled workers standing around doing nothing because there is already a full inventory of product. Automobile manufacturers aren’t going to build new cars and have them sit on the assembly line while they clear out the 2020 models. Or maybe they will. Just maybe the fire sale won’t come DURING the pandemic, but after. If that happens, I’m less concerned.

On the other hand, if businesses lower their prices now, people will spend that stimulu–perhaps unwisely, but at least the bulk of it won’t go straight into the hands of landords and credit card companies–and by the time the economy kick-starts, manufacturing will be right on track for a great holiday season.

Small Businesses

I have no issues with this money. I’ve seen far too many struggling small businesses already in my community. My only beef with this category is that this money is largely coming in the form of loans, not grants and in payroll deferrals, rather than forgiveness.

State and Local Governments – There is already a separate category for “Public Health”, which means this category gives governments what exactly? Where is the transparency accountability for all this free money? Will state and local governments NOT collect taxes? Will they be handing out free money also? Sounds unlikely. So, if government offices are shut down, what precisely do they need MORE money for? They’re still going to collect taxes; they will not have a huge revenue shortfall like the private sector. So we’re basically paying governments for doing almost nothing more than they were doing before Covid-19.

These are just a few questions I have, which I don’t hear anyone asking. Conservatives don’t want to monkey with the movement this close to an election, and Liberals are dancing in the streets and wondering how ELSE they can coaxe more money out of a president who is anything BUT fiscally conservative.

Anyway, that’s how I see things.

It’s the start of Spring Break. Normally, me and the boys would be driving down to Dauphin Island where one of my moms has a house. She’s not on the ocean side, but has a lovely spot on a canal of sorts. We spend the vast majority of our time on her pier catching trash fish. But occasionally we catch a red drum or a sheep’s head and that “what if” factor keeps us fishing well past the time when normies would have headed home and gone out for BBQ (unfortunately, the only BBQ place on the island burned down two years ago).

We will be staycationing this Spring Break, much as you are, no doubt. We had planned a trip to another, more populated island, but canceled it also. This #covid-19 is no respecter of plans.

My three children have been surprisingly adept at keeping themselves entertained. My wife has a lot to do with it, but even as we speak, they are down on the trampoline while mom and dad work.

Even my oldest, my usually slightly sullen 16-year old, has come out of his “mandatory cool” vibe and been more tolerable than usual. CareerMom and I theorize it has a lot to do with having to be apart from his friends where he “has” to be a certain person. Without them to live up to, we like him a lot more.

This #pandemic has not been kind to many for sure, but I can’t help but celebrate a few outcomes. We’ve come together as a family again. We’ve been so busy the last few years shuttling kids back and forth to sports that we’ve hardly spent any time just, together. I find us laughing more. We have “family movie night.” Everyone just seems to be getting along better and as a father, fewer things make me happier than hearing my children laughing, together.

My daughter, the creative one, and I, have built homemade bird feeders. I walk around the house and find fun little doodles like this:

We’re actually enjoying each other and having a good time. Barring the grocery store shortages and the deaths, I’m not hating this period.

Plus, I have this going for me:

Stay well everyone. Stay sane. Take long walks early in the morning.

Find your place.

To be clear, I never said it was guaranteed to get you a job. My intent was simply to provide people with an understanding of how to use the internet to find jobs. Fifteen years later, and many computers and backups later, and I’ve lost the eBook. I’ve even tried using the ‘Wayback Internet Time Machine” but I fear it’s lost to the ages. It’s probably for the best.

When I wrote it, I was not a writer. I was an engineer. Trained by the Air Force on telecommunications systems, I had been plying my trade as a telecom engineer around the country as a contractor. I had also started doing some technical writing, then writing training manuals (for the things I was teaching others how to use).

Then the dot.com bust layed a big egg on mine, and a whole lot of other people’s lives. I was out of work for months. But, I had already been using online job boards, successfully, to find contract work, so I put all my efforts into helping others do the same–all while looking for a job myself.

Eventually, my wife convinced me to go back to college and pursue something other than engineering, which was not only out of favor at the moment in the job market, but it was not something I enjoyed terribly much.

I went back to college; got my B.S. in Communications, and my life has been better ever since (at least until Covid-19).

Like many people, I use LinkedIn. I use it, not because I like it or because I have some deep-seated need to brag to my peers. I use it because it’s a necessary evil. The interesting thing about LinkedIn is that it’s still just social media. Sure, the content is work-focused, but it’s still just a bunch of people pretending like their professional lives are perfect and that they’re all just normally-adjusted, rational beings. Which we all know is bunk.

Had LinkedIn existed back when I wrote my ebook, I would have, no doubt, changed my status to “Freelancer,” posted the eBook on Amazon and bragged all about it–along with a link to purchase it–right there on LinkedIn for all the world to see and admire.

And it would have been a big, fat lie. I have to keep reminding myself that, if I considered doing it, others HAVE done it and are doing it. I know the stories behind some people’s meteoric rise to fame. I know their personal lives. I know their work habits and peculiarities. I know that their professional lives are nowhere near as glamorous as they pretend. Particularly now, when we’re all scared to death of losing our jobs and what that might do to our finances and families. And that’s on top of existing fears around the pandemic and just coping with the new normal.

It’s easy to compare yourself to others online and think that you’ve come up short. To start questioning the choices you’ve made and to wonder “What if?”

Just remember, online is not reality. It’s what others want us to see. And that goes for the news as well.

Stay safe out there. Pray for yourself, your family, and our leaders. We will get through this.

One I found that I followed for a while is r/askmenover30.  There’s a plain “r/askmen” but most of the conversations there are about things that don’t even fly into my radar. I find the “over30” sub much more “my speed.”

But even that sub lately consists of many of the same types of post: “Anyone else here just generally dissatisfied with life?”

There are a LOT of these posts. So many that I barely even look at the sub anymore.

Casual observers would probably discount this as “mid-life crisis” posts, but the fact that they are so prevalent, and they generally all say the same things, is worth a minute.

Most of these posts include one or more of the following comments:

• On the surface, I should be happy.
• I have a good family, a decent job, and I’m in pretty good shape.
• I don’t LIKE my job much.
• My marriage is “meh”.
• I don’t have many friends, or really ever have meaningful conversations with other people (read: other guys)
• Is this all there is to life?

The sad thing is, I identify with nearly all of these. Life IS “meh”. I’ve given this no small amount of thought and I’ve come to the conclusion that yeah, that’s life. If you’re not happy, you can make the decision to change things, but know that it’s likely you’ll make someone very unhappy. Most transformational corrections don’t happen in a vacuum. Your big choices and changes WILL impact someone else and not always positively.

My wife once said to me, “You’re not stuck here you know.”

I don’t know if I was more hurt by that statement, or relieved. Like my own dad, I have a pretty deep sense of responsibility and nothing short of my wife stabbing me in my sleep (or having an affair) would cause me to just up and leave. Even knowing that she has no desire for intimacy anymore (her words) isn’t enough to make me leave (the “or worse” part, remember?). Which means that I’m here. For better or worse, I’m here.

The bigger implication is that “No, your life–my life–probably isn’t going to change considerably for, what I’d consider “the better” any time soon. Maybe never.”

I saw this article the other day, “How to Be Mediocre and Be Happy With Yourself ” and I was both relieved that it’s OK not to be glamorously successful, and saddened that I’ve come to this place in my life.

Don’t get me wrong; I never wanted the glamorous life. I turned down opportunities at my last job to be highly visible. I even have “Professional Guy Behind the Guy” on my LinkedIn profile. But the fact that I’ve personally accepted this fact, is depressing on its own.

But yeah, “mediocre” is an apt description. Middling. Average. Fine. All good descriptors of how I feel most of the time.

But you know, only 30 more years of it, or so.

This morning my daughter, now in fifth grade, informed me that tomorrow is “Donuts for Dads” day at school. I will pause a moment to allow for the collective “Uhhhh.”

I was taken a little by surprise because normally I’m on top of this. The reason being, it’s not really about having your dad come by your school and seeing your class. It’s really about getting your dad to come by school and, “Oh by the way we’re having our book fair so why don’t you grab a donut and head over and buy some books.”

And I love to read and have always wholeheartedly supported my kids’ desire to read.

The principal usually sends out an email to remind us all, but either she didn’t this year, or I’ve started ignoring her email after her last ridiculous-fest where she tried to play off her stealing two “learn from home” school days and forcing kids to come to school instead, calling it an “Opportunity.” I called her on her Public Relations-like bullshit, accusing her and the PTA of catering to the needs of the few (for the free meals) and ignoring the will of the many who would rather give their kids a break and let them be home a couple of extra days. She wasn’t thrilled with my rebuttal.

But, I’ve never really minded the book fair; though, I could do without the donuts. For one, I never eat one. But more importantly, it’s a bunch of guys, all dressed and ready for work, standing around a classroom that took all of two minutes to take in, killing time before the bell rings and we can all escape away to our day jobs. And in this day and age, isn’t it just a little sexist? Presumably, it was created as a way to get dads involved because, you know, we’re all NOT involved in our kids’ lives enough and thank GOD the school is making sure we are.

It’s surreal and uncomfortable. And I’m going to miss it terribly.

Of my three children, my daughter is my youngest. This is her last year in elementary school which means a lot of things, not all of them terrible.

On the plus side, it’s the last year I’ll have to walk her to the bus stop at 7am every day. When she moves to middle school, she’ll be able to walk with her older brother to the bus at 8:10. That also frees me up to not get up at 4am to go to the gym in the morning. I’ll be able to stretch it to 5 or 5:30.

But the cons far outweigh the pros. For instance, she normally gets home at 2:45 in the afternoon and since I’ve been working from home for several years, that means that most days I get “me” time with her every day. I know that as she gets older, her desire to do anything with me will wane and I will look back on these times as precious, even as I huff and sigh about having to stop working and walk the 2/10 of a mile up the street to get her every day.

She will be with her older brother one year in middle school, and then he will join HIS older brother in high-school for a year. She will then join him for two years in high-school, and so on and so forth.

And before I know it, she will be my only child still at home, and even shorter still, she’ll be gone.

I will be lost. I imagine I will dive into my work with a zeal I’ve not known for a couple of decades, just to kill time between my kids’ visits. I’m not sure what my wife will do. We aren’t social enough to fill our lives up with other people, which means me puttering around here, falling back on my solitary habits, and her doing…well, I’m not sure what exactly. Probably working as well, and neither of us talking to each other much.

Or maybe, it will be just what our 20-year marriage needs; sparking more “us” time. We’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll hit the gym at 4:30 tomorrow so I can get to school by 7:15  and hope it’s early enough to get a parking spot. I’ll smile and nod and talk about how great the classroom is. All the while, the Joker’s poem running through my head:

I’m only laughing on the outside; my smile is just skin deep.
If you could see me on the inside; you might join me, for a weep.

Back home, we taped up the cards we received from friends and family, around the extra-wide door frame leading from our dining room to our living room. And each year, it was filled, inch-to-inch, with cards–most proclaiming some religious sentiment (“Hosana In The Highest! For Unto You A Child Is Born!”) based on the fact that nearly all of our family and most of our close family friends’ families, were church-based. But, the cards were wonders of glitter and poetry and they stuck in my memories almost even more than any gifts I received under the tree.

Over the years, I have sent Christmas cards religiously (as an adjective) to family, boyhood friends, and even men I’ve worked with who have meant something special to me either as mentors or just by mere fact of temperament. And over the years, my “list” of Christmas card recipients has dwindled down from nearly 30 at its highpoint, to now no more than half that. Deaths and life simply moving on and not leaving a forwarding address are the two main culprits.

What saddens me more than the fact that my list continues to shrink, is that this exchanging of pleasantries has never been 1:1. There are people on my list whom I have sent cards to for nearly two decades and never received one in return. I know that not everyone ‘does’ Christmas cards, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is but another in a long list of traditions that we will sorely miss without even realizing it.

Today, the annual Christmas card exchange continues in my house. The ones we receive–primarily from my wife’s friends and family, and the families of children our children are involved with–go up on our own extra-wide entry from our dining room to our living room, just like when I was a child.

Even still, I can tell our inbound card volume dipped probably by a 1/5th this year and I’m not quite sure why. And like the ones my wife creates for us to send, most of these cards aren’t the glittery poetic treasures of my youth, but beautiful Snapfish-printed pictures of the families who sent them. But, there’s no place to even handwrite a simple “Merry Christmas;” Yet another part of the tradition that I won’t say I “enjoyed”, but that did force me to stop and spend a few moments thinking only of that person or family and deciding what to write to them. It made me feel connected to that family even if I hadn’t actually seen or spoken to them in the 12 months prior.

Tonight, I will be staying home with my daughter, who is recovering from the flu, while the rest of the family goes on CareerMom’s family’s annual “Progressive Dinner.”  This is another annual tradition I treasure. It’s loud and we’re all cramped into one house after another (there are about 27 of us after all), but it’s family and I don’t hate it. While I will miss appetizers and the Olive Garden-catered main course, dinner always concludes at our house with dessert and coffee and I will still get to experience the best part.

Waters for everyone

With age comes sentimentality and a longing for tradition. Time can steal my youth, my virtue, and my health, but for now at least, I have my memories.

I hope that by continuing these annual activities, what I hold precious will live on in my children far after I’m gone.

To everyone I know and love, to the readers of this blog (some of whom fall into the “know and love” category), I wish you the best this holiday. My prayer is that each of us finds a bit of happiness in sharing this time with those around us. Warm wishes to you all.